May 28th, 1928 First Day Cover Montreal Airmail to Ramouske, Quebec with Letter From Post Master; Medical Issue Civil War Sword

I REDEEMED MYSELF AS AN ARCHIVIST / COLLECTOR, THANKS TO MY LOVELY BRIDE

AIR MAIL COVER WAS LOCATED - AIR MAIL HISTORY IN CANADA CONSERVED

     IF ONE DAY, AND WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST WARNING, SOMEONE WITH PRONOUNCED ATTITUDE, APPROACHED ME, AND INSTEAD OF SLUGGING ME FOR BEING A KNOW-IT-ALL, ASKED THE QUESTION, "DO YOU KNOW WHERE ALL YOUR STUFF IS," I'D BE QUITE INDIGNANT, THAT ANYONE WHO KNOWS ME, WOULD EVEN ASK SUCH A QUESTION. IF IT WAS SOMEONE WHO DIDN'T KNOW ME, BUT DECIDED TO ASK ME THIS QUESTION ANYWAY, I'D PROBABLY ANSWER "OF COURSE, YOU NINNY. I'M AN HISTORIAN. CAN YOU IMAGINE IF THE HISTORIAN WAS TO MISPLACE OUR HERITAGE? WHERE WOULD WE BE THEN?" THE TRUTHFUL ANSWER, IS THAT I KNOW WHERE MOST OF MY STUFF IS, AT ANY GIVEN TIME, BUT THE REAL PROBLEM, IS WHEN I GET OVERLY PROTECTIVE OF CERTAIN PIECES, AND HIDE THEM AROUND THE HOUSE, LIKE A SQUIRREL WITH NUTS. I SHOULD MAKE MYSELF A MAP BUT AT THIS STAGE OF LIFE, I'M GOING TO WING-IT FOR AWHILE LONGER, UNTIL EVENTUALLY, I CAN'T FIND ANYTHING AT BIRCH HOLLOW WITHOUT AN ARCHEOLOGICAL DIG. IT'S A LITTLE EMBARRASSING TO ADMIT, A SELF PROCLAIMED ARCHIVIST WOULD BE SO CARELESS. ON THE PLUS SIDE, I DON'T LOSE PIECES, I JUST HIDE THEM FOR SAFE-KEEPING SO WELL, THEY REMAIN THAT WAY FOR LONG PERIODS OF TIME. THEY DO TURN UP, BUT USUALLY BY ACCIDENT. LIKE THE HUNDRED OR SO POSTAL COVERS I FOUND LAST NIGHT, LOOKING FOR ONE VERY WELL CONCEALED "FIRST DAY COVER." I ALSO UNCOVERED ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED OLD PHOTOGRAPHS THAT HAD BEEN BURIED FOR AT LEAST TWO YEARS, THAT I HAD ALSO BEEN LOOKING FOR IN THE PAST MONTH. I DON'T BELIEVE MY MIND IS WOBBLING LIKE MY KNEES, BECAUSE I'VE ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS, IN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER; AND SLIGHTLY HAPHAZARD ABOUT LEAVING MYSELF A KEY TO THE TREASURE MAP. FORTUNATELY, AND AS MY WIFE WILL TELL YOU ANYWAY, SHE TOOK ME UNDER HER WING, IN MY MID TWENTIES (SHE WAS FORTY THEN; ONLY KIDDING) MAKING SURE MY COMPONENTS OF A CONTENTED AND SOMEWHAT SAFE LIFE, COME TOGETHER AS THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO, EACH MORNING, AND SO FORTH; INCLUDING RECOVERY MISSIONS, TO FIND WHAT I HAVE SQUIRRELED AWAY, I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT.
     AFTER DINNER MONDAY NIGHT, I MADE A PACT. JUST NOT WITH THE DEVIL. I TOOK THE EVENING OFF. SORT OF. THE OPEN HOURS WERE GOING TO BE SPENT PERFORMING SOME SHERLOCK HOLMES INVESTIGATION. ALL I WAS MISSING WAS HIS CAP AND MAGNIFYING GLASS. I HAVE THEM, BUT I DIDN'T NEED THEM, FOR THE PLACES I WAS GOING TO BE DIVING INTO, HEAD FIRST. MENTAL ALERTNESS? AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED, WHEN YOU ARE ALL WOUND-UP ABOUT SOME MISSING PROPERTY. IF YOU READ YESTERDAY'S BLOG, YOU WILL APPRECIATE, THAT I WAS BORDER-LINE HYSTERICAL. AND THAT WITH ANY TIME-OFF, WHETHER MORNING, NOON OR NIGHT, (REALLY LATE) I WAS BURYING MYSELF IN EPHEMERA. THE GNAWING REALITY, CLENCHING AT MY JAW, WAS TRYING TO REMEMBER, AT ALL COSTS, WHAT I DID WITH A FIRST DAY POSTAL COVER," DATED MAY 8TH, 1928. I KNEW THIS DATE, NOT BY THE MEMORY OF THE LAST TIME I HANDLED THE POSTAL COVER, AND THE PERFECT CONDITION COMPANION LETTER, FROM THE POSTMASTER OF THE TIME. I FOUND THIS OUT, BECAUSE OF A BOOK I PICKED UP, AT A SECOND HAND SHOP, A FEW WEEKS BACK, ENTITLED "GOGGLES, HELMETS &; AIRMAIL STAMPS," BY GEORGETTE VACHON. THE FIRST TIME I OPENED THE BOOK, STILL STANDING IN THE SHOP, I OPENED IT RIGHT TO THE PAGE, WHERE A SIMILAR COVER WAS ILLUSTRATED, AND I INHALED AS DEEP AS MY TOENAILS. GOSH, I OWNED ONE JUST LIKE IT, BUT WHERE, OH WHERE DID I PUT IT FOR SAFE KEEPING. (YOU CAN ARCHIVE BACK TO YESTERDAY'S BLOG, TO READ ABOUT THE BOOK, AND THE FLEDGLING AIR MAIL SERVICE IN QUEBEC IN THE LATE 1920'S). OBVIOUSLY, THE TWO PIECES I OWN, WERE SIGNIFICANT ENOUGH TO BE INCLUDED IN A CHAPTER OF AN IMPORTANT BOOK, ABOUT BUSH PILOTS AND THEIR COURAGE TO CONNECT ISOLATED COMMUNITIES TO THE REST OF CANADA. SEEING AS I OWNED A COUPLE OF PIECES OF CANADIAN POSTAL AND AVIATION HISTORY, OF UNKNOWN VALUE, I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE NEAT AND AN ENHANCEMENT OF VALUE, TO PUT THE COVER, THE LETTER, AND THE BOOK TOGETHER AS A PACKAGE. BUT DAM-IT, I DIDN'T HAVE A CLUE WHERE I HAD STORED THEM AWAY, FOR THEIR OWN SECURITY. I GOT THE "ARCHIVIST SHIVERS."
     LAST NIGHT, AFTER DINNER, AND FINISHING UP THE CHORES AROUND BIRCH HOLLOW, AND OF COURSE POSTING MY DAILY BLOG, I BEGAN A BOX BY BOX, GRID SEARCH OF MY ARCHIVES, LOOKING FOR THE ELUSIVE COVER AND A NEAR PRISTINE LETTER, AUTHENTICATING THE COVER, AND THE DAY IN HISTORY IT MADE AN HISTORIC FLIGHT. SUZANNE CAME OUT OF THE BEDROOM A COUPLE OF TIMES, TO SEE WHAT I WAS UP TO, AS IT SOUNDED LIKE A HOCKEY GAME WAS BEING HELD IN THE LIVINGROOM, WHERE I HAD BROUGHT THE BOXES. I LOOKED FOR NEARLY TWO HOURS. SUZANNE ASKED IF I WOULD SURRENDER SOME FLOOR SPACE, AND LET HER HELP WITH THE SEARCH. I WAS ON THE BRINK OF GIVING UP MYSELF, SO I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH FACE LEFT TO LOSE. HUSBANDS THE WORLD OVER, KNOW THAT THEIR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS WILL LORD IT OVER THEM, IF BY CHANCE, THEY FIND THE SUBJECT OF THE SEARCH FIRST. I WAS WILLING TO RISK IT, BECAUSE THIS WAS AN IMPORTANT COMPONENT OF HISTORY, TO BE LOST IN THIS FASHION; SUNKEN IN A MIRE OF REALLY OLD PAPER AND PHOTOGRAPHS OF WHICH WE HAVE THOUSANDS OF EACH.
     FINALLY I SUGGESTED THAT SHE COULD LOOK IN OUR FLAT-TO-THE-WALL CABINET, THAT ONCE STOOD STATELY IN A CHURCH RECTORY IN TORONTO, WHICH FOR OUR PURPOSES TODAY, IS UNFORTUNATELY USED AS A CATCH-ALL OF RELICS, BUT NOT OF THE RELIGIOUS NATURE. I MENTIONED TO HER, THAT IN THE BOTTOM OF THE CABINET, I WAS HOPING SHE WOULD COME ACROSS A SMALL COLLECTION OF OLD COINS, BECAUSE I SUSPECTED THEY MIGHT BE LOCATED IN A CIGAR BOX, STILL CONTAINING SOME OF THE OLD PAPER WE PURCHASED LAST WINTER, AS PART OF A LARGER COLLECTION. IT TOOK AN AVALANCHE OF INTERESTING ITEMS, (WE FORGOT WE EVEN OWNED) FOR SUZANNE TO CATCH A GLIMPSE OF A SMALL WOODEN BOX, SHE REMEMBERED WAS HALF-FULL OF THE COINS, WE WERE HOPING TO FIND. SHE HANDED ME THE BOX, AND WHEN I OPENED THE LID, I COULD SEE A SMALL PILE OF POSTAL COVERS. I STARTED PULLING LITTLE BAGS OF COINS OUT, AND ABOUT TWENTY COVERS, WITH STAMPS, POSTMARKS AND CANCELLATIONS, WHICH I COLLECT; AND THERE IT WAS, BY GOLLY, RIGHT AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BOX. WHEN I GAVE A LITTLE CHEER FOR OUR GOOD FORTUNE, SUZANNE KNEW IMMEDIATELY, THAT HER HANDIWORK HAD ASSISTED MAKING THE DISCOVERY. EVEN BEFORE I HAD UNFOLDED THE LETTER, JUST TO BE CERTAIN, SHE WAS ALREADY HIGH-FIVING THE CAT, AND JUST ABOUT TO SUGGEST I NEEDED TO GO TO THE OLD ARCHIVIST'S HOME; WHEN I HAD TO REMIND HER, THAT IT WAS MY SUGGESTION, WE LOOK IN THE BOTTOM OF THE CUPBOARD, NOT HERS. OH WELL. WHAT DOES IT MATTER WHO FOUND WHAT, OTHER THAN THE DOCUMENT AND COVER WAS SAFELY IN MY HAND; AT LEAST UNTIL THE NEXT TIME, I PUT IT AWAY FOR SAFE KEEPING.
     THE IMAGES ABOVE, SHOW THE LETTER AND COVER, WITH THE OPENED BOOK, TO THE PAGE SHOWING THE SAME-DAY ENVELOPE. THE COMPANION LETTER IS SIGNED BY THE POSTMASTER, VICTOR GAUDET, A RATHER COLORFUL CHARACTER IN POSTAL HISTORY, ACCORDING TO WHAT WE FOUND IN A BRIEF ONLINE SEARCH. I'LL GO INTO THIS A LITTLE MORE, IN FUTURE BLOGS. HERE NOW IS THE CONTENT OF THE LETTER THAT WAS SENT WITH THE POSTAL COVER, DATED MAY 28TH, 1928. THE STAMP ON THE LEFT CORNER OF THE COVER READS, "THIS MAIL WAS CARRIED BY POSTAL AIRPLANE TO MONTREAL."
     THE LETTER, DATED "MONTREAL, MAY 5TH, 1928," FROM VICTOR GAUDET, POSTMASTER, READS AS FOLLOWS"
     (BUREAU de POSTE)  "Dear Sir:- The object of this letter is principally to direct your attention to the fact that an air mail service has been inaugurated between Father Point and Montreal, with connecting links between Montreal and Toronto, and between Montreal and Ottawa.
     "While it gives me pleasure to forward you this cover, which may possibly possess some historical value by having been carried on the first official air mail flight between Father Point and Montreal. I am anxious rather, that you give this question of air mail transportation your serious consideration, and ascertain just how much it may mean to your business correspondence, not only with Great Britain, but also with Toronto and Ottawa.
     "The initial frequency of the service will be two flights from Montreal to Father Point, two flights per week each way between Montreal and Toronto, and one flight each way between Montreal and Ottawa. On each flight to Father Point, close connection will be made with an outgoing mail carrying transatlantic liner. One flight will be made per week from Father Point to Montreal, carrying a load of business mail from European points.
     "With regard to the flights from Father Point to Montreal, the hour of the arrival of 'plane at Montreal, will depend entirely upon the hour at which the mail steamer reaches Father Point, but it will, I think, be a rare occasion when first class mail from Great Britain will not be expedited in delivery in Montreal from twelve to twenty-four hours, while mail forwarded by air to Father Point, after the departure of the mail steamer from Montreal, will gain from three to four days in delivery in Great Britain.
     "The connections with Toronto and Ottawa will, naturally, be more or less uncertain, as regards the time of departure, but in every case, there will be increased expedition and any mail sent by air to either of these cities, if it bears special delivery stamps in addition to the ordinary postage will, in the case of Toronto, save several hours in delivery, while on a Saturday flight, the saving in time might be as much as thirty-six hours. In the case of Ottawa, the distance in not so great and the saving in time will, naturally be relatively less, but still, it is hoped to prove in this case also, that the air mail service is a decided time saver.
     "There is no question at present of increasing the postage rate on mail matter carried by airplane.
     "Personally, I am most anxious that the business men of Montreal take full advantage of this up-to-the-minute service, as it is only reasonable to assume that its extension, if not its actual continuance, will depend to a great extent upon the degree to which it is used.
     "On Wednesday 9th instant, weather permitting, a flight will be made from Montreal to Rimouski to connect with the outgoing 'Empress of Scotland'. On Saturday, May 12th, a flight will be made, also weather permitting, to Toronto as soon as possible after the arrival of the postal airplane carrying the British mail from the 'Minnedosa,' from Rimouski. All mail so conveyed will be delivered to the addresses immediately on arrival if Special Delivery stamps are affixed. Notices will appear in the lobby of the Post Office giving the latest hour at which mail may be posted to connect with all airplanes carrying mail from Montreal.
     "I am at your service at any time, should you desire any further information on this subject. Yours sincerely, Victor Gaudet, Postmaster."

