OLD TIME AUCTIONS REALLY GOT ME HOOKED ON THE ANTIQUE BUY AND SELL
I WAS A SUCKER FOR THE JOB-LOT PURCHASE
WHEN I THINK BACK NOW, TO WHEN I ACTUALLY BEGAN SEEING THE GREATER DIMENSION IN THIS "ANTIQUE-THING," I WAS PLAYING AT RECREATIONALLY, (AS A SORT-OF FUTURE PROFESSION), IT CAME FIRST WHILE HAUNTING THOSE ALL-DAY AUCTIONS; THE ONES I USED TO JOYFULLY ATTEND, AS A YOUNG WRITER WITHOUT PORTFOLIO, HERE IN THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA. AT FIRST I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH MONEY TO BUY THE ITEMS UP FOR SALE, BUT THERE WAS A REWARD FOR BEING ASTUTE AND PATIENT. I COULD GO TO A SALE WITHOUT A SINGLE SHINY DIME IN MY POCKET, AND STILL GET A THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF EDUCATION. AND ALTHOUGH YOU MIGHT NOT BELIEVE THIS, I WOULD COME HOME WITH SOME REMAINS OF THE DAY. THAT'S RIGHT. I LEARNED WHY IT CAN BE PROFITABLE, TO REMAIN TO THE END OF AN AUCTION SALE……ESPECIALLY ESTATE AND FARM SALES. THERE ARE ALWAYS LEFTOVERS. ITEMS PEOPLE DIDN'T WANT TO TAKE HOME, THAT THEY MAY HAVE PURCHASED IN A JOB-LOT OF PIECES. THEY STILL HAD TO PAY THE AMOUNT THEY BID, BUT FOR ANY NUMBER OF REASONS, THEY DECIDED TO DUMP PORTIONS OF THEIR PURCHASE. MANY TIMES THE BUYERS DON'T HAVE ROOM FOR A CHAIR OR TABLE THEY GOT IN A CLUSTER OF FURNISHINGS, THE AUCTIONEER HAD INCLUDED IN A TYPICAL JOB-LOT. THESE OCCUR FREQUENTLY, WHEN THE AUCTIONEER HAS A NUMBER OF ITEMS THAT WON'T SELL INDIVIDUALLY, BUT BECOME MORE ATTRACTIVE IN A GROUPING. UNTIL OF COURSE THE END OF THE SALE, AND THE AUCTIONEER AND STAFF HAVE TO DISPOSE OF ALL THE ITEMS THAT HAD SUPPOSEDLY SOLD…..BUT WEREN'T ALL REMOVED. THAT'S WHERE I CAME IN, AND IT WAS ONLY BY ACCIDENT I FOUND OUT WHAT "POST AUCTION SCAVENGING" REALLY MEANT. IN LATER YEARS SUZANNE WOULD FORBID ME FROM SCAVENGING BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT I WAS BECOMING A TEXTBOOK "HOARDER." HALF THE FUN OF AN AUCTION WAS HANGING AROUND UNTIL THE END. SUZANNE SUCKED THE FUN OUT OF AUCTIONS, THAT'S FOR SURE.
