A PASTORAL SCENE - A HUSBAND AND WIFE - A FARM WAY OF LIFE
THE LIFE AND TIMES WE FORGET IN GRAVENHURST
"THERE IS SOMETHING NOBLY SIMPLE AND PURE IN SUCH A TASTE; IT ARGUES, I THINK, A SWEET AND GENEROUS NATURE, TO HAVE THIS STRONG RELISH FOR THE BEAUTIES OF VEGETATION, AND THIS FRIENDSHIP FOR THE HARD AND GLORIOUS SONS OF THE FOREST. THERE IS A GRANDEUR OF THOUGHT CONNECTED WITH THIS PART OF THE RURAL ECONOMY. IT IS, IF I MAY BE ALLOWED THE FIGURE, THE HEROIC LINE OF HUSBANDRY. IT IS WORTHY OF LIBERAL, AND FREEBORN, AND ASPIRING MEN. HE WHO PLANTS AN OAK LOOKS FOREWARD TO FUTURE AGES, AND PLANTS FOR POSTERITY. NOTHING CAN BE LESS SELFISH THAN THIS. HE CANNOT EXPECT TO SIT IN ITS SHADE, NOR ENJOY ITS SHELTER; BUT HE EXULTS IN THE IDEA, THAT THE ACORN WHICH HE HAS BURIED IN THE EARTH, SHALL GROW UP INTO A LOFTY PILE, AND SHALL KEEP ON FLOURISHING, AND INCREASING, AND BENEFITTING MANKIND, LONG AFTER HE SHALL HAVE CEASED TO TREAD HIS PATERNAL FIELDS. AS LEAVES OF TREES ARE SAID TO ABSORB ALL NOXIOUS QUALITIES OF THE AIR, AND TO BREATHE FORTH A PURER ATMOSPHERE, SO IT SEEMS TO ME AS IF THEY DREW FROM US ALL SORDID AND ANGRY PASSIONS, AND BREATHED FORTH PEACE AND PHILANTHROPY. THERE IS A SERENE AND SETTLE MAJESTY IN WOODLAND SCENERY, THAT ENTERS THE SOUL, AND DILATES AND ELEVATES IT, AND FILLS IT WITH NOBLE INCLINATIONS."
THE PASSAGE ABOVE WAS WRITTEN BY WASHINGTON IRVING, IN THE BOOK, "BRACEBRIDGE HALL." IT IS A QUOTATION I HAVE READ MANY TIMES, AS IT ALWAYS SEEMS TO APPLY TO SOME MYSTERIOUS ROAD I'VE TAKEN, WINDING THROUGH OUR WOODLANDS, OR AFTER A WALK ALONG A MIST-VEILED LAKESHORE, JUST BEFORE SUNRISE. IT IS THE QUOTE THAT IMMEDIATELY CAME TO MIND, THE DAY, ON A MOTOR TRIP, I SAW A LOCAL WOODSMAN, SITTING CONTENTLY BESIDE A FIRE, HALOED BY THE SPIRALING WHITE SMOKE, RISING UP THROUGH THE ABSTRACTION, OF SPRING'S LEAFLESS BOUGHS. I THOUGHT HIM TO BE A VERY CALM AND WISE MAN, WHO SEEMED TO BE AS NATIVE TO THESE WOODS, AS THE RABBIT AND DEER I SEE FREQUENTLY, ALONG THIS SAME STRETCH OF COUNTRY ROAD. IT WAS A PORTRAIT I CAPTURED IN MEMORY, AND A PORTION OF WRITING, BY IRVING, THAT MAKES ME VERY SENTIMENTAL ABOUT WHAT WE'RE LOSING TODAY…….WHEN VOYEURS LOOK UPON A SCENE SUCH AS THIS, TODAY, THEY ARE MORE LIKELY TO FIND IT AN ODDITY; NOT AS SOMETHING TRADITIONAL, SERENE OR EVEN REMARKABLE. MY MOTHER TOLD ME ONCE UPON A TIME, THAT I HAD BEEN BORN WITH AN OLD SOUL. I NEVER KNEW WHAT THAT MEANT UNTIL NOW.