GUTTERS PARTLY CLEARED, WORKING IN THE RAIN

     After serious, hardcore procrastination, I finally worked up the ambition to tackle the eaves-troughs on the front of Birch Hollow, this afternoon; in the rain and with pants falling down. Suzanne took my new jeans in a tad, because I'm so darn thin, but she did such good job so quickly, she over-estimated a wee bit, on my actual waist-measurement, and they were too tight. So she had to take out the tucks and even then, I had to exhale deeply, and for a long time, in order to snap the button secure. Today, my second day wearing them, they did that denim thing, and suddenly, the jeans were too loose where I need it the most. I'm not an exhibitionist afterall, and up the ladder, I was getting worried, the pants were going to drop to my ankles; me having no escape strategy.     I have never come down a ladder, even once in my life, with my pants around my ankles. If there is a technique, used in these circumstances of haste, it wasn't known by me. I know a few of my mates who have, sometimes with no pants at all, but I started to think about the consequences, of having to call to a neighbor, to help me raise my drawers. This would be quite a rescue operation, because it would necessitate the rescuer, to climb up the ladder, draw up my pantaloons, and help me fasten them at my waist so I wouldn't trip or be constrained, trying to get down the rungs. I pondered how this would look should someone snap a photo, or full length feature film, of the two of us up the ladder, touching each other (oh, the optics wouldn't be good); looking rather confusing, as to whether the pants were coming down, or being hiked-up. I could imagine it all over social media, with a You Tube video of "Gravenhurst couple caught in high wire act, performed on house ladder". Gosh, by the look of the afternoon light, the school buses would be here any minute as well; so not wanting physical exposure or this type of media exposure either, I held onto my pants with one hand, balanced as safely as possible, while I scooped the last few leaves out of the gutter; and then there were rapids in the rest of the trough, as the water began to froth toward the exit. At least the purpose of me being up the ladder, was executed perfectly. By this time, the denim had become pretty heavy with the rain penetration, and the last decline of the ladder, was nearly a misadventure for the Birch Hollow record books. We have had a few, even involving canoes and cartwheels. I was in a state of undress, by the time I hit the middle rung, where Suzanne would have yelled up to me, (if she had been below), "you're doing a half-ass job," and she would have been spot-on. I got to the last rung, particularly compromised, and I had to step very carefully back, and to the side, so as not to trip down the slope a few inches to my rear. I looked around to see if there were any photographers lurking about, but only found a neighbor's cat, sitting on a log in our side yard, staring at me, with what looked like a grin, but I can't be sure. I pulled my pants up, tipped the puddle off the top of my hat, and brought the ladder down; to be raised on a better, drier day this week. I can report to Suzanne that I performed yeoman's work this afternoon, deserving of a fancy desert at dinner. A lemon pie. That would be swell. Cheese-cake possibly. Then she will say, "then make us one, won't you?" I will then wind-out, in good humour of course, with one of those Ralph Cramden classics, from "The Honeymooners," that sounds like, "One of these days Alice; one of these days."  As it is tonight, I will have to beg her to put another tuck in my pants, and she's not going to like that request at all. I'll first of all, offer to perform the repair myself, and while she might hand me the needle and thread so that I can make the adjustment, she knows, if I'm allowed such liberty, I will hurt myself, or sew my hand onto the denim. "You're a disaster, you know," she will mumble, and then retreat to the bedroom, where she keeps her private stash of sewing machines, one for each type of job. My repair, she will suggest, require the heavy duty, industrial strength machine. I will pretend to laugh.
     While she tucks me back into an appropriate sized waist once again, I will begin looking through my archives for the other half dozen treasures I haven't seen in a decade. Good times.
     Thanks for joining with me today, to examine my successes and misadventures.

The transitions of The Bog. Photos by Rob Currie

United States Medical Staff Sword from the American Civil War, owned by Federal Army Surgeon from Illinois. Was worn during battles in the deep south.

THE FEELING OF HISTORY - HOLDING A CIVIL WAR SWORD IS PRETTY NEAT

THE PERKS OF THE ANTIQUE PROFESSION

      A FRIEND OF OURS, AND BUSINESS ASSOCIATE, JUST THIS MOMENT, BROUGHT US IN, BRAND SPANKING NEW, TWO AND A HALF DOZEN, FARM FRESH EGGS. MUSKOKA COLLECTABLES OF THE "EATING-KIND." HE WOULDN'T TAKE ANY MONEY. IT'S CRAZY AROUND HERE. GADS, WE GET ALL KINDS OF FREE STUFF. WE TRY TO OFFER RE-PAYMENT, BUT WE'RE SELDOM EVER SUCCESSFUL. SO WE DO THE ONLY OTHER THING POSSIBLE. SUZANNE OFFERS THEM OUR FRESH BAKED COOKIES AS A MINOR RE-PAYMENT. SINCE WE HAVE BEEN ON THIS MAIN STREET, AS PART OF THE RETAIL COMMUNITY, I CAN'T ADEQUATELY EXPLAIN, THE INCREDIBLE NUMBER OF KIND GESTURES, AND DONATIONS OF ARTICLES, WE'VE RECEIVED. THERE ARE A LOT OF BUSINESS COMMUNITY AND TOWN SITUATIONS WE'RE NOT FUSSY ABOUT, BUT HONESTLY, THE GENEROSITY OF OUR FRIENDS AND CUSTOMERS, IS SOMETHING FANTASTIC, AND THE REASON WE LOVE BEING A HOMETOWN BUSINESS HERE. AND WE DO LIKE TO THINK WE ARE REPRESENTING THIS COMMUNITY, TO THE BEST OF OUR CAPABILiTIES. THE OTHER DAY, WE WERE GIVEN A PUMP ORGAN, FOR GOSH SAKES, BY ANOTHER GENEROUS CITIZEN, WHO HAD GIVEN THE FORMER CHURCH PIECE, TO HIS WIFE, AS A PRE-WEDDING GIFT, MANY YEARS AGO. AS IT WAS IN STORAGE, YET A BEAUTIFUL PIECE TO SHARE WITH OTHER, HE THOUGHT WE WOULD LIKE TO HAVE IT FOR OUR STUDIO. IT'S NOW HERE AND READY TO PLAY. COME HAVE A LOOK. ASK US ABOUT GIVING IT A WHIRL. WHAT NICE PEOPLE WE HAVE IN THIS TOWN AND REGION, WHO ARE ALWAYS WILLING TO SHARE WITH OTHERS.

     IT IS ANOTHER RAINY SPRING DAY. WE DON'T NEED FOR THE WELFARE OF THE WATERSHED. MY LAWN AT BIRCH HOLLOW, FEELS PRETTY MARSHY UNDER-FOOT, AND THE INTERSECTING CREEKS THROUGH THE BOG, ARE SHOWING SOME WHITE-WATER, AS THE VOLUME OF RUN-OFF IS STILL HEAVY FROM THE SPRING MELT OF A MOUNTAIN OF SNOW. IT WOULD BE NICE TO SEE THE SUN FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS, BACK TO BACK, BUT AT LEAST WE DIDN'T SUFFER FROM THE HUNDREDS OF TORNADOES THAT TOUCHED-DOWN IN THE UNITED STATES, THIS WEEK; CAUSING SEVERE DAMAGE AND LOSS OF LIFE. SO WE ARE FORTUNATE AND WE NEED TO THINK ABOUT THIS, WHEN WE START GRUMBLING ABOUT THE GLOOMY DAYS OF SPRING.

      IT DOESN'T HAPPEN ALL THE TIME. SELDOM ACTUALLY. BUT THERE ARE A FEW OCCASIONS, WHEN WE GET LUCKY. SOMETHING IS WALKED INTO OUR DOMAIN, THAT REALLY APPEALS TO OUR INNER HISTORIAN. WHEN IT DOES, WELL, YOU HAVE TO PAUSE FOR A LITTLE HISTORIC RECREATION. TRUE, WE GET OUR JOLLIES FROM DIFFERENT SOURCES THAN MOST OTHERS. WHEN, FOR EXAMPLE, A FRIEND ASKS YOU TO DO A LITTLE RESEARCH ON AN ARTIFACT THEY OWN. NOT BECAUSE THEY WANT TO SELL THE ITEM. RATHER, THEY WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE ANTIQUE OR COLLECTABLE, AND OFTEN, VALUE HAS VERY LITTLE TO DO WITH THE EXERCISE. THEY JUST WANT TO KNOW THE HISTORY OF THE MAKER, THE DATE IT WAS CRAFTED, WHERE IT WAS MADE, WHERE IT WAS USED, AND ANY OTHER RELATED PROVENANCE WE CAN FIND. YOU PROBABLY HAVE HEIRLOOM PIECES THAT YOU KNOW A LITTLE ABOUT, BUT NOT AS MUCH AS YOU WOULD LIKE. WE HAVE HUNDREDS OF CURIOUS COLLECTABLES LIKE THIS, THAT WE'RE STILL WORKING ON. SO, TO SOME DEGREE, WE'VE FAILED OURSELVES, BY NOT BEING ABLE TO NAVIGATE CERTAIN OBSTACLES OF INFORMATION GATHERING. WE CAN'T GUARANTEE, WE'RE ALWAYS GOING TO BE SPOT-ON WITH OUR INVESTIGATIONS. BUT IT SURE IS NICE WHEN YOU CAN RETRIEVE AND RE-ASSEMBLE, THE MAJOR PIECES OF THE PUZZLE. EACH PRESENTS SPECIAL CHALLENGES AND WE LIKE THAT, BECAUSE SUZANNE AND I WERE BORN TO COMPETE. JUST GO AHEAD AND TELL US THERE'S SOMETHING WE CAN'T DO! WE MIGHT FAIL AT IT, BUT WE'VE FALLEN OFF THE PROVERBIAL HORSE MANY TIMES.

     JUST TO BE CLEAR, WE AREN'T RUNNING ANTIQUE APPRAISAL CLINICS, OR CHARGING A FEE FOR OUR SERVICES. IT'S SIMPLY BECAUSE WE'RE NOT EXPERTS OR QUALIFIED APRAISORS, SUCH THAT WE COULD PROVIDE VALUATIONS FOR INSURANCE PURPOSES. AS WE ARE ALWAYS LEARNING, MOSTLY BY IMMERSION, WE, ALMOST DAILY, COME FACE TO FACE WITH OUR LIMITATIONS. WE ADMIT TO OURSELVES OPENLY, AND WITHOUT RESERVATION, THAT WE HAVE SHORTFALLS. ADMITTING WE NEED TO FIND OUT MORE INFORMATION ABOUT SOMETHING, WE'RE HANDLING AT THE TIME, ISN'T A SIGN OF WEAKNESS. EVEN WHEN WE DO PURCHASE ARTICLES OVER THE COUNTER, WE ALWAYS INSIST ON TIME TO RESEARCH THE ITEM(S), BEFORE WE MAKE A DEAL. I'M CERTAINLY NOT A MIRROR OF PATIENCE, AS A CIVILIAN, YET IN THE ANTIQUE BUY AND SELL, IT'S AN ESSENTIAL PART OF THE JOB, TO BE PATIENT AND OBSESSIVE ABOUT PROVENANCE, QUALITY, AND CONDITION. BUT IF YOU WANT TO MAKE A GOOD DEAL, YOU HAVE TO POSSESS ALL THE PERTINENT INFORMATION. AS I'VE SAID BEFORE, THIS IS NOT A PROFESSION THAT HAS A LIMIT TO WHAT YOU CAN LEARN, TO BE A TRUE SCHOLAR OF ANTIQUITIES ETC.

    WE CAN DEFINITELY PROVIDE INFORMATION TO INFILL THE STORY, BUT ALAS, POSSIBLY NOT THE CONCLUDING CHAPTER. WE GIVE IT OUR BEST TRY. WE DO KNOW MUSKOKA COLLECTABLES BETTER THAN MOST, BUT LESS THAN SOME OF MY COLLECTOR FRIENDS, LIKE BOB BOOTH, WHO I CONSIDER A SORT OF PROFESSOR OF ALL THINGS MUSKOKA. FOR BOB, WHO IS AS MUCH AN HISTORIAN AS SOMEONE WITH A FRAMED DIPLOMA, AND UNIVERSITY CREDITS, HAS SUCH A DEEP AND PROFOUND LOVE AND RESPECT FOR REGIONAL AND CANADIAN HISTORY, THAT I CAN'T RESIST ENGAGING HIM IN HERITAGE DISCUSSIONS EVERY TIME WE MEET. SUZANNE SAID YESTERDAY, WHEN HE VISITED, THAT WE SHOULD REALLY TAPE RECORD OUR TALKS FOR THE POSTERITY OF FUTURE GENERATIONS OF HISTORICAL-TYPES. I'VE BEEN MARRIED TO THE WOMAN THIRTY-ONE YEARS, AND I STILL DON'T KNOW WHEN SHE'S MAKING FUN OF ME. I THINK SHE WAS SINCERE ABOUT THIS PART.

    ACTUALLY, I WORKED ON A PROJECT, FOR THE MUSKOKA BOARD OF EDUCATION, BACK IN 1978, WITH THE MANDATE OF RECORDING HERITAGE TALKS, WITH MUSKOKA'S SENIOR CITIZENS; THE IDEA WAS TO CREATE A HERITAGE RESOURCE KIT, FOR LOCAL STUDIES, AND I THINK IT'S STILL BEING USED BY THE TRILLIUM LAKELAND DISTRICT SHCOOL BOARD. SO I KIND OF AGREE, THAT ONE DAY, WE SHOULD JUST PLOP DOWN A MICROPHONE, AND START TRADING SOME COLLECTOR STORIES, LIKE WE DID FOR THREE HOURS YESTERDAY. DO YOU KNOW WHAT? NOT ONCE IN THE MARATHON CONVERSATION, DID WE BRING UP MONEY, OR APPRAISED VALUES. WE DISCUSSED THE HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF SOME OF OUR MOST MEMORABLE FINDS, NOT HOW MUCH WE COULD, OR HAD PROFITED FROM THEM, AT THE TIME OF SALE. MOST OF OUR CHERISHED PIECES, TRUTH BE KNOWN, ARE STILL IN OUR RESPECTIVE COLLECTIONS.

    I ALWAYS ATTACH MYSELF TO PEOPLE, LIKE BOB, WHO HAVE A SIMILAR AFFECTIONS FOR ARTIFACTS, OF ALL DESCRIPTIONS, AND THEIR PLACE IN OUR CHRONICLE. I HAD THESE SAME NO-HOLDS BARRED DISCUSSIONS WITH HISTORIANS LIKE DAVE BROWN, HUGH MACMILLAN, ED PHELPS AND WAYLAND DREW IN THE PAST, AND ALWAYS CAME OUT OF THEM, A LITTLE EXHAUSTED, BUT THOROUGHLY DELIGHTED WITH WHAT NEW INFORMATION I HAD ACQUIRED. TALKING ABOUT THE LEGACY OF BIRCH BARK CANOES, WITH EXPERT, RICK NASH, WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE CASUAL TUTORIALS. WHAT A WEALTH OF KNOWLEDGE THIS MAN POSSESSES OF THOSE LEGENDARY WATERCRAFT, BUILT BY THE FIRST NATION PEOPLE, OF NORTH AMERICA. THERE'S A LOT TO BE SAID ABOUT LEARNING BY IMMERSION, AND EXPOSURE, TO WHAT WE WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT.

