"Serenity Now" At Rotary Gull Lake Park; Bifocals Concert Band

"SERENITY NOW"……AT GULL LAKE ROTARY PARK

MUSIC ON THE BARGE PROUDLY PRESENTED THE BIFOCALS CONCERT BAND

     NOTE: DURING TONIGHT'S CONCERT, ON THE BARGE, A REPRESENTATIVE OF THE BIFOCALS CONCERT BAND PRESENTED FRED SCHULZ, MANAGER OF THE "MUSIC ON THE BARGE," SUMMER SERIES, WITH A CASH DONATION, TO HELP OFFSET OPERATIONAL COSTS. IT WAS NOTED THAT THE BAND HAD ACQUIRED MORE MONEY LAST YEAR, THAN EXPECTED, AND DECIDED TO OFFER A PORTION BACK TO FRED, BECAUSE OF THE BAND'S LONGTERM CONNECTION TO THE CONCERT SERIES, AND LOVE FOR THE GULL LAKE VENUE. FRED, THE HUMBLE HOST, WAS GREATLY HONORED, THAT THE BAND WOULD BE WILLING TO MAKE SUCH A GENEROUS DONATION; WHICH OF COURSE, IS CERTAINLY NEEDED, WITH THE RISING COSTS OF PUTTING ON THE SEASON OF ENTERTAINMENT.

THE GENTLE EASE OF THE CONCERT, ON THE AGITATED SOUL - THAT WOULD BE ME!

     WE HONESTLY NEEDED CONDUCTOR NEIL BARLOW, AND THE LEGENDARY BIFOCALS CONCERT BAND THIS EVENING. I'VE BEEN YELLING OUT, "SERENITY NOW," FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS. SUZANNE AND I GOT INTO SOME RATHER BUSY LOCALES, LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, AND WE GOT A REFRESHER COURSE IN MUSKOKA TOURISM UNPLUGGED. SO IT CAME AS A GREAT DELIGHT, LET ME TELL YOU, TO GET SETTLED INTO THOSE LAWN CHAIRS AT LAKESIDE, AND AWAIT EITHER THE RAIN…..WHICH DIDN'T ARRIVE, OR THE PLEASANT MUSICAL PERFORMANCE BY THE BIFOCALS, AS PART OF THE ANNUAL "MUSIC ON THE BARGE" SUMMER PROGRAM, OFFICIATED BY MASTER OF CEREMONIES, FRED SCHULZ. WHAT A CHANGE FROM THE LAST TIME NEIL BARLOW WAS CONDUCTING OUT ON GULL LAKE……WHICH WAS LAST WEEK, AND IT WAS HUMID. TONIGHT SON ROBERT WAS ASKING FOR HIS HOODY EVEN BEFORE THE SHOW STARTED. AS I DISLIKE THE HEAT, THIS WAS A WEATHER-TREAT FOR ME. SUZANNE WAS SHIVERING BY THE END OF THE CONCERT. I HUGGED. SHE SAID I SMELLED LIKE PICKLED EGGS, WHICH WHILE INSULTING, WAS ALSO CORRECT. I ALWAYS BRING PICKLED EGGS FOR MY ONSHORE LUNCH. IT'S A TRADITION.

