Sam Kilburn and Harry Macfie of Wasa Wasa and Windermere Muskoka

A LITTLE BIT MUSKOKA, A LITTLE BIT ADVENTURE, "WASA-WASA" A TALE OF TRAILS AND TREASURE

WINDERMERE, MUSKOKA GETS MENTION IN 1951 BOOK BY AUTHORS HARRY MACFIE AND HANS G. WESTERLAND

     As far as "Wasa-Wasa" goes, I think it is one of our best sellers, of antiquated Muskoka-themed books. It seems a lot of folks knew of the exploits of adventurer Harry MacFie, and his partner in the wilds, Sam Kilburn, who for a short period, lived in cabin near the shore of Lake Rosseau in the Village of Windermere. In fact, he was the gentleman who taught Suzanne's father, Norman Stripp, how to swim, in the summer that he dwelled there, as a home he thought might become a permanent residence. The story is that Kilburn tossed the young Norman into the lake, where he was forced to, as they say, think quickly, about the options of either sinking or swimming. There was a family relation between Sam Kilburn and the pioneer Longhurst family, of Windermere and area, and over the years, we have provided the family with numerous copies from our own collection. The Muskoka and Windermere content of the book is relatively small, yet, as you will read, it is quite poignant all told, despite its limited scope. It is a well regarded Canadian biography, originally published in Sweden at the end of the Second World War, and in english, in 1951, published by George Allen & Unwin, of London, England. The reason I'm writing about this book today, is that we found a copy, at a local second hand shop yesterday, that actually had its dustjacket. In fact, this was the first time Suzanne and I have found a copy with the dustjacket, and it was pretty much what we had imagined. Some dustjackets were made of poor paper stock and could not stand-up to rough handling, ripping and losing integrity early in the book's shelf life. Trillions of paper book covers were simply removed as annoyances, by their owners, and tossed into the garbage. Fortunately, this one survived, and we are delighted.
     In the book's introduction, written by Hans G. Westerlund, he notes that, "Harry Macfie is a Swede, though descended from a very old Scottish Highland family, one of whom (his grandfather) emigrated to Sweden in the first half of the nineteenth century. Harry went to America in 1897 and subsequently lived in Canada and Alaska during the years of the worst gold rush. His reason for emigrating was, he says, 'a longing for real adventures among gold-diggers and trappers.' I myself came into touch with Macfie through the manufacture of Canadian canoes, which he later carried on, in his home at Lyckorna. On a visit to him, there I obtained some glimpses of his life in the wilds of Canada, and this made me ask if he had not material for a book. He had indeed been urged to write his memoirs and made one or two attempts to start, but nothing more had come of it. We agreed that we should try to make ourselves free for a longer meeting, at which he would talk and I would write. Six months later, I received a typescript from him. He had written the story himself.
     "I at once put aside all other work and set about turning this, as it seemed to me, remarkable book into correct Swedish. (His Swedish had been strongly influenced by many years spent in an English-speaking country. I need hardly say that everything is described exactly as it reached me. With regard to Sam Kilburn, I should like to quote a letter from Macfie. 'Sam was born in Manchester in 1877; his mother was a Highlander and her name was Cameron. The Camerons and Macfies were closely related and fought together at Culloden against the Duke of Cumberland's army in 1745. 'But it was not this that made us such good friends. It was his sterling character and solid culture. He was always a complete gentleman; he was good-looking, somewhat over middle-height, brown-eyed, dark skinned, exceptionally strong and active. He enjoyed all that was good but would tolerate no injustice, took a bright view of life despite many reverses, laughed in the hour of danger and played with death many a time; sang and was cheerful though we nearly starved and froze to death, and often declaimed passages from Shakespeare by the camp fire'."
     In chapter one, under the heading "Wasa-Wasa," Harry Macfie writes, "Before me lies a postcard, yellowed with age, stamped all over in green, red and black. Feldpostkarte, Kriegsgefangenen-Sendung, Hilfs-Lazarelt. In the circle of the postmark is 'Magdeburg 19-7-17.' The sender is 1147 Sergeant Kilburn, S. On the other side of the card the message begins: 'Dear Harry, I am still in the land of the living, a prisoner of war in a German hospital.' That was a long time ago, but all the same I will try to write about Sam, the best friend and partner any many ever had - my partner more than a quarter of a century ago, with a dog sledge in the cold polar nights under the flicker of the northern lights, paddling a canoe down foaming rapids and across broad forest lakes by the light of the midnight sun.
     "The years have slipped away, and it is already a long time since the World War ended. After the conclusion of peace, I sought my friend in vain. The only information I could get was from the British regiment to which he had belonged; there I was told that he had been released and had probably returned to Canada. I sent letters to him to a number of places, but they came back through the dead letter office. He had disappeared without trace," writes Harry Macfie. "Years passed, and one day I was back at Seattle, on the Pacific coast. The city had grown enormously since I was there last, and I sought in vain for the little boarding house where Sam and I had stayed before we went off to the gold-fields in Northern Alaska. Where it had stood there was now a large modern hotel, and I took a room there for the days I was to stay in Seattle. It was evening, and I was looking out from my window over the twinkling lights of the city. The old totem poles from the far north still stood on the three-cornered strip of grass in front of the hotel. I looked at the grotesque beasts which were carved out of the huge trunk - clumsy bears, gigantic birds with long beaks and spread wings - all gaudily coloured and curious to behold. I knew them all so well; it was as though time had stood still, and we were on our way north again. From the harbour below I heard the dull hooting of some steamer coming in or going out, perhaps northward bound.
     "The totem pole outside my window brought memories crowding through my mind, one after another. A violent urge seized me, the call of the wild. Once more I saw the great forests and desolate plains, the roaring rapids, snow-fields, mountains and flashing northern lights; a camp fire, snow-shoes stuck into the snow, beside it, with two pair of moccasins hung on them to dry, the sledge close at hand and the dogs lying by it. I woke to reality again, and found myself sitting in my hotel room. The flashes outside were not the northern lights, but sparks from the overhead tram wires. As I sat there and a long train of memories passed through my mind, I suddenly recollected that Sam on some occasion, had spoken of having stayed with relatives at Windermere when he arrived in Canada from England. But whereabouts in that great country was Windermere? It was probably an insignificant little place; at any rate I had never heard of it. I went out into the city and discovered that there was a Windermere in Canada - in Muskoka, Ontario. If Sam was still alive perhaps he was there. I wrote at once to the postmaster at Windermere, asking if Sam was by any chance living there, and asked him to send me a reply to the Vancouver Hotel (B.C.), where I expected to arrive in a few days."
     MacFie continues, "Rather more than a week later, I put up at this hotel. Several letters were waiting for me, among them one in a writing I knew very well, though I had not seen it for many, many years. The letter was from Sam himself. I hastened up to my room and sat down to read. The letter was not long, but it told me a great deal and ended with the words, 'Come soon.' If I could, I would have started that very evening, for what did distance matter now? But my business detained me, and it was nearly two months before I was speeding eastwards from Vancouver by the night train. Next morning the train was winding its way up the first mountains, the Coast Range, and on through passes and canyons and over bridges at dizzy heights. Places I knew well of old slipped past - Sicamous, Revelstoke, Lake Louise, Banff. Then we rolled down the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains to the town of Calgary, passed all the other prairie towns, Winnipeg last of all, and so on eastward. Day and night the train rushed on at high speed, and after four days and nights, I arrived one morning in Toronto. The same evening I travelled up to Muskoka by another line, arriving there next day. There I boarded a small steamer for the last stage of my journey, a three hours' trip to Windermere across the lake of the same name (Not Lake Windermere as in England, but instead Lake Rosseau). It was midsummer and hot; the lake was blue and beautiful, framed by wonderful leafy woods. At last we arrived and the boat came alongside the little pier.
     "Although I had not let Sam know when I was coming, I nevertheless thought that he might perhaps be down at the pier. But I looked for him in vain. Then I went up to the little post office and found the postmaster. I did not say at once who I was; I only asked where Sam Kilburn lived. The postmaster looked at me for a moment, then held out his shrivelled old hand to me and said: 'I know quite well who you are. You're Sam's friend, and I've heard a lot about you from him. Come on, I'll show you where your friend lives.' He went ahead of me along a path which wound uphill. When we had crossed the plateau on the summit he pointed down into the valley on the other side. 'Your friend lives in that little bungalow you see down there, under the big sugar maples. I won't come with you any further. You must meet along after all these years, but we shall see one another again.' He shook hands cordially, turned about and went. I stood looking down into the valley. It was a mass of verdure and blossoms of the richest colours, and the scent of the flowers reached me even where I stood. Sam's little cabin lay in a sea of roses. I walked down the path, came to the fence, opened the gate and went in between flowering rose-bushes. The cabin door opened and Sam came out. He did not see me, but went and sat down on a bench alone one of the walls. He sat there in the sunshine gazing out into space. I saw that his thoughts were far away. My old friend had aged. How much he must have been through and endured since we parted by the Bering Sea twenty-five long years ago!"
     The authors explains, "Then I went forward. He only sat looking at me, as I advanced through the blossoming garden, but when i said, 'Well Sam, I've come,' and he heard my voice, all his weariness vanished. With one leap he was in my arms and gave me a regular bear's hug to the detriment of his roses and other flowers. Our joy at meeting again was great and profound. 'As you see,' said Sam, after an interval, when we had both recovered our composure to some extend, 'there's not much left of your old partner.' He was right. The ring in his voice and the gleam of his eye were still there, but his splendid physique had gone for ever."
     We will continue the story of Sam Kilburn and Harry MacFie in tomorrow's blog. Please join me.

Did Jesuit Missionaries Walk Through The Muskoka Woodlands?

DID JESUIT MISSIONARIES WALK THROUGH THE MUSKOKA WOODLANDS TO MINISTER TO THE ALGONQUINS?

     "Based on their census, they projected five missionary enterprises for the winter. The first of these was in the home area about Sainte Marie. Fathers Lalemant, Le Mercier, Pijart, and Poncet, were to minister to the nation of the Ataronchronons dwelling in the near-by villages, which were dedicated to Ste. Anne, St. Louys, St. Denys, and St. Jean. The number of souls in their charge was estimated at 1,400. The second mission, that among the Attigneenongnahac, was tended by Fathers de Brebeuf and Chastellain. Their main residence would be that of St. Joseph's in Teanaustayae, and from there they would visit the villages of St. Michael and St. Ignace. The third mission was to the nation of the Attignawantan, which headquarters at Ossossane, and with the care attached of twelve hamlets in the district. To those were assigned Fathers Ragueneau, Du Peron, and Chaumonot. The fourth mission was to the Arendarhonons, the nation to the south, among whom no settlements had been thus far attempted. Fathers Daniel and Le Moyne were the pioneers to the people. They planned to live at Cahiague, the village of St. Jean Baptiste, and from there to evangelize the smaller villages of St. Joachim and Ste Elizabeth." (Ste. Elizabeth being the much smaller mission active in the summer season, that was located somewhere between the southern boundary of the District of Muskoka, and the northern shoreline of Lake Couchiching, north of Orillia.)
     The passage above was taken from the biography, "Saint Among Savages - The Life of Isaac Jogues," by Francis Talbot, Society of Jesus, published by Harper & Brothers in 1935.

WHERE WAS STE. ELIZABETH - THE JESUIT MISSION OF THE 1600'S?

SOUTH MUSKOKA  OR WASHAGO? THE JESUITS TRAVELLED IN OUR DISTRICT IN THE 1600'S!