    I MAY NOT HAVE LIKED HIGH SCHOOL HISTORY, BUT EVERYTHING SINCE HAS BEEN A BLAST. I TELL THIS TO STARTING-OUT COLLECTORS, AND SOON-TO-BE DEALERS, WHENEVER I'M AFFORDED THE OPPORTUNITY. THIS KIND OF LEARNING IS OUTRAGEOUS FUN. SOMETIMES SO MUCH, THAT IT SEEMS FRIVOLOUS. NOT SO! AS A HALLMARK, IT IS HOWEVER, AS MUCH A MEANS OF STABILITY, IN A PROFESSION THAT CAN GO WONKY FAST, THRUSTING ONE DOWN INTO A DEEP PIT OF REGRET. WHEN MISTAKES, SOME MORE CAREER THREATENING THAN OTHERS, ARE MADE, KNOWLEDGE AND EXPERIENCE, CAN HELP FOSTER A SPEEDY, AND EFFECTIVE RECOVERY. AND BECAUSE KNOWLEDGE IS A LOAD-BEARING PILLAR OF ALL LEVELS OF COLLECTING, THROUGH WHAT COULD BE A LONG CAREER, ONGOING EDUCATION, IN ALL ITS FORMS, PROVIDES A RELIABLE PLATFORM ON WHICH TO BUILD. IT'S JUST PART OF THE OLD BALL GAME. ASK VETERAN DEALERS AND COLLECTORS IF THIS IS THE CASE. ASK THEM ABOUT THEIR MOST SERIOUS ERROR IN JUDGEMENT, AS COLLECTORS, AND THE TIMES THEY MISTAKENLY IDENTIFIED A PIECE, AND SOLD IT OFF FOR A FRACTION OF THE VALUE. WE'VE ALL DONE IT. SPENT TOO MUCH ON ACQUISITIONS, AND GOT TOO LITTLE RETURN ON OUR INVESTMENTS. IN EACH CASE, IT WAS THE RESULT OF NOT KNOWING AS MUCH AS WE SHOULD HAVE, TO MAKE INFORMED DECISIONS. I STILL WATCH DEALER ASSOCIATES TAKING BIG RISKS, ON CERTAIN ANTIQUE PIECES, THAT I WOULDN'T TOUCH, AS THEY SAY, "WITH A BARGE POLE." SOMETIMES I'M WRONG, AND THEY SELL THE ITEMS FOR A LARGE PROFIT. SOMETIMES, I FEEL VALIDATED, WHEN THEY COME TO ME, TO SEE IF I'LL BUY IT FROM THEM, FOR SALE IN MY SHOP. IT ISN'T GOING TO HAPPEN.

    WITH OUR HISTORICAL BACKGROUND, AND RESEARCH SKILLS, WE CAN, IN MOST CASES, IDENTIFY ARTIFACTS AND ANTIQUES, TO A CERTAIN POINT OF CLARIFICATION. WHICH MEANS, SOME INFORMATION WILL NEVER BE KNOWN, BECAUSE A PREVIOUS OWNER TOOK THE STORY TO HIS OR HER GRAVE. IN SOME CASES, THIS MIGHT MEAN "MANY GRAVES" OVER THE GENERATIONS OF PAST OWNERS. WE DO WHAT WE CAN, AND FOR SOME OF THE MORE INTERESTING PIECES, WE ASK, AS PAYMENT, TO BE ABLE TO DO A STORY ON THE ARTICLE FOR THIS BLOG, OR PUBLICATIONS OF WHICH I AM AFFILIATED. CHANCES ARE, WHAT INTERESTS US, WILL BE OF GENERAL INTEREST TO OTHERS. WE LIKE SHARING THE EXPERIENCE OF BEING AROUND THESE HEIRLOOM PIECES. AND BY THE WAY, THE "HEIRLOOM" ASPECT IS USUALLY WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT, SUCH AS IN THE CASE OF THE CIVIL WAR ERA CEREMONIAL SWORD, PHOTOGRAPHED ABOVE. IT'S NOT FOR SALE BUT WE'RE SO GLAD WE HAD THE CHANCE TO EXPLORE ITS RICH LEGACY, WHICH GOES BACK TO THE PRESENTATION YEAR, 1862, AND THE MEDICAL CORP OF THE FEDERAL ARMY.

     IRONIC, THAT I HAVE JUST BEEN WRITING ABOUT A CIVIL WAR BOOK, I OWN, SIGNED BY A CONFEDERATE ARMY SOLDIER, AND WATCHING THE MOVIE "GETTYSBURG," STARRING (IN A MINOR CAPACITY OF SOLDIERING), OUR OLD FRIEND, TOM BROOKS, OF GRAVENHURST, RE-ENACTING THE EPIC BATTLE. KARMA? COINCIDENCE? WHEN OUR FAMILY FRIEND CAME INTO THE SHOP, WITH THE CIVIL WAR SWORD, TUCKED UNDER HIS ARM, AND THE BUTTONS OF THE DOCTOR'S FEDERAL UNIFORM, IN A NICE FRAME, GADS, WE WERE SPEECHLESS. FOR HOURS, THAT FIRST DAY, WE HANDED THE SWORD BACK AND FORTH AMONGST OUR FAMILY MEMBERS, AND HAD OUR RESPECTIVE POINTY NOSES, GLUED TO THE GLASS OF THE SHADOW BOX, TO EXAMINE WHAT A CIVIL WAR COAT BUTTON LOOKED LIKE. WHILE YOU CAN GET A LOT OF INFORMATION FROM MUSEUMS, BOOKS AND ONLINE SEARCHES, SOMETIMES, THE REAL TREAT FOR THE HISTORIAN, IS TO ACTUALLY HOLD THE ARTIFACT; IMAGINING ALL THE IMPORTANT PLACES, BATTLEFIELDS, AND HISTORIC MEETINGS, WITH SOME OF THE LEGENDARY LEADERS OF THE ARMY. WONDERING ALOUD, WHEE THIS SWORD, FOR EXAMPLE, WAS WORN, FOR THE DURATION OF THE CIVIL WAR, FROM THE DATE OF ITS PRESENTATION. YES, WE THINK THIS KIND OF ANTIQUE IS PRETTY NEAT. BUT LET ME TELL YOU, THERE'S AN UNMISTAKABLE VIBE ATTACHED TO THIS SMALL COLLECTION, AND FOR HISTORY LOVERS LIKE US, IT'S LIKE A DOOR OPENING TO THE PAST, JUST TO HOLD IT FOR A FEW MOMENTS. THE SADDEST PART IS GIVING IT BACK. ONE THING WE ALL AGREE, IS THAT WE'RE UNLIKELY TO EVER HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO HOLD A CIVIL WAR SWORD, IN OUR OUTSTRETCHED HANDS, EVER AGAIN. SO YES, "THE ONCE IN A LIFETIME" SITUATION IS ENTIRELY RELEVANT, AND WILL HELP US DEAL WITH AUTHENTICITY ISSUES, AND EVALUATIONS, LONG INTO THE FUTURE. ONE THING ABOUT IT, WE'D KNOW IF ANOTHER SWORD WAS THE REAL MCCOY OR A COPY, AFTER THIS RARE OPPORTUNITY, OF HOLDING, WHAT IS A TRUE AND GENUINE SURVIVOR OF THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR.

     WE HAVE BEEN KINDLY AFFORDED THIS OPPORTUNITY, TO SHOW THE MILITARY RELIC TO YOU KIND FOLKS.

The County Crows Got To Me, The First Day Cover Of Air Transport Of Mail To Ramouske, Quebec