     IT WAS, FOR US, THE PERFECT WAY TO UNWIND. WE UNFOLDED OUR PICNIC HAMPER, AND WENT ABOUT MAKING OURSELVES A SMALL SHORELINE FEAST, WHILE AWAITING THE SWEET SOUNDS OF MUSIC OVER THE SLIGHTLY RIPPLED WATERS OF BEAUTIFUL GULL LAKE. WHEN FRED INTRODUCED THE CONDUCTOR, NEIL BARLOW, WHO ALSO CONDUCTS THE MUSKOKA CONCERT BAND, AND THE MUSICIANS STIRRED AGAINST THE BACKDROP OF THAT HISTORIC BARGE, AND THE MUSKOKA LAKELAND SCENE, JUST BEYOND, WE SOON FORGOT ABOUT HOW WILD WE HAD BECOME, DOING A SIMPLE GROCERY SHOPPING, A SHORT TIME BEFORE. THROUGH THE EVENING, WE FOUND OURSELVES DRIFTING FURTHER AND FURTHER AWAY FROM THE REALITIES OF RUNNING SHOPPERS, RECKLESS ENDANGERMENT IN THE BAKED GOODS AISLE, JAMMING CARTS, DARTING KIDS AND YELLING INFANTS. FOR THOSE DASHING, DARING, AND DAREDEVIL SHOPPERS, EXCEPT US LOCALS, THEY APPARENTLY FOUND THE RISING DIN OF HOLIDAY WEEKEND COMMERCE, QUITE ACCEPTABLE AND NORMAL. WELL, IT WAS LIKE BEING TRAPPED IN PIN BALL GAME. SO HAVING THIS WONDERFULLY SOOTHING, AND INSPIRING SUMMER CONCERT, ON A TRULY AMAZING SUMMER NIGHT, WAS JUST WHAT WE NEEDED TO REINFORCE, THOSE OLD TIME VALUES OF SUMMER IN THE COUNTRY. THIS WAS IT……THE DICTIONARY DEFINITION OF A GOOD TIME WAS HAD BY ALL. BY THE END OF THE EVENING, I WAS SO SERENE, SUZANNE HAD TO SHAKE ME TO MAKE SURE I HADN'T EXPIRED IN THE MEANTIME. I DO CALL THIS BEING ENTERTAINED……INTO THE PEACEFUL CO-EXISTENCE BETWEEN MUSIC, THE LANDSCAPE AND SERENITY NOW! THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN, TO NEIL BARLOW AND HIS TALENTED BIFOCALS CONCERT BAND, FOR BRINGING SO MUCH PLEASURE AND PASSIVE CULTURAL RECREATION, TO THOSE IN GREATEST NEED…..ONES WHO HATE ANYTHING FASTER THAN A SNAIL'S PACE. IT WAS A PERFECT NIGHT FOR THE TRADITIONALISTS, WHO FIND MUSIC AND THE LAKELAND ALL VERY ENCHANTING……AND A LITTLE POETIC AS WELL. I ARRIVED HOME TO WRITE THIS BLOG……FEELING RESTORED. THANK YOU. I LIKE BEING INSPIRED BY MUSIC, AND TONIGHT I FEEL VERY MUCH THIS WAY; AND LOOK FORWARD TO ALL THE OTHER MUSIC ON THE BARGE EVENTS UPCOMING. I'LL LET YOU KNOW WHAT THEY ARE IN THE COMING DAYS.

WHEN IT GETS HOT IN THE KITCHEN……HEAD FURTHER INTO THE BUSH!