     CONTAINED IN THE "JESUIT MISSIONS," IS A DETAILED MAP OF HURONIA AND ABUTTING REGIONS, INCLUDING THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA. STE. ELIZABETH IS CLEARLY MARKED ON THE MAP, SITUATED NORTHEAST OF WASHAGO AND SOUTHEAST OF SEVERN BRIDGE. THERE HAVE BEEN LONGSTANDING DISAGREEMENTS BETWEEN HISTORIANS, AS TO ITS PRECISE LOCATION, AS THE SITE HAS NEVER BEEN POSITIVELY HISTORICALLY-GEOGRAPHICALLY IDENTIFIED, AND PHYSICALLY LOCATED. THERE HAVE BEEN MANY STORIES SPUN BY LONG TIME AREA RESIDENTS, SPECULATING ON WHETHER IT WAS CLOSER TO THE NORTHERN SHORE OF LAKE COUCHICHING, OR STRADDLING THE SOUTHERN BORDER OF THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA. SOME WASHAGO AREA RESIDENTS BELIEVE IT HAD BEEN BUILT ON WHAT IS NOW CULTIVATED FARMLAND, A SHORT DISTANCE FROM THE VILLAGE'S MAIN STREET. I HAVE PERSONALLY DISCUSSED THE MATTER WITH A NUMBER OF LOCAL RESIDENTS, OVER THE YEARS, BUT HEARSAY IS PRETTY MUCH ALL THE INTREPID HISTORIAN CAN GET, WITHOUT BENEFIT OF A LARGE SCALE ARCHAEOLOGICAL SURVEY. THE LONG ERODED AND MATTED-OVER RUINS, OVER WHAT WAS LIKELY A PORTABLE ENCAMPMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE, WILL LIKELY NEVER BE FOUND, UNLESS A MAJOR FIND IS MADE BY SOMEONE TURNING OVER ITS COVERING TOPSOIL, OR WHEN DIGGING THE BASEMENT FOR A NEW HOME. AT THAT POINT, AN ASSORTMENT OF ARTIFACTS COULD BE DISCOVERED, ON OR NEAR THE 1600'S MISSION SITE.

     IN ADDITION THERE IS SPECULATION ABOUT ANOTHER MOVABLE JESUIT MISSION, WHICH WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN ESTABLISHED IN THE SOUTHWESTERN CORNER OF HALIBURTON COUNTY. NILA REYNOLDS, IN THE HISTORICAL TEXT, "IN QUEST OF YESTERDAY," CONFIRMED THAT RUINS WERE INDEED FOUND OF A POSSIBLE RELIGIOUS SITE. "AN INTRIGUING MYSTERY IS POSED BY AN OLDTIMER'S TALE, OF RUINS OF A THREE FOOT THICK STONE FOUNDATION, ON A HILLSIDE BY THE SHORES OF GULL LAKE (HALIBURTON), WHICH NO LIVING PERSON COULD ACCOUNT FOR. SPECULATION, ELIMINATING THE LUMBERMEN'S CAMBOSE CAMP AND THE ARCHITECTURAL EFFORTS OF THE INDIANS, CAN CHOOSE BETWEEN A MISSION, (JESUIT FATHERS ARE KNOWN TO HAVE MINISTERED TO RESIDING ALGONKINS) AND A TRADING POST INTERCEPTING THE FUR TRAFFIC CHANNELLED TO TORONTO, NIAGARA OR ALBANY VIA THE GULL RIVER. LIEUT. WALPOLE'S MAP OF HIS EXPLORATORY SURVEY IN 1827 REVEALS 'TRADER'S HOUSES' ON GULL LAKE'S NORTHERN END, LOGICAL SUPPORT OF THE LATTER SURMISE."

JESUITS IN MUSKOKA?

     As Samuel de Champlain touched the western shoreline of Muskoka, in the 1600's, accordingly documented in his own journal, it is possible, with references in the Jesuit Relations of the same century, that they, the Jesuit Fathers, also penetrated deeply into the Muskoka region during their christianizing missions. Of considerable interest, is the whereabouts of the mission of Ste. Elizabeth, which was at most, only a few miles from the southern boundary. Considering that Sainte Elizabeth was serving the seasonally roaming Algonquins, and that the Jesuits would move their missions accordingly, it is of considerable potential, that they would have set up their temporary sites, to the north in Muskoka. I think it is worth some historical investigation, to find out how far they did move into the region, beyond the established mission of Ste. Elizabeth, likely in the area between Washago and Severn Bridge.

     There are enough references documented regarding Jesuit travels in our part of the province, to conduct more research, in an effort to better understand the nature and composition of Ste. Elizabeth, and how it drew the Muskoka district into this early and tumultuous period of Canadian history. It is said of Ste. Elizabeth that it was likely plowed under by area farming practices over a century ago, and in all likelihood, impossible to ever positively situate, other than in the most general of terms. But it is fascinating to me that Sainte Elizabeth existed, and in face evaded local and national historians for decades. And when the Iroquois made their horrific ambush on the missions in Huronia, Sainte Elizabeth was in the same desperate circumstance as the other missions in flames, and was regretfully abandoned in the haste of battle.

     Florence Murray, in the highly regarded text, "Muskoka and Haliburton, 1615-1875," published by the Champlain Society, reported the following information concerning aboriginal activities at the time of Brebeuf and the Jesuit missionaries:

     "The Muskoka and Haliburton area, with its chain of lakes and rivers, its fur bearing animals, its fish, wild fruit, and maple sap, would have supported a large Indian population, but written evidence suggests that until very recent years, it was harbored by only nomadic groups. In historic times it has been a hunting ground for three Indian peoples in turn; the Algonkin, the Iroquois, and the Ojibwa.

     "To what extent the people of Algonkian stock hunted the beaver, bear and fox, or fished in the lakes and rivers of Muskoka and Haliburton can never be known. They came in small groups or families, camped a brief time and were gone. Summer's growth and winter storms have long since obliterated almost all traces of the fleeting camps. There is no definitive evidence to show that either the Hurons or Algonkins knew the water routes which led from Georgian Bay across the Muskoka and Haliburton area, to the Ottawa. Certainly the Hurons were accustomed to take the longer route by way of the French River and Lake Nipissing on their traditional expeditions to Quebec."

     Murray writes that, "The Jesuit Fathers found that difficult as it was to Christianize the Hurons, it was nothing compared with the hardships involved, in following the wandering Algonkins from camp to camp. The Jesuit Relations show no missions which can definitely be located in Muskoka or Haliburton but include two to the Algonkins; the mission of Ste. Elizabeth and the Mission of the Holy Ghost, which no doubt served some of the Indians who hunted in the area. The Mission of Ste. Elizabeth was started between 1640 and 1644 for Algonkins who had been driven from the St. Lawrence Valley, by the Iroquois, and had sought refuge among the Hurons, and for other Algonkins who went south to winter near the Hurons. This mission had been located by Du Creux, and by Father A.E. Jones, as being at the north end of Lake Couchiching, two or three miles south of the present territorial limits of the Muskoka district. Father Jerome Lalemont's report on the Mission of Ste. Elizabeth, 1644-166:

     "The Iroquois, who make themselves dreaded in the great river, St. Lawrence, and who every winter, for some years have been hunting men in these vast forests, have compelled the Algonquins who dwelt on the banks of the river, to abandon not only their hunting grounds but also their country, and have reduced them this winter to come here near our Hurons, in order to live more in safety, - so much so, that a whole village of these poor wandering and fugitive tribes came near the Village of Saint John Baptiste. We were obliged to give them some assistance, and for that purpose to associate with Father Antoine Daniel, who had charge of the Huron Mission of which I have spoken in the preceding chapter. Father Rene Manard, who having a sufficient knowledge of both languages had, at the same time, charge of this Algonquin Mission, to which we have given the name of Sainte Elizabeth."

     Notations in the text indicated that Ste. Elizabeth "was as nomadic as were the Algonquins it served."

     "Father Antoine Daniel (1601-1648) came to Canada in 1632 and went to the Huron Mission a year or two later. He remained there, except for the years from 1636-1638, until his death in the Iroquois attack on St. Joseph, July 1648. Father Rene Manard (1605-1661) was sent to Canada in 1640. He worked at Huronia, first with the Mission of the Holy Ghost, later with that of Sainte Elizabeth. After the destruction of Huronia in 1649, he ministered to the Iroquois and to the tribes on Lake Superior."

     According to the text of the "Jesuit Missions," published in 1920, "Father Rene Manard, while following a part of Algonquins to the wilds of Wisconsin, lost his way in the forest and perished from exposure or starvation." 

     Thomas Guthrie Marquis, author of "The Jesuit Missions," suggests that from the new central mission at Sainte Marie (Midland), "the missionaries went forth in pairs to the farthest parts of Huronia and beyond. The good work went on, notwithstanding trials and reverses. The story of the Cross was being carried even to the Algonquins and Nipissings of the upper Ottawa and Georgian Bay. The teaching and example of the fathers was winning a way to the hearts of the Indians. In 1648 eleven or twelve mission stations stood throughout Huronia, among the Algonquins, and among the Petuns, now settled in the Blue Hills of Nottawasaga Bay. Seven of these stations had chapels and in six it had been found necessary to establish residences. The chapels had bells -  some discarded kettles served this purpose. To call the flock to worship; and crosses studded the land. Huronia was in a fair way of being completely won; and the missionaries were already looking to the unexplored regions round and beyond Lake Superior, and even to the land of the Iroquois."

     (Father Paul Ragueneau's Report on Algonkin Mission - 1645 - Jesuit Relations)  "Father Claude Pijart and Father Leonard Gareau, who had wintered with the Algonquins on the shores of our great lake, and in the midst of the snows, which cover these countries more than four or five months, followed those same tribes throughout the summer, upon the bare rocks which they inhabit, exposed to the heat of the sun; and thus spent with them almost all the past year. They had left us at the end of the month of November, after four or five days's journey - in which they had to combat the winds, the snows, and the ice which was beginning to form in every direction - they saw themselves constrained to leave their canoe, still distant more than three leagues from the place they were aiming to land.

     "Father Jean de Brebeuf went, toward the end of autumn to a place named Tangouaen, where dwell some Algonquins and where some cabins of Hurons have taken refuge, in order to live there more sheltered from the incursions by the Iroquois, for it is a retired country, and surrounded on all sides by lakes, ponds, and rivers, which make this place inaccessible to the enemy. It was a journey extremely difficult for the Father, and for a young Frenchman who accompanied him thither; but their consolation much surpassed their hardships, when they found in the midst of those profound foresters and those vast solitudes a little church which they had gone to visit. By this, I mean a whole family of Christians, who find God by these woods…..The Father, having spent some days in that solitude, was in haste to accelerate his return, fearing to be surprised by the ice and winter which was beginning, and which in fact, stopped him on the way, and placed him in danger of dying from both hunger and cold, and of perishing in the lakes and rives which they had to cross."

     Florence Murray's text however, indicates that "There is no direct evidence to show where the Algonkins were living at this time. The Jesuit Relations suggests that Tangouaen was on the north side of the Severn River, in Baxter or Wood Township." Murray also notes, "Father A.E. Jones, a noted researcher of Jesuit missions, believed that rather than Muskoka, Father Brebeuf had actually made it to the north of Lake Nipissing. Jones equated the time factor of the trip to determine the distance travelled. In an earlier piece written by Gabriel Sagard (1623-24) he tells of exploring some regions of Muskoka from its Georgian Bay shoreline. "Two days before our arrival among the Hurons, we came upon the fresh water sea (Lake Huron) over which we passed from island to island, and landed in the country so greatly longed for on Sunday, the Festival of St. Bernard about midday, with the sun beating down perpendicularly upon us." Murray reports, "On the return journey, Sagard and his company spent a day in an Algonkin Village, thought to have been on Beausoleil Island, and its geographically part of Muskoka."