THOSE FUNNY LITTLE MOMENTS OF LIFE, HOME OWNERSHIP, AND AYE, THE CRITTERS THAT INHABIT THE SHADOWS OF THE AUTUMN WOODS

THE VENERABLE COUNTY CROWS ARE WATCHING ME - TO SEE WHAT I'VE BEEN HALF-EATING

     IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING (AND I'M PRETTY SURE YOU WEREN'T), I HAVE BEEN DOING A LOT MORE WORK AROUND BIRCH HOLLOW RECENTLY. GETTING READY FOR WINTER, YOU MIGHT SAY. I LOVE THIS TIME OF THE YEAR AROUND THE BOG, BECAUSE IT IS USUALLY PRETTY QUIET THROUGH THE DAY. UNLESS OF COURSE, ONE OF THE NEIGHBORS, FLUSH WITH YARD EQUIPMENT, DECIDES TO BLOW LEAVES WITH THEIR ATTACHED SUPER-SONIC JET PACKS. LIKE ATTACHING A SNOWBIRD'S TUTOR JET TO ONE'S SHOULDERS. AS IT IS MY BUDGET CABIN ON THE NEXT BEST THING TO THOREAU'S WALDEN POND, I REALLY ENJOY PLAYING THE OUTDOOR HANDYMAN WHEN SUZANNE ISN'T WATCHING. (I GENERALLY REFRAIN FROM DOING INDOOR WORK BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO MAKE THIS WORSE) JUST LIKE WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, I HAD SCHOOL CLOTHES, AND PLAY-WEAR. I CAN'T DO ANYTHING, IN THE WAY OF YARD WORK, ESPECIALLY CLEANING THE GUTTERS, IF I'M WEARING MY STORE-DUDS. I HAVE TO KEEP CHANGING MY CLOTHES, SO I WON'T RUIN ANYTHING THAT IS NOTED, BY HE BOSS-OF-ME, AS BEING "BETTER THAN THE REST OF MY TATTERED CLOTHING." WHEN I USED TO TAR THE ROOF, BACK IN THE DAYS WHEN WE HAD OLD, CURLING SHINGLES, I ALWAYS MANAGED TO GET THE REPAIR MATERIALS ON MY "GOOD" CLOTHES. THAT DROVE SUZANNE CRAZY, THAT I WOULD BE WILLING TO DAMAGE MY CLOTHES WHEN THERE WERE OLD PANTS AND SWEATERS BEGGING TO COME OUT OF THE CLOSET. IF I COME HOME FROM THE SHOP, AND PUT IN A COUPLE OF HOURS AROUND THE YARD, SHE THINKS I'M WORKING ON MY BLOG ON THE DECK. AND ALL IS GOOD IN THE UNIVERSE. I JUST DON'T PICK HER UP, LATER, WITH TAR ON MY PANTS. I DO ENJOY THE SOLITUDE OF WORKING AROUND HERE, ESPECIALLY THE RARE MOMENTS, WHEN THERE IS A DISTINCT ABSENCE OF URBAN INTERRUPTIONS. THEY COME SOON ENOUGH, WITH THE RETURN OF THE SCHOOL BUSES, BUT THE KIDS DON'T DAWDLE; AND THE ONLY TIME THEY SLOW DOWN, IS TO TEXT ON THEIR PHONES, OR TOSS UNEATEN LUNCHES INTO THE BOG. NO WONDER THE CROWS AROUND HERE ARE SPOILED. THEY EVEN GET GIANT DILL PICKLES AND BIG ORANGES. I DON'T EVEN GET THOSE.
     CROWS. URBAN BUZZARDS. MY TORMENTORS! THEY KNOW IT'S GARBAGE PICK-UP DAY. THEY CAN SMELL IT. THEY WON'T BE LURKING IN THE SHADOWS NEXT MONDAY MORNING, (THEY KNOW ABOUT THE SCHEDULE CHANCE) BECAUSE, AS OF TODAY, GARBAGE PICK-UP HAS BEEN REDUCED TO TWICE MONTHLY. HOW THEY KNOW THIS, I DON'T KNOW, BUT APPARENTLY THEY'VE GOT A GRAPEVINE CONNECTION OVER AT THE DISTRICT OFFICES IN BRACEBRIDGE. TWO OLD BUZZARDS. THEY'RE ACTUALLY CROWS. BIG ONES. NOT RAVENS, BUT GARDEN VARIETY CROWS. THE TWO I MET THIS MORNING, PULLING APART THE BAGS OF GARBAGE, I HAD JUST PUT AT CURBSIDE, LOOKED FAMILIAR IN A BIRD SORT OF WAY. I THINK THESE TWO VULTURES, IN CROW ATTIRE, WERE PART OF THE CAST FROM ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MOVIE, "THE BIRDS," AND IF I HAD STOOD NEAR THE STREWN GARBAGE FOR VERY LONG, THEY WOULD HAVE PICKED ME APART AS WELL. THEY WERE AS BIG AS THOSE WILD TURKEYS WE SEE AT ROADSIDE, ON OUR CROSS-COUNTRY TRAVELS, AND THEIR DETERMINATION TO FEED ON OUR GARBAGE WAS ASTONISHING; CONSIDERING THAT THERE WERE ONLY TWO CROWS, NOT A FLOCK, IF THAT'S WHAT ONE OF THEIR SQUADRONS IS CALLED. I HAD ONLY BEEN BACK AROUND THE HOUSE, FOR TEN MINUTES, GATHERING UP THE WEEKLY RECYCLING, SO THE COUNTY CROWS MUST HAVE BEEN CLOSE BY, WAITING FOR DINNER TO BE SERVED IN TRADEMARK BLACK GARBAGE BAGS. I KNOW, I KNOW, GET A GARBAGE BIN YOU FOOL. I HAVE THREE, BUT THEY'RE CURRENTLY LOADED WITH BIG ITEMS TO BE HAULED TO THE TOWN LANDFILL SITE. YOU KNOW ME TOO WELL. INDEED, THEY'VE BEEN LIKE THIS SINCE EARLY SUMMER. BUT IN MY DEFENCE, THE CROWS ONLY LIKE THE AROMA OF OUR CAST-OFFS ONCE OR TWICE A MONTH. MY MISFORTUNE RECENTLY, IS THAT WE'VE HAD MUCH MORE AROMATIC REFUSE IN THE PAST THREE WEEKS. NOT MEAT. WE CAN'T AFFORD IT. BUT OTHER FOOD STUFF DOES WIND-UP IN THESE BAGS, FOR A VARIETY OF REASONS, AND APPARENTLY, WE OFFER BETTER TASTING TRASH THAN ANY OF OUR NEIGHBORS, WHO PROBABLY DO HAVE MEAT REGULARLY.
     I CALL THESE TWO CROWS, "HECKLE AND JECKEL," FROM THE CARTOONS OF MY CHILDHOOD, AND THEY ARE AS CUNNING, AND CREATIVE AS TWO BIRDS COULD EVER BE, AND NOT OVERTAKE DISTRICT COUNCIL, AS A FEATHERED COUP, AND DISCONTINUE TRASH REMOVAL SERVICES ENTIRELY. THE MORE LEFTOVERS FOR THEM. AND BELIEVE ME, THERE ARE THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS MORE CLEVER CROWS OUT THERE, AWAITING OUR MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS, WHEN WE LEAVE OUR TRASH UNGUARDED. WHEN I CAME DOWN THE DRIVEWAY WITH A BIN OF RECYCLING, I COULDN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH CARNAGE HAD BEEN INFLICTED IN NO MORE THAN FIFTEEN MINUTES; IF IN FACT, THEY HAD LANDED ON THE TRASH, ONE SECOND AFTER I WAS OUT OF SIGHT, AROUND THE CORNER OF THE HOUSE. THE ATTACK ON THE DEFENCELESS GARBAGE BAGS, SENT HOUSEHOLD REFUSE FLYING AND TUMBLING, AS FAR AS THE CENTRE LINE OF OUR NEIGHBORHOOD ROAD. I DIDN'T COUNT THE INDIVIDUAL PIECES, BUT IT TOOK SON ANDREW AND I, THE NEXT HALF HOUR, TO PICK IT ALL UP. I WAS COVERED IN REFUSE, CUT MY FINGER ON A PIECE OF SHARP PLASTIC, AND ALMOST WIPED-OUT IN THE UPPER DRIVEWAY, WHEN I SLIPPED ON SOME WET PAPER TOWELS THAT FELL OUT OF ONE OF THE DAMAGED BAGS, I WAS TRANSPORTING TO A PROPER BIN. I HAD TO SPEND ANOTHER FIFTEEN MINUTES, UNLOADING ONE BIN OF GARBAGE, INTENDED FOR THE LANDFILL SITE, INTO ANOTHER CONTAINER, SO I WOULD HAVE A DEFENCE SHIELD AGAINST THE "CLAN OF THE BIRD."
     I WANT TO BE CLEAR HERE, SO THERE IS NO CONFUSION. I LOVE THE BOG AND ALL ITS CRITTERS. THIS IS A HUMAN FOLLY, AND I WOULD NEVER THINK OF TRYING TO THROW A FLYING TACKLE ON EITHER HECKLE OR JECKLE. I DID TRY TO PEPPER THEM ONCE, WITH A LITTLE EXTRA WE HAD IN THE KITCHEN CUPBOARD, BUT IT MADE THE GARBAGE TASTE BETTER, ME THINKS, BECAUSE OTHER THAN SOME AUDIBLE CROW-SNEEZING, THEY RIPPED THE BAGS APART TWICE AS QUICKLY. I WON'T APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT I HAVE CALLED THEM IN THE PAST, OR EVEN THIS MORNING, AS I WAS PICKING UP TRASH OFF MY NEIGHBOR'S MANICURED LAWN. I THINK UNDER THOSE BLACK AS NIGHT FEATHERS, THEY HAVE PRETTY THICK SKIN, AND BRUSH OFF MY INSULTS WITH DEEP REVERBERATING CROW CHORTLES; AND I SWEAR I HEARD THEM TALKING TO ONE ANOTHER, FROM THE GNARLED OLD OAK TREE ACROSS THE ROAD. SOMETHING LIKE, "I TOLD YOU HECKLE, WE SHOULD HAVE WAITED UNTIL THE OLD FART LEFT FOR WORK, BEFORE HAVING OUR BREAKFAST SCRAPS."
     TAKING OUT THE TRASH AND RECYCLING IS A MISERABLE JOB, AROUND HERE, BECAUSE AS DUTIFUL AS I AM, IN THE FIELD OF HISTORICAL DOCUMENTATION, AS A HOME HANDYMAN I LEAVE AN AWFUL LOT TO BE DESIRED. THE OTHER MORNING, I CAME HOME FROM WORK, AT AROUND LUNCH, AND I FELT THINGS HITTING MY HAT, ALONG THE BACKYARD SIDEWALK. WHEN I LOOKED UP, I GOT HIT IN THE FACE WITH A CLUMP OF WET LEAVES, TOPPLED OVER FROM THE EAVES-TROUGH, WHICH IS OF COURSE, NOW FULL OF THOSE BEAUTIFULLY COLORED HARDWOOD LEAVES. TWO SMALL BLACKBIRDS, SUZANNE CALLS GRACKLES, I THINK, WERE SORTING THROUGH THE NATURAL REFUSE, FROM THE TREES IN OUR YARD, PRESUMABLY LOOKING FOR LUNCH OF BUGS; BUT REMINDING ME, THAT IT WAS TIME, FOR GOSH SAKES, TO CLEAN THE GUTTERS. THE RESIDENT CHIPMUNK GAVE ME CRAP THE OTHER DAY, BECAUSE HE WASN'T HAPPY WITH THE CONTENT OF THE BIRD FEEDER, WHICH ADMITTEDLY IS A LITTLE LOW ON SUNFLOWER SEEDS. THE NEIGHBOR'S CAT MARKED OUR VERANDAH, IN NUMEROUS PLACES, AND ONE OF A HALF DOZEN SQUIRRELS, ON OUR PATCH OF HEAVEN-ON-EARTH, HAS BEEN RECKLESSLY NIBBLING AT MY OLD THEATRE CHAIRS, TRYING TO MAKE THEIR TREE-TOP NEST A LITTLE MORE LUXURIOUS. THEY DO THIS, WHILE LOOKING IN AT OUR HOUSE CATS, AND I'M PRETTY SURE, SMIRKING IN THAT SQUIRREL-WAY, LIKE EXTENDING A FINGER THEY DON'T HAVE, THAT OH JOY, THERE IS A PANE OF GLASS BETWEEN THEM. WE KNOW FOR FACT, THAT TWO OF OUR ADOPTED FELINES COULD BE VERY PROFICIENT, AT REMOVING MOST OF THE CRITTERS FROM BIRCH HOLLOW; AND IF THEY TRULY KNEW MY DISPOSITION THIS MORNING, AND HOW I MIGHT HAVE ACCIDENTALLY LEFT THE DOOR OPEN FOR "BEASLEY" AND "ANGUS," HUNTERS-SUPREME, TO GET SOME FRESH AIR, IT MIGHT HAVE REMOVED THE LEVITY, FROM WHAT WAS OBVIOUSLY QUITE HUMOROUS TO THEM. ESPECIALLY THE PART WHERE I NEARLY WENT ARSE OVER TEA KETTLE, AS THEY SAY, COMING DOWN THE SLIPPERY SLOPE OF THE OLD HOMESTEAD. OF COURSE I WOULDN'T DO THIS, DOOR-OPEN-THING, BECAUSE I VALUE ALL THE LIVES THAT THRIVE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, INSIDE AND OUT. I EVEN BUILT A HABITAT FOR THESE WEE CRITTERS, AT THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE, TO KEEP THE MICE, CHIPMUNKS AND MOLES CONTENT, AND OUT OF OUR CRAWL SPACE, ON THE ADVICE OF A WILDLIFE WRITER I KNEW. IT'S WORKED FABULOUSLY WELL FOR THE PAST HALF DECADE, SINCE I ESTABLISHED THE BRUSH PILE, THAT HAS ALL KINDS OF LITTLE DENS THROUGHOUT. IT'S GRADUALLY TURNING INTO EARTH ANYWAY. A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE, WOULD LAST ABOUT ONE FULL MINUTE, BEFORE BECOMING CAT FOOD, SO THERE IS AN UNDERSTANDING AROUND HERE, ABOUT THE LIBERTIES ALLOWED, AND THOSE WE WON'T TOLERATE. BUT WHO'S KIDDING WHO. THEY DO WHAT THEY WANT, WHEN THEY WANT, AND I JUST HAVE TO BE A LITTLE BETTER TUNED TO WHAT THE COUNTRY CROWS CAN INFLICT, IF GIVEN HALF A CHANCE.
    THERE IS A FAMOUS ANIMAL VERSUS HUMAN SKIT, FROM THE FORMER SEINFELD SITCOM, ABOUT THE PHILOSOPHICAL, UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT, THAT IS SUPPOSED TO EXIST, BETWEEN SQUIRRELS, PIGEONS, AND THE MOTORING PUBLIC. BASICALLY, IT'S AGREED, THEY WILL STAY OUT OF EACH OTHER'S WAY. EXCEPT, GEORGE COSTANZA, IN THE SHOW, HITS A SQUIRREL, BUT IT SURVIVES WITH EXPENSIVE MEDICAL TREATMENT; HE THEN KILLS A PIGEON WITH HIS CAR. "WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT," HE YELLS OUT. IT'S HOLLYWOOD SCRIPT WRITING, FOLKS. THERE IS NO AGREEMENT. EXCEPT AMONGST THE CRITTERS, WHO MAKE THEIR OWN RULES, INDEPENDENT OF OUR INTERESTS TO THE CONTRARY. SINCE WE TOOK UP RESIDENCE OPPOSITE THE BOGLANDS, IN THE FALL OF 1989, THE ONLY WILDLIFE CASUALTY, OTHER THAN A WEE FROG BENEATH A LAWNMOWER, WERE TWO CHICKADEES, THAT FLEW INTO THE FRONT WINDOWS. I WAS TRYING TO GIVE THEM HEART STIMULATION WITH MY FINGER, BUT I WASN'T SURE ABOUT THE MOUTH TO BEAK RESUSCITATION. I BURIED THEM IN THE PET CEMETERY, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, AND NO SIR, I'M NOT CONCERNED ABOUT A STEPHEN KING-TYPE SCENARIO, FROM A BOOK OF THE SAME NAME, WHEN THE DECEASED CRITTERS COME BACK TO LIFE AND OVERTAKE THE HOMESTEAD. UNLESS, THAT IS, THE COUNTY CROWS HAVE MORE MAGIC IN THEM, BEYOND BEING ABLE TO RIP OPEN GARBAGE BAGS, WITH THEIR BEAKS OF DOOM, SET OUT FOR MONDAY MORNING PICK-UP. I'M KEEPING MY EYES ON THEM, AND JUST IN CASE THEY DECIDE TO TAKE OVER BIRCH HOLLOW, I'VE GOT A COUPLE OF CATS LOADED FOR BEAR, LICKING THEIR LIPS, TO EAT SOME CROW.


DON'T YOU JUST HATE IT WHEN YOU LOSE STUFF? NOW IMAGINE WHEN THE ARCHIVIST / HISTORIAN HAS TO CONFESS, SOMETHING HAS GONE MISSING


     Last winter and early spring, we acquired literally thousands of bits, and pieces, of very historic and important ephemera, from several estates. I wrote about an earlier estate, that presented us with four times the volume, of our latest purchase, but then, we were younger and confusion seemed to inspire us to organize more thoroughly. Three years later, we've become soft and used to having our evenings free of work-place carry-over. But the rules of the antique and collectable profession, clearly state, in philosophy of course, that the work day is "the rest of our lives". There are no days off. It is supposed to be, that an antique dealer loves the business they're in, so very much, that taking a day off would be like a trial separation. The profession brings together a long seeded love for old things, that may date all the way back to childhood, when we stuffed our pockets full of found objects, on the way to and from public school. What began as hobbies for many of us, became the seeding of a full scale profession, for those purists who found fun and profit-making, could indeed go hand in hand. Under the right circumstances, of course.
    So for Suzanne and I, who have been honing our way through the ages, with our business, truthfully, there are days, when it's simply too enjoyable and fulfilling, to then find out, we actually made money at the same time. Acquisition of course, is of critical consideration, in this regard, because it's what pours in the new fuel, to keep the flame full and bright. Stop-up the fuel supply, and we would look for a new profession, or simply collect and leave a really big estate for our sons. In the case of the paper collection, this most recent truck load, didn't require the same level of industry, to sort out, and instead of letters from China, as we had previously dealt with, we were buried with correspondence from Germany, post First World War, most of it actually, post Second World War, and written in German; which we're still trying to translate. Our collection of Chinese letters, by the way, was from a Canadian Missionary, back to Reverend Ewing Reid, at the Alhambra United Church, in Toronto. We sold these for just under a thousand dollars, to a collector in British Columbia, who was more interested in the postage, and postmarks on the covers, than in the historical content of the letters. There is a great requirement to analyze the paper heritage thoroughly, to make sure what the value actually is, and why? When we sold a large packet of World War One letters, it was the content of the notes that was most important to the collectors of military history. The same for the packets of World War Two letters, which were largely made-up of "thank you" cards, sent back to the volunteers of the Alhambra Church, who had generously sent gift bundles overseas, as Christmas gifts from Canada; to our soldiers fighting in Europe.
     Amongst the personal correspondence, I found a first day cover, (which is an addressed, stamped, postmarked and cancelled envelope, that appeals to collectors because it is "first day" of that particular issue), of a very important first air mail delivery to a remote area of Quebec, by air to Montreal. I'm not sure of the value, because there is also a signed letter from the responsible postal executive at the time, as a companion piece to the "cover," and this could very much affect the valuation. Which is of course, hugely based on condition of the ephemera, and clarity of stamps, cancellations, and the envelope itself.
    Now here is the crappy part, I'm writing about today; because, first of all, I'm venting my frustration, and showing my rather glaring imperfections. And secondly, because something similar has probably happened to you, but you've never admitted it!
When I put in a two hour search of our house, and my archives, and couldn't find the "cover" and the letter that goes with it, from the Post Office, I understood, at that moment, a moment of profound sadness, I had once witnessed, of my mother. There she was, standing alone in the bathroom of our two bedroom apartment up on Alice Street. She didn't know I had been watching from around the corner. She had been ordered to stop smoking, by Doctor Eaton, who was trying, at the time, to control her blood pressure. But addictions don't go quietly. My father Ed, was still smoking like a chimney, and Merle had been stashing away cigarette butts, to dissect for loose tobacco. I saw it as my job, to keep her off the death sticks, and I used to empty the ashtrays before she could scavenge. She had found enough, and with a paper roller she bummed off a friend, made a sort of Cheech and Chong style cigarette, that looked like a huge joint. She had retreated to the bathroom of our apartment, and opened the window, so she could exhale out the screen, to avoid immediate detection. Obviously, this was a dance with nirvana, she planned to fully enjoy in private, and was very careful about lighting the fat boy, and sitting it on her bottom lip for the first deep inhalation; that by the way, would start her coughing and hacking into the sink. In the slow motion replay, of that moment, the first puff did what it was supposed to do; gave her the rush before the coughing jag. The poorly rolled Frankenstein cigarette, stuck, probably by weight more than anything else, to her top lip, and her fingers slid right over the length of it, leaving it precariously balanced, like a plank over a canyon, you'd remember from Road Runner and Coyote capers, from Saturday morning cartoons. The cigarette stuck there for a few moments, and then, well, it seemed to jump by itself, up, and then make a spectacular, Olympic style dive into the open toilet; where it floated for awhile, and then sank to the bottom. Merle tried to rescue it, but alas, it was no longer what it had been. It would never glow again. That's when she started to cry. She'd been looking for that one big smoke haze for days, if not a week, and there it was, over in a split second. While this may be a long way around, in making the point, of how I felt, being unable to find my first day cover, let me continue with my explanation.
     I knew it hadn't been accidentally dropped into the toilet, or clawed to shreds by the cats. I wasn't worried about it having been thrown-out or recycled, because we have never done so in the past, with the hundreds of thousands of papers we've handled and sorted without incident. Then I picked up a book at a local second hand shop, that I thought would appeal to our clientele. It is a 1974 hardcover edition, entitled "Goggles, Helmets, & Airmail Stamps," by Georgette Vachon, published by Clarke, Irwin and Company of Toronto. It's mostly about those brave bush pilots, in Canadian aviation history, who reached isolated areas of the country, to bring supplies from the urban centres, and of course, "the mail." I actually opened the book, on the very first look through, to the precise page and paragraph, that dealt with the issuance of "the cover" I had somehow misplaced. Here it was published in the history book; something of heritage significance that I bloody well lost. It was, at that moment, like I was getting a slap to the back of the head, by some divine entity; reminding me how reckless it was, to file it in a place that was so secure, it was even secret to the instigator. I definately thought about Merle at this moment, feeling a little bit helpless, wondering where the heck I had stashed this important documentation; so important that it had made it onto page 102 of the book. I don't like admitting, folks with our background in document stewardship, could be so casual about setting materials aside for safe keeping, that only a few months following acquisition, has become a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Here's how the book addresses, the creation of the paper I sort of own, but just can't locate for the time being.
     "The flight of the (aircraft) Bremen, was an historic one. But the record of the rescue missions also deserves its place in the annals of aviation history. It took courage to face the dangers of a transatlantic crossing, but it also took courage to face the fog, snow and ice of Quebec. Men like Duke Schiller and Romeo Vachon may not headline history, but let the record show their achievement. Vachon returned to his mail run without a backward glance at fame and glory. Air service had broken the isolation of the north shore, but there were other areas to be opened up, other centres to be linked by air mail. Canadian Transcontinental Airways, expanded its services to the south bank of the St. Lawrence, and established air delivery between Rimouski, Montreal, Ottawa and Toronto. The test runs of the company were not particularly successful, as reported in "Le Soleil." "Crash of an airplane Saturday at Rimouski. The plane which was carrying European mail was greatly damaged. A new disaster in aerial navigation occurred at Rimouski last Saturday." The problem was the pilot's inexperience with the effect of tides on landing conditions, along the St. Lawrence. The solution arrived at by Vachon, was economical but effective; day and night surveillance of airports along the banks of the river, by airport personnel, volunteer crews and mechanics, who repaired and maintained adequate conditions for take-offs and landings.
     "With this problem solved, everything was ready for the official opening of the service on May 5, 1928. The pilots had been chosen (C.S. Caldwell, C.M. Dean, J.H. Saint-Martin, Harold Ayres and Irenee Vachon, Romeo's brother), all were experienced, and the venture looked promising. The planes were to pick up European mail from Rimouski, in five and a half days, the terms of the contract specified a total delivery time of less than one week for mail from London or Paris to Toronto. Spring that year had been accompanied by continuous rain, and landing strips were bogs of mud. But the opening was not postponed. The company was determined to fulfill the promise in the headline of May 4, 1928: 'Mail delivery to Rimouski to Montreal, Ottawa and Toronto will start tomorrow.' The two airplanes had to leave Rimouski at daybreak in order to reach Montreal at seven or eight o'clock. One of the planes then carried the mail from Montreal to Toronto; picked up the mail there and flew it back to Montreal. The next day, May 6, a third plane flew from Ottawa to Montreal, took on the mail that had been flown back from Toronto, and continued on to Rimouski, where the mail from the three cities was placed aboard the 'Regina,' bound for Europe. Mission accomplished. The newspapers of May 6 reported the successful opening of the new air service. 'The airplanes of the Canadian Transcontinental Company, have established a new record. Remarkable success has marked the inauguration of this new airmail service between Toronto, Montreal and Rimouski. In two days, 1,700 pounds of European mail were transported with great speed over hundreds of miles. Three company planes, directed by Romeo Vachon accomplished this record without accident or appreciable delay"
     The book's author, notes, "Commenting on the inauguration of the new airmail service, Mr. M.T.E. McDonnell, Vice President of the Canadian Pacific Railway, in charge of the parcel delivery service, emphasized the benefits of such a service in the development of trade and industry. He pointed out that aviation had achieved such a high reputation in the province of Quebec, and indeed throughout Canada, that the transport industry should co-operate fully, to ensure a speedy and efficient air service. The advantages deriving from the rapid delivery of letters and parcels were considerable. For example, a parcel which left Rimouski, early on Saturday, would arrive the same day in Toronto, and could be put on a train to Winnipeg, where it would arrive Monday morning. It could then be forwarded to Vancouver and reach that city by the following Wednesday. Ordinarily the company's ships reached ocean ports toward the end of the week. The new air service would mean a reduction of two days in delivery time."
     The text notes, "The coincidence of the inauguration of the airmail service, with the fortuitous arrival in Rimouski of the 'Empress of Scotland,' (passenger ship), set off an immediate expansion of the service to accommodate the needs of the Canadian Pacific. The pilots who took part in this airmail service, were pioneers in the development of commercial aviation in Canada. After 1928, airmail delivery moved out of the experimental stage, and began to be extended across Canada. By 1935, there were twenty-six airmail routes under government control. Overseas mail continued to arrive by ship for some time, however. Regularly scheduled transatlantic airmail service was not commercially feasible until 1939, twenty years after Alcock's and Brown's first non-stop flight across he Atlantic, and twelve years after Lindberg's historic flight from New York to Paris."
     Now all I have to do, is find my first day cover, of this historic mail delivery. Rats! When I find it folks, it will be illustrated here with great joy. Wish me luck. I'm diving into my archives with a hell of a big snorkel. If I don't come back up, tell my wife I love her!