     BEFORE WE ARRIVED AT ROTARY GULL LAKE PARK, AND GOT SEATED IN OUR FAVORITE SPOT OVERLOOKING THE BARGE……SUZANNE AND I WENT TO THE GROCERY STORE TO GET OUR TREATS FOR THE NIGHT. HONESTLY, I'LL NEVER, EVER DO THAT AGAIN. A HOLIDAY WEEKEND SUNDAY, AFTER FIVE O'CLOCK, WHEN THE EVIDENCE OF A BUSY PARKING LOT, SHOULD BE ENOUGH INFORMATION FOR A SEASONED MUSKOKAN, TO BACK OFF FOR GOD'S SAKE…..AND COME BACK SOME OTHER TIME. IT WAS NUTS. DOUBLE NUTS, AND I THINK I MAY HAVE SAID THIS IN HASTE, TO THE LADY WHO RAMMED ME TWICE WITH HER CART, BECAUSE I HAPPENED TO BE IN HER WAY. THERE WERE CITY-STYLE TRAFFIC TIE-UPS IN THE PARKING-LOT, A CONSIDERABLE AMOUNT OF CUSSING BACK AND FORTH, (LIKE "YOU STUPID ASS, MOVE YOUR CAR) AND SHOPPERS DOING THIS MAD, FRANTIC, WILD-THING, AISLE TO AISLE, AS IF THERE WAS SOME COMPETITION OR RAGING FIRE GOING ON THAT WE WERE UNAWARE OF……..BUT FOUND OUT AT THE CHECK-OUT COUNTER; NOPE THERE WAS NO PRIZE FOR THE FASTEST SHOPPER, IN AND OUT! YOU COULD TELL JUST HOW RUSHED THESE FOLKS WERE, BY FINDING PACKAGES OF MEAT REMOVED FROM THE COOLERS, AND TOSSED INTO THE CHIP BINS, OR BY THE CEREAL BOXES. I FOUND BAGS OF GREEN PEPPERS, IN WITH THE HOT DOGS, AND BAGS OF BUNS IN WITH THE MILK PRODUCTS. OH, I COULD GO ON, BUT I WON'T. YOU DON'T FIND THIS THROUGH THE REST OF THE YEAR. I'M A DAILY SHOPPER, AND I'M TELLING YOU THE WAY IT IS. I WANTED TO ASK ONE OF THE SHOPPERS, WHO I SAW DO THIS, (THE UNEXPECTED DROP-OFF), WHETHER THE RULES IN THE CITY WERE DIFFERENT THAN IN THE COUNTRY……..TOLERATING GROCERY STORE IGNORANCE AND INCONSIDERATION. THE MEAT BY THE WAY, IS SPOILED WHEN IT IS DUMPED ELSEWHERE IN THE STORE, AND TODAY I SAW AT LEAST FIFTY BUCKS WORTH RUINED BY THOUGHTLESS CUSTOMERS. BUT THEN HE LOOKED REALLY BIG AND ANGRY, AND SUZANNE TOLD ME A WHILE BACK, WITH MY LIMP, THAT MY BOXING CAREER IS OVER. HOW DO I KNOW HE WASN'T LOCAL. I JUST DID. I DO MY HOMEWORK BEFORE I WRITE PIECES LIKE THIS.

     I DON'T EVER WANT TO BE SEEN AS BEING OVERLY CRITICAL OF OUR TOURIST FRIENDS, AND SECOND HOME OWNERS, BUT I'M REALLY SORRY TO SEE FOLKS WHO CAN'T SEEM TO SETTLE DOWN TO THE SLOWER PACE OF HINTERLAND EXISTENCE. I THOUGHT THE WHOLE IDEA OF COMING UP TO COTTAGE COUNTRY, WAS FOR REST AND RELAXATION? I SAW NONE OF THAT IN THIS GROUP, BUT IMPATIENCE FOR EVERYTHING FRANKLY……IN FACT, MOST OF WHAT WE'RE ALL ABOUT HERE IN MUSKOKA. IT DOESN'T MEAN WE DON'T GET FRANTIC SOME TIMES, WHEN THE STORE IS OUT OF  THE BUTTER TARTS WE LIKE, OR THERE IS A LINE UP WITH MORE THAN TWO PEOPLE, AND SOMETIMES WE PREFER IF WE'RE THE ONLY SHOPPERS IN THE JOINT. HEY, IT DOES HAPPEN. WHAT FREAKS US MUSKOKANS OUT A LITTLE, IS BEING THRUST INTO THE MIDDLE OF A CIRCUS ON SPEED, JUST BECAUSE WE HAD TO GO AND GET A LOAF OF BREAD…..GOD FORBID. THE ATTITUDE OF SOME VISITORS IS PRETTY CRAPPY, AND I'LL TELL YOU WHAT! THEY WON'T GET AWAY WITH IT IN OUR SHOP. HOUSE RULES. WE HAVE OUR OWN BOUNCERS, WHICH MAY BE A FIRST IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE. WE ARE WELCOMING FOLKS, AND IT TAKES A LOT TO TICK US OFF……BUT EVERY YEAR, AROUND THIS TIME, WE HAVE TO ASK SOME OF OUR PATRONS TO LEAVE THE BUILDING. IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF HAGGLING, BUT IT IS BECAUSE OF RUDENESS. 