     Maybe one day we shall find the location of Sainte Elizabeth. I would love to be the one who makes that discovery. I have secured a number of First Nation artifacts from the Severn Bridge, Washago area, and I will tell you all about in tomorrow's blog. Thanks so much for joining me for this historical feature blog, on a topic I've enjoyed for most of my career as a regional historian. I've been to Ste Marie-Among-The-Hurons so many times, I could be considered a permanent resident. Our whole family has found it to be one of the most compelling of all the historic sites we've ventured to, in this province, and if we even visited seven days a week, we'd still make discoveries we hadn't the time before.

Search For The Holiest Ground At Huronia's St. Ignace Near Ste. Marie Among The Hurons Part 3

PART THREE - SAINT IGNACE, CANADIAN ALTAR OF MARTYRDOM - THE JESUIT MISSIONARIES IN HURONIA

THE DEATH OF THE JESUITS, AND THE HOLY PLACE OF THEIR FINAL HOURS ON EARTH

     When you stand on the hillside where the Martyr's Shrine, is prominently situated, in Midland, Ontario, and look down on the hollow, of the River Wye, and the restored Jesuit Mission, Sainte Marie Among the Hurons, it's seems surreal in this country, because most of the history average Canadians appreciate, occurred in and around the time of Confederation, and the landmark events ever since. It is a profound sensation of awe, not all that common in this part of Canada, when appreciating, you are looking down on a heritage location, that was a beehive of activity as far back as the 1630's, with European missionaries and their assistants; building this large scale encampment, commencing an agricultural model that would have provided a good and sustaining harvest, if not for the calamity that was to end Ste Marie's short history early in the 1640's. There is a spiritual aura that, for me, characterizes the vast acreage of Ste. Marie and surrounding area, where the Jesuits once traversed by canoes, and hiked on narrow, rough trails made by the host Huron Nation.
     Even as a grade six student, at Bracebridge Public School, I developed a keen interest in the peoples of the First Nations, and their prehistory in our region of Ontario. The Algonquins had used Muskoka as a summer hunting ground, and following the war with the Iroquois Nation, both the Algonquins and the Hurons had to give up their territory. The war for territory, heightened at around the time of the Jesuit Missions in Huronia, in the 1600's. We studied this period of First Nations heritage, and then, the coming of the Jesuits, and the establishment of Sainte Marie Among The Hurons, on the River Wye in Midland, Ontario. We were treated to a school field trip to Sainte Marie in and around the early fall of 1966, and I still have the photographs taken there on my Brownie camera. In fact I've got a photograph of my childhood chum, Ross Smith, at the Huron Village, near the long house, taken that day. Ross is a talented Muskoka landscape artist today, although he's been laid up recently with some health issues.
     When I found the book, "Saint Ignace, Canadian Altar of Martyrdom," by William Sherwood Fox and Wilfrid Jury, (you can archive back two blogs to catch the first installment about the book Mr. Jury wrote at Sainte Marie), published by McClelland & Stewart of Toronto, in 1949, and dedicated to the memory of "Alphonse Arpin and Thomas George Connon, through whose keen powers of observation, and patient investigation, the site of St. Ignace was discovered." The interesting foreword was written by well known Canadian Poet, of the time, E.J."Ned" Pratt, of Victoria College in Toronto, written two years before the book's release. Pratt writes:
     "It is a pleasure and a privilege to write a few words by the way of a preface to this excellent book by Dr. W. Sherwood Fox, upon the discovery and excavation of St. Ignace II. In such a short statement it would be unnecessary to re-traverse the trails pursued by Connon, Arpin and Wintemberg, or to dilate upon the research conducted by Mr. Wilfrid Jury on behalf of the University of Western Ontario, and the Martyr's Shrine (Midland). From my point of view, the significant fact is that the public may now realize that a site of Christian martyrdom has been discovered and the history of Canada enriched by that discovery.
     "Protestants and Catholics alike are heirs of the riches of these explorations. As an historic monument, St. Ignace II, like Fort Sainte Marie, belongs to the dramatic architecture of Canadian history. It is a matter of national pride that such interest is being developed by our Ontario archaeologists in those really great remains of three centuries ago. That interest is also a sign of the strength and advance of our general culture. And woven into this historical and educational texture, are the religious strands. A chapter has been written here in the record of human faith. In respect to certain expressions of man's spirit, such as self effacement, endurance, sheer sublimity of courage that dogged holding on at solitary posts in the darkness of approaching catastrophe, which had all the ear-marks of material failure - those twenty years of the Huron Missions can stand with any of the blazing periods of history. It will always remain with its own message in every age."
     Pratt continues, "Certainty in respect to the exact location of the martyrdom is, to say the least, of prime psychological importance. To stand on that ground, and know it, has the same effect on the heart of a pilgrim as to kneel before an altar in a hallowed sanctuary. Canadian people who love their country and its traditions are in debt to the efforts of the archaeologists and to the enthusiasm of scholars like Dr. Fox, who have been making us thus aware of our national inheritance."
     Mr. Fox, in the book's introduction writes, "Three centuries ago occurred one of the most dramatic and memorable events in Canadian history - the martyrdom of the noble missionaries of France to Huronia. Saint Jean de Brebeuf and Saint Gabriel Lalemant. It is accorded as signal, a rank in the secular annals of Canada, as it holds in those of the Church. About the name of Huronia it has a cast a glory, almost unique in North America, and comparable only to the glory that crowns the names of those revered places of the Old World where at sundry times men, through death, have triumphantly testified that a steadfast spiritual faith, is the source of the strength by which they have lived. The world has long known St. Ignace of Huronia, as the name of the humble Indian mission where Brebeuf and Lalement played their tragic parts. But where is St. Ignace? Until recently no one has been able to answer that question. But for somewhat more than a century a long succession of searchers have ardently striven to find the place, knowing that men cannot feel the real significance of the drama enacted there till they could see the holy ground with their own eyes and set their feet upon it."
     The author adds, "The chief purpose of this little book is to record the confident belief of a group of investigators that at last St. Ignace has been found and identified. The extended recital of the data on which this belief is based has been deliberately deferred, until all who have taken part in the enterprise are convinced that their arguments are sound, and their conclusion is the only one that could be drawn. Thus the conclusion has been reached without haste, and impatience, as every scholarly conclusion should be. Even the preliminary announcements of the result of the investigations have been carefully timed. The first announcement was made in Kingston, Ontario, after Mr. Wintemberg's exploration of the supposed site of St. Ignace in 1937 and 1938, through a paper presented before Section II of the Royal Society of Canada in May 1941. The second announcement was based on Wilfrid Jury's report of his campaign of 1946, and was presented in Quebec before the same Section of the Royal Society, in May 1947. It is in these two papers that one will find set forth, in the unavoidably severe manner of archaeological science, all the facts concerning St. Ignace that have been revealed by workers in the field, and by delvers in the library. This present book, while, of course, embodying the same facts, is the outcome of an effort to interpret them to the ordinary reader, in a way that may capture his interest and enable him to follow understandingly, from its quiet beginnings to its intensely tragic ending, the development of one of the most dramatic episodes in the history of the French regime in Canada."
     Sherwood Fox, in the poignantly written, concluding chapter of the book, beneath the heading, "Where is The Holier Spot of Ground," reports that, "If the Indian Village found by Arpin and Connon is in reality St. Ignace, the scene of a sublime martyrdom, then to Canadians of all faiths it is a sacred place. But just as God ordains that for each one of us, 'one spot' of earth, 'shall prove beloved over all,' so within the boundaries of this hallow'ed tract, will there be one spot of ground holier in men's eyes above all others. And what will this spot be? It will of course be those few square feet of soil where Brebeuf and Lalemant suffered and died. But do we, or does any one know where this tiny plot is? Can we place a hand or foot upon it? Before we can even guess the possibility of answering the question at all, we must briefly survey once more the accounts that tell of the Mission's last days and hours. It will be recalled that at the time the Iroquois attacked St. Ignace, Fathers Brebeuf and Lalemant were in St. Louis (Huronia). As soon as they learned of the calamity their first thought was of their spiritual responsibility to their afflicted flock. Blind to their own safety and deaf to the pleading of their friends, they set out at once for St. Ignace. Father Ragueneau tells us of the sources of the sad tale of what had taken place there. I have learned all this from persons worthy of credence, who have seen it, and reported it to me personally, and who were then captives with them, (the Iroquois) but who having been reserved to be put to death, at another time, found means to escape.
    'On this memorable sixteenth day of March, 1649, the Iroquois came, to the number of about twelve hundred, took the village and Father Brebeuf and his companion, and set fire to all the houses. They proceeded to vent their rage on the two Fathers, seizing them, stripping them naked and binding each of them to a stake. They tied hands together and tore nails from their fingers. With cudgels they hailed their bodies with blows, on the shoulders, loins, belly, legs, face, leaving no part unscathed by this torment."
     Mr. Fox asks, "But where were the stakes to which the Fathers were Lashed? In DuCreux's version alone, can one find the faintest hint as to where they might be, and even that is almost as faint as zero. 'They (the Iroqouis) devoted themselves meanwhile, to torturing Brebeuf and Lalemant with awful cruelties before putting them to death."
     "Though thwarted by a lack of evidence in their search for the 'holier spot of ground,' within the limits of St. Ignace, the investigators have not wholly refrained from making cautious conjectures of their own. These are set forth here for just what they are and no more. Guided by DuCreux and Bonin we sought to find in in the most prominent place in front of the Chapel-Residence, the very forum of the community's life. The fact that the public well was situated in this area, seems to add to the probability that the Indians would choose such a spot in which to add to their cruelties, the special refinement of torture by boiling water. Frequently, Wintemberg uded to allude to the Indians laziness in carrying of water, not unless circumstance made it absolutely unavoidable would they carry it for a considerable distance. Aware of the racial weakness Wintemberg said as long ago as 1938, while he himself was searching for traces of the sacrificial fire, that these traces would be found, if found at all, close to the village's chief supply of water. If that supply was the Sturgeon River, then the scene of the tortures was the sloping bank of the river. If, on the other hand, it was a well or spring within the circuit of the stockade, then it was near that. And it is somewhere here that we believe it to be, though there is not a crumb of material evidence to support the view"
     The author continues his overview, writing, "Nor is there any real support for the assumption that the 'holier spot,' was situated outside the palisade and on the inclined banks of the Sturgeon. One who knows the contours of the immediate environs of St. Ignace recognizes at once that the banks are altogether too steep to serve as the scene of the horrible drama. Besides, the implications of the pertinent passage, in DuCreux's narrative, compel one to look for this scene inside rather than outside the village. This passage plainly declares that the search part from St. Marie, found the bodies of the martyred Fathers and Huron Christians lying at least fairly close together, even if not exactly in a 'heap,' as the text says. That the natives had been burned to death within the lodges which had been deliberately fired by the panic-stricken Iroquois, is expressly stated in DuCreux's story. If that is true and also that the remains of Brebeuf and Lalemant were found among those of the faithful Hurons, then the martyrdom must have taken place somewhere amid the long houses within the area of the village itself. Beyond that very general conclusion the evidences of the documents and those recovered by the spade will not permit anybody to go. If any still seek the spot that is holier above all others, we reverently suggest that the spot, is the whole village itself - the palisaded Huron village on the Hamilton farm in Tay Township, which we confidently believe to be St. Ignace."
     He concludes the text, "In these days of confused faith in the things that are unseen, we Canadians need more than ever before, to be sharply reminded that what we cherish most in our civilization, was won long ago by our forerunners in church, education, and government, through the sacrificial surrender of the very breath of life. We need also to learn that the only way in which we can preserve the treasured gain is to follow the glorious example which our history sets before us. In brief, we need right now, more than anything else, the spirit of martyrdom. It is not too much to hope, we trust, that a new reading of the sacrifice of Brebeuf and Lalemant, on the very ground on which it was written in letters of blood and suffering, may help imprint this lesson indelibly on our hearts and souls, and enable us to say truthfully with (poet) Pratt, 'The years as they turned have ripened the martyrs' seed, And the ashes of St. Ignace are glowing afresh'."
     If you get a chance, this summer season, take a visit to the Martyr's Shrine, and Ste. Marie Among The Hurons, in the Town of Midland, and as a pleasant contrast, take a walk through the incredible nature hike through the Wye Marsh.