Li'L Andy and Zachary Lucky Perform At St. James Anglican Church

Li'L Andy Performs Saturday night at St. James Anglican Church in Gravenhurst. Photo by Bet Smith

Zachary Lucky performs Saturday night at St. James Anglican Church in Gravenhurst. Photos by Bet Smith

LI'L ANDY AND ZACHARY LUCKY, BRING THE WEST EAST AND THE EAST WEST ! PERFORM FOR APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, IN GRAVENHURST

THE CANADIAN COUNTRY MUSIC SCENE, A NICE CHANGE OF PACE FOR CHURCH SESSION'S EVENT

     Note: We went to press without all the names of the back up musicians for both Zachary Lucky and Li'L Andy but we hope before long to have at least some of the names.

     WRITER'S PRE-BLOG: TODAY, FOR THE FIRST SUNDAY IN QUITE AWHILE, SUZANNE AND I HAVE OPTED TO SPEND OUR WHOLE DAY HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. SHE WANTS TO CATCH-UP ON SOME ACCOUNTING WORK, AND OTHER SUNDRY TASKS, YOU CAN'T DO MOTORING AROUND THE REGION, (AS BEAUTIFUL AS IT IS) AND TENDING THE FAMILY BUSINESS. I OFTEN HOLE-UP ON THE VERANDAH, WITH WARM ATTIRE, AND MAYBE EVEN A WOOLEN BLANKET FROM THE CAR, SOON, IF THE WIND DOESN'T CEASE AND DESIST. I WILL GLADLY VENTURE OUT HERE, EVEN ON THE COLDEST DAY OF THE WINTER, IF I'M SNUGGLY-CLAD IN COATS, BIG TOQUE (FOR A SWOLLEN HEAD) AND SUZANNE'S SPECIAL MITTS, SHE KNITS WHILE SHE THINKS. I "THINK" THEY'RE PRETTY GOOD! AS IT TURNS OUT USUALLY, FOR MY LESS THAN CRITIC-QUALIFIED REVIEWS, I OFTEN RETREAT TO MY VERANDAH LOOKING OUT OVER THE BOGLANDS ACROSS THE LANE, AND TRY TO MAKE SENSE OF THE NOTES I MADE DURING THE CONCERT THE NIGHT BEFORE. AS I'VE EXPLAINED MANY TIMES PREVIOUSLY, BUT STILL FEEL THE NEED TO MAKE IT CLEAR, I AM BUT A POET IN THE GUISE OF A GENUINE MUSIC EXPERT. I JUDGE EACH CONCERT, BY WHAT IT INSPIRES IN THE AUDIENCE, OF KEEN ATTENTION, OR NOT, AND HOW THE PERFORMERS MESH WITH THE PATRONS IN THE SEATS OUT FRONT. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A STUDENT OF MUSIC, BUT ONLY IN THE SENSE, OF HOW THE VARIOUS GENRES OF MUSIC INFLUENCE MY IMAGINATION. I WORRY LESS ABOUT STYLE AND CAPABILITY, AND MORE ON EFFECTIVE USE OF MUSIC TO ENTERTAIN. FOR ME, I WANT TO SEE THE MUSIC BEYOND THE OBVIOUS MUSICIANS, STANDING IN FRONT. I WANT TO FEEL THEIR MUSIC, ALLOWING MYSELF FULL LIBERTY TO GO WHERE IT TAKES ME, NO QUESTIONS ASKED. WHAT THE PERFORMERS MAY READ, AS A RETROSPECTIVE OF THEIR WORK, MAY, AT FIRST, SEEM A TOTAL MISDIRECTION FROM THE INTENDED, OR HOPED-FOR, POINT OF THE SONG, OR SERIES OF SONGS. LONG BEFORE THE INVENTION OF THE MUSIC VIDEO, I WAS PUTTING SCENES AND ACTIONS TO THE MUSIC I HEARD; INCLUDING THE WILLIAM TELL OVERTURE. MAYBE, AFTER SEVERAL READINGS, AND LESS THAN SERIOUS OVERVIEW, THE MUSICIANS WILL AGREE, THAT PEAKING AN IMAGINATION, AS A DIRECT RESULT OF THEIR OWN CREATIVE ENTERPRISE, IS PRETTY COOL AS WELL. LIKE THE PATRON IN AN ART GALLERY, STARING UP IN WONDER, AT AN ABSTRACT ART PIECE, IN THOUGHT AT LEAST, IT'S UNLIKELY TWO OPINIONS WIL BE THE SAME. I ASK OF MY MUSIC, WHICH I FEEL INTIMATELY CONNECTED, TO TAKE ME ON AN ODYSSEY. WHETHER IT IS DOWN THE SILVER RAILS ACROSS THE PRAIRIES, PART OF THE HISTORY OF STEAM LOCOMOTION, OR ON A PRECARIOUS MOTOR TRIP THROUGH A WINTER STORM, AND RESULTING STAY-OVER IN A SMALL TOWN IN IDAHO. I WILL GO ANYWHERE WITH A MUSICIAN, WHO DOESN'T MIND ME TAGGING ALONG. WE MAY HAVE TWO DISTINCTLY DIFFERENT INTERPRETATIONS OF THE MUSIC, AT THE END OF THE PROVERBIAL DAY, BUT THERE'S NO RULE I'M AWARE OF, THAT WE HAVE TO SHARE THE SAME OPINION.
     I HAVE WORKED ON THE NOTES FROM THE CONCERT, WHILE HUDDLED IN MY OLD THEATRE CHAIR, UNDER BLANKETS ON OUR FRONT VERANDAH, LISTENING TO THE BIRDS CHATTERING AT THE FEEDER, AND HEARING THE GUSTY WIND, WASHING THROUGH THE DRIED GRASSES OF THE LOWLAND, IN A STRANGE SYMPHONY OF WHICH I AM REGULARLY INTRIGUED. PLEASE ACCEPT THE FOLLOWING OVERVIEW, AS THE MUSINGS OF A MUSIC LOVER, BUT DEFINITELY NOT THE SENSIBLE ARTICULATIONS OF A QUALIFIED CRITIC.
     IN THE TEETH OF INCLEMENT WEATHER, THEY WERE BITING DOWN THIS MOONLIT NIGHT. A BITTERLY COLD START TO THE MONTH OF NOVEMBER, WITH A TRACE AMOUNT OF SNOW, JUST TO WARN US OF THINGS YET TO COME. IT WAS THE OUTDOORS BACKDROP, AND THE INDOOR ALLURE, FOR THE BIGGEST CROWD FOR A CURRIE'S MUSIC, "SESSIONS" EVENT, TO THIS POINT IN ITS YOUNG HISTORY. THE EAGER CROWD PASSED THROUGH THE DOORS OF THE HISTORIC ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, IN UPTOWN GRAVENHURST. THE AUDIENCE, A LITTLE BIT COUNTRY, A LITTLE BIT CURIOUS, CAME TO SEE THE WESTERN AND EASTERN CANADIAN MUSICIANS, L'IL ANDY, OPENING FOR ACCOMPLISHED COUNTRY MUSIC ENTERTAINER, ZACHARY LUCKY, ON TOUR IN ONTARIO. "WE WERE LUCKY TO GET THE SHOW," ANDREW CURRIE (ALSO DOUBLING AS MY SON) TOLD ME, BEFORE THE EVENING SHOW BEGAN. "THEY PUT ON A GREAT SHOW AND THEIR REVIEWS ARE OUTSTANDING (THE NIGHT BEFORE THEY PLAYED IN PETERBOROUGH); SO I THINK THE LOCAL COUNTRY MUSIC FANS ARE GOING TO HAVE A BLAST TONIGHT. I THINK EVERYBODY, DESPITE THEIR MUSIC PREFERENCE, WILL FIND SOMETHING TO LIKE ABOUT OUR SHOW. WE PLAN TO INTEGRATE QUITE A BIT MORE COUNTRY CHARACTER, FOLK AND BLUEGRASS, INTO OUR SHOWS DURING THE COMING YEAR. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME WE'VE LEFT THE FOLK GENRE, TO TRY SOMETHING A LITTLE DIFFERENT. IT'S THE BIGGEST AUDIENCE WE'VE HAD SINCE WE BEGAN THE SESSIONS EVENT OVER A YEAR AGO, AND CERTAINLY THE LARGEST SINCE MOVING FROM OUR STUDIO ROOM, IN OUR MUSIC SHOP, ACROSS THE ROAD, TO THIS MAGNIFICENT HEIRLOOM ARCHITECTURE OF THE ANGLICAN CHURCH. IT DOES SET A TEMPLATE FOR OTHER SHOWS WE'D LIKE TO BRING IN, SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE. THIS YEAR, WE REALLY HAD TO CRAWL ALONG, TO SEE WHAT THE PUBLIC WOULD THINK OF US, AND THE TYPE OF SHOWS WE COULD BRING-IN ON A BUDGET. WE DON'T HAVE A LOT OF MONEY TO SPEND ON SHOWS, BUT WHAT WE'VE FOUND OUT, BELIEVE IT OR NOT, IS THAT MANY PERFORMERS REALLY WANT TO PLAY OUR VENUE, ESPECIALLY IN THE CHURCH, WHICH HAS EXCELLENT ACOUSTICS. BY WORD OF MOUTH, AND DOZENS OF REFERRALS FROM THOSE WHO HAVE PLAYED HERE, AS PART OF OUR PROGRAM, WE'RE GETTING AN EXCITING FUTURE LINE-UP, AND THIS IS GOOD NEWS FOR GRAVENHURST AND AREA MUSIC LOVERS. WE'D REALLY LIKE TO THINK, THIS WILL BOLSTER GRAVENHURST'S CULTURAL PROFILE, IN THE CONTEMPORARY MUSIC SENSE, AND MAYBE ONE DAY, A GRAVENHURST COUNCILLOR OR TWO, WILL WANT TO SEE WHAT ALL THE FUSS IS, AND ACTUALLY ATTEND A CONCERT. NOT ONE COUNCILLOR HAS ATTENDED A "SESSIONS" CONCERT, AND THAT'S TOO BAD FOR THEM."
     A performance, as deliciously memorable, as the recollection of a night walking the ribbon rails. Up ahead, at what you believe is a curve of the tracks, you detect a very distant, even marginally eerie glow of a penetrating train light; a tiny but brilliant orb, cutting through the blackness of night, as if a bouncing ball, highlighting over lyrics, in one of those old-time television sing-a-longs. Yes, the opening act, was gently, smoothly and socially tantalizing. Like being subtly mesmerized, watching the train light approaching, getting bigger and brighter the closer it gets; the opening act began softly, but gained in momentum for us, like an old steam locomotive clack toward home, on a cold November night. It was a cross country traverse, as if a haunting echo of very distant train horns, on silken voice, with the rushing sound of wind through the window of the car, cool against the brow, tossing our hair a little, to and fro in refrain, as we frame the newest version of horizon, and become acquainted with yet another mile of historic Canada; its old architecture, boats, bridges, barns and mainstreets. A landscape familiar by its rolling pastures, and evergreen borders, up one hillside, down another, into the cascade of azure blue over green, and blazing sun, of all four seasons at once. Montreal's effervescent "Lil Andy," his upright bass player, and guitarist, from Ontario and Quebec, opened the show with some traveling, and well, a little breakfast music, of the bacon and egg variety; and an older song with a Gravenhurst mention, entitled "The Powers of Our Day," with a little bit of Canadian rail heritage rolling through the melody. You can feel its distant rumble. Watch its silhouette moving down the silver rails, sparking orange in the moonlight, and feel a little lonely momentarily, thinking it won't ever come back to town. Li'l Andy and the lads put on a great show, with an array of songs that were as beautifully hewn, rich and enduring, as the crossed timbers, of the church ceiling directly above.  It was the first time, I'd ever heard auld lang syne worked into a country song. We liked it, and remembered back to the turn of the century, via one of his unique songs, when nothing actually happened with the computers of the world; and we were all spared the inconvenience of having the precariously balanced globe, tip, and spin off its axis. Folk stories with the dust of a country lane, blowing up over the willowy field grass, the wind in our hair, what trip is this? Then we stop at a church, and by the squeak of shoe leather, it is the place to play for awhile, stay and enjoy the spiritual ambience; not lingering too long; the liberated soul travels along, a mile further down the road, to another place we were told about. A comfortable burg, with good folks to entertain, that will remind us, once again, about what we miss most of home. We have travelled across these November fields, burdened down by the weather, visible in the lamp light of the automobile. Our narrow focus must suffice until sunrise, when we look back at what we missed. The music by Li'l Andy, and gents, was a terrific enterprise of technicolor imagination, and traveling music of the kindest order. What an alluring, deep, satin voice, he possesses, making us feel glad we're sad, and then the reverse; when we turn that corner into the valley, and pop up on the horizon highland, understanding the links of life and the joys of good music, inspired by a good country song.
     To end the set, Li'l Andy, asked the audience, if they would allow him an opportunity, to sing, without instrumental backup, a beautiful song, he felt would blend perfectly with the historic architecture of St. James Anglican Church. Meaning a sort of collaborative effort, with every relic, every historic fibre of the old structure, from the huge bracing timbers above, to the beautiful stained glass windows. The old song, the young voice, the historic venue. The concert patrons, welcomed him, and it was soulful and fulfilling, high into the rafters of the old building, and back to earth, as pleasantly as it had risen in spirit. The music was entitled, "Not a Soul in This World is a Stranger to Me." A beautiful ending to a beautiful story in music, presented by Li'l Andy and company. Thank you for warming the hearth on a cold November's eve.

