SORRY FOLKS. I'VE BEEN WRITING FOR FORTY YEARS AND WHILE IT'S TRUE I HAVE NEVER WON A PULITZER, A BOOKER PRIZE OR ANY KIND OF MAJOR CASH AWARD THAT WOULD ALLOW ME TO QUIT MY DAY-JOB, IN ORDER THAT I MIGHT SPEND FROM HERE TO ETERNITY WRITING, IN THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION OF THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA, I HAVE BEEN AWARDED SOMETHING I HAVEN'T HAD BEFORE.
DARN TOOTIN' ! I GOT MYSELF A CYBERBULLY TROLL WHO MAKES RIDICULOUS COMMENTS NUMEROUS TIMES EACH WEEK. TRYING I SUPPOSE TO BE SOMETHING SPECIAL AT LEAST IN HIS OWN MIND. YET AS A RATHER GLARING CONTRADICTION, IN THE SPIRIT OF BEING A CYBERBULLY TROLL TYPE CHARACTER, IT SEEMS ABUNDANTLY SENSIBLE TO PROTECT ONE'S IDENTITY, WHICH IN THIS CASE BAFFLES ALL LOGIC. WE KNOW WHO THE BULLY IS, WHERE HE LIVES, WHAT HE DOES AS A PROFESSION AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF OTHER INTERESTING DETAILS WE NOW APPRECIATE BY THE COURSE OF DUE DILIGENCE. WHAT OUR TROLL, AND ANY COLLABORATOR HE MIGHT HAVE EMPLOYED TO HELP FULFILL THIS DIRTY DEED, SHOULD BE AWARE OF, IS THAT IT ISN'T ALL THAT DIFFICULT TO FIND OUT THE INDIVIDUAL WHO SIGNED-UP THE FAKE ACCOUNT. WE DON'T REALLY NEED THIS HOWEVER, AS THE FELLOW OUTED HIMSELF FOUR OR FIVE TIMES ALREADY IN HIS MEAN-GUY COMMENTS, WHICH WERE INTENDED, AS HE NOTED THIS WEEK, JUST TO "MOCK" ME AS THIS BLOG'S "ONLY READER." GEEZ, THINK I CAN DO BETTER THAN JUST YOU CHUCK! IT SHOULD ALSO NOT COME AS A SURPRISE TO OUR FRIEND CHUCK LORRIE, THAT THE EDITORIAL MATERIAL HE SENT US DURING THE PAST TWO MONTHS, IS NOW MY PROPERTY TO DO WITH AS I PLEASE, AND SEEING AS YOU HAVE BEEN INTENT ON BEING RECOGNIZED FOR THE BULLY YOU ARE, I HAVE A PLAN TO PUBLISH THEM IN AN ESSAY ON CYBERBULLYING SOMETIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE. WE WILL PROSECUTE YOU MR. TROLL. BUT, HERE'S THE PLUM IN THIS PARTICULAR PUDDING. CEASE AND DESIST MAKING YOUR UNREMARKABLE COMMENTS, NOW AND IN THE FUTURE, AND BE SPARED THE PUBLIC HUMILIATION OF BEING OUTED IN THE LEGAL PROCESS, WE HAVE ALREADY SET IN MOTION. IF YOU ARE AS WISE AS YOU THINK YOU ARE MR. TROLL, YOU WILL DISAPPEAR INTO THE ABYSS OF CYBERSPACE TO NEVER BE HEARD FROM AGAIN. ON THE OTHER HAND, IF YOU WISH TO CONTINUE THESE SENSELESS ATTACKS, THE FILE WILL BE TURNED OVER TO THE THE POLICE AND WE WILL PRESS CHARGES FOR CYBER-BULLYING AND HARASSMENT.
AS FOR MY BLOG READERS, I OFFER MY SINCERE APOLOGY FOR TEMPORARILY SUSPENDING THIS PAGE. SEEING AS MY WIFE AND RESEARCH PARTNER SUZANNE IS UPSET AT THE COMMENTS, MORESO THAN MYSELF, IT JUST SEEMS APPROPRIATE TO TAKE A BREAK TO MOP-UP A TROLL. SEE YOU AGAIN AT A FUTURE DATE.
