ADA KINTON WAS FASCINATED BY THE NATURAL SURROUNDINGS OF FRONTIER ONTARIO

By Ted Currie

The toughest day to day challenge for my mother, was to keep me indoors. I would have been outdoors through the night, if Merle hadn't been standing guard. My dad told me she truly slept with one eye open, suspecting I might try a daring, early morning escape. I loved exploring the small ravine, and greenbelt that embraced the sparkling length of Burlington's Ramble Creek, on its way to Lake Ontario. It was a glorious place for a wide-eyed kid, who never suffered from a lack of imagination.

I loved the seasons in that Burlington neighborhood, with its venerable chestnut trees on Torrance Avenue, and the pear and cherry trees on Harris Crescent, next to the market garden. But it was in that ravine, invigorated by explorations into all the magical places a watershed can afford, that reminds me now, of the treks into the woodlands by pioneer artist, Ada Florence Kinton, back in 1883.

When our family moved to Muskoka, in 1966, I carried my enthusiasm for the outdoors deep into the forests and lowlands around our new Bracebridge abode. I couldn't find anything that paralleled the valley of Ramble Creek but I did have so much more acreage to roam freely, in this rural part of the province. The Ramble Creek oasis, a more than worthy childhood haven, was in reality, only a couple of city blocks from Brant Street, the main business corridor. Point is, I grew up with a particularly ravenous appetite for outdoor exploration, and both places of my youth, offered enough adventure to satisfy this curious wanderlust.

As I was preparing for this latest installment, of the biography of Ada Kinton, I couldn't help myself from falling dreamily, helplessly into those wonderful childhood days, learning about nature by immersion. It's what, of nature, inspired Miss Kinton to sketch and paint what she adored about the Ontario wilds. From the busy streets of Victorian England, the hustle and bustle of London, Ada found herself wandering the narrow cartways and forest paths of pioneer Huntsville, in the northern climes of Muskoka. Having recently lost her father to illness, she was brought to Huntsville, by her brothers, Ed and Mackie, both local businessmen. She was later to become a missionary, working with the Salvation Army. But in that emotionally stirring spring of 1883, she spent considerable time pondering the future, and as it was, asking in prayer, what God had in store for her. In the meantime she looked after her nieces and nephews at the Kinton residence. Already an accomplished artist and instructor, in England, she put her experience to work, sketching the flora and fauna of this largely untouched wilderness.

Enjoying this beautiful August season, in Ontario, we have to take a little trip back in years, and season, (are you feeling a little colder?) to revisit Miss Kinton's fascinating journal, the one published following her death, by her sister Sara Randleson. It is now late March in the year 1883.

"Ed (her brother) is better (following the influenza). The doctor comes jingling up the hill in a cutter. It is like a perambulator on light runners. The sleigh proper is a long low box, shallow and close to the ground, and rough; the cutter has a row of bells. The swing from England is very popular today, Boyo (her nephew) repeats. 'Ting giddy,' and Frank's little plump feet in the red socks work vigorously. Sun going down golden again. River all snow, except a dark serpentine twist in the middle. Curious to see the way fields and garden are herring boned all over with the dog tracks, according to the vagaries of the canine mind. Feel sick with neuralgia - went to bed supperless."

She revisits the journal on Good Friday. "Bad night all round. No service - unlike English Good Friday. No noisy bank holiday folks in front of the window to watch. Now 'rows" to the police station. No almond trees in bud or blossom, no women at the corners with baskets of violets and primroses to sell at two pence a bunch. No South Kensington Galleries, and no Art Library to go to and read Ruskin and Longfellow. No paps at Cornwall. Why are things so nice when they are gone? Made a discovery. Can make delicately pretty Easter eggs by etching with common ink. Going to try paint brush tomorrow. (Easter Day) Afternoon, went for a long walk to Vernon Lake. Large clearings leave good vistas of distant hills and the bush and the bay and the lake. Thaw commenced. Snow soft, and melted slightly on surface." Later in the day she pens, "Large party off to tea. Tea table loaded with good things. Big bake on Saturday. The choke-cherry-jelly cake and cookies look so rich and golden, with the blue glass service. My room is quite a picture all the afternoon, when the sun shines. The glare of the snow is so bright that red curtains are always drawn but the light is so radiant that the place looks like a blaze of fire, and the pink roses on the chintz quilt, are like lumps of glowing coals; and as a foil against the rosy wood, big bunches of myrtle-green hemlock and tamarack. The hemlock has a habit of pointing the topmost branch always northward. Saw a squirrel in the woods, and one or two birds tempted out by the mild warm air. No other signs of life yet. Went to church. Large congregation. The Bishop preached eloquent, thoughtful sermons."

Sketching as much with her words, as pencil on paper, she wrote of the weather, "Tuesday, still snow. Mother Earth seems to have freshened-up her ermine robe to last a little longer this spring. Cold looking clouds over the horizon. Couldn't rest last night, so sat up and repeated (verses) of Milton, and gazed out at the bush and the snow-lighted sky, and thought of Milton's stars, 'that in their glimmering orbs did glow,' until sleep came at last. (Next morning) Dreary outside. Spent the chief part of the day down at the office, with my brothers, very quietly. Saw a new phase of the village. The post office and store. Funeral procession of a young man from Fairy Lake passed the window; about 15 sleighs following - chief mourners with large scarfs of some white material tied around the right arm. Mourning suits mottled and varied, none of the intense pomp and gloom of a London funeral. One man had a plug hat, a rare occurrence here."

"Sketched a view of the river disappearing in the bush, and the steamer 'Northern,' still sleeping (iced in at wharf). Not satisfactory. Try to paint instead or chalk tomorrow. Delicious light and shade on the snow all day, as bright and radiant as the petals of a jonquil, all over everywhere. Past six and sun not gone down yet. Imitation rainbow reflection under the bridge. The big bluff edged with faint purple and fringed with russet trees; pale peacock green and rosy sky, shadows delicate, fawn colored, all melting together into a sweet glow. River gradually breaking through the ice."

I think it would have been enchanting, to accompany Ada Kinton on her walks through and around this quickly rising pioneer hamlet. I think she may have enjoyed some of the travels I took, as a young lad, seeking out some of life's beautiful and tranquil places, in the haunted woodlands I was able to wander. As she saw landscapes she wished to paint, I have witnessed scenes I wished only to describe in written sketches. These sojourns in the relative wilds of Ontario, served us both well, I suppose, as dream-filled, wide-eyed adventurers, who endured indoors on the promise of our precious time out-of-doors.

This series of year-long columns, is dedicated to the Gravenhurst Food Bank, operated by the Salvation Army, an organization Ada Kinton supported for most of her young life. She most certainly would have endorsed the food bank program. Please support the food bank program in your own community.

As Ada Kinton celebrated the beauty of the hinterland, please take the time this harvest season, to take in the sights, activities, and special events planned in our regions of this beautiful province.