     MUSKOKA IS SUCH A REMARKABLE, AND BEAUTIFUL PLACE, THAT IS SO DARN GOOD FOR THE BODY AND SOUL. IT IS A PLACE TO UNWIND, AND ENJOY ALL KINDS OF RECREATIONAL OPPORTUNITIES, AND THEN LAY ON THE DOCK…..SIT IN A MUSKOKA CHAIR ALONG THE SHORE, LISTEN TO THE LOONS, AND TAKE A LATE NIGHT SKINNY DIP. MAYBE YOU'LL INVITE US OVER. GOOD TIMES. BUT TRUTHFULLY, WHAT WE MUSKOKANS BEGIN TO NOTICE, THAT WE REALLY DESPISE, IS A HUGE INCREASE IN SIRENS AND FLASHING LIGHTS, AS FIRST RESPONDERS TAKE FLIGHT TO TEND THE INJURED DUE TO MISADVENTURES. HAVING BEEN A LONG TIME REPORTER AND COMMUNITY HISTORIAN, THE FIRST OF JULY WEEKEND WAS USUALLY, AND YES TRADITIONALLY, MARRED BY TRAGEDY, ON THE WATER, AT THE COTTAGE AND ON THE ROADS. IF THESE SAME SHOPPERS, THAT I SAW THIS EVENING, ACT THE SAME WAY ON THE HIGHWAYS AND LAKES AND RIVERS, THEY'LL INCREASE ALL OUR ODDS OF DIEING IN PARADISE.

     TOURISTS DON'T SEE THIS AS ANYTHING DIFFERENT THAN WHAT THEY EXPERIENCE EVERY DAY IN THE URBAN AREAS OF NORTH AMERICA. ON THE WAY TO WORK IN THE MORNING, THEY ARE USED TO TRAFFIC JAMS, AND PASSING BY NUMEROUS ACCIDENT SCENES; THAT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE RESULTED IN THE LOSS OF LIFE. THEY ARE USED TO HUSTLING TO GET TO WORK, GET THE KIDS TO DAYCARE OR SCHOOL, AND BEING CROWDED LIKE SARDINES ON BUSES, STREETCARS, AND SUBWAY TRAINS. THEY'RE USED TO THE SOUNDS OF LARGE JETS TAKING OFF AND LANDING IN THEIR VICINITY ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY, AND IT ISN'T SO INTRUSIVE TO THEM, TO HEAR JACKHAMMERS, DUMP TRUCKS, AND SUNDRY OTHER BUILDING AND DEMOLITION SOUNDS. WELL SIR, WE DON'T HAVE THOSE INTRUSIONS TO THAT EXTENT, MOST OF THE YEAR. NOW YOU CAN CALL US BACKWARD AND MUSKOKA-BILLIES, AND THAT'S JUST FINE. SO EXCUSE US FOR BEING A LITTLE FREAKED OUT, EARLY IN THE SUMMER, WHEN OUR HINTERLAND BECOMES MORE CITY-LIKE THAN WE CAN POSSIBLY APPRECIATE. YOU WILL HEAR, IF YOU LISTEN CAREFULLY, YOU WILL HEAR A LOON, AND SOMEONE PISSED OFF, WHO SAYS, "I WISH THE SUMMER WAS OVER." AND YES, WE FULLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT TOURISM IS OUR NUMBER ONE INDUSTRY HERE, AND AS AN HISTORIAN, I WRITE ABOUT THIS REALITY FREQUENTLY. THERE IS HOWEVER, A POINT OF CONDUCT HERE, THAT MANY MUSKOKANS DON'T UNDERSTAND……AND IT'S NOT ABOUT THE MONEY. WHY COME TO THE HINTERLAND IN THE FIRST PLACE? ISN'T IT ABOUT THE "SERENITY NOW," THING, AS  IT HAS BEEN SINCE THE 1850'S, WHEN THE FIRST ANGLERS AND HUNTERS ARRIVED IN THIS TRANQUIL, WILD LAKELAND? I DIDN'T SEE EVEN ONE….NOT A SINGLE RELAXED TOURIST AT THE GROCERY STORE. CERTAINLY NOT THE STAFF, BY THIS TIME IN THE DAY, HAVING LOST THAT RELAXED FEELING BEFORE NOON. SO WHAT'S CHANGED HERE? WHO ARE THESE TOURISTS, RACING ABOUT AS IF THERE IS SOME GREAT DEADLINE LOOMING? HOW DO YOU ENJOY A PLACE LIKE THIS, AT A BREAKNECK PACE? HOW DO THEY FEEL WHEN THEY GET HOME TO THE URBAN JUNGLE? AS IF THEY'VE JUST COME BACK FROM PARADISE? OR, FEELING LIKE CRAP, EXHAUSTED, EXASPERATED, AND TAPPED OUT FINANCIALLY?