AS I ATTENDED MANY AUCTIONS, AS A LOCAL REPORTER / PHOTOGRAPHER, AND BEING SINGLE, I DIDN'T HAVE ANY SOCIAL COMMITMENTS OR PROTOCOLS TO ABIDE BY, OTHER THAN SCHEDULED EVENTS I HAD TO ATTEND FOR THE NEWSPAPER, TO GET WHAT WE CALLED "GRIP AND GRIN" PHOTOGRAPHS. ANNIVERSARIES, SPECIAL EVENTS, CLUB SOCIALS, BUSINESS RIBBON CUTTINGS, AND POLITICAL SOIREES, AND SIMILAR BORING SHOTS FOR THE NEXT ISSUE. SO ON SATURDAY AFTERNOONS, I MAY HAVE ONLY HAD A FEW OTHER APPOINTMENTS, AND IF THE AUCTION WAS CENTRAL, I COULD DART OUT FOR A HALF OUR AND THEN COME BACK BEFORE ALL THE GOOD STUFF WAS GONE. I'D FREQUENTLY STAY TO THE END BECAUSE I WAS INTERESTED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUCTION PROCESS IN ENTIRETY, FROM SET UP TO TAKE-DOWN. I WAS FASCINATED BY ALL THE NEAT EVENTS THAT WENT ON WITHIN THE AUCTION. I'LL DISCUSS THOSE IN LATER COLUMN. AT THE END OF THE SALE, AND BEING RELUCTANT TO GO HOME TO MY EMPTY APARTMENT, I WOULD OCCASIONALLY MEET UP WITH SOME FOLKS I KNEW FROM SOCIALIZING AT THE SALES, AND IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG TO SEE WHY THEY HUNG BACK UNTIL THE LAST ITEM WAS REMOVED FROM THE PROPERTY. THEY WERE SCROUNGERS. AUCTION SCAVENGERS. SO I ASKED THEM IF THEY WERE WORKING FOR THE AUCTIONEER, CLEANING UP THE SALE-SITE. TURNS OUT THEY WERE HELPING THE AUCTIONEER AND HIS CREW, BY SCOOPING UP THE PIECES THAT EITHER HADN'T SOLD OR HAD BEEN PURPOSELY LEFT BEHIND. THEY DIDN'T MIND THE CUSTODIAN ROLE, AND I BEGAN TO NOTICE A LOT OF PARTICULARLY USEFUL ITEMS DUMPED IN PILES, UNDER TREES, IN THE HOLLOWS OF SHRUBS IN THE GARDENS, LEFT IN PILES OF BOXES ALONG THE ROAD, AND DUMPED BACK INTO THE OUT BUILDINGS AND GARAGES BY BUYERS, WHO DECIDED AT THE LAST MINUTE, NOT TO WORRY ABOUT THE REMNANTS FROM THE DRESSER THEY PURCHASED. THERE MAY HAVE BEEN LETTERS AND OLD INVOICES MISTAKENLY LEFT IN THESE DRAWERS, BY THE AUCTION STAFF, AND THE BUYER SIMPLY DIDN'T WANT TO HAUL THE GARBAGE HOME. SO I LEARNED FROM IMMERSION, THAT NO ONE WAS GOING TO MIND, IF I BEGAN RUMMAGING THROUGH THESE REMAINS, AND LOADING UP A FEW BOXES OF THINGS I THOUGHT I NEEDED, OR FELT HAD SOME UNDETERMINED VALUE TO EXPLORE. TAKING THE LEFTOVERS TO THE LANDFILL SITE WOULD COST THE ESTATE, THE SALE CLIENT, OR EVEN THE AUCTIONEER A TIPPING FEE. WE WERE THERE TO DO IT FOR FREE.