Sainte Marie Among The Hurons, Circa. 1954 Publication Signed First Edition Part 2

PART TWO
SAINTE MARIE AMONG THE HURONS, A BOOK ABOUT DISCOVERY - I AM IN AWE OF THE WORK BY ITS AUTHORS TO SHOWCASE CANADIAN HERITAGE

WRITTEN BY WILFRID AND ELSIE JURY, AND MY SIGNED COPY OF THE 1954 FIRST EDITION, WHAT A FIND!

     I have been working as a regional historian from the day I planned the inaugural meeting, of what would soon become the Bracebridge Historical Society, in the spring of 1978, and I felt pretty juiced, let me tell you, when Woodchester Villa and Museum, opened, in the early 1980's, becoming our first success of what we expected to be many, in terms of local heritage conservation. I've written volumes of heritage-themed editorial copy, over forty years, but when I handled the signed copy of "Sainte Marie," I felt as if I had only ever achieved minor status in the field of heritage preservation. I wanted, from this position of awe, to highlight a few pages of the text, for the benefit of those who didn't know the book existed, or just how important Ste. Marie Among The Hurons, in Midland, is today, as a reflective, well attended historic site in Canada.
     It isn't what you would describe as an elegantly appointed book. It is modestly decorated, with a woodcut of a canoe in transit, a Huron paddling with a Jesuit missionary sitting in the centre, presumably traversing the River Wye, in Midland, arriving or departing from Ste. Marie Among The Hurons. There are corn stalks and sunflowers in the forefront, showing the modest agriculture of the 1600's Mission. The wood engraving was created to highlight the book, by artist Julius Griffith. It is a powerful text, to an historian with high expectations, of one day, being as accomplished as the authors of this landmark text of Canadian history, which when it was released, in 1954, was well received, especially so in the Midland area, that would benefit greatly down the road, as the site was restored, and turned into one of the best known and celebrated heritage sites in the country.
     If you missed yesterday's introduction to the book, you can archive back, so that today's article will read more sensibly.
     In the words of Wilfrid and Elsie Jury, in the early part of their revelations about the archaeological ground work, to document the ruins, and initiate recovery of artifacts, and of course, to map the dimensions of Ste. Marie's long buried foundation; they carry on the story with the following descriptions:
     "Before the excavations began, our knowledge of Sainte-Marie was confined to the writings of the Jesuits during the years they lived there. Within the walls of Sainte-Marie, the missionaries wrote of the world that surrounded them. They described the trees, they shrubs and the flowers; the animals, fish, and birds. They told of lakes and rivers; of falls and rapids. They wrote of the extremes of climate and of the torment of flies and mosquitoes. But chiefly they wrote of the people. Indians of the Algonquin and Huron nations. They described their physical features, their mode of life, their language, and their religious beliefs. America was an unknown land, lately discovered. By hearsay, fantastic stories were told originating with sailors and the hundreds of fishermen who frequented the coast of the new continent. French, Portuguese, and Dutch ports seethed with tales of red men, and many sorry captives of this race were shown ignominously, throughout the old lands. The writings of the Jesuit fathers, however, bore the stamp of reality. By them imaginations were stirred and religious emotions were set aflame. Relations or accounts of events in New France were written at Quebec, at Three Rivers, and at Sainte Marie Among The Hurons. These were sent annual to France where they were carefully edited and printed, for a public that eager awaited their appearance. The Relations, together with a few letters that have been miraculously preserved, and a portion of the Jesuits' Journal, have been translated and reprinted for modern readers."
    The authors continue, 'Sainte Marie-aux Hurons,' Sainte-Marie Among The Hurons, they inscribed their writings, but little of the Sainte Marie around them did they tell. 'We have been compelled to establish a hospital there for the sick, a cemetery for the dead, Church for public devotions, a retreat for pilgrims and, finally, a place apart from the others, where the infidels - who are only admitted by day when passing that way - can always hear some good words respecting their salvation.' In these few words Jerome Lalemant, in 1643, told virtually all that had been known for three hundred years of Sainte Marie Among The Hurons. There was, of course, a chapel and four crosses stood 'at the four corners of our territory.' So much, or indeed so little did we know of Sainte Marie from the writings of the Jesuits, until now (1954), three centuries later, the soil has revealed the story so long hidden - as Sainte Marie, extensive and strong, built by master craftsmen - a story that could not be realized without the evidence that has been bared by the spade. It is a story of men who challenged fate, for we have found that here, in the face of repeated enemy success and the imminent downfall of Huron allies, a remarkable effort was made to establish a settlement where massive buildings were erected, agriculture and animal husbandry practised, and spectacular engineering introduced. Sainte Marie was built at the end of the western trail; it was also built at the end of an era."
     They continue their story, "At no time in the succeeding three hundred years, however was the location of Sainte Marie lost. Always there stood the stonework, relatively unscathed by the flames that consumed the establishment. The Ottawa River and Georgian Bay continued to be the route most travelled by fur-traders and 'Coureurs de bois' until early in the nineteenth century when a road was opened north from Lake Ontario, to the military garrison at Penetanguishene, and new waterways were put into use, bringing into the district an influx of traders, lumbermen, and settlers. When the first Lieutenants-Governor of Upper Canada, John Graves Simcoe, journeyed to Georgian Bay in 1703, a prosperous trading post stood about twenty miles distant. The Governor did not visit the old mission site, but it appears on a map made by one of his party, as 'French Ruins" supposed to be the Church of Ste Mary's.'
     "At various points along the bay traders' posts flourished, and at the Narrows (Orillia). Quetton de St. George, an exiled French royalist, traded extensively with the Indians throughout the territory. Many an eighteenth-century traveller in this remote territory must have sought out these ruins, for the endeavours of the missionaries and their heroic deaths were told and retold to every succeeding generation of Canadians. The Township of Tay was surveyed in 1820, but already in 1819 the land where Ste. Marie had stood was granted to Samuel Richardson, a land surveyor from Wales, who apparently neglected his clearance duties; and a few years later, French Canadians again occupied the site and its environs. Pierre Rondeau, a fur trader and a private with the Michigan Fencibles, in the War of 1812, became the first settler on the site, in 1830, and at the same time came his neighbors, all former voyageurs, who with their families, descended in bateaux from the British military garrison on Drummond Island to the new garrison at Penetanguishene, five miles distant, after the former post became American territory. From one of these, Baptiste Bruneau, the neighbourhood was, for a time, known as Bruneauville. Rondeau himself died after eating 'la carotte a moureau,' or wild parsnip, and was buried at Penetanguishene, the only white settlement in the district. Whoever were the visitors and residents during these years, however, our earliest description of the site comes, fittingly enough, from the pen of a Jesuit priest, the Rev. Peter Chazelle, who in 1844, returned to the scene of the 'great Christian village of Sainte-Marie,' considered the metropolis of Huronia. He was surprised that there 'were no remnants of all these monuments' but recalled that the fathers had removed all portable goods by raft. Also, he explained, 'a man who was having a house built on the shores of Matchedash Bay, came here to remove all the good stones he could find. Then, finally, not long ago, a Canadian bought over a hundred acres of this land. He wanted to clear a field for some reason, I do not know, he scattered them (trees he had cut) and probably threw part of them in the river. This last fact explains why we do not see any big trees here. He was afterwards troubled and unhappy, and could not live here very long. Finally the house became quite inhabitable for everybody; strange noises at night, they said. I think the house is destroyed now, and no-one is surprised. They all say 'that man removed the mission stones.' But the ruins of Ste Marie, he found, had not disappeared. There were mounds and piles of stone. He recognized the spot where the Jesuits' residence had stood by a description he had heard from 'an old chap who used to travel among the Indians and who had said that 'nearly fifty years ago, he saw the remnants of a missionary dwelling and near the ground work, he noticed a stairway leading down to the river where, he tells me, they used to carry water.' More specific information on the site of Sainte Marie a century ago, is found among the papers of Rev. George Hallen, the Rector of St. James Garrison Church at Penetanguishene. Mr. Hallen, became interested in the old ruins, which he passed many times as he travelled by horseback - the pioneer Anglican clergyman in the Southern Georgian Bay district. He recorded his observations on maps and charts with an accuracy that has been proved many times over, as the excavations proceeded."
     The authors of this 1954 copy of "Sainte Marie Among The Hurons" continues, that in "1855 the first student to devote his life to early Jesuit history in America, the Rev. Felix Martin, S.J. visited the site accompanied by Mr. Hallen. He made a careful examination of the ruins and a description of what he found is in the library of St. Mary's College, Montreal. Several pleasing water colour sketches made at the same time are now in the Public Archives of Canada in Ottawa. 'The Fort is a creditable structure of stone and mortar,' Father Martin wrote, 'and the walls still show from two to four feet above ground. The masonry, executed in a workmanlike manner, gives evidence of having been done by skilled masons. 'The shape of the Fort is an oblong rectangle with flanking bastions at the angles. Despite certain peculiarities of detail in its construction, the reason of which are not easy to guess today, it is not hard to discern, in the carrying out of the plan, a careful application of the rules of military art.' Finally, at the turn of the century came the indefatigable student of the Huron country, the Rev. A.E. Jones, SJ Genial and impressive, he travelled the roads of Simcoe County, a familiar sight with horse and buggy sagging under his great weight, inspecting every field and hillside where Huron culture was said to have been indicated. In his work on Old Huronia he has printed Martin's original drawing of the site, made in 1855, adding his own measurements and later developments on the scene, notably the Grand Trunk Railway. Despite the fact that changes occurred as the walls crumbled and as relic-hunters searched the area, the scene by the River Wye has presented essentially the same appearance for over a century - mounds of earth and depressions; three crumbling walls and a shallow trench outlining a rectangle with four square bastion-like corners; a second trench traversed the centre of the rectangle, length-wise. Immediately to the south was a deeper, wider trench that extended to the river. On early maps, bays appear on each side of this depression and by tradition it was called 'the moat,' supposedly the southern boundary of Sainte Marie. A lush growth of bushes and weeds covered the stone work, and in such a state of dilapidation was it, that at the turn of the century it was said to be 'only the ruin of a ruin.'
     "It was not until 1940 that the land once more became the property of the Jesuits. Immediately after the purchase, steps were taken to have the area examined scientifically for further information concerning its size and functions in the past. The Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, was invited to carry on this investigation and for three seasons was engaged in a study, chiefly of the area enclosed within the stonework, the result of which has been published by the archaeologist in charge. Mr. Kenneth E. Kidd. After the termination of his work in 1943, the site returned to its former overgrown appearance, although now a wire fence enclosed the area of the stone rectangle. When we (the Jurys) arrived at the site in the fall of 1947, workmen from the Martyrs Shrine were reconstructing stone walls around the original foundations of four square bastions. Some of these men had been employed on former excavations and were experienced in recognizing certain features in the sandy soil. They reported that when they were preparing to erect the new walls, a stone wall had been discovered below sod level, and, what was more significant, a charred line of blackened timber mould, the remains of a former structure, continued from the stonework into territory which to this time had been considered outside the boundaries of Sainte-Marie. It was this discovery that brought us to the site at the request of the Director of the Martyr's Shrine."
     They authors conclude, "It was slight evidence, but it was the key to the wealth of historical data that has since come to light and that had been until then, locked in the soil since that day in the summer of 1649 when, in the face of the Huron dispersal, and the approach of the Iroquois. Father Ragueneau, Superior of the Mission, had written, 'On each of us lay the necessity of bidding farewell to that old home of Sainte Marie, to its structures, which, through plain, seemed, to the eyes of our poor savages, master works of art, and to is cultivated lands, which were promising us an abundant harvest. Moreover, for fear that our enemies, only 100 wicked, should profane the sacred place, and derive from it an advantage, we ourselves set fire to it, and beheld burn before our eyes, in less than one hour, our work of nine or ten years.' The scene in 1947 could only be described as 'only the ruin of a ruin.' Tall elm trees overhung the rectangle and a row of maples lined it to the west. Weeds, grass, and poison ivy covered the crumbling walls and mounds, and all but concealed the trenches. Stones from fallen masonry lay haphazard in every direction. Tall grass grew in the 120 foot stretch of land to the river, and in the deep trench, called 'the moat,' trees, shrubs, rank weeds, and a variety of wildflowers grew in profusion. To the south of the moat was a white stucco house, with barns, the home of the gamekeeper of the Wye River Hunting Reserve, and a gravel road had been made through the field by the river, to allow entrance to this property. A broad, attractive lawn, bordered with maples, surrounded the house; then, stretching in an elongated triangle into the marshes of Mud Lake, was a windswept area, free of all growth except short, wild grass, traversed only by the casual fisherman who sought out the vantage point of the old dam that cut them off Mud Lake from the River Wye, at the apex of the triangle. For as long as the fall weather permitted, we remained at Sainte Marie tracing the line of timber mould discovered by the workmen and testing the land beside the river. Finally, biting winds off Georgian Bay forced our departure, but not before we had established the fact that Sainte Marie was at least twice as large as had been believed to that time, and an entirely new conceptions of the mission-fort was beginning to take shape in our minds."
     In tomorrow's blog, I would like to introduce readers to the older of the two books, I acquired recently, regarding the early history of Huronia, and the work of the Jesuits amongst the Hurons. The book is entitled "Saint Ignace Canadian Alter of Martyrdom," by William Sherwood Fox, with the collaboration of Wilfrid Jury, published by McClelland & Stewart, an equally fascinating overview about the discovery of the location where the Jesuit missionaries were tortured and eventually put to death. Please join me for this look back at early Canadian history, and as well, to, by the same measure, stress the relevance of old and dear books as a future resource; for all of us who quest to know.