   I KNOW THE MAJORITY OF TOURISTS AND SECOND HOME OWNERS, OTHERWISE COTTAGERS, CLEARLY RECOGNIZE, BY THEIR OWN HISTORY HERE, HOW TO ENJOY WHAT MUSKOKA HAS TO OFFER. I KNOW THAT WHAT WE SAW TODAY, IS AT BEST, ONLY A MICRO-FRACTIONAL GLIMPSE AT THE TOURISM PULSE, AS IT PRESENTS FOR SOME OF OUR VISITORS. BUT EVEN THEN, IT WAS BEFUDDLING, TO FOLKS LIKE US, WHO CELEBRATE A NICE, GENTLE, ENJOYABLE PACE HERE, WITHOUT EVER FEELING THE NEED TO SPEED-IT-UP OR ELSE. IT'S JUST TROUBLING THAT ANYONE IN CANADA HAS TO LIVE LIKE THAT…..IN THIS VERSION OF THE HUMAN RACE, WHICH SEEMS MORE LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF SCIENCE FICTION……EERILY FUTURISTIC, AS TO WHAT WE ARE ALL GOING TO BECOME EVENTUALLY. A BUNCH OF DROIDS BANGING INTO EACH OTHER, ON THE WAY TO SOME STRANGE BENEVOLENCE AT THE END OF THE MISSION. THERE WAS NOTHING ENJOYABLE ABOUT THE SHOPPING EXPERIENCE, FOR THESE DARTING AND WEAVING SHOPPERS. I LIKE TO SHOP. I FIND IT SOCIALLY RECREATIONAL. BUT NOT ON DAYS LIKE THIS.

     JUST A LITTLE SOUTH OF GULL LAKE PARK, THERE WAS AN ACCIDENT SCENE ON BETHUNE DRIVE, AND WE HAD TO BE RE-ROUTED AROUND THE MISHAP. IT APPEARED AS IF A PEDESTRIAN HAD BEEN HIT BY A CAR. NOW I'M NOT GOING TO BLAME IT ON TOURIST TRAFFIC, BECAUSE THE ROAD WASN'T PARTICULARLY BUSY AT THE TIME, AND WE HAVE ACCIDENTS HERE ALL THE TIME DUE TO PLAIN OLD MISADVENTURE. IT DOES HOWEVER, GIVE THE PLACE AN URBAN FACE, SOME TIMES, AND IT'S OFTEN WHY WE GRIT OUR TEETH, CLENCH OUR JAWS, HOPING WE WILL SURVIVE THE SUMMER MONTHS……AS VALUES AND EXPECTATIONS CLASH ALL OVER THE PLACE. IF I SIT OUT ON MY VERANDAH, FOR AN HOUR IN THE EVENING, I WILL HEAR SIRENS, AND YES, I WILL WONDER, IF THERE IS AN ACCIDENT ON HIGHWAY 169……OR A BOATING MISHAP ON OUR LAKES. I CAN SIT OUT ON THE VERANDAH FOR ANY NUMBER OF HOURS, IN THE SO CALLED OFF-SEASON, AND POSSIBLY, ONE NIGHT OUT OF THIRTY, HEAR AN AMBULANCE OR FIRE TRUCKS ON THE ROLL. NO IT'S NOT BASED ON SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH, OR IN DEPTH STUDIES, JUST THE HISTORICAL REALITY, OF A LARGE INFUSION OF URBAN DWELLERS, IN COTTAGE COUNTRY, WHERE DEER, MOOSE AND BEARS, WANDER ON THE ROADS ALL THE TIME, AND ROCKS AND SUNKEN LOGS MAKE NAVIGATION PRECARIOUS. IN THE SUMMER MONTHS, WHEN I WAS EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, OUR SUMMER ISSUES WERE FULL OF ACCIDENT AND MISHAP REPORTS INVOLVING THE TOURIST POPULATION. WE HAD MORE ACCIDENT PHOTOGRAPHS THAN WE COULD FIT ONTO THE NEWS PAGES, AND ENOUGH COPY TO FILL PAPERS TWICE AS THICK. NOTHING REMARKABLE ABOUT THIS, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE POPULATION OF OUR AREA SWELLS BY THE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS.