FOR EXAMPLE, I WAS LIVING IN MY APARTMENT WITH ONE SAUCE PAN, AND ONE FRYING PAN. I HAD AT LEAST ONE PLATE AND A DRINKING GLASS. I COULD HAVE OUTFITTED A COMMERCIAL RESTAURANT WITH ALL THE POTS AND PANS LEFTOVER AFTER A TYPICAL ESTATE SALE. THERE WAS ENOUGH CUTLERY LEFT OVER, FOR A FAMILY OF TEN, AND THE DRINKING GLASSES, BOWLS AND DISHES WERE NOT ONLY PLENTIFUL, BUT IN SOME CASES, VERY COLLECTIBLE. I USED TO READ ANTIQUE PRICE GUIDES IN THOSE DAYS, AND I RECOGNIZED SOME OF THE COMPANY NAMES AND PATTERNS WORTH HOLDING ON TO, FOR SOME FUTURE INVESTMENT BENEFIT. IN ONE SUMMER OF IMMERSION, IN THE LOCAL AUCTION SCENE, SPLIT UP BETWEEN THREE LOCAL AUCTIONEERS, MY BIG APARTMENT WAS ACTUALLY GETTING CLUTTERED. I HAD MORE FURNITURE THAN I KNEW WHAT TO DO WITH, BUT DAMN-IT, I COULDN'T STAND TO SEE A GOOD ARMCHAIR OR BROKEN WOOD DRESSER, LEFT TO BE HAULED TO THE LANDFILL SITE. I BECAME THE RECLAMATION KING THAT SUMMER SEASON. I HAD BOXES OF DISHES AND MORE BOXES OF DRINKING GLASSES. I COULD HAVE SMASHED A GLASS EVERY DAY, AND STILL HAD TOO MANY OVER THE COURSE OF A YEAR. AND YES, IF YOU'RE THINKING THIS WAS THE MAKING OF A HOARDER…..YOU'D BE BANG ON. I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. I WAS BROKE MOST OF THE TIME. I STARTED OFF IN MY FIRST APARTMENT, WITH CARDBOARD BOX TABLES. I DRANK FROM STYROFOAM CUPS, AND ATE OFF PAPER PLATES. THE CUTLERY WAS WHAT I COULD SCAVENGE WHEN I OCCASIONALLY HAD TAKE-OUT FOOD, WHEN EXTRA MONEY PREVAILED. SO WHEN I FOUND THAT, BY STICKING AROUND AUCTIONS, I COULD OUTFIT MY HOME NEEDS WITHOUT ANYTHING MORE THAN SWEAT EQUITY, AND A VEHICLE BIG ENOUGH TO HAUL THESE FINDS AWAY. I HAD ENOUGH MATERIALS TO OFFER ALL OF MY REPORTER AND NEWSPAPER COLLEAGUES, IN CASE THEY RAN OUT OF CONVENIENCE WARES, LIKE REAL METAL KNIVES, FORKS AND SPOONS, AND CHINA PLATES TO DINE IN STYLE. SOME OF THE BETTER-OFF FINANCIALLY AUCTION-GOERS WOULD EVEN TARGET ME PERSONALLY, OFFERING THINGS THEY HAD PURCHASED BUT DIDN'T WANT TO TAKE HOME….OR COULDN'T FIT IN THEIR CAR. I EVEN GOT LEFTOVERS FROM THEIR PICNIC LUNCHES. NO KIDDING. NICE FOLKS.
ONE OF THE GAME-CHANGERS FOR ME, AT AUCTIONS, CAME WHEN I DID HAVE SOME MONEY TO INVEST. I WOULD USUALLY BID ON THE JOB-LOTS THAT INTERESTED ME, BECAUSE FROM THE CLEAN-UP PERSPECTIVE, I SAW THAT IT WAS A FINANCIALLY REWARDING WAY TO PURCHASE. INSTEAD OF PAYING FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR ONE ITEM, I WAS CONSUMED BY THE FACT THAT FOR TWENTY BUCKS, I COULD ACQUIRE TEN BOXES OF ASSORTED ESTATE "SMALLS" (SMALL ITEMS STORED IN MULTIPLE BOXES), WHICH AT FACE VALUE MADE VERY LITTLE SENSE……BUT I BET THERE ARE DEALER / COLLECTORS READING THIS, WHO STARTED IN MUCH THE SAME FASHION…..GOING AFTER QUANTITY FIRST, AND QUALITY SECOND. I OFTEN FOUND SIGNIFICANT PIECES IN THOSE BOXES THAT HADN'T BEEN DETECTED BY AUCTION STAFF. ESPECIALLY OLD BOOKS AND MAGAZINES. THE COLLECTIBLE VALUE OF THESE BOX-LOTS WAS MAKING ME A WEE BIT OF PROFIT, SELLING TO OTHER FRIENDS AND DEALERS.