Rare Books On Sainte Marie Among The Hurons and What A Great Story About Huronia

IN TOUCH WITH HISTORY - AND READING ABOUT THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO DOCUMENTED IT FOR OUR NATION'S BENEFIT

A GOOD OLD BOOK, DOUBLED SIGNED BY TWO HISTORIANS, WHO HELPED BRING SAINTE-MARIE AMONG THE HURONS BACK TO THE FUTURE

PART ONE

     There are times, when I find a treasure, at some antique venue or other, that I give the appearance of being more stunned than usual. Comatose while standing. Well, not really but it sure looks that way. Suzanne knows when I've found something, we call a "sleeper" which in the antique profession are those pieces that have a greater value, than the amount, a dealer assessed, when making out the price tag. It's pretty common. This is very much the case, that acquired expertise in a particular area of collecting interest, is a dealer / collector's greatest asset.     In old books, our specialty at Birch Hollow, Suzanne and I are also practicing regional historians, who know which books are not only the most valuable, in the monetary sense, but what are the most thoroughly well-researched, that can assist our own projects at home, and bolster this blog-site as a bonus. My own passion for the history of Sainte-Marie Among-The-Hurons, dates back to Centennial Year, 1967, and a public school field trip we took to the restored 1600's, Jesuit Mission, of Ste. Marie Among-The-Hurons. I was mesmerized on that day, because of what I saw, and felt, being in that holy place in beautiful Huronia, and it has been on my mind, ever since; and when I can't visit regularly, I read about it instead. Suzanne must have known then, that I had found something amazing, while visiting our friends at Carousel Collectables, in Orillia, yesterday, because I was speechless for longer than usual. Seeing as I am so seldom quiet, she assumed I had found a book that I was obviously going to buy. If I fondle a book for more than a minute, it's a keeper. In this case, looking over my shoulder, in my friend Ted's booth, she read the title, and knew at once, that I had reconnected with my favorite heritage site in all of Canada; Ste. Marie Among-The-Hurons.
     This 1954 first edition, by Wilfrid Jury, and Elsie McLeod Jury, is important because it is signed, by both authors, and dated twelve years after its publication, while both were in Penetanguishene, Ontario, where both were involved in the archaeological work of re-estblishing the former buildings and facilities of the British Naval and Military Encampment on the Harbour, and it is indicated by Mr. Jury, in the book, that this was his next big heritage project, seeing as the Ste. Marie book was completed and published for public consumption. Just possessing a book, once handled, and then signed by these two incredibly talented, and dutiful historians, was quite moving for me, someone who would, one day, like to achieve even a quarter what the Jurys did in their lifetime, working on behalf of Canada, to recover its lost heritage. Here is how the book begins:
     It is dated, October, 1953, University of Western Ontario, where Wilfred was curator of Indian Archaeology. "In the fall of 1947, a hurried telephone call came in to the University of Western Ontario, in London, from the Director of the Martyr's Shrine, at Midland. Discoveries had been made on the site of Sainte-Marie which he believed to be of real importance. Would the archaeologist of the University come to Midland and examine them? We were on the point of leaving for a conference on the Iroquois Indians, in New York State, after a heavy summer of excavating two Huron sites, but this information concerning one of America's most historic spots proved too compelling, and in a matter of hours, we found ourselves on board the train to Midland, the conference forgotten."
     Mr. Jury writes, "What we saw then led us to spend the following winter planning a thorough examination of the land occupied by Sainte-Marie-aux Hurons. It was hoped that the secrets of the past would be bared and that we might learn the full extent and exact nature of the buildings that had once stood there. To members of the Society of Jesus, there was a special significance in the undertaking, for in the absence of written information they were eager to learn every fact and detail that would throw more light on the life of their illustrious predecessors. The University, along with all scholars, was concerned with the contribution that such an investigation would make to our knowledge of early Canada. We were anxious to discover how the seventeenth-century Europeans responded when transplanted to a remote territory, surrounded solely by stone-age people; how he coped with the forces of nature and extremes of climate, and with the lack of transportation. What had been the outcome of his dependence on wood, the only indigenous raw material? We would discover how he built his home and obtained a livelihood in a land productive only of corn and beans, with a short season of wild fruit, and where the natives farely ate meat; how he protected himself amidst a population generally unfriendly and with ever-shifting loyalties, a people dwindling through epidemics and perpetually harassed by enemies.
     "A joint project was therefore planned. The Society of Jesus in Upper Canada, would pay the expenses of the dig, while the University of Upper Canada would pay the expenses of the dig, while the University of Western Ontario, would lend the services of the archaeologist and other scientists, would supply the scientific instruments necessary, and would pay for photographic records. All relics and specimens recovered were to be the property of the Society of Jesus; the field notes, charts, maps and other data would remian with the University. The co-operation throughout the joint project was exemplary. We, our technical staff, and numerous visitors from the University, were treated with courtesy by the Director of the Martyr's Shrine, the Rev. T.J. Lally, S.J. and with every kindness by the staff of Fort Ste. Marie Inn, which for four seasons was our home. Sainte-Marie is situated in the heart of Huronia. For variety of scenery the district is unsurpassed. Rolling wooded hills form lovely valleys and far vistas. Fine beaches stretch for miles along the shoreline, and to the north, in Georgian Bay, is spread a labyrinth of rocky gemlike islands, tossed in anger, we are told, by the giant Kitchikawana, whose tomb lies in their midst, dominating the passage to the west. Across the bay, tall hardy jack pines bend eastward, perpetually driven by the prevailing west wind."
     The author records that, "To this area thousands of Canadians and Americans come yearly, and it is natural that many of them should seek out the historic spots of three hundred years ago. The excavations almost immediately attracted more than had ordinarily come to Sainte-Marie. Throughout the summer of 1948 hundreds came to watch us work. Before the second season had well begun, visitors from far and near came in ever-increasing numbers, and we recognized the opportunity of acquainting our fellow citizens with the airms, methods, and results of an archaeological expedition. We felt bound, also, to share with them the knowledge that we were gaining of this particular manifestation of the earliest period of European habitation on the North American continent. We therefore undertook to reconstruct, partially, certain features of the old fort, to outline others, and generally make the site well-explanatory to some degree. Eighteen-foot poles were placed ten feet apart to outline the original palisade walls. Railway ties, given by the Canadian National Railways, were laid over the foundation of the former buildings and whitewashed weekly. One cellar was left exposed. A model building of the same construction as a seventeenth-century original was exhibited; numerous explanatory signs were erected. At the entrance, a large scale drawing of the reconstructed fort, up to the point of our excavation, was mounted.
     "The canal proved particularly instructive to visitors. The landing basins and complete channel were kept clean and bared to their original proportions. The timber of the aqueduct was removed for safety's sake, but was replaced by similar poles and pointed pegs. The original timber in the canal was removed for the winter months. The spillway, the first local or water chamber, and other large timbers which could not be removed, were treated with preservatives and guarded as carefully as possible against the winter's ravages. Our policy of making the site speak for itself proved successful. It required time and ingenuity but comparatively little expense. During our last summer at Sainte-Marie, some 52,000 people signed a visitor's book. Schools, camps, Women's Institute groups, teachers, conventions, newspapermen's conventions, and many other groups came to visit the site. The historical background of the area was described, our discoveries were explained, and the technique of excavating could be observed. Our particular gratitude for help, in sustaining interest in the excavation is due to the Huronia Historic Sites and Tourism Association, and its then President, Mr. Norman D. Clarke of Barrie."
     It is also recorded, that "As this preface was being prepared for the press, we learned with deep regret, of the death of the Director of the Martyr's Shrine, the Rev. T.J. Lally, S.J. with whom we have worked for the past eight years with the common object of discovering and examining the old Jesuit mission sites in Huronia." It is concluded with the names of Wilfrid Jury and Elsie McLeod Jury, dated 1953.
     The well written text begins, "There is a high hill on the souther shores of Georgian Bay, in central Canada, near the Town of Midland, which thousands of people climb yearly. At its foot, a wide expanse of evergreens stretches toward a mirror-like stream called the River Wye. Beyond are rolling hills of farm lands, and deep wooded patches of many hues. To the north, the dark blue waters of Georgian Bay change their color hourly; to the south, the river widens into broad marsh lands, where splashes of fresh water shine through tall bullrushes. Through the heart of this quiet valley, the white threat of a modern highway winds, serving commerce and industry, and bringing to this spot pilgrims and sightseers from every corner of Canada and the United States, and indeed from almost every country in the world, because it was at the base of this hill, in the year 1639, that the Society of Jesus built a central residence for the Mission to the Huron Indians. Here, for ten years, men of culture and education lived among savages, in the heart of an unknown continent, an ocean removed from their native France; and five of them, near here, met violent deaths, caught in the holocaust of native warfare. To their memory, a handsome grey stone, twin-spired church, known as the Martyr's Shrine, today rises over the scene. Near the river bank, ruins may be discerned through the heavy trees. Fort Ste-Marie, reads the sign erected there by the Ontario Department of Highways. Sainte-Marie-aux Hurons, those who lived here, called it, over three hundred years ago. And although long forsaken, Sainte-Marie has remained in men's memories, the focal point in an epic of North American history, that has never failed to stir imagination of every successive generation. It is true that for a century before the founding of Sainte-Marie, Europeans had been crossing the Atlantic Ocean to fish and then to trade, returning annually to their homeland. At the time a few settlers clustered around the rock of Quebec in the St. Lawrence River, and hugged the rugged coasts of New England and Virginia. But only the most daring faced inland, explorers and traders searching out the lakes and rivers that were as yet untravelled by the white man.
     "The men who lived at Sainte-Marie-among-the-Hurons were in search of human souls, and with the courage of early Christians, they faced inland with their lay helpers, travelling, by foot and by canoe, eight hundred miles beyond the fringe of European civilization, past the rapids and the whirlpools of the St. Lawrence, north on the Ottawa, crossing the Nipissing Lakes, over thirty to fifty rough, rocky portages, until they descended the French River to the open waters of Georgian Bay, where, facing south, they threaded their way through the thousands of islands to the mouth of the Isiaragui, which we call the Wye. Throughout the ten years that Sainte-Marie was occupied, not only food and clothing were transported over the arduous route, but building materials for this first European settlement in the interior of America; young calves, pigs, and chickens for agricultural purposes, in the wilderness, tools, and implements for tradesmen, who were to ply they crafts in the heart of a world of primitive peoples. The identity of Sainte-Marie-among-the-Hurons has long been recognized by mounds and depressions, and by the crumbling stone walls. For over a century, scholars and historians have been attracted to it, and much has been written about it; yet little was known of the actual features of the establishment, and still less of the activity that once took place there. For four years, it was our task to explore this area and to examine whatever evidence remained in the soil of the seventeenth century habitation. We here (via the book), present an account of this investigation and its results, at the same time attempting to acquaint the reader with archaeological methods and to pass on to others something of the excitement and satisfaction felt by the archaeologist, as features that have lain for centuries buried deep beneath the soil, come gradually to light. We shall show how, from these discoveries, we have learned much more than was known, or imagined, before of the construction, the form, and the extent of the ancient habitation; and how much this tells us of what manner of men planned and built it, of the lives they lived here, and of the age in which it flourished."
     I will re-visit Ste.-Marie, and this important book, prepared by two exceptional historians, Wilfrid Jury and Elsie McLeod Jury, in tomorrow's blog. Please join me!