     TOURISTS AND SECOND HOME OWNERS, COTTAGERS, DON'T WANT MY ADVICE. THEY KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THE HINTERLAND, JUST LIKE THEIR NEIGHBORHOODS BACK HOME. THEY WOULD BE APPALLED AT SOMEONE LIKE ME, MAKING THE SUGGESTION, THEY SHOULD SLOW DOWN AND SMELL THE COFFEE…., AND WATCH OUT FOR THE MOOSE THAT JUST STEPPED OUT ONTO THE CENTRE LINE. HEY, I'M JUST A BLOGGER MAKING SOME OBSERVATIONS. AS AN HISTORIAN, WHO HAS A LOT OF ACQUIRED KNOWLEDGE, ABOUT MANY TOURIST SEASONS COME AND GONE, I FEEL PRETTY COMFORTABLE MAKING THESE CLAIMS……AND REGRETS, ABOUT VISITORS TO OUR AREA MISSING THE BIG POINT…….ABOUT RESPECT FOR A COUNTRY WAY OF LIFE HERE, THAT WE HAPPEN TO ENJOY, AND BENEFIT FROM IMMEASURABLY. WE'D SURE LIKE IT IF YOU WOULD ENJOY YOURSELF AS WELL……EVEN SHOPPING…..CAUSE YOU'RE SHOPPING IN GOD'S COUNTRY……SO THERE'S NOT NEED TO RACE, IS THERE?

     THANKS SO MUCH FOR JOINING TODAY'S BLOG-ATORIAL. YOU PROBABLY HAVE A LOT OF SIMILAR STORIES….AND PROBABLY A FEW ABOUT US LOCALS BEING PAINS IN THE PROVERBIAL ASS. WE AREN'T PERFECT, THAT'S FOR SURE.

Bifocals Concert Band on The Barge Sunday; Cookery Nookery Nears Completion

Scenes from the “Barge” concert on Sunday, June 23rd, 2013. - Photos by Fred Schulz

                Bifocals Concert Band perform on the Barge

The Bifocals Concert Band will be performing at “Music on the Barge” Gull Lake Rotary Park, Gravenhurst on Sunday, June 30^th commencing at 7:30 p.m.

The community can be justifiably proud of the Bifocals Concert Band.  The group is one of the most unique musical groups in the province. Some forty strong they epitomize the dedication that musicians have toward their music.  John Ayling, the ninety plus tuba player and the rest of the gang rehearse all winter at the Senior’s Centre will be bringing their musical talent to the Barge on Sunday, June 30^th at 7:30 pm. 

During the past few years, the band has been spending a lot of time learning to play different styles of music and this year Conductor Neil Barlow has introduced them to one of his favorite groups, the Tijuana Brass. Two of their most famous numbers, The Mexican Shuffle and Spanish Flea will be featured as part of a program which includes highlights from Kiss Me Kate, Hello Dolly as well as the ever popular Theme from New York New York and the usual rousing marches that are the backbone of all concert bands.