Survival On The Muskoka Homestead
I CONFESS, TO BEING IN AWE, WHEN SUZANNE AND I TRAVEL AROUND TO OUR REGIONAL CEMETERIES, PUBLIC, AND THOSE AFFILIATED WITH AREA CHURCHES, AND STAND ON THE GRAVES OF THOSE PIONEERS, I RECOGNIZE, IN NAME, FROM THE HISTORY TEXTS I'VE BEEN READING. I DO THINK ABOUT THE WAY MUSKOKA APPEARED, TO THESE SETTLERS, WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN THE REGION, SO FULL OF EXPECTATION, AND HOPEFULNESS, A PROMISING NEW CHAPTER WAS ABOUT TO BEGIN. I THINK BACK TO THE HARDSHIPS THEY FACED, AND THE BACK BREAKING WORK THEY HAD TO PERFORM, TO MAKE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST GAIN, ON THIS PRECARIOUSLY APPOINTED LANDSCAPE. YET, I GET MOST SATISFACTION, WRITING THEIR STORIES FOR A CONTEMPORARY AUDIENCE, THAT I BELIEVE, SHARES SOME OF THIS REVERENCE FOR THE GROUND BREAKING EFFORTS OF OUR TRUE FOUNDERS. THERE ARE MANY UPLIFTING STORIES, ABOUT PIONEER SUCCESSES, AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS, TO OVERCOME ADVERSITY. SO VERSUS A SAD TALE, THE CONCLUDING CHAPTERS, WHENEVER I WRITE ABOUT THE HOMESTEAD PERIOD, FOR ANY PUBLICATION, IS ALWAYS OF A MUCH MORE RESOLVED, ACCEPTING, REVERENT TONE. I SUPPOSE I'M TAKING A PAGE OUT OF MY MOTHER'S PLAY BOOK, WHEN I WRITE THESE PIECES, TRYING TO IMPRESS THE POINT, THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE THANKFUL TO THOSE WHO BRAVED THE ELEMENTS, AND ENDURED THE SHORTFALLS, TO INVEST IN THE FUTURE OF THIS REGION OF ONTARIO. WHILE IT'S CERTAINLY TRUE, THAT MANY PIONEERS DID ABANDON MUSKOKA IN THOSE FIRST YEARS OF SETTLEMENT, BACK TO THE 1860'S, AND SOME EVEN DIED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF HARDSHIP, THE MAJORITY DUG-IN, AND MADE THEIR FARMSTEADS WORK; OR THEY FOUND A WAY TO GENERATE INCOME, EVEN BY TRADE, WHEREVER IT EXISTED AT THE TIME. THEIR FAMILY NAMES ARE STILL IN EVIDENCE TODAY, IN THIS DISTRICT, SHOWING THE RESOLVE THEY HAD, TO CONQUER WHAT AT TIMES, SEEMED WELL BELOW PROSPEROUS CULTIVATION, AND A BOUNTIFUL HARVEST. WE DO OWE THEM THIS RESPECT. THEY GOT THE BALL ROLLING, SO TO SPEAK, FOR WHAT WE CALL HOME TODAY. YES, WHEN I LOOK AT THEIR MOSS COVERED TOMBSTONES, AND CAN JUST BARELY READ THE INSCRIPTIONS, I THINK ABOUT WHAT SOME TODAY CALL "THE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE," TO PROMOTE THEIR CONTEMPORARY BUSINESS VENTURES. THESE PIONEER FOLKS KNEW THE TRUE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE. IT WASN'T EXACTLY, LEISURE AT LAKESIDE.
HERE'S ANOTHER RECOLLECTION, WRITTEN BY SHEA FAMILY HISTORIAN, BERT SHEA, IN HIS LATE 1960'S BOOK, "HISTORY OF THE SHEAS AND BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP." BERT SHEA IS SUZANNE'S UNCLE, AND HE WAS WRITING ABOUT THE UFFORD, THREE MILE LAKE AREA, OF THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES. THE BRIEF CHAPTER, IS ENTITLED, SIMPLY, "THE HARVEST."
THE HOMESTEAD HARVEST
"Every member of the Shea family (circa 1863) realized the importance of passing time, so many things to do while the warm season lasted; the summer was not an idle one. John Lily and William, (brothers), had made a canoe each. Susanna had made several trips to South Falls, for the mail and to post letters." This was a difficult and long canoe traverse, with portages necessary. "The garden seeds that had been sown in the new land, by showers and sun, had grown in abundance. By mid August, the corn stood tall and loaded with golden ears, ripening in the hot August sun; the buckwheat was coming in, the wheat had found the high fallow land an ideal place to root; and the opening in the bush for the summer sun to pour in, and in the refreshing showers, there was no question as to quantity, and quality, when August still stirs, the rank golden heads stood hardening in the sun."