A WELCOME FOR ZACHARY LUCKY AND BAND - ALL THE WAY FROM SASKATOON, SASKATCHEWAN

     I had left the church for just a moment, to get some fresh air. I stood on the treed grounds of the Hotchkiss Street Church, watching the plume of steam rising from my breath. The moonlight was visible, at that moment, as were the stars in its region, and the silhouette of the church stood out against the evening's natural illumination. The town lights shone down along the street, making it look curiously picturesque, even in the modest glow, and the brightness of the church interior, was strikingly diffused by the stained glass windows. When the second act of the concert began, it became my first impression, of the work of Saskatchewan singer, guitarist, Zachary Lucky. It was a scene of very real nostalgia, at that moment of connection, between a November night, the embrace of a small town church, and the style of music, that makes you think about one's place in the universe. In the starlight in which I was basking, for those few moments of contemplation, I got my first opinion of this well known country singer. He had engaged my night, from the outside in, you might say.
     His first song, a sort of casual lament, half-confessional, declaring his rambling days are done. We hope this is just the lyrics of a song, and not the revelation, Zachary Lucky plans to stop traversing his music sea to sea. "Saturday night at church," he quips, pondering if this was a provincial thing. The audience?  "Welcome to the days of our lives. Yes, a perfect venue on any night of the week!" His brand of country music permeating, a generous sensory remembrance, profoundly induced, by the singer / guitarist waxing a little nostalgic. Recalling how the prairies are so sweetly scented; as the cold mountain lakes mirror heaven, the meadows deep, earthy bosoms, fully braced by venerable old hardwoods and stately tall pines; the lakes and rivers that flow to the sea, and the sparkling mountain creeks that run shallow but smooth in the shadows of folklorists, who tell of legends with a wink and a twinkle of the eye. Landscape painters infill the lowlands with a fringe of leaning birches, and gnarled cedars, flanked by maples "of the ages". It all blends seamless in our perception, of what this music, this visitation tonight, is all about. Country pride. The appreciation for the inspiration we are gifted by the Canadian landscape; its clusters of picturesque hamlets, thriving villages, humble towns and pulsing cities, bold and beautiful in the illumination at sunrise. The awareness that we are all travelers, in this ramble of imagination, and we welcome the music that makes our heart, our souls restless, to move on down the road, when home becomes too comfortable. And who really knows, how the artist might paint us into the scene, we are passing, looking from a passenger car, on a snaking train, from here to there; following the weaving, threading silver rails; watching out over the half fallen, relic cedar rail fences, of another era; when farms were farms, and farmers were plentiful. Zachary Lucky is a painter in music, and his colors are rich and vibrant, and the blending a perfect inner rage of ambition. As we pass farm after farm, pasture and hillside, valley and lowland, we discover by the immersion offered us, just what we have been missing in the poetry we never quite understood, until now. Thoughtful, rich music with a message. Enjoy life, build relationships, maintain friendships, appreciate where you live, and where others dwell, and write songs to reinforce strong values; and they will come!
     Zachary Lucky's record, in new vinyl, is entitled, "The Ballad of Losing You."
     The evening of country music, with a dusting of folk stylings, was very much appreciated by the Sessions event audience, gathered as good friends, at St. James Anglican Church. It was a warm way to welcome in the cold season. Sincere thanks is offered to all the talented musicians who travelled long distances to entertain us; and thanks of course, must be extended, to all those concert goers, who supported this new mission, to bring Canadian artists to our home town. I think we showed them what a Muskoka welcome means, up close and personal.

WE'RE IMPRESSED BY TRAVELING MUSICIANS, AND WE HOPE THEY ENJOY GRAVENHURST HOSPITALITY

     I can't tell you, or offer much concrete evidence, how many traveling musicians we've played host to, in the past eleven years; some in the early going of our music enterprise, when we could only offer a discount on some vintage equipment they've needed, and a comfortable chair and warm room to have a sandwich and a coffee. We've had quite a few musicians stop in for a visit, because they heard about us from other traveling entertainers who had met us earlier, and it's always been the case, that they will state this, as if it is a ticket to a free homemade cookie. Truthfully it is. There are fresh cookies once a week, but Suzanne always makes enough to cover most of the coming week. In our experience, those who live on the road, to hone their profession, long miles between gigs, are greatly appreciative of a cookie or a half dozen, and a little respite from the miles and miles yet to traverse, north, south, east and west. A little homespun atmosphere is what we have lots of to share. Some of our friends calls us the "Gravenhurst Waltons," after the television show from the 1970's. I consider it a compliment. Well, we are a family business, and Suzanne and I were big fans of John Boy Walton, and his close knit family up there on Walton's Mountain in Virginia. We have always found a little nook or cranny at the shop, for these road weary musicians to enjoy a little quiet time, play some of our vintage instruments, listen to some old records, and if they're up for it, a conversation about their careers, and what they hope to accomplish a few more miles down the road. We don't want them heading out when they're exhausted. There's always a couch for a short nap.
     It's been fascinating for Andrew and Robert, proprietors of the music component of the shop, but equally fascinating for Suzanne and I, to also meet these contemporary minstrels, and listen to their amazing stories of industry survival; tales about the communities they've played, the bar-rooms and community halls, they've performed in, and the interesting folks they've met all over North America and beyond. It's enlightening to hear their accounts of the indie music circuit, and they're often joined in our shop, and studio, by other local musicians, who are enthralled to learn more about their coast to coast travels. The visiting musicians want to know about us, and are amazed by the collection of old instruments, and sound equipment, which, if they stay long enough, they get to play around with, even on our back practice stage in the "nostalgia" room, at the back of our building.
     We get musicians dropping in, from all parts of the country, and even Europe, who are stuck for equipment, having lost an important piece, or suffering damage at a venue, and having no money to replace what they need in order to perform, at the very next gig. Andrew has been asked to make emergency repairs to guitars, amps, drums and microphones, on a tight budget of time, and loaned out pedals, and just about anything else, for making music, including his on-site expertise, as a sound technician, to get the performer and show up and running. It happens even more frequently than I thought, because I just asked Andrew this moment, if he could tell me the occasions when musicians have found themselves in dire straits, that he has been able to provide cables, strings, drum skins, jack repairs, and guitar neck adjustments, only hours to even minutes from an actual performance, in and around our community. We've had to open the shop late at night, and sometimes in snowstorms, because a musician has run into problems with equipment failure. A pretty large portion of these folks don't have a lot of money on them, and we understand this; so a lot of the work and loans are free. And I can't tell you how many friends we've made in the music industry by understanding these limitations. Many will come back, the next time they're in town, with the money they owed, or to take the boys to lunch, or bring them some equipment they no longer use, in exchange for the kindness bestowed earlier.
     We are always being reminded in this business, of vintage instrument sales, and concert hosting, in our free time, that indie musicians, especially, are some of the most kindly, polite, thankful folks in the entire music profession. They don't have a big pot, but they're willing to share it with others, a little down on their luck. When they visit with us, the most amazing reality, is how quickly they become one of our music family members, and Facebook friends, always feeling welcome to drop in any time their in town, and join the lads for a musician's dinner, that somehow or other involves pizza, and listening to vintage vinyl on a 1960's vintage sofa and chair. We are continually impressed by their generosity, and willingness to suffer for their craft; and it must be character building, because boy oh boy, do we ever run into some unique individuals. We have great respect for these traveling minstrels, and understand how difficult their lives are, living out of suitcases and motel rooms, and doing a little couch surfing with newfound friends to save a few bucks, in order to buy food for the next day. Some of the younger indie musicians, just staring off, are just happy to make gas money from gigs, and have no problem at all, adjusting to sleeping in recreation rooms, and spaces no bigger than big closets, in a generous citizen's basement, in order to be faithful to their mission, of being a professional musician. It's a hard life, but what an amazing way to enrich your days, and see the country sprawling out in front, and getting this rare opportunity to meet a lot of good folks in so many interesting communities. It is most enriching, I think, for us, at the shop, because they are willing to share these stories with us, and our shop cronies, who work for free, just to hang around with this company of musicians. I find myself frequently in the middle of this music folk history looping around, and it's pretty amazing for an old reporter, columnist, who thought he'd heard everything.
     We're playing host to musicians from around the world, who have heard about the shop from others they meet during performances, in other communities stretched across the continent. It's another added bonus for us and them; because these fine talents are often meeting other musicians, and music techs, for the first time, in our studio shop. New friendships between performers are being hatched here in Gravenhurst, on a regular basis. You're going to have to take my word for it. When have I ever lied about things like this? We have a few choice examples that we can claim, were composed in our studio, the result of what was clearly a case of accidental meeting. We are proud to say, Currie's Music was the place where new acts got their start. Now that is neat. One is coming up real soon, and there are several more to follow. Pretty exciting stuff for all of us, and the citizen of Gravenhurst, because we think it's going to be big for all concerned. A few of our detractors have scoffed at our claims, and wouldn't give us the time of day, as contributors to the well being of local cultural recreation. We've got news for them. There's still time to give us the benefit of the doubt; and then stand back, because there's a locomotive coming down the tracks. I will make sure you folks are the first to know, when all the plans have come together, and the new group is ready for their first paying gig. You'll get a chuckle at how history is going to repeat, for all the right reasons. It will be a robust foray into country music with a Gravenhurst background.
     We really like putting on community concerts, and always have, dating all the way back, to when the boys were performing in the Gravenhurst High School, "Pure Gold," variety nights, at the Opera House. Our contemporary concert series, held at St. James Anglican Church, gives us all a chance to work with some of these young and emerging talents, plus some veterans of the industry, and share their experiences; and offer a few of our own. The boys contacts in the industry are pretty impressive for their young age; and so many of them, are now such close friends and performing colleagues, they text us, to let us know they're coming to Gravenhurst, for a visit, but ask first off, what kind of cookies Mother Currie has baked for the "studio tin." We like that comfort level. Being called Grandpa Walton is kind of endearing you know. "Goodnight John Boy!"