IN MY "NEEDY" YEARS, I JUST WANTED STUFF. I WAS AN ASPIRING ANTIQUE DEALER, BUT I WAS ALSO ON A SHOESTRING BUDGET. I COULD JUST AS EASILY PROFIT FROM MANY SMALL COLLECTIBLES, AS SELLING THE BIG PIECES OFFERED BY THE AUCTIONEER, WITH A LOT LESS RISK. THAN FOR EXAMPLE, WHAT IT WOULD COST TO GET INTO THE MAINSTREAM BIDDING ON THE QUALITY PIECES OF GLASS, CHINA, AND FURNITURE. WHAT HAPPENED, AS A SORT OF AUCTION MAGIC, WAS THAT I BEGAN HAVING PEOPLE AT THE SALE, ASKING IF THEY COULD BUY THINGS FROM MY LOT. I WAS PROFOUNDLY SHOCKED, AND THE MORE JOB-LOTS I PURCHASED, THE MORE AUCTION CUSTOMERS WOULD ASK IF IT WAS OKAY TO HAVE A LOOK THROUGH THE BOXES I HAD ACQUIRED. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW DREAMY IT ALL WAS, TO FINISH UP AT AN AUCTION, AND HAVE PAID FOR HUNDREDS OR EVEN THOUSANDS OF INDIVIDUAL SMALL ITEMS, BASED ON THE PROFITS OF SELLING TEN OR SO ITEMS WITHIN. OF COURSE, I WAS PROFOUNDLY DISAPPOINTED, WHEN ONE OF MY AUCTION MATES TOLD ME THAT, THOSE WHO WERE BUYING THE COLLECTIBLE ITEMS, WERE DEALERS, WHO HAD ONLY WANTED THOSE PIECES ANYWAY; BUT I HAD PAID MORE THAN THEY WANTED TO SPEND. SO THEY "CHERRY PICKED," MY COLLECTION, OF THE ONLY SEMI-VALUABLE PIECES AMONGST THE ITEMS PURCHASED. "YOU'VE GOT TO KNOW WHAT YOU'VE GOT IN THOSE BOXES, BEFORE YOU START SELLING STUFF OFF TED," MY FRIEND EXPLAINED. THE LAST TWO PEOPLE WHO BOUGHT STUFF FROM THE BOXES, ARE DEALERS, AND THEY WOULD HAVE ONLY PAID YOU A FRACTION OF WHAT THEY WERE WORTH." I WENT FROM FEELING COCKY, TO BEING DOWN-HEARTED IN THE FACE OF REALITY. FROM THAT POINT ON, I BECAME FAIRLY STANDOFFISH, UNLESS I KNEW THE PERSON, AND HAD STUDIED WHAT THEY WANTED TO PURCHASE. IT TOOK TIME AND MANY MISTAKES TO FIGURE OUT THAT SHARKS CAN LIVE ON LAND AS WELL.
AUCTION CULTURE, FROM MY DAY, WAS SOCIAL AND BUSINESS ROLLED INTO ONE AFTERNOON
I stopped going to auctions because the days of making money at them, were pretty much long gone. Prices were way more than I could afford in order to re-sell for even a modest profit. Auctioneers had become much more savvy in knowing their antiques and collectibles, and even country auctioneers, who had at one time, just been interested in efficient liquidation of estates and farms, became authorities on old stuff. Instead of the traditional job-lots, everything was being sold individually, even the kind of junk that used to wind-up in those boxes at the end of the sales……the ones I used to load in my car. The number of collectors and dealers increased, and then there were the home decorators, who would bid us all up to the point we might only get three or four out of a dozen items, we had marked on the back of our numbers, as being worth bidding on. I used to have an eighty percent average back in the old days, and I came home happy. In the last years I attended auctions, I used to come home aggravated and disappointed, with only several pieces to show for my time. The amount of time to process thousands of individual items, minus the job-lots, made the events both uninteresting and so slow, as to make them nuisance time-wasters. If you had to pay someone to cover your retail shop, for the day, the auctions soon became cost inefficient. Add to this the addition of Buyer's Premiums, which I do not support, or attend where this is the sale protocol, and the halcyon days of the old fashioned country auction, at least here in Muskoka, are distant memories. Which is a shame because it was where I cut my teeth as an antique dealer. I think about all the young folks who will never get the chance to do the same, as I was able to, on a budget so tight it squeaked. As well, many other folks who used to attend auctions weekly, have also stopped going even when an interesting one does come along in the neighborhood. So thus, the auctioneers make less money, and I hear overviews, that it's because the market has cooled. Well, what they should look at, is how they've changed their sale procedures and philosophy, taking away many of the opportunities antique dealers require to obtain inventory, in a timely, cost efficient manner. Not that auctioneers have to cater to antique dealers, but they certainly needed to acknowledge that these industry professionals, were spending oodles of folding money faithfully, at every one of their sales. Yes, they did deserve to be treated with respect. And yes, they would come back, under the right circumstances. In our region, we need more auctioneers. There are folks willing to use the auction format to settle estates and personal possessions, but there is not the auction competition, that sets about a healthy rivalry and more bidder-friendly events. That's my soap box editorial for the day. We need some hale and hardy individuals to consider auctioneering, as a way to make a buck or two. Build it, and they will come.
The Influences of an Old Homestead
(The editorial material below, was prepared for "Curious; The Tourist Guide."