Mr. Shea writes, "And all about the plot, the chirp of the chipmunk was heard, as he strove to harvest as much of the new grown food; though strange to him, he knew it would be grand for his winter store. The raccoon would take a share of the golden corn whose dry leaves rustled in the harvest moonlight, as he tore open the husks and helped himself to the golden grain, but plundering the precious crop could not be tolerated. Needless to say, John Lily's big hound played havoc with the destructive raccoons. But better still, Grandaddy picked the corn, stripped back the husks, braided the ears together, in long strings, and hung them on oak pins driven into the shanty wall, to dry and harden the golden grain. The wheat and buckwheat, he cut with his new sickle, bound into sheaves, stooked and capped to cure in the harvest sun, among the stumps and charred logs. The days passed, and when the plump kernels had dried and would separate, from the shuck, 'twas time to thrash. In ancient days the flail had served well, and he had often revelled in his ability to swing the flail, and wield it well to separate from the shuck. This was fine but where the threshing floor, and where the lumber to build it with, (spaces left between the boards) the wheat was precious and not be lost by carelessness.
"And here to serve the purpose, the Indians had used on such occasions, tanned moose or deer hides sewn together. But to serve his purpose, Grandaddy (James Shea) brought out of the shanty, a good wool blanket, and stretched it out on the level ground, and placed the first sheaf of wheat on it, and with a good, stiff hardwood stick, about two feet long, he began the operation of thrashing, pounding the wheat, out of the heads, turning the sheaf over and over, and more pounding, till the heads were broken up, and the grain had been shelled; then another and another sheaf, till the golden grain left the straw, and sufficient wheat was rant its emptying. With the help of Granny Shea, they took the blanket by the four corners, and with care, poured the wheat from one end into a container, while in the process of pouring, the wind blew away the chaff. This process and operation continued for hours."
He writes, "The threshed wheat grew from quarts to bushels and to bags, till the threshing was over, and the steady thump, thump of the operation died away, and the bags were tied with buck-skin strings, or strings from the back of the moose-wood, and set inside the shanty, ready to be taken to the mill (Washago was the closest mill). At that date, this operation could be paid for by flour, taken from the grist, and was called 'toll' if according to your wishes, or your circumstances, you desired to pay that way. Needless to say, in a new country, more paid with toll, than cash, even though they had not sufficient flour to show a surplus, or sufficient to the date, when these stocks could be replenished. Flour received as toll, by the miller, for his work, could be resold by the good miller, to those who had no wheat and money to buy. There was a ready market for flour in a new country. It was about the first of October, when the bags of wheat were ready to be taken to the grist mill.
"It was with pride, Granny and Grandaddy Shea, looked on these two able bodied sons, John Lily, and William, with admiration, as they shouldered the heavy bags of wheat, and made their way to the Beach, Lot 16, Concession 6, the canoe landing. They even packed if necessity called, but to them packing would be part of the added work; they had no intention of carrying a pack of wheat from Watt (Township) to Gravenhurst, or at that date, to Washago, and carry it back. To go by water, there would be two portages out of Three Mile Lake, over the Indian Trail, into Lake Rosseau, at Portage Bay, and another portage at the Indian River rapids at Port Carling, but for the miles by water, they had provided two new canoes and paddles, made from second growth maple, split thin as a knife blades and strong. With the trip before them, the two brothers made their way to the lake, loaded their wheat into the canoes, and pushed off the beach. The first wheat from the township of Watt, was on its way to Gravenhurst by canoe, and paddle, to be made into flour, borne over the waters of the Muskoka lakes, by the young Sheas, leaning slightly forward to paddle with long steady strokes.