Let's Have Some Fun In The Antique Scheme Of Things and Enjoy The Motor Trips Through Ontario

LIVING LIKE DAVID GRAYSON - AND SAYING TO HELL WITH STRAIGHT FURROWS; LET'S HAVE SOME FUN IN THIS CRAZY OLD ANTIQUE BUSINESS

HOW IT BEGAN MUST BE HOW IT FINISHEs - A SORT OF REFINED HUSTLE WITH LOTS OF STOPS ALONG THE WAY, WITH ONLY GOOD VIBES

A Preamble to today's blog:

     There was guy at an auction sale, one day, who would bid me up on all but a few things I was interested in acquiring. I didn't recognize him as an auction regular. We have to pay attention to things like this. I was experienced enough as a bidder, at our country auction sales, to know the value of studying the habits of dealer colleagues and others, including collectors, who could bid up those pieces of which, for example, I had a business interest. This chap had a habit, of bidding me up with a sort of reckless abandon, and then when he got to a certain level, he'd suddenly drop out, turn to his friends and start laughing, as if to say, "I really screwed that guy." I only got two of five pieces that day, and he never always seemed to be able to drop out one bid below the winning amount. And he was bidding regularly, but always doing roughly the same thing; turning after bowing out, and laughing with his mates. Dealers watch for this nonsense, and know how to stop it up, without any necessity of a face to face confrontation. A few of us dealer-kind got together, and decided to teach the fellow a lesson. When some of the bigger ticket items, such as Victorian furnishings, came up for auction in the late afternoon, which was typical of estate sales, we joined forces to stick him with some of the pieces we didn't really want. We'd let him run the bidding up, watching how confident he was raising the amount, turning almost each time, for validation from his companions. Like seasoned poker players, we started playing him, by first of all, watching his change of expression. We knew when he was about to halt his increments one above ours. We took turns bidding against him, so he wouldn't think we had him targeted. We'd get the message he was about to stop bidding, and we'd suddenly refuse to up the ante. That afternoon, we stuck him with four pieces that we had already determined were "dogs," as far as selling them in our shops. He wasn't happy to have got burdened with the pieces, but he kept doing the same thing until the end of the sale. We got what we wanted, because we simply, as a group, smothered his bids with our own; so that each of us got what we came for at a fair price. When we were packing to leave, the auctioneer came up to us, and asked if we had any interest in the four pieces of furniture, a bidder had refused to pay for, citing they were damaged goods. The show-off bidder cost a lot of average auction bidders a lot of money that day, and even when he did win items, refused to follow through by paying for them. These clowns are still playing around out there, and it makes going to auctions a little more stressful than I prefer. Wanting to strangle a competitor? It's crossed my mind, and one of the reasons I stay away, in large part, from auctions, where this interest might surface, and ruin the whole recreational experience. (Starting tomorrow, I will begin a short series of blogs about my auction experiences, dating back to the mid 1970's. A lot of hilarious moments let me tell you!)

     When I worked in the weekly newspaper business, I truly loved the writing challenges. I enjoyed meeting people, covering breaking news, and even, despite the inherent boredom, attending municipal council sessions which created, as a bonus, some social opportunities. Like jobs you've undoubtedly had in your lives, and bosses you'd rather forget, my job was compromised by the reality, I didn't care for the newspaper's management. It was the initiation of my rather nasty jaw disorder, known as Temporal Mandibular Joint Dysfunction, otherwise referred to as "TMJ). This is a clenching and grinding of the teeth and jaw, caused in part by stress and teeth issues. TMJ causes a lot of discomfort and takes a long time to get used to, especially the images of pink elephants in party hats, that sometimes cross my line of vision. Only kidding, but it does cause a lot of spacial, visual issues that can't be corrected by glasses. The only way to get along, with TMJ, is to make every attempt to relax your neck muscles, lessen the stress on your jaw by not clenching, and never taking things too seriously. If you want to know a little more about TMJ, from my experiences, if you think you might have it, you can archive back several years in this blog, to when I wrote a multi-part series.

      By time I finished working in the news business, by the early 1990's, I had done a lifetime's worth of "wear and tear damage," to my jaw hinge. The writing part was therapeutic. Still is to this day. What I was doing however, was "writing while clenching." The copy read this way, as well; but I just couldn't seem to stop tensing up, in part, because of the pressure to perform at work. Expectations were high, that the staff, and I mean all of it, would perform well beyond what they were actually being paid for, and that the writing staff, would never, ever, ever, be hauled into court as a result of a libel claim. We didn't have a big writing staff, so we had to cover a wide array of stories, some rather precarious, out of our areas of expertise, such as courtroom proceedings, which meant we had to be on our game all the time, to avoid making mistakes that could land us, and the publisher, in hot water. There were lots of times we came pretty close, and I did worry about whether or not, newspaper management would back us up, if we did make a mistake, or would they instead choose to throw us to the wolves. This was the saying before the modern age version, about being "thrown under the bus." I didn't want to think this was the case, but as we needed the job to stave off starvation and debtors' prison, most of us learned out of fear, to police each other's work, as an extra safeguard.

     The reason I mention this, is that, early on in my news gathering profession, I carried on what my former girlfriend, Gail Smith, had started me on, as a recreation, that morphed into a profession. Gail introduced me to auction sales, and so generously drove me around to hundreds of antique shops, and heritage sales in Southern Ontario, that very much influenced me to set up my own business; which of course, I opened in the fall of 1977, on the main floor, of the former home and medical office, of Dr. Peter McGibbon, on Bracebridge's Manitoba Street. I had just graduated university, and was wild about the possibilities of using my history degree to pursue a life-long relationship with antique buying and selling. I was a little ahead of myself, and because we didn't have a big bank-roll, I had to take several other jobs, including a reporting gig with Muskoka Publications, in January 1979. The seasonal economy was a tough one for a new business to overcome, and the three summers before we closed, were of only modest improvement in the annual accounting protocol. This was a business registered to my parents, and I was largely the consignor of antiques, while they contributed giftware, which I very much disliked. When we closed, I never stopped being an antique dealer, but there was a period I had to dedicate, to re-supplying my inventory, sold-off during the years of Old Mill Antiques. And, I've got to tell you, even the modest thread of connection to the antique business, the way I had wanted it to be, got me through the tensions of the news business, and the early, miserable qualities and quantities of TMJ. Suzanne got hers from years of grinding her jaw as a teacher. Andrew got TMJ by his late teens. Rob is just on the fringe now. (Put your fingers in your ears, so that you can't here, and move your jaw up and down for a moment or two. If it pops, clicks, clanks, and feels uneven in movement, as if there is a flat side, there is a good chance the condial of the joint, is worn to a flat side. The uneven movement imposes an unspecified burden on nerves and blood vessels in this densely occupied and fragile part of the body. I got my diagnosis from a Bracebridge dentist, and my life improved greatly once I knew all the symptoms associated, including the pink elephants floating by).

     In yesterday's blog, I wrote about the way Suzanne and I have completely violated our plans for retirement, by veering off course, and away from the template we established in, and around, the time Andrew was born, in the mid 1980's. Part of it was the happenstance of having to react to the new normal, of operating a main street business again, after vowing we would never do it a second time (three for me), following the one we had, also in Uptown Bracebridge, north of the picturesque, maple lined, Memorial Park. We did it, at the encouragement of Andrew and Robert, who, by this time, had a pretty successful, but small, vintage music store in the former Muskoka Theatre building, on Muskoka Road in Gravenhurst; about five or six urban blocks from home base. We went from having a successful online business, to getting back into main street commerce, partly I think now, because it was going to afford Suzanne and I the full opportunity to work together. In our former shop, known as Birch Hollow, she kept her job in teaching, while I ran the shop. We worked it together in the summer months, but we also had responsibility of the boys, and they were much more than a handful. Thus, when Suzanne retired, several years ago, this was to become the newly revamped social / recreational venture, with economic fringe benefits. Here's the problem. Suzanne and I are the kind of serious and determined folk, with a competitive streak ten feet wide, who only relax when we fall asleep or are otherwise sedated. I used to drink a lot, to sedate myself. Suzanne has always used knitting as a means of relaxation. Here's the problem with TMJ. It never really lets you relax your thought process, but it is every reason to never allow loose ends to fray. Worry is always multiplied by the spin-off of TMJ, so we, as a rule, limit what we have, at any one time, to clench our jaws about. Like municipal taxes and car repairs. Those get me every time.

     From my earliest days in the news business, while I was beating the crap out of my tiny condial, and setting off a life of suffering with TMJ, I carried on what my former girlfriend had shown me, as a way of diffusing work week stress. Dealing also with the fact she gave me the proverbial heave-ho, shortly after I took the job with The Beacon, I decided to attend more auctions as stress relieving outlets. I found them to be the perfect venue without being a boxing ring, to get away from job stresses, and I even used to cover them for the paper, to see if I could merge the positives with the negatives. It worked. It didn't stop me from developing TMJ, as a fully blossoming reality, but it balanced things out rather effectively. The reason. I loved the opportunity to be around antiques in all their heritage glory. I felt uplifted to be at farmstead auctions, held in beautiful and alluring pasturelands, under some really fabulous conditions of endless blue sky, and warm, bright afternoons. They soon became social occasions, because I didn't have a lot of money to spend purchasing the antiques and collectables that were being auctioned off; but I compensated nicely, by taking photographs of the sale, and doing a sort of overview of the day's event. This pleased the auctioneers who also were big advertisers in Muskoka Publications' numerous regional papers. It was very much a win-win for me, and it didn't hurt the revenues of the paper either. And every now and again, I would buy something to haul home, just to feel part of the auction culture. I loved those very simple country sales, and the prevailing atmosphere of possibility and potential, the electrics we antique folks depend on, to push us to perform better, and accumulate more for less money. It was a social / cultural adventure, a fellow like me enjoyed so much, that like an addiction, I couldn't get enough of the liberating feeling. The same could be said for hunting antiques and collectables generally, shop to shop, venue to venue, across our region of Ontario and beyond. When Suzanne and I got married in 1983, we used antique hunting as a way of diverting our frustrations away from our day jobs, and it worked brilliantly. It was like lancing a boil each and every time, and while I know this may read gross to some, it describes our feelings perfectly none the less. We liked working for ourselves, and our achievements were recognized by the fact we got to profit from being dutiful. In our fields of employment, our successes were assumed by the mother ship, under the category, "hey, we pay you to be excellent, so what you accomplish is for the betterment of the employer." It wasn't hard to come up with a very early retirement plan that would give us a huge, and ongoing incentive, to build for the future. Afterall, as the Burlington references attest, I've been working on this template seemingly forever, to provide an enterprise that is inspiring, uplifting, enjoyable and a little profitable as well.