SUZANNE AND I VERY NEARLY BOUGHT A FARM. IT WAS WELL MORE THAN A DECADE AGO, AND WE HAD NOT ONLY THE PASSION TO OWN FARMLAND, BUT WE HAD JUST ENOUGH MONEY TO MAKE THE PURCHASE. IF WE SOLD OUR HOUSE. WE HAD BEEN LOOKING AT THIS FARM FOR MANY YEARS, AND AS WE KNEW THE OWNERS QUITE WELL, THEY MADE US A VERY SWEET DEAL. BY TODAY'S REAL ESTATE VALUES, WE WOULD HAVE BEEN SITTING PRETTY, MORE THAN DOUBLING THE ORIGINAL ASKING PRICE. FOR THREE AGONIZING DAYS, WE TRIED TO FIGURE OUT WHAT WAS GOING TO BE BEST FOR OUR FAMILY. THE BOYS WOULD HAVE LOVED TO ROAM THE MEADOWS AND PLAY IN THE CREEK, AND AS WE LIKE ANIMALS, WE COULD HAVE HAD A BARN FULL. IT HAD JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING WE COULD HAVE WANTED IN A PROPERTY, AND LOWER TAXES FOR FARMLAND. AS WE ARE DREAMERS AND CREATORS, WE ARE ALSO HOPELESS ROMANTICS. WE DIDN'T WANT TO HAVE OUR FAILINGS RUIN A PERFECTLY GOOD AND HONEST DREAM. WE WOULD BE THE NEW FARM GOTHIC, AND I WOULD STAND WITH A PITCH FORK, SUZANNE WITH A FRESHLY BAKED APPLE PIE. OKAY. SHE COULD STAND WITH THE PITCH FORK. I WOULD HUNGRILY TAKE THE PIE. I'D HATE TO APPEAR AS A CHAUVINIST.
HONEST TO GOD, AS I SAT ON OUR FRONT LAWN, WITH SUZANNE, PONDERING THE RIGHT MOVE, WE BOTH, AT ALMOST THE SAME TIME, START HUMMING THE THEME OF THE TELEVISION SHOW, "GREEN ACRES." WE LOOKED AT EACH OTHER WITH GOOD HUMOR, STARTED LAUGHING, AND HAD OUR ANSWER. THERE WAS NO WAY SUZANNE AND I WERE CAPABLE OF LIVING AS FARMERS. WE HAVE TOO MUCH RESPECT FOR THE FARM COMMUNITY, TO HORN IN AND COMPLETELY RUIN AN HISTORIC MUSKOKA FARM. SUZANNE SAYS THAT I'M AS "HANDY AS A FOOT," AND SHE KILLS ALMOST ANY PLANT SHE TOUCHES. WE HAVE VERY LIMITED CAPABILITIES AS EITHER CARPENTERS, OR FOR-PROFIT GARDENERS, AND UNLESS THERE'S BIG MONEY RAISING BARN CATS, WE'D BE OUT OF LUCK. WE'RE GREAT WITH A CANOE AND CAMPING GEAR, BUT AS FOR FARMING, WE WOULD BE FAR, FAR OUT OF OUR ELEMENT. IT'S WHY WE TURNED DOWN THE FARM, AND IT WAS A SAD DAY. YET WHAT WE HAD HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, SUITED US FINE. WE HAVE ALL KINDS OF WILDLIFE AROUND OUR HOUSE, FROM HAWKS, AND OWLS, A FOX WE CALLED "READY", DEER AND THE OCCASIONAL MOOSE, PLUS A PLETHORA OF INTERESTING CRITTERS FROM SQUIRRELS, CHIPMUNKS, MICE AND MUSKRATS, TO VENERABLE OLD CROWS, PERCHING ON DIFFERENT LEVELS, OF THE OLD PINE ACROSS THE ROAD. THIS IS WHAT WE LIKE. WHILE WE LOVED THE IDEA OF BEING MODERN DAY FARMERS, WE HAD TO ADMIT TO OURSELVES THAT OUR PROFESSIONS DID NOT QUALIFY US AS HOMESTEADERS. A TEACHER AND A WRITER, AND A COUPLE OF MUSICAL KIDS, DID NOT "A FARM ECONOMY MAKE." WE HAD LOTS OF REGRETS, BUT WE KNOW TODAY IT WAS THE BEST DECISION WE COULD HAVE MADE, FOR THE LIFESTYLE WE PREFER. "I GET ALLERGIC SMELLING HAY……DARLING JUST GIVE ME PARK AVENUE." BUT FOR THOSE THREE DAYS THINKING ABOUT IT, WE WERE FARMERS. UNTIL WE STARTED THINKING ABOUT CHORES AND WHEN THEY BEGIN ON A WORKING FARM.