I have tried to figure out, for many years now, the seedling source of inspiration, that pulled me out of the bounds of complacency, into a life-long relationship with antiques and collectibles. I am currently working on a personal biography, on my Gravenhurst blog-site, hoping that if I sit at this keyboard long enough, surround by old stuff of all descriptions, I will suddenly have an emotional breakthrough, pointing me to a defining moment. The moment that changed my life forever, drawing me into this historic trade of old and unusual stuff. I opened my first antique shop, in Bracebridge, back in the fall of 1977. I began writing my first published column, on antiques and collectibles, in 1978, for the Bracebridge Examiner. We've just recently opened another antique shop, this time in Gravenhurst, connected to our boys' vintage music business, and I'm still writing columns and blogs about the art of antique hunting. I know my early hunting and gathering rambles through the countryside, on bottle digs, and then homestead investigations, provided me with the keen historical curiosity, inherent to those happily mired in the trade……but who don't know why either. I began these relic hunting missions long before I attended my first auction. There was something about the appearance of those half-fallen pioneer cabins, and old farmsteads, when they first came into view through the spring lilacs and new maples, that compelled me to learn more about them. I became a hobby historian before becoming an auction scrounger. I had the perfect dynamic to become an historical madman…..a scrounger, a hoarder and let's not forget, writer, just to string it all together in a big honking paragraph.
One of the reasons, I've started working on the biography, other than the insights immersion might prevail upon its author, is that I've have arrived at this elder-statesman point in life, realizing I don't have much to offer my sons, or future grandchildren, as justification for their dad, and grandfather, being an antique dealer; or for that matter, an historian. It didn't come from my parents who were minimalists. Haters of clutter.
To my knowledge, I grew up without trauma, being dropped unceremoniously on my head, or without anyone near-to-me be connected whatsoever, to the antique profession. But I feel it is incumbent on me, to offer my grown-up, businessmen sons, a little explanation, about why they grew up in a household full of very old things, from paintings to the rugs we walked on; and why we were active as managers of Woodchester Villa and Museum, in Bracebridge, as well as that town's Sports Hall of Fame, almost as social-cultural recreation. Their young lives were either blessed by historical immersion, or cursed by too much of a good thing. They seem normal enough today. Maybe they have nightmares of being smothered by dad's pile of junk toppling onto them…..which actually happened in real life. We'll call it a "flashback" instead.
For the past week, I've been writing and questing for information at the same time. Hoping that the more I wrote about my childhood comings and goings, I'd sooner or later, figure out that there was a pivotal event, or forgotten influential friendship, that would allow me to say, without reservation, "well, sir, this is where it all began." All I know, is that I have been collecting things, and scrounging the countryside, even digging in homestead refuse piles, since my early teens. But I know it began even before this, because I remember, so clearly, arriving home from school, with pants half-down, because of the weight of finds stuffed into my pockets. I wasn't collecting things for profit but I do suppose, there was an element of power associated with possession.
Growing up in Burlington, and playing along the shallow, sparkling waters of Ramble Creek, and walking to Lakeshore Public School, I would have chestnuts in my pockets, in season, and shards of flat stone, with fossil imprints, most of the time. I could arrive home with just about anything in my trouser pockets, including some wildlife, like wee frogs and toads found along my route. I might have found a hubcap that I held under my arm, and a few nuts and bolts at the side of the road, for my shirt pocket. I might haul home an interesting stick, for poking about the ravine, where Ramble Creek snaked through, or have arrived home with a broken hockey stick, after a day of being a rink rat, at the Burlington Arena. I was not adverse, whatsoever, to the act of dumpster diving, to retrieve some neat hockey cast-offs, and although it used to make my poor mother nuts, bringing all this refuse home, I felt compelled to give this stuff a second chance. I could still play road hockey with broken sticks. Some with what we called "sliver" blades, and "short" shafts. All my pucks were found at the arena, after being deflected into the stands. "Finders Keepers!" The two words that described my childhood recreations.