Gravenhurst's "Free Stuff For Daily Needs" Hosted Christmas Give Away; CBC Took My Hockey Away

"FREE STUFF FOR DAILY NEEDS" FILLING A GAP WITH KINDNESS, RESPECT AND UNDERSTANDING - AND OH YES, PROVISIONS FOR THOSE IN NEED

THERESA AND BARRY BUKER - OUT IN THE SNOW, AND COLD TO HOST THEIR ANNUAL "CHRISTMAS GIVE-AWAY" IN GRAVENHURST

     I SUPPOSE, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, IT COULD HAVE BEEN COLDER. WITH SNOW FALLING! THE ICE ON THE BIRD BATH COULD HAVE BEEN THICKER. THE FROST ON THE WINDSHIELD OF THE VAN, TAKING A LITTLE LONGER TO DEFROST. BEING HONEST WITH OURSELVES, EVEN HERE IN MUSKOKA, PREPARED FOR WINTER THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING, THIS WAS A SIGNIFICANTLY COLD START TO NOVEMBER. I DON'T KNOW WHAT IF MEANS WHEN NOVEMBER COMES IN LIKE A RAGING BULL, BUT I HOPE IT HAS THE DEPARTURE OF A PUSSYCAT. IT WAS NOT THE BEST DAY FOR HOSTING A GIVE-AWAY EVENT, AS A PRE-CHRISTMAS GIFT, TO THE CITIZENS OF OUR REGION. WHEN ASKED IF THE HARSH CONDITIONS, WERE SLOWING THEM DOWN, THE BUKERS, IN UNISON, SAID, "NOT REALLY. THE WORK HAS TO GET DONE, SO WE KEEP MOVING AND EVENTUALLY FORGET ABOUT HOW COLD IT IS." EVEN IF IT HAD BEEN SNOWING AND BLOWING, THEY CONFESS, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE PERFECT BACKDROP FOR A CHRISTMAS GIVE-AWAY.
     BARRY AND THERESA BUKER WERE UP BEFORE THE BIRDS, SATURDAY MORNING, AND WITH A FEW HARDY VOLUNTEERS, THEIR FRIENDS, THEY HAD MOST OF THEIR ANNUAL "CHRISTMAS GIVE-AWAY" SET UP, ON THE DRIVEWAY AND SPRAWLING ACROSS THE UPPER YARD OF THEIR MUSKOKA BEACH ROAD PROPERTY, HOURS BEFORE MOST OF US GOT UP TO GREET A NEW MONTH. IF YOU LIVE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA, YOU MAY HAVE HEARD OF, OR READ ABOUT, THEIR CHRISTIAN MINISTRY OUTREACH, KNOWN AS "FREE STUFF FOR DAILY NEEDS." THROUGHOUT THE YEAR, THEY OFFER THOSE CITIZEN IN NEED, "ITEMS, SUCH AS DISHES, POTS, PANS, COUCHES, KITCHEN TABLES, CHAIRS, COFFEE MAKERS, TELEVISIONS, COFFEE TABLES, LAMPS, DRESSERS, LINENS, CURTAINS, UTENSILS, AND A LOT OF OTHER USEABLE "STUFF," FOR THOSE ON A TIGHT BUDGET, OR NO BUDGET AT ALL. IN EARLY NOVEMBER, EACH YEAR, THEY PUT-ON A HUGE GIVE-AWAY EVENT, AS A CHRISTMAS SEASON ACT OF GOODWILL, AND IT DRAWS HUNDREDS OF FOLKS WHO HAVE BEEN COMING TO THE EVENT FOR YEARS. THERE ARE MANY FOLKS ATTRACTED TO THE CHRISTMAS ACT OF CHARITY, NOT JUST THOSE FACING LEAN TIMES. THE BUKERS OPEN UP THE EVENT TO ALL COMERS, AND DESPITE THERE BEING NO PRICES ATTACHED TO ANY OF THE THOUSANDS OF ITEMS, THERE ARE THOSE IN ATTENDANCE, SO APPRECIATIVE OF THEIR COMMUNITY INITIATIVE FOR THE LESS FORTUNATE, THAT DONATIONS ARE MADE REGARDLESS. IT'S ALSO LIKELY, THAT THOSE IN ATTENDANCE, WILL ONE DAY DOWN THE ROAD, OFFER THE BUKERS SOME FURNITURE OR OTHER HOUSEHOLD ITEMS, AS DONATIONS, AS A RETURN KINDNESS.
     WE HAVE KNOWN THE BUKERS PERSONALLY, FOR ONLY A FEW YEARS, BUT WE'VE BEEN GOING TO THEIR EVENTS FOR MUCH LONGER. THEY RAISE FUNDS FROM YARD SALES IN THE SUMMER MONTHS, TO HELP THEIR MINISTRY, WHICH IN TURN, HELPS THOSE WHO ARE IN GREAT NEED OF HOUSEHOLD MATERIALS, FROM POTS AND PANS, TO SOFAS AND CHAIRS. THEY REGRET THEY CAN'T DO MORE, BUT OUTSIDE OF SOME VOLUNTEERS TODAY, THEY DO THE BULK OF THE WORK THEMSELVES, WHICH BY THE WAY, IS HEAVY, UNPREDICTABLE DEPENDING ON WHERE THEY HAVE TO TRAVEL TO PICK UP DONATIONS, AND THE DAYS ARE LONG. VERY LONG. BARRY IS ALWAYS IN ABOUT THE SAME POSITION AT THESE EVENTS, ON EACH OCCASION, AND THAT'S AS THE OFFICIAL GREETER, AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE DRIVEWAY, WHERE HE SAYS HELLO TO EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO ARRIVES FOR THE GIVE-AWAY OR, IN SEASON, THE FAMOUS BUKER YARD SALES, THAT, WELL, COME CLOSE TO SHUTTING DOWN THE MAIN ROAD BECAUSE OF ATTENDCE. THAT'S HOW POPULAR THE DRIVEWAY EVENTS ARE, AND HOW MUCH FOLKS AROUND HERE, LIKE BARRY AND THERESA'S ZEAL FOR HOSTING GOOD HUMOURED GATHERINGS, WITH INTERESTING PIECES UP FOR GRABS.
     I TALKED TO BOTH BARRY AND THERESA YESTERDAY, ABOUT HOW PREPARATIONS WERE GOING, AND WHAT I SAW WAS A PLEASING CONTENTMENT IN THE SPARKLE OF THEIR EYES, BECAUSE THEY'RE DOING SOMETHING THEY LOVE. THEY GET A LOT OUT OF WATCHING FOLKS, PACKING UP BAGS OF FREE CLOTHING, AND CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS, AND EVEN AN ARRAY OF ARTIFICIAL TREES, ALL THE WHILE, CAROLS ARE BEING PLAYED FROM SPEAKERS IN THE YARD. I ASKED THEM IF THEY WERE CONCERNED ABOUT THE WARNING OF IMMINENT SNOW, AND A MUCH COLDER TEMPERATURE FOR THEIR SATURDAY EVENT, AND THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER, THEN BACK AT ME, WITH RESPECTIVE SHOULDER SHRUGS, THAT IT IS WHAT IT IS! I WANTED TO THEN ASK THEM, IF THERE WAS ANYTHING ENVIRONMENTAL, SHORT OF A FULL BLOWN HURRICANE OR TORNADO, THAT WOULD INFLUENCE THEM TO CANCEL THE EVENT. BUT SEEING AS THIS WASN'T ON THE RADAR, SUFFICE TO SAY, IT WOULD TAKE SOMETHING PRETTY ROUGH TO THWART THIS GRAVENHURST COUPLE FROM FULFILLING, WHAT THEY BELIEVE IS THEIR CHRISTIAN RESPONSIBILITY TO ASSIST THEIR FELLOW MAN AND WOMAN.
     I ASKED BARRY THIS MORNING, HOW HE WAS FARING WITH THE COLD, AND THE FACT HE HAD BEEN UP SINCE 4:30 A.M. "I JUST KEEP MOVING AND YOU DON'T NOTICE AFTER AWHILE." I ASKED THERESA THE SAME THING, A FEW MINUTE LATER, NOTICING SHE WAS WEARING A LIGHT SWEATER IN THE BITTER COLD. "I JUST KEEP WORKING AND IT DOESN'T BOTHER ME." I WAS GOING TO ASK THEM WHETHER THEY WERE EXHAUSTED, AFTER SO MUCH WORK EVEN BEFORE I HAD CONSUMED MY FIRST COFFEE AT HEARTHSIDE. BUT THEN I THOUGHT, BEFORE I ASKED, WHAT A STUPID QUESTION THAT WOULD BE; OF COURSE THEY'RE EXHAUSTED. BUT HAPPY EXHAUSTED, BECAUSE THEY REALLY DO ENJOY MEETING ALL THE PEOPLE WHO TURN OUT, AND THEY TALK TO EVERYONE WHO HAS ANY INTEREST IN CONVERSATION. THEY TALK WHILE THEY WALK, UNLOAD BOXES, AND HELP FOLKS OUT WITH THEIR COLLECTIONS OF GOODIES. IT'S HEART WARMING, REALLY, TO SEE THIS DUO IN ACTION, SHOWING SO MUCH ONGOING CONCERN ABOUT THOSE IN THE COMMUNITY, WHO HAVE WANTS AND NEEDS, BUT VERY FEW OTHER OPTIONS TO HAVE THEM FULFILLED.
     I HAVE MANY CASUAL CHATS WITH THE BUKERS ABOUT THEIR WORK TO HELP THE LESS FORTUNATE, AND I'M ALWAYS IMPRESSED BY THEIR NEVER-SAY-NEVER ATTITUDE; AND IT MEANS THEY WON'T GIVE UP TRYING TO HELP A CLIENT, OR GETTING THEM POINTED IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION FOR ADDITIONAL ASSISTANCE, EVEN IF IT MEANS THEY WON'T GET THAT SECOND CUP OF COFFEE IN THE MORNING, OR HAVING THEIR DINNER GO COLD, BECAUSE SOMEONE JUST ARRIVED IN THEIR DRIVEWAY LOOKING FOR SOMETHING OR OTHER. AS FOR TURNING FOLKS AWAY? IT WOULD BE A RARE OCCASION IF THEY DID.
     BY THEIR OWN ADMISSION, RESPECTIVELY, THEY'VE BOTH HAD OBSTACLES TO OVERCOME FROM THEIR YOUNGER DAYS, AND THEY'VE SEEN UP CLOSE, AND WITH CONSIDERABLE COMPASSION, HOW IT'S POSSIBLE TO, AS THEY SAY, "FALL THROUGH THE CRACKS," AND GET LOST IN A COMPLICATED SYSTEM OF SOCIAL WELFARE. IT MAY SEEM A SIMPLE PROCESS, TO GET ASSISTANCE, BUT THERE ARE A LOT OF HOOPS. WITH BARRY AND THERESA, THE QUESTIONS ARE FEW, AND ARE MOSTLY THE KIND OF INQUIRY, SEEKING TO KNOW THINGS LIKE, "HOW ARE YOU DOING WITH THE BABY," "HAVE YOU GOT A PERMANENT PLACE TO LIVE YET," "HOW ARE YOU COPING," AND "WHAT DO YOU NEED TODAY, THAT WE CAN HELP YOU WITH?" IF A CLIENT WANTS TO ADD MORE INFORMATION, THAT'S UP TO THEM. IF THEY PREFER TO KEEP IT ALL UNDER WRAPS, AND SHARE VERY LITTLE, THE BUKERS ARE HAPPY TO GET TO THE LAST QUESTION FIRST. "HOW CAN WE HELP YOU?" FOR SOMEONE, OR A FAMILY, TRYING TO START OVER AFTER A HOUSE FIRE, FOR EXAMPLE, OR SOMEHOW HAVING BEEN DISPLACED, BY NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN, HAVING THE BUKERS OPEN UP THEIR HOUSE, IN AN ATTEMPT TO OFFER ANY MATERIAL ASSISTANCE THEY CAN, IS A GENEROUS, AND KINDLY WAY TO BYPASS INITIAL AWKWARDNESS; OF NOT HAVING MONEY TO PURCHASE HOUSEHOLD PROVISIONS, BUT NOT BEING ASKED FOR ANY FINANCIAL CONTRIBUTION BY THE BUKERS. WE ALL WANT TO PAY OUR WAY. SOMETIMES HOWEVER, WE FIND OURSELVES NEEDING A HELPING HAND, AND FOR HUNDREDS, IF NOT THOUSANDS OF FORMER CLIENTS, THE BUKERS MADE THE EXPERIENCE OF ASKING FOR HELP, A LOT MORE PALATABLE; FOR THOSE ESPECIALLY WHO DISLIKE ACCEPTING CHARITY. MORE LIKE AN OUTREACHED HAND, AND A HARDY SHAKE, BEFORE AGREEING UPON THE BEST APPROACH TO GET OVER THOSE HURDLES LIFE HAS THROWN IN THEIR WAY. TRUTH BE KNOWN, THE BUKERS GET THEIR STRENGTH TO CARRY-ON THEIR SERVICE, EVERY TIME THEY HELP SOMEONE CLEAR THOSE HURDLES, AND THEN HEAR OF THE TURN-AROUNDS IN FORTUNE, THEY'VE HEPED INSPIRE.
     THERESA AND BARRY KNOW I'M A WRITER, AND RUN BOTH A COMMUNITY BLOG AND NEWSPAPER COLUMNS IN REGIONAL PUBLICATIONS. IN THE THREE YEARS WE'VE GOT TO KNOW EACH OTHER, THEY HAVE NEVER ONCE, ASKED ME TO PUT TOGETHER A PROMOTIONAL STORY FOR THEM. THEY WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT THIS WOULD BE AN IMPOSITION, AND HONESTLY, THEY DON'T LIKE TO ASK FOR FAVORS, EVEN THOUGH ON OCCASION, THEY COULD BENEFIT FROM EXTRA HANDS AND LEGS; TO PERFORM THE YEOMAN'S WORK OF CONSTANTLY LOADING AND UNLOADING BIG ITEMS, AND HUGE, OVERFLOWING BOXES OF DONATIONS. I WORRY ABOUT THEM, BECAUSE THEY'RE MORTAL AFTERALL, AND THE WORK IS BACK-BREAKING. I THINK THE FACT THEY ENJOY HELPING OTHERS, SO MUCH, COUNTERS SOMEWHAT THE PHYSICAL BURDENS THEY SHOULDER, DAY IN, DAY OUT. EVEN WHEN THEY'RE NOT WORKING, THEY'RE PLANNING FOR IT, AND TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THE BEST WAY OF HANDLING THE BEXT BIG CRUNCH OF DEMAND, AND SHIPPING AND HAULING FOR THE NEXT SIX DAYS STRETCH. THEN THERE IS THE STORAGE ISSUES THAT NEVER END. SUNDAY IS THEIR DAY TO REFRESH FAITH, AND RELAX ACHING MUSCLES.
     MAYBE THERESA AND BARRY WILL BE EMBARRASSED BY THIS LITTLE TRIBUTE PIECE, ACKNOWLEDGING THEIR HARD WORK ON BEHALF OF OUR COMMUNITY HERE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA. THEY DON'T ASK FOR MUCH THAT'S FOR SURE. YET, DESPITE THE FACT THEY WOULD NEVER ASK ME TO PEN SUCH A PIECE, BECAUSE THEY ARE MODEST AND HAPPY TO STAY THAT WAY, WHAT I SAW THIS MORNING, IN THE BITTER COLD, MADE EVERSO SHARPER BY THE NOVEMBER WIND, WAS A COMMUNITY APPRECIATION THAT REALLY SURPRISED ME. LONG BEFORE THEY WERE EVEN READY TO OPEN, FOLKS HAD BEGUN ARRIVING, AND BY NINE-THIRTY, I COUNTED SEVENTY-FIVE PEOPLE WANDERING THROUGH THEIR YARD, WITH FULL BAGS OF CLOTHING AND CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS, BOOKS, VIDEO CASSETTES, BOWLS, TRAYS, UTENSILS, SHEETS, BEDSPREADS, LAMPS AND EVEN SOME SKIS AND POLES, FOR THE COMING WINTER SEASON. OH YES, AND THERE WERE SKATES FOR YOUNG AND OLD. ALL FREE. WHAT HAD BEEN GIVEN TO THEM, AND HAULED HOME BY THE TRUCKLOAD, WAS BEING GENEROUSLY EXTENDED TO ALL THEIR FRIENDS IN AND AROUND GRAVENHURST. I THINK WHAT IMPRESSED ME THE MOST, WAS THE WAY BARRY AND THERESA, NO FOOLING, MADE EVERYONE WHO ATTENDED, FEEL PART OF SOMETHING FESTIVE IN THE SPIRIT OF GOODWILL. FROM FOUR IN THE MORNING, TO THE SUPPER OUR, THEY WILL HAVE WORKED (ALONGSIDE VOLUNTEERS) IN THE COLD FOR ALL THOSE HOURS, AND HAD TO GATHER UP ALL THE MATERIALS THAT WEREN'T TAKEN BY VISITORS, AND AS THEY OFTEN DO, SET UP A LITTLE ROADSIDE "FREE" PILE IF THE WEATHER PERMITS; TO EXTEND THE GIVE-AWAY EVEN LONGER, AND POSSIBLY INTO TOMORROW. I SENSE, WHEN THEY FINALLY PULL UP A CHAIR AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, THEY WILL FEEL CONTENTED, BEYONG THE PHYSICAL EXHAUSTION, THAT SO MANY PEOPLE HAD COME TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THEIR LITTLE EVENT; AND THAT SO MUCH OF WHAT THEY HAD RESCUED, FOR A "SECOND TIME AROUND," HAD BEEN TAKEN AWAY BY EQUALLY HAPPY PEOPLE, WHO FELT A LITTLE CHRISTMAS CHEER, VERY EARLY IN THE SEASON.
     THERE ARE TIMES IN OUR COMMUNITY, WHEN WE GROW WEARY OF SEEING THE SOCIAL AND POLITICAL ELITE, ACTING OUT THEIR ASSUMED ROLES OF COMMUNITY LEADERSHIP; SUCH THAT WE CAN COME TO FORGET, THAT TRUE LEADERSHIP DOESN'T HINGE ON EITHER. THE REAL MEASURE, OF HOW A COMMUNITY IS FARING, ISN'T JUST A MATTER OF ECONOMIC PROGRESS, BECAUSE EVEN DURING OUR MOST PROGRESSIVE PERIODS, THERE HAVE BEEN THOSE SUFFERING QUIETLY, WITH FINANCIAL DISADVANTAGE. FROM AN HISTORIAN'S POINT OF VIEW, I WEIGH A COMMUNITY'S PROSPERITY IN A DIFFERENT WAY. CITIZENS HELPING CITIZENS GIVES ME A RUSH. THOSE WHO ARE WILLING TO SACRIFICE, TO MAKE SURE, THEY ARE NOT ONLY GOOD AND CARING NEIGHBORS, BUT KNOW THAT SOLUTIONS CAN BE LONG DRAWN-OUT AFFAIRS, WITH NO GUARANTEES AT THE END, ALL WILL BE WELL. YET BY THEIR VERY EFFORT, OF CARING FOR OTHERS, THE BUKERS CONTRIBUTE SO MUCH TO MAKING THE LESS FORTUNATE FEEL THEY'RE IN GOOD COMPANY IN A TRULY DYNAMIC HOME TOWN; WHERE IT'S TO BE EXPECTED, NEED ARISES AS A CONSTANT STREAM, REGARDLESS HOW MUCH WE TRY TO STEM ITS FLOW. IT IS THE PREMISE OF THE WELL KNOWN MOVIE, AND PLAY, "OUR TOWN." IT'S JUST NICE TO KNOW, THE BUKERS ARE OUT THERE, PERFORMING THEIR OWN DUE DILIGENCE, TO ASSIST THOSE WHO CAN'T HELP THEMSELVES.
      THANK YOU BARRY AND THERESA, FOR HELPING OUR COMMUNITY HELP ITSELF.
     For the first day of November, with trace amounts of snow on the ground, our music shop, studio and antique wing, here in uptown Gravenhurst, was busy all day; so much in fact, we had to keep reminding ourselves that it is officially the off-season here in Muskoka. We had visitors from Wales drop in, and from all over Ontario. Had some musicians in for a studio tour, from Regina, and they're going to be performing at St. James Anglican Church, tonight, as part of our Sessions Concert Series. I'll let you know more about how it went, in tomorrow's blog. This is a country and western night at the church, and tickets have been selling well throughout the day. It's great to be busy here, especially on a cold and blustery day like this. Lots of people visiting in the vicinity, and boy oh boy, that's great for the businesses of South Muskoka.
  