"Gun laying before him in the canoe, they set their course for the Portage Bay, and via the Indian Trail to Lake Rosseau. According to my information (author, Bert Shea), this was a trip when hauling to Gravenhurst, that took three days and according to first hand information, few were they of the pioneers, though courageous, were they, who ever took the trip. I do know that some have journeyed with them, but not to any extent. A courageous old pioneer said in his old age, while reminiscing on the past, speaking of the trip he made with John Lily, and William Shea, to Gravenhurst with wheat. Said he, 'One trip like that was enough for me. Conscience. I wasn't afraid, but I was no white-water man'. So on this particular trip, they paddled on to dine on dried venison. Granny's special provision, carried with them for emergencies, or from the gun that was always at hand, to bring in a partridge for their evening meals. As they camped for the night on the sheltered side of some island, the days speed on and in the evening light, on the great waters of Green Bay, two objects were to be seen steadily moving up the bay; with a surge of thankfulness, James Shea saw his two sons paddling their precious cargo up the bay to their landing. Their young eyes had caught sight of their father as he stood to scan the waters of the bay; by the setting sun, they too felt the joy of returning home with flour for bread, for their father to feed his family, through the long hard winter which was rapidly approaching."
The following poetic lines, follow up the story, told by Mr. Shea:
"I saw the summer waining late; I saw the sunlight glisten on the lake; I saw the evening after glow, the sun kiss deep the waters of the lake. I felt the quiet settle in of night, the twilight take of evening's splendor glow, and erase the coloured rugged shore, whose heights stood deeply mirrored in the lake. I felt the night so settle all around, the dark of air and sky and ground, and then the jewels appeared above, and then in awe, I thought of home and them I loved. And as my feet trod o'r the turf, uncertain steps uneven earth, I heard the voices of night around, of wild birds by my footsteps put to flight. And then I saw the light from window clear, my home and loved ones there so dear, awaiting from my burden to partake, of food our supper fresh to bake. The perspiration stood upon my brow, my body weary from the heavy load, but my voice welcome loud and clear, my faithful do announce my coming near."
"The writer (Bert Shea), cannot recall any remarks in particular as to the potato, turnip (called the poor man's butter on dry bread), and other garden crops. But it could be taken for granted, in consideration of the abundance of grain, that the garden produce would be excellent; the ground new and on the south side of the lake, this is a protection from frost. I could add, at this point, an account as related by William Kay, when an old man, reminiscing about the past, and relating to the earlier years in Watt, with much satisfaction, as he stood in the sunset of that lovely October evening. And from his gateway he looked across to the familiar spot, where Shea's first shanty stood. Amidst the quiet autumn fields, and with a movement of his hand, familiar to his way, said he, in referring to a visit to the Sheas, when potato digging was the order of the day. Granny Shea was justing finishing the picking-up job, that totaled for her day's digging. A measure of forty bushels having been dug by herself in new land. In these days there were no potato bugs or parasites of any kind, to affect the crop, except the green cabbage worm that appeared at a very early date, perhaps a native of the green woods, that added to his list of edibles; the newly planted and succulent cabbage plants.
"However, Granny Shea settled his reign by the use of fine, dry hardwood ashes, dusted over the cabbage plants. This fine dust, entering the most wrinkles of the worm's body, producing lye which proved too strong for his survival. Later years, lime dust was used, this being beneficial to the growth of the plant. But the use of lime came in later years, when Grandaddy Shea had built a lime kiln down on the beach, by the foot of the hill. The writer just recently in searching, found splinters of lime stones and other remains, and remnants of his works, and of stone brought there to process for house plastering, chimney or fireplace construction, in pioneer days."
Once again, I have retreated to my favorite portal, at Birch Hollow, looking out over The Bog, with my good friend Muffin, who has been studying the resident red squirrel who was born here at our modest Gravenhurst homestead. Muffin isn't fond of wet weather, and has to be coaxed to go for a walk. We have both come back, this afternoon, shivering from the cold wind and rain, over-taking this early March day. I've been listening to the steamship's whistle for the past few minutes, wondering what it would be like out on the lake, on such a blustery, rainy day. Despite what inclement weather unfurls from the heavens today, it is still a magnificent scene from here to there, and I cherish every moment. I have just had the pleasurable company, of the county crows, who find our hardwoods perfect for their great debates, of which are, me thinks, full of theatrics and bird-kind hubris, and all at considerable volume. I think I could retire to Birch Hollow, without any fear, of having little to write about; because even in the dullest, most adverse circumstance of weather, I am so glad to have this opportunity, to share nature as a comfortable voyeur. From this vantage point, I can very much relate to the pioneer stories told by Bert Shea, from his remarkable little history book about our family; the Muskoka pioneers.
Thank you for joining with me today, to explore the life and times of the Muskoka homestead community.
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