     Yesterday, I wrote about Suzanne and I taking a business respite, for Family Day (a holiday here in Ontario), and spending part of the day (beyond income tax preparation), with a couple of pizzas, in the comfortable and nostalgic back room of the shop, lounging on the 1970's sofa, listening to the still-working 1970's stereo, playing the 1970's records we wanted to hear from our halcyon days of youth. You know, it was the first time since we opened this new shop, now in its fourth year, that we have actually let ourselves relax in this building, temporarily that is, from the responsibilities of shop maintenance, inventory change-over and customer satisfaction. Talk about silly ass, and being contradictory to everything we had planned right from the beginning, to operate a business that puts fun on a par with business productivity. Obviously, an antique dealer, can't survive on good looks alone, or a full shop of inventory, if there isn't the customer base to help pay the expenses; of what otherwise, would only be unprofitable luxury, for the sheer sake of recreational folly just before bankruptcy all round. TMJ doesn't give us time off, and being intense people from the get-go, each morning, it is difficult to settle down to a gentler way of running the business. At the same time, we know that we are violating our own best intentions, and this isn't satisfactory. How could it be? The template we created, and adjusted over so many years of experience in the profession, is arguably still in place, but now intruded upon by larger than anticipated demands, of what we are told, by our customers at least, is a terrific business; which frankly, has caught us off guard. How many times do you hear retailers, these days, say something like this; that they've got too much business for their own good. We're just having some issues, trying to stay a small "mom and pop" business, at a time when our customers want way more than we can offer, without a major infusion of staff members. We don't want to change our dynamic in that regard, and as strange as this may read, we would almost think of it as a defeat of our master plan, if we had to resort to hiring staff, to operate what we have crafted slowly, and meticulously for so long. But it's true. We now are fighting to keep it a small enterprise, that the two of us old farts can handle, without calling in the cavalry. The boys do help us when things get busy, especially loading-out dressers and cabinets that I now find a lot tougher to toss on my shoulder, with a smile on my face. I will gladly carry a bag of small purchases, and cluster of paintings to a customer's car, but not a flat-to-the-wall that, if it fell on me, would leave me paper-thin and hurting all over. Therefore, we have been buying smaller antique and collectable items, and taking more breaks when possible, to jump on these assorted and luscious sofas, in the midst of the convenient time warp of the 1970's. Until customers catch us in the middle of one hell of a daydream. Bet you thought something else might be going on!

     It's why I continue to pull out my dog-eared copy of David Grayson's "Adventures in Contentment," one of my most frequently consulted books, over many decades, that whips me into shape, as far as reducing stress, and returning me to core values; and in the case of our antique shop template, to a simpler business plan, with a lot more time for visiting our favorite antique shops, and taking gad abouts, like the good old days, when we used the outings as stress relievers. It even worked well, when we were stressed as parents; and low and behold, the antique shopping impacted (by that close association of following mom and dad everywhere), both Andrew and Robert, now successful purveyors of collectable items themselves. We've all had a lot of set-up time, to adjust a business to the way we prefer to spend our time. Of course, for our part, we are running a retirement business currently, while the boys are running a business toward an eventual retirement, hopefully many years down the road. Therefore we do have some differences to contend with, seeing as we have a limited shelf life ourselves, and the boys just keep going and going and going with new projects, and their performance side of business, with a new local country band. The reality, not yet pressing however, is that business increases are going to kill us, unless we learn to steal time when the big clench is on! It doesn't happen too often, but we can aggravate our respective TMJ by not venting in a timely fashion; and as we never show disdain in front of customers, sometimes we only start yelling when we get home, and it sounds like a moose in rut.     It means that we have to be a little harder on ourselves, to get back to the whole purpose of our business, as drafted into our shop constitution from its commencement; and why it has always given us so much liberation when we needed it the most. It's the problem of being inherently serious people, with a penchant for worrying, and the kind of competitive ambition, that keeps compelling us to crush and smother our competition. Hey, I played sports for a lot of years, where there were winners and losers, and I hated losing. But honestly, we have to learn how to release the hounds and let them go, and go and go, and never call them back. I want to enjoy the fruits of our labours, instead of continually climbing up the mountain, and when at the summit, regretting that there isn't an extra mountain to climb as well. This is a problem in the antique profession, and I know quite a few who suffer from the "I have to have it all" syndrome, who can never truly settle down, about questing for yet another big score. It becomes the ever evasive big score, that like a nightmare scenario, is pushed further away, the faster and closer one moves to grab it as the prize. I see them all the time, and it reminds me about the pitfalls of gambling away precious time, always hustling for the best of the best finds, just to make yet another major sale; but never being satisfied. It parallels gambling in this fashion, because one big find, inspires more effort, and more capital investment, and by the law of averages, payoffs can become less and less sustaining.

     It got to the point, with me, that auctions were conflicting with my desire for social and business recreation. Here's why. When I used to attend auctions, the stakes were pretty low. I was buying lesser antiques and collectables, such as common oil lamps, and items from vintage skates and sports equipment, to boxes of old books. When I started attending auctions with Gail, there were far fewer dealers and collectors in attendance. This changed dramatically in the late 1980's, when I could count a dozen or more dealers vying for a very few number of excellent and unique antique items. Add to this, the same number of collectors and home decorators, who had lots of money to invest, to get what they wanted. I said to Suzanne one day, after losing ten or more items that I had been waiting to bid on, that if, on that occasion, I had been connected to a blood pressure meter, I would have blown it to smitherines. That's right. The more intense the bidding got, and the angrier I became at the intense competition, the intensity of the gamble blocked out my sensibility, about staying within the clear lines, of what constitutes paying the correct price, to allow for shop mark-up. To then shelling out way too much, for an item on the block, without room to clear any kind of profit, just because the competition was rigorous. I can remember trying to buy a Royal Albert Trillium cup and saucer, for Suzanne, for her collection of the same, and paying twice the going value, just because another bidder pissed me off, by running up the price. We could have gone to any one of a dozen antique shops in the region, and purchased the same cup and saucer for fifteen dollars less. Now that's what auctions inspire of bidders lacking in self control. It's the reason that, for a time, I gave up attending auctions, as a means of fiscal restraint; and the avoidance of having my blood pressure blow my head off.

     In some ways, it's the reason this biographical exercise is stress relieving on its own. Going back to my early days collecting stuff, even as a child, explains why I was so consumed by the natural environs, at the same time I was hunting and gathering junk. It was all very exciting, but at the same time, the natural environs were gently cradling the whole experience. It's why, when I look back on my years collecting, and selling antiques, that the outdoor experience factors so high, in any honest self-assessment, of my successes and failures in this historic profession. I've always enjoyed the outing as much as the discovery of interesting pieces. I could never just be a stationary dealer, waiting for folks to come in with wares to sell. I can not separate antique hunting, and the joys attained, travelling from place to place, in order to make discoveries, and subsequent purchases. The picnics at roadside. The sojourns with fresh produce and baked goods, purchased along the way. The precious moments spent at parks and parkettes, at historic sites, and wandering the streets and lanes of interesting small towns, dotted on the rural landscape; all part of what we have been doing for years and years, as antique dealers with a passion for roaming-about. This has been our serious side of the business, just as selling our finds has always been. Yet by minor miscalculation, we have found ourselves neck deep, in a far more serious business plan, than we had ever anticipated was possible, with stoic, stick-to-objective veteran dealers. When we can't roam, we get restless.

     We have caught ourselves in time, me thinks. Possibly, another year of working in this fashion, would have made us truly dull people, who only get buzzed when they hear coins clinking in the cash box; or get turned on, when there's the flash of folding money in front of us. You see, we've never been in the antique business just for the money. I can think of a hundred other pursuits I'd choose above antique buying and selling, I'd opt for if money had been the only consideration. Our link with antiques and history, has been a passionate one, and a way to make money while enjoying travel and outdoor recreations. It's just not the same being stuffed into a shop all the live long day, no matter what the profit situation is, at any given time. We're only as good in this profession, as we are satisfied by the results of hunting and gathering. It's nothing new for me. Arguably, I was born with this inherent passion for outdoor adventure, and if you've read my tales of Burlington's Ramble Creek, and Harris Crescent, you'll appreciate my sincerity in this regard. My parents knew and respected my interests, and offered me the encouragement of an open door policy, to explore to my heart's content the world just beyond; or until I got hungry or wet to the bone, and wanted to return home.

     Suzanne and I had a long discussion about core values, yesterday, and where we need to make adjustments, especially in our rigorous schedule; to once again, make sure that our work is mixed with the recreation that has always peaked our curiosity, and drawn us to travel together, on so many enjoyable missions of discovery. Most of it, was discovering ourselves, and what we wanted most out of our lives, individually and when together. Our intent was never to make a honking big business out of our mainstreet antique shop. It was to re-create you see, some of those charming old mom and pop antique shops we used to visit, in the early years of planning, run by folks we wanted to emulate, because of their strong relationships with each other, and their obvious love for history and its relics. People who had found their niche in life, sooner than others, and who gained solace in the midst of antiquity, and companionship, in the mutual respect of the curator's existence, preserving the past for the posterity of the future. How I longed to be the oldtimer, sitting at the back of the shop, with a smoldering pipe, in one hand, a good book in the other; my wife knitting yet another pair of woolen socks, as we wait for the familiar ring of the front door bell, announcing the very next social encounter, with a lover of antiques. A story-book ending to a long, long adventure. A sentimental journey? Well, we were good with that! It was the plan. A well thought out plan it was! As is the danger of our profession all the time, because of something as simple as word of mouth between customers, some things happen as a result, that put business up a big notch. The difficult part, is knowing how to come back down without too much collateral impact on anyone connected with us, especially customers.

     The solution really, comes down to a simple reckoning, that we have achieved the success we needed, to validate opening this shop, conveniently connected to the music enterprises run by our sons. This is really neat, as far as a family operation. We just have to adjust to the fact that the boys are full of vim and vinegar, with lots of exciting realities yet to experience, and we've had our rightful share already. This isn't to suggest we plan to close the shop due to retiring age, but rather, it will influence our collective attitude, "moving forward," as they say. We might instead, move a little sideways, or even step back a tad, to regain our sense of propriety, to our original mission statement; if it's fun, let's do it. If it sucks, we should abandon it! It's hard to deny, we've had the kind of success that makes it fun, yet we still have to be loyal to the way we got here in the first place. And to be brief, it has everything to do with perception; and knowing full well, that to be in this business, demands attention to detail, continuous learning, the patience of Job, and a light heartedness, to at the end of the day, sit down and have a damn good laugh, about the good times in a storied profession. The moment we can't muster this, is the day we have to admit, we need to retire just one more time.

     Suzanne and I are plodding, careful, dutiful, and we always insist of ourselves, that we stop on our travels to enjoy the local fare of whatever community or crossroads we happen to be traveling through, at that moment in our lives together. We have discovered so much about this region and this province, because we are antique dealers, who do stop to smell the coffee; and sample the farm made apple pies sold at roadside; the glorious maple syrup available from roadside tables positioned near sugar bush operations. This is the tradition of being in the antique profession, whether today's antique dealers realize this or not; that being country dealers, demands of us, a knowledge and respect for rural traditions; such that we, in turn, should come to represent the same, when we then offer our finds for sale, in our shops and antique mall booths. This is a provenance important to Suzanne and I, and if we find ourselves compromising this wholesome part of a tradition-laden profession, it will definitely be the opening notes of our swan song for sure.