SOMEWHERE, SOMEHOW, I LOST INTEREST IN THAT GOOD OLD HOCKEY GAME - AND I FEEL BAD ABOUT IT!

     WHEN THE CBC CUT ITS JUICE OR WHATEVER IT FLICKED OFF, OR MOTH-BALLED, THAT DENIED US A SIGNAL, IT WAS THE LAST STRAW FOR ME AND HOCKEY. WE HAD A DIVORCE THRUST UPON US. I APPARENTLY, ACCORDING TO THE GRAPEVINE, WAS TOO CHEAP TO PAY, IN ORDER TO MAINTAIN OUR VIEWING RELATIONSHIP, WHICH FOR ME BEGAN IN EARLY CHILDHOOD. THE CBC AND THE HOCKEY CZARS, AND GOVERNMENT-TYPES, SAID I SHOULD PAY FOR THE RIGHT TO WATCH HOCKEY. I STILL FIND IT HARD TO BELIEVE, THAT WE CANADIANS, LET THE FEDS CUT-BACK THE CBC, SUCH THAT THEY COULDN'T AFFORD TO MAINTAIN A SIGNAL, HERE IN THE HEARTLAND. FOR THOSE OF US WHO REFUSE TO PAY FOR CABLE, WE HAD OUR VIEWING OPTIONS PARED DOWN TO ALMOST NOTHING. I GREW UP WITH THE CBC AND FOR MANY, MANY YEARS, MY ONLY CONDUIT TO HOCKEY NIGHT IN CANADA, WAS SIMPLE, LOW BUDGET, CBC RECEPTION. EVEN BACK TO THE DAYS WHEN I HAD TO MAN THE BUNNY EARS, SO MY MOTHER AND FATHER COULD ENJOY HALF DECENT RECEPTION FOR THOSE TRADITIONAL WINTER NIGHTS WATCHING HOCKEY. I GO AS FAR BACK, AS WHEN THE GAME COULD ONLY BE SHOWN AT THE END OF THE FIRST PERIOD, BECAUSE IT WAS BELIEVED, BY MAPLE LEAF MANAGEMENT, FOLKS WOULDN'T GO TO THE GARDENS IF THEY COULD WATCH THE WHOLE GAME FOR FREE. SO THEY WOULD ONLY BEGIN TELEVISING THE GAME, WITH ABOUT FIVE MINUTES LEFT GO IN THE FIRST PERIOD. THAT'S WHEN INTERMISSION INTERVIEWS WERE CONDUCTED BY WARD CORNELL. I LOVED WHAT IT DIDN'T HAVE. IT WAS PRETTY MUCH JUST HOCKEY WITH A FEW SUNDRY ENHANCEMENTS. ON SUNDAY NIGHTS, I TURNED TO MY LITTLE RCA TRANSISTOR RADIO, FOR THE ROAD GAMES. IF I PUT THE RADIO ON THE TOP OF THE RADIATOR, IN MY BEDROOM, I GOT A MUCH BETTER SIGNAL. I JUST HAD TO REMEMBER TO REMOVE IT BEFORE THE HEAT MELTED DOWN THE CASING. I WAS AS CLOSE TO A HOCKEY PUREST AS ONE COULD GET, WITHOUT ACTUALLY TURNING INTO A PUCK. REMEMBER HOWIE MEEKER AND PETER PUCK? WHAT ABOUT THE LEAF "HOCKEY TALKS," THAT WERE ON FLIMSY VINYL, IN PICTURE POUCHES, BACK IN THE DAYS OF THE ORIGINAL SIX? THIS SURE DATES ME. I WAS CHEERING FOR PLAYERS LIKE GEORGE ARMSTRONG, TIM HORTON, LARRY HILLMAN, FRANK MAHOVOLICH, JOHNNY BOWER AND TERRY SAWCHUK. REMEMBER DON SIMMONS AND THE 11-0 DRUBBING THE LEAFS GOT, FROM THE LAST PLACE BOSTON BRUINS? I STOPPED WATCHING THE LEAFS FOR ONE WEEK IN PROTEST.

     The other evening, and by the act of resident madness, I grabbed up one of the boys' old hockey sticks, from a bunch leaning against the side of the house. It just seemed so natural, because it's how I spent a large chunk of my life. Hockey stick in hand, waiting for a game to break out. With the rigors of business, our boys haven't played a game of shinny for about three years now. I got crazy the other night, when I felt a little chill coming on, and donned my Rink Rat hockey jersey. I forgot that it was one of the new kind, with a lot of pores to let the heat out during play, and not so great if you're trying to get warm. I had the jersey on, at the time I picked up the hockey stick, and for a few moments, it's quite true, I contemplated unleashing a slapshot into the side woodwork of my neigbour's house. Back in the early days of my kids' hockey experience, we'd occasionally let one rip, during a game of shinny on the sideyard ice rink, and by deflection, the flying rubber might have connected with the siding at the end of their house. I think these errant shots may have left a black mark, but nothing serious. I saw the guy's wife looking at it one day, and she turned to me, holding onto one of the sticks, but never connected the two situations. She probably did wonder why I was staring at her. I don't think she believed I could take a slapshot, as a hockey elder, anyway. I think the marks are still there, but we've got them on our house as well. On this occasion, I feel comfortable wearing the hockey sweater, like the sturdy grip of the hockey stick in my hands, but something, on that occasion, was gone. I probably could have slapped a few limestone shards toward the driveway, and made a few mock stick-dekes, as if flying down the ice past the opposition forwards, but the magic was clearly missing. What I had grown up with, as intimate to almost every waking moment of my life, had dissipated over the years of non-involvement. I gave up playing for The Herald-Gazette Rink Rats, the team I helped found in the early 1980's, shortly after we moved to Gravenhurst in 1989. I didn't give it up for physical reasons, but because we couldn't afford the gas, to and from Bracebridge, every Wednesday night; and then get the car towed when it would suddenly cease to operate, sometimes shutting itself off at sixty miles per hour. Yup, it would just switch off, as if it was tired of my company, and leave me stranded on the highway, or whatever country road I was traveling; to the point, playing hockey from eleven to midnight, was no longer recreational and or, calming.
     I loved watching hockey, but we don't have, or even want, cable television. We just wanted our CBC signal, for whatever games they televised during the winter months. I didn't think it was much to ask for, as a Canadian citizen. We still get CTV but all that means, is that we get NFL Football on Sunday afternoons. Which is alright, but I generally only ever watch the Superbowl in late January. I'm kind of a "one-game a year" football follower. There was a day, by golly, when I was so excited about football, especially the CFL, that for big games, I used to sit outside in a lawn chair, and watch the game through the front window; to recreate the occasions when I travelled with former Toronto Argonaut, Dave Whiteside, to the club's home games, then held at Exhibition Stadium, as part of his "Magical Mystery Tour," bus adventures in the fall of the year. I loved those trips via Hammonds Bus Lines. After the trips ended, I was still crazy about re-creating the experience, so I'd get a cooler of pop, (beer), and some red hots (hot dogs), and Suzanne would laugh at me through four quarters of playoff football, trying to re-create a part of my life, gone forever. Shivering and trying to part my lips, to take a drink of frozen ale. So it wasn't just hockey that faded for me. I haven't watched a Grey Cup game since the early nineties. I went from sports fanatic, to sports pacifist, in big part because most of the sports I adore, require me to pay for the privilege. I got spoiled by the good old days. I'm thankful this is how I grew up; my mother and father used to splurge, with our modest means, to make up a Kraft Pizza, from the boxed kit, and Ed loved kielasa and a seafood sauce for dipping, along with some slices of real cheddar cheese. Oh, yes, those Hostess Chips and French Onion Dip. And we got to listen to either Bill Hewitt, calling the Leaf Game, or Danny Gallivan, if it was from the Montreal Forum. I grew up on Hockey Night in Canada. It was part of my recreational, cultural upbringing. Now, when I wear a Rink Rat hockey sweater, and have my hand on a hockey stick, with a few projectiles to slap around, in the upper driveway, I find myself strangely void of enthusiasm.  This is odd to me, an old sports fan, because I've never been in a hockey mood, even casually, that I haven't wanted to hit the five hole in some imaginary net. But I know it had a lot to do with those changes in tradition. It was one thing, to hang up my skates, because my knees and hips were wearing out, but quite another, to end my fanship for hockey, as a result of a lost signal; one by the way, that for years, I could achieve by wiggling the rabbit ears on our old black and white telly, and with a little livingroom ballet, bring in a picture that was a whopping twenty-five percent static free. By the way, I could catch the play by play in the reflection from the glass in one of my mother's pictures over the sofa. I replayed every one of those games, when the Hunt's Hill gang got together the next day, and played three or four games of road hockey, in front of our apartment; that snow-covered stretch of Alice Street, under the lamplight, and bordered so beautifully by the snow-covered evergreens in Bamford's Woods. Merle used to invite the lads up for a cup of hot chocolate, as long as they didn't muck up her floor, of spill anything. I'm told that when they were clearing out the trees, to build a low cost housing complex, they found several hundred pucks and dozens of soggy tennis balls from those same good old days, which we had "bushed" but never found. We'd lose them in the winter season, deep in the snow, and then forget about them in the spring.
     How many others, with similar backgrounds, of having dutifully watched Hockey Night in Canada, for decades, (as if we'd be considered traitors, not to be tuned-in), are now popping-in movie discs on Saturday nights instead? I contemplated earlier this fall season, if I might build another ice pad, this winter, for old time's sake. I think I might like to play a game of shinny again before the Reaper comes calling. But, somehow, the play by play I used to call, of Keon, Pulford, back to Baun, intercepted by Gordie Howe, a shot turned away by Bower, just wouldn't be the same. I have a hard time these days, naming three Leafs, let alone players on any other teams. I've got a collapsible shed on the sidelot, where I used to ice a rink for the boys, decades ago, so it would all hinge on me clearing it out, and packing it up for the winter season. I don't think I'm going to do this, but I'm kind of pleased as a sort of consolation, about wanting to wear the hockey sweater once again. Truthfully, I stopped wearing it after I quit the team. I received an honorary Rink Rat membership, a few years later, and was presented a new sweater with my name printed on the back. Ed Kowalsky, Harry Ranger and I were the honored guests at a Loveable Losers Hockey Tournament, and we all got personalized sweaters. One of the boys started wearing that, and never gave it back. My Rink Rat jacket went the same way, and is in a closet I'm currently unfamiliar. Maybe this is a budding sign, a sort of later life, recreational harbinger, that I just might resume an interest in hockey, if my other hobby, grabbing stamps with tiny tweezers, and then looking at them through a magnifying glass, should wear thin on my patience. I still like the sound of a well snapped frozen rubber puck, when it hits the boards of a cavernous old arena, like the ones we used to have in Muskoka; those natural ice palaces that were colder inside, than outdoors. Ah, the hot stove league chats, that were actually in front of a real wood stove, with a red hot stove pipe to singe the skin.
     It's time to wrap up the blog for the day. I'm off to review the concert tonight with Zackarey Lucky and mates, at the Anglican Church, and the turn around time is a tad short. Thanks for joining me today. You folks made a cold, bleak day in November, a nice, warm, community embrace. See you again soon.