Numerous times from spring to Thanksgiving, we still meet up with our farmer friends, and chit-chat about the deer, bear and moose sightings. Suzanne always buys her plants at the woman's yard sales, and then kills them systematically in our home garden. I always have interesting conversations with her husband, about his days growing up on the farm, which was then further down the road, and we can make an hour disappear just like that. We always have such a nice visit, and they'll talk about the new family in the farm we almost acquired, and we'll say, "we wish we had bought your farm." It's just small talk, but they know intimately well, that we didn't have a prayer of making a go of it, and the best thing that could have happened, did occur. They found people who wanted the farm because it was a farm. It's been prospering ever since. They both wink, when we start waxing nostalgic, about the glorious, dreamland "what ifs". What if we really had purchased the farm?
Truth is, they knew how hard it would have been on them, having us as needy, "non-farmer" neighbors. Being yelled-at, phoned, and having our boys running to them for help, every time father fell down the well, or mother got cornered by a slightly flatulent, threatening bovine. Maybe even helping us twice a day, and having more farm responsibilities thrown at them, than when they operated it on their own. If they needed me to write a story for them, I would and could. If they needed a fence fixed, a water pump replaced, a new roof on the barn, or a bit of chainsawing done, it would be pointless calling me. Suzanne's idea, you see, of the perfect farm, is one that Martha Stewart might have built and furnished, with gardens and livestock, all beautifully appointed and ready for the very next photo shoot, for some country decorating magazine. To hell with the hardship. We just want the good life. So obviously, we made the right choice staying at Birch Hollow, in our urban neighborhood, where we can dip our toes in nature, but only be a short hike from the main street……if we need more insect repellant. I think they figured we weren't farm material, when, on the tour of the property, we were spraying ourselves constantly. There were probably only a few flies anyway; but you know, even though we live in a small rural community, known for lots of stinging and sucking critters, we're still by characteristic, convenience loving urbanites…..who like bug-free zones.
For years now, I've been driving by this family's farmstead, and as I'm always looking for interesting things to write about, I couldn't possibly take a trip along this particular road, without the voyeur's gaze, upon whatever these folks were toiling with, at that moment. There were many years, when I'd see them out working, and wonder honestly, if they ever took a break, other than when they obviously slipped, like shadows at twilight, back into the house, falling asleep in their tracks. I've never known more hale and hardy people in my life. I remember, one spring day, feeling very uninspired and taking a little drive to nowhere in particular. I went past their home and the old farmstead, and I saw someone moving in the cluster of trees below one of the most picturesque hillsides in Muskoka. It was late spring but there was still a lot of snow around. Here the farmer had set out a little fire, to burn some fallen limbs from winter storms, and had found a fallen log to sit on, basking somewhat in the warmth of the fire, and the sunglow coming through the leafless maples. I slowed down for a better look, as it was one of those Time / Life photographs, and damn-it I didn't have a camera. I made a mental picture of what I saw. It was everything I love about this rural landscape in Ontario. It was the perfect Muskoka scene. I drove slowly by, and nodded, and he gave me one of the those slow, characteristic waves back, with his enormous, farm-calloused hand. I looked in my rear-view mirror, and it was just as precious going, as it was coming. The white rise of smoke straight up into the mosaic of tree limbs, like a wafting spirit; the orange glow of the fire in the log pit, against the white of remaining snow; the sparkling sunlight, like diamonds in the sky, and this old-timer in mackinaw, with his legs outstretched, and his arms crossed….., the hat slipping down over his eyes. Slumber obviously beckoning, like the woodland nymph, easing him into dreamland. After a substantial woodcutting chore, he was quite deserving of his respite. I was seeing history here. I was witnessing a love for the land, and a way of life, and it was a most inspiring moment, traveling along this scenic lane amidst pastoral splendor, cathedral maples, and rambling creeks. It is the allure, for me, to write about this amazing region. Scenes like this, so many Muskokans never get to see or enjoy.