WHY GO TO A COUNTRY, FARM OR ESTATE AUCTION? IT'S NOT JUST FOR ANTIQUE HUNTERS

IT'S AMAZING THE BARGAINS YOU CAN SCORE AT AN AUCTION SALE

     THE AUCTIONS I USED TO ATTEND REGULARLY, HERE IN THE MUSKOKA HINTERLAND, WERE PROFITABLE IN A NUMBER OF WAYS. FIRST OF ALL, AS ANTIQUE DEALERS IT'S A WAY OF BUYING IN BULK FOR THE SHOP. IT'S AN EVENT WHERE YOU CAN NETWORK AND SOCIALIZE WITH OTHERS IN THE ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE INDUSTRY. AND YOU CAN ACQUIRE USED MATERIALS FOR HOME, HOUSE AND GARDEN, FOR A FRACTION OF THE PRICE, THE ITEMS SELL FOR NEW. IN FACT, THEY CAN BE ACQUIRED MOST OFTEN, CHEAPER THAN AT YARD SALES, AND WITHOUT THE STOP AND START DRIVING ALL OVER THE REGION. HERE'S HOW IT ALL WORKED…..FOR US. I HAVE TO WRITE OF THIS RETROSPECTIVELY, BECAUSE I HAVEN'T PURCHASED ANYTHING AT AN AUCTION FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS……SIMPLY BECAUSE THERE HAVE BEEN VERY FEW IN OUR AREA OF SOUTH MUSKOKA. WHEN THERE HAS BEEN AN AUCTION, IT HAS BEEN A SPECIFICALLY "ANTIQUE" EVENT, WITH ITEMS CONSIGNED BY GENERALLY CASH-STARVED DEALERS (AND COLLECTORS), AS A BUSINESS FUNDRAISER. I NEVER GO TO THESE EVENTS AND I WILL NOT PAY A BUYER'S PREMIUM. CALL ME OLD FASHIONED. IF THE OLD TIMER AUCTIONEERS I KNEW, AND RESPECTED, DIDN'T NEED TO CHARGE BUYER'S PREMIUMS, THEN THE NEW BREED OF AUCTION CALLERS DOESN'T NEED TO EITHER. I LIKE THE AUCTIONS I ATTEND, TO BE SOCIABLE, INTERESTING, RANDOM, OF A HOUSEHOLD NATURE (EG. ESTATE), AND NEVER REQUIRE AN AUCTION PADDLE. I WANT THE FOOD VENDOR TO HAVE SOME BALLPARK HOTDOGS, SAUSAGES ON A BUN….FOR WHEN I'M HAVING A REALLY GOOD DAY, AND THE POP SHOULD BE ICE COLD…..AND THE COFFEE MUST TASTE LIKE COFFEE. I WANT TO RELAX, BID A LITTLE, CHAT WITH OUR FRIENDS, LOOK AND LEARN, AND WELL, HAVE A FULL LOAD OF ACQUISITIONS AT THE END OF THE SALE. THIS TEN YEARS AGO, AND FURTHER BACK, WAS A NORMAL WEEKEND AUCTION SALE. IT HAD EVERYTHING I WANTED, AND OUR FAMILY WAS THERE AS ENTHUSIASTIC PARTICIPANTS. WE DROPPED THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS AND INVESTED A LOT OF QUALITY TIME. OF COURSE I'M DISAPPOINTED THOSE DAYS ARE LONG GONE.

     IN PREVIOUS COLUMNS (BLOGS), I WROTE ABOUT MY INTEREST IN THE TRADITIONAL AUCTION JOB-LOT, WHERE MANY BOXES OF HARD TO SELL (ON THEIR OWN) BOXES OF KITCHENWARE AND BOOKS ETC., ARE COMBINED AS A LOT AND MAY REPRESENT FROM FIVE TO FIFTEEN BOXES. THE AUCTIONEER MIGHT BE RUNNING BEHIND SCHEDULE, AND CAN'T DELAY SELLING THESE INDIVIDUAL BOXES, OF LARGELY THE SAME CONTENTS……HARVESTED FROM AN ESTATE KITCHEN, FOR EXAMPLE. THE BEST JOB-LOT TO FIND, IS ONE THAT IS CLEARLY A KITCHEN CLEAN-OUT, (BECAUSE YOU'VE STUDIED IT IN ADVANCE), IF YOU APPRECIATE AND CAN BENEFIT FROM THE COOKERY COLLECTIBLES WITHIN. SINCE WE BEGAN IN THE ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE TRADE, THESE VINTAGE AND NOSTALGIC KITCHEN COOKWARE, UTENSILS, DEVICES, ROLLING PINS, (GLASS AND WOODEN), MUFFIN AND BREAD PANS, AND THE LIST GOES ON AND ON, HAVE BEEN OUR PROVERBIAL "BREAD AND BUTTER," IN TERMS OF PROFITABILITY. WHAT WOULD ALWAYS MAKE THIS A REAL BARGAIN, IS WHEN THE AUCTIONEER WAS JUST ABOUT TO MOVE ON TO THE NICE VINTAGE FURNITURE, EVERYONE AT THE SALE HAD BEEN WAITING FOR…..BUT HANG ON…..NOT US!  WE WANTED THE JOB-LOT. THE APPROACH OF THE FURNITURE PART OF THE SALE, WOULD CREATE A RUSH TO GET COFFEES, AND BUTTER-TARTS (WHEN AVAILABLE), AND START FORMING RINGS AROUND WHAT IS ALWAYS THE HIGHLIGHT OF THE AUCTION. I SHOULD EXPLAIN, THAT A MAJOR SHIFT FROM BRIC-A-BRAC TO BIG TICKET ITEMS, WARRANTED A COFFEE BREAK FOR THE AUCTIONEER, AND THE AUDIENCE. THIS GENERALLY LEFT ONLY A FEW SOULS LEFT TO BID ON THE JOB-LOT OF BOXES, AND BECAUSE WE KNEW THE VALUE OF THE COLLECTIBLES INSIDE THOSE BOXES, IT WAS ALMOST HUNDRED PERCENT ODDS, THAT WE WOULD BE LOADING THEM INTO OUR VAN AFTER THE BIDDING. BY THIS POINT AUCTION GOERS GET WEARY OF THE "SMALLS" AS THEY ARE CALLED. IN THOSE REGULARLY GATHERED "JOB-LOTS" OF "SMALLS", THE ASTUTE BUYER COULD ACQUIRE BOXES OF VINTAGE AND NEW LINENS, FROM TABLE CLOTHES TO PILLOW CASES……BEDSPREADS, SHEETS, BATHROOM MATS (ALL CLEANED), AND METERS OF FABRIC. SUZANNE HAS PURCHASED THOUSANDS OF YARDS OF FABRIC IN THIS BULK (REALLY CHEAP) FASHION, BECAUSE OF HER SEWING PROJECT NEEDS, AND THIS WAS A HELL OF A WAY TO MAKE SOME AFFORDABLE ACQUISITIONS. YOU'RE RIGHT. BUT YOU DON'T REALLY GET TO SELECT THE FABRIC YOU REALLY WANT…..JUST WHAT IS BEING OFFERED FOR AUCTION. SUZANNE IS ONE OF THOSE "MAKE-DO, WORK-WITH-WHAT-YOU'VE-GOT" KIND OF PEOPLE……SO THESE AUCTION JOB-LOTS ALWAYS PAID DIVIDENDS, WHEN FABRIC WAS NEEDED "DOWN THE ROAD." THE SAME WITH WOOL. WE HAVE OLD PINE CUPBOARDS HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, FULL OF THESE COLORFUL BALLS OF WOOL, FOUND AT AUCTIONS IN LARGE QUANTITIES. SHE MAKES MITTS, SCARVES, TOQUES AND TAMS FROM THIS FOUND WOOL, AND ALTHOUGH SHE HAS TO ADJUST TO THE QUANTITY, THOSE WHO BUY HER WINTER-WEAR, ARE HAPPY THAT THEY ARE HOME-CRAFTED……REGARDLESS OF THE COLOR. ARE THEY WARM? YOU BET.

     AS WELL, WHEN SUZANNE AND I FIRST STARTED GOING TO AUCTIONS, THEN UNDER THE CAPABLE DIRECTION OF LES RUTLEDGE, AND THEN ART CAMPBELL, WHO HAD ACTUALLY WORKED ALONGSIDE LES, WHEN THERE WERE MAJOR ESTATE SALES,….. WE  USED WHAT LITTLE MONEY WE HAD, TO BUY UP THE BEST QUALITY POTS, PANS, BAKING TRAYS, MUFFIN TINS, MOULDS FOR JELLIES, AND CAST IRON FRYING PANS. IN FACT, WE WERE ABLE TO OUTFIT A KITCHEN WITH COOKWARE, AFTER ONLY THREE ESTATE SALES, DURING THAT SUMMER AUCTION SEASON, BEFORE OUR SEPTEMBER MARRIAGE. WE'RE PROUD OF THIS, BECAUSE WITH WEDDING GIFTS OF THE HOMEMAKING KIND, AND OUR AUCTION ACQUISITIONS, WE HAD AMAZINGLY WELL STOCKED CUPBOARDS…..THAT COULD HAVE EASILY BEEN TURNED INTO A COMMERCIAL KITCHEN WITH A FEW MINOR TWEAKS. NOW THERE ARE A LOT OF FOLKS, WHO HAVE NEVER BEEN TO AUCTIONS; OR THOUGHT OF THEM AS VIABLE, SENSIBLE, AFFORDABLE SHOPPING LOCATIONS AND ALTERNATIVES, FOR BUYING NEW STUFF. THEY WILL MOST LIKELY FIND THIS CRAZY-TALK, THAT THERE ARE ACTUALLY THESE KIND OF BARGAINS AVAILABLE, FOR THOSE WHO AREN'T INTERESTED IN THE ACRES OF ANTIQUES BEING OFFERED. I JUST KIND OF TAKE IT FOR GRANTED, AND I DON'T OFTEN WRITE ABOUT THIS ASPECT OF THE SALES; JUST BECAUSE I FIGURE MOST PEOPLE ARE AWARE THAT THERE IS A WILD AND DIVERSE SELECTION OF GOODS AT A TYPICAL ESTATE AUCTION. "ESTATE" USUALLY MEANS DISPERSAL OF EVERYTHING A FORMER OWNER POSSESSED. SO EVEN IF YOU'RE A HOME DECORATOR, A HOBBY CRAFTSPERSON, PROFESSIONAL SEAMSTRESS, KNITTER, HOME-MAKER, GARDENER, OR HOME HANDYMAN, THESE AUCTIONS CAN BE VERY SURPRISING, AND OFFER SOME AMAZING DISCOUNTS ON NEARLY NEW ITEMS. WE'VE BOUGHT JOB-LOT BOXES OF BEDROOM ITEMS, AND FOUND EATON'S DEPARTMENT STORE SHEETS, IN EVERY SIZE, STILL IN THE PLASTIC WRAP. THE PRICE. PENNIES, WHEN ALL THE OTHER VALUATIONS OF ARTICLES IN THE BOXES ARE CONSIDERED. I CAN'T POSSIBLY TELL YOU ALL THE NEAT FINDS WE'VE MADE IN THESE BOXES, OF FIFTY TO SEVENTY-FIVE YEAR OLD DEPARTMENT STORE WARES, STILL IN THE ORIGINAL BOXES, INCLUDING VINTAGE DRINKING GLASSES THAT HAVE NEVER BEEN USED.