In later years, I used to travel out to remote areas in our district, where there had been former hamlets and pioneer encampments. I loved to wander the property, if I was allowed, and on occasion, permission was given to scavenge and dig-up long retired dump-sites on the property, that held amazing treasures of old medicine, food, condiment and soda bottles. I might arrive early on a spring morning, and get back home in time for dinner, with bags of dirty glass containers. Work to clean them could take weeks and months. I'd be bloodied from the blackflies and have numerous cuts and abrasions from hinterland obstacles I had to overcome. A lot of the old homestead dumping sites, were located in the most adverse places on the farm acreage, for obvious reasons, and most in our area of of the province, had a rock outcropping, on a hillside, and were usually always about a hundred yards from the main dwelling. I became an expert in locating these sites. The most obvious sign, was the crunching of tin under foot, and the sparkle of glass fragments, scattered on the rock. It was the work of child's play. The youngsters of the family, were asked to take out the trash, and they did, but not before extracting those glass items they could smash on the rocks. This is why I was so lucky to find a crack and chip-free torpedo bottle, with a rounded (or pointed) end, (type of bottle for soda), and so many "Beaver" brand, sealer jars….even a few with the design of the beaver pointing left, which is a rarer style to find, and much more valuable on the old glass market.
I can remember visiting one old farmstead, situated on a substantial rise of landscape, above a picturesque meadow. I was on cross country skis, at the time, and if memory serves, it was about this time of year. I was by myself, probably in my late teens, and I'd heard about this ruins from a couple of buddies who had skied past in many times. I wanted to see inside. When I arrived there, it looked like a Hollywood movie set, and I've never seen a more haunted-looking abode in my life. It had every right to hold a family of former residents, in the spiritual sense. It wasn't frightening as much as it appeared enchanted, informing the voyeur, before setting one foot on the old lane, leading up to its front porch, that an interloper should expect interesting things to happen on this friendly visit. There was no way of being non-intrusive, because I wanted to see inside the house before it was destroyed forever, and by its appearances, one spring storm could have tumbled it to the ground. I have always been particularly sensitive to spiritual qualities and quantities, and I start off all these adventures, in places like this, with a humble apology, to whoever is still residing within, that I mean it and them no harm. I'm just a curious mortal, interested in history, and all the items that bring history to life.
I had to watch my step, as I climbed the porch stairs, and on several nervous occasions, I broke through the wood on the verandah, but without injuring myself. The house was spooky looking from the exterior, but once inside, it was completely different in atmosphere. Much as if, by appearance, it wanted to scare off intruders, unless, like me, they had a genuine interest in the heart of the home. Which I was most definitely interested in finding. I was only in that house a few moments, before I knew there were kindred spirits within, who instead of trying to scare me off, were in a subtle way, inviting my foot-fall, such that I seemed to be encouraged to go from room to room, without ever once feeling adverse or nervous about what might be found within.
I stayed in that house for a couple of hours, traveling to the third floor, and down to the small basement, looking out the windows, examining relics that had been left behind, especially some old books I found on the floor, with names penned onto the inside cover pages. Before I left that day, it felt, in a small way, as if I had actually come to know this homestead family, of once, and even some of its residents from its more recent history. There were old invoices and notes in these books, used as page markers. I can honestly say, I was fascinated by what I discovered. Not in articles to scavenge, but in the overall appreciation of my own inherent respect for history. Family history. Such that I came to treat this house as an entity unto itself. That it deserved better, than to be left here, to rot into the countryside from which it was built. Yet I knew, standing there for those last few minutes, knowing I had to ski home before dark, that this place would always be home to those resident spirits, whether the farmstead was standing or not. And that I could arrive at this same place, fifty years later, God willing, and find it still so pleasantly haunted, by the family of once, and all the emotion that was invested here over the centuries. I think this was a defining moment for me in the antique trade, and the moment of reckoning, when I began looking at heirloom pieces much differently than before, when money had aways seemed more important than provenance.
"My father was always teaching me new things about the business. One of the wise things he impressed upon me was never to fall in love with a particular period of antiques, but to keep an open mind and appreciate the finest of any period, whether it was porcelain, pictures, furniture or bric-a-brac. This advice I have always followed. All my life as an antique dealer I've had one rule which I've followed consistently. I've never had in my stock any antique of which I could not honestly say, 'this, of its kind and period, is a genuine piece.' It was my father who impressed this upon me as being of the utmost importance, and I've always stuck to his advice." (Antique Dealer, by R.P. Way)
It's been good, as usual, to have you here for a visit. It promises to be a bitterly cold night, so bundle up if you have to travel outdoors. Suzanne has just thrown another slab of firewood on the grate, and I plan to huddle there for the balance of this evening. Thanks again for supporting this humble writer, working in this modest homestead, of Birch Hollow, in the beautiful snowy woods of South Muskoka.
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