We visited with these folks today, while out on a little Saturday afternoon motor trip. We always cherish a little sojourn at the farmstead, now and again, so they can tell us again, how lucky we are, to have better paying professions. When we asked that typical question, one Muskokan asks another, at this time of the rolling year….."So how did you winter?" the answer was an unfortunate, "Not so good." "We're getting on," she said. "We don't know how much longer we're going to be able to stay here." Her husband just nodded, and this time, we didn't talk too much about the old days.The old days, unfortunately, were becoming very sad years to reminisce about, because the future has, all of a sudden, become ever-more imposing and daunting. Suzanne and I have known this was inevitable. It doesn't mean we want to face it, that our friends might have to move one day soon. We need this farm. We require these short but really neat visits with genuine country folks. Farmers. Old school farmers. But as they were feeling chipper up to the point we arrived, it was just too nice a morning in Gravenhurst, to be fearing the future, or muddying the water, getting all nostalgic. We all had to wipe away tears, because we are all practical, in-the-know realists. You certainly can't be a farmer for most of a lifetime, and not know about the rigors of sickness and death, and all the hard realities of raising livestock, only to one day kill what you've looked after so carefully, so patiently, gently. The writer and teacher have no choice but to deal with actuality and reality, good and bad, and yet, to think about this period of history fading into the sepia tone of an old photograph, was a hard, unsettling situation. It's that moment, on a slippery slope, when you want time to freeze, for God's sake. To get a grip. Adjust. Think about today before you have to worry about tomorrow and if they'll even be one, in a mortal sense. For an historian, you'd think I'd be used to this by now. We all get old. Buildings are erected, and they are demolished. We are born, and we will, one day, die. There will be plaques erected for "local notables," and books will make mention of the politicians who cut ribbons, and shook hands, and life will go on and on. But down along this beautiful country lane, winding between hill and dale, maple grove and pinery, where farms used to prosper, and cattle roamed the pastures, there will be, as a great misfortune of humanity, in the not too distant future, no remembrance, no emotional record at all, of what, and who, has lived so passionately and gracefully here. Tucked tightly against the azure sky, and evergreen treeline of another Muskoka day.
When we were pulling back onto the road, after our short visit today, Suzanne looked back, and watched as the couple headed toward the house, hand in hand, after many, many years of marriage. And we just had to stop, to capture the image of this enduring romance, of a country life, a hard existence, joy, sorrow, family times, good times, but such peaceful, gentle contentment. It was such a tender, lingering moment, and we both knew, it was as much, a twilight image of what, by their own admission, will be their own destiny…..leaving this farmstead for good. We didn't want to see this, or feel this way, because we expect them to occupy this quaint farm, and tend their vegetable garden forever. This is our fantasy, not their reality. I will wish them to forever walk through these shadowy, storied woods, and sit by those spring fires in the wood lot, because it makes us happy, to watch the way they enjoy the land, the air, the water and all the creatures between here and there……and we think to ourselves……and the words of a song, "what a wonderful life." We are selfish in this way. We hate endings.
Sometimes we become so pre-occupied with politics and government issues, here in Gravenhurst, that we can forget what really defines our home town and region. I will always define Muskoka, by the many scenes I have witnessed, visiting, and driving by, for example, this picturesque little farm. Since 1989, when I began passing by regularly, I have written hundreds of feature stories, with this place in mind. And some times, as fantasy, I wonder if I might have been that venerable country gent, sitting on the log, warming his hands by the fire, content to look very Robert Frost-like. I try to visualize Suzanne working in the garden, and dogs and cats running in the yard…..an old mule and a cow in the pasture. But I can't. I can only see this farm couple, and this, is as it should be. They made the right decision to sell the farm to farmers. We made the right decision to carry on with teaching and writing, and frequently coming to visit. We've had a good and memorable life. So have they. No matter how long I live, to make that journey, through the ethereal memorials along this winding road, I will see the woodsman on that fallen log and know for sure, the love for nature, reigns eternal. I will smell the woodsmoke, and see the diamond light of spring sun in the leafless boughs, and feel that strange contentment, where I might otherwise expect sadness. If only we could live as passionately, and intimately, with our chosen professions, as those who farm the land.
The family farm. All across this country, now a diminishing reality…….a way of life fading like those old dog eared photographs, pressed into the family albums. I can't imagine how we'd all feel, to come down this road and find a subdivision or golf club instead. We know this to be inevitable, one day. I will travel here each day, and soak up this enchantment, while it is still flourishing. Some times I don't like being an historian at all. Everything I record, or re-visit, is a memory of once. So today, the historian was ordered to stay at home.
Thank you for visiting today's blog. You all come back now, ya hear!
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