Much of the success the band has experienced in the past few years is due solely to the enthusiasm and consummate musical ability of their Conductor Neil Barlow. Neil, with his patience, sense of humour and musical sensitivity has greatly enhanced the musical skills of each player.

Don’t miss our very own Bifocals Concert Band at “Music on the Barge” Gull Lake Rotary Park ,  Gravenhurst on Sunday, June 30^th  commencing at 7:30 p.m.   The concert will be cancelled and not relocate to another venue in the event of inclement weather, rain or lightning for the safety of the audience and the performers. 

Note: By Monday, July 1st our new Cookery Nookery will be open. It has taken eight months to get this far, which is to be considered "a work in progress". We are moving in our personal collection this weekend and this will include binders of handwritten recipes we've been collecting for many years. We must confess that this was a much larger task than we had imagined back in December when we hatched this cookery resource proposal.  We hope in the future that it will occupy one large room in our present antique shop, in the former Muskoka Theatre building on Muskoka Road here in Gravenhurst. We are always interested in acquiring cook book collections and will gladly take any amount of handwritten recipes you might like to pass on to a good home.

     We have been offered a number of small collections from estates so far. When we are offered these estate donations we have a special book they are recorded into as an archives resource and credit is given to the kitchen of the former owner. We think this provenance is important to keep with our expanding cookery archives which we will share with all those who are interested. Much more to come on our progress at the brand new Cookery Nookery.

     The story below is about my father, the sailor cook who loved his cookbook collection and sharing recipes with friends, neighbors and family. To start off Suzanne's new business, we're going to borrow some family stories with a kitchen theme. More to come.

THE SAILOR COOK I CAME TO KNOW

     My father loved to cook. He was, as my mother used to call him, her "Jack Tar," and an "Old Salt," because he had been a sailor during the war.

      Indeed, he was, by all definition, a tough sailor-kind, who had served in the North Atlantic Squadron, as an anti-aircraft  gunner. on the Royal Canadian Navy ship Coaticook, during the Second World War. Born in Oakville, Ontario, but residing from a young age, in Toronto's Cabbagetown, until he signed up to serve his country, my father's mainstay over his working life, was as a manager in the lumber industry. First in Hamilton, and then in Bracebridge, Ontario. Ed enjoyed his years in the lumber trade, and had begun early in life, working with his father-in-law, Stan, and his brother-in-law, Carmen, at a development business in Toronto, owned then by Paul Hellyer, the soon to be Minister of National Defense.

    Ed loved to have a social drink after work, with his chums, over at the Royal Canadian Legion Branch, in Bracebridge. He had smashed his knuckles on chins many times, while on ship, or most likely during shore-leave; or at other watering holes, when someone bandied an insult, of one kind or another in his general direction. If someone made a comment about my mother, God forbid, the tables and chairs would be airborne. He was Irish enough to be the "boxer who never hit the mat," gentle enough to be a good father. Earlier in life, he had been a rather accomplished hockey player, who had been recruited to play international hockey, in Scotland I believe. And he was a well known fastball pitcher in Toronto. He decided to remain in Toronto while some of his mates went to play hockey overseas, and the last game I saw my dad pitch was in a mens fastball league game, in Burlington, Ontario in the early 1960's.

    It wouldn’t be much of a stretch, to say I came from a male dominated household. My mother Merle, while a tough lady, who had many accomplishments in the banking industry, was both a good mother and kept house with the same pride, as her mother Blanche Jackson, had maintained the family home in Toronto. Like many kids in the post war period, home life was ever-more important, and even though we lived modestly in an apartment on Harris Crescent, in Burlington, I was nicely spoiled by their interest in giving me.....what they hadn’t enjoyed in their own respective childhoods. From early photographs, especially at Christmas, I did okay in the toy department.

   What came as quite a shock to me initially shouldn’t have. Enlightenment came much later in life, about sharing of household responsibilities. My wife Suzanne might question just how enlightened! Actually I went as far non-traditionally, with my own young family, when I became a full-fledged "Mr. Mom," when my wife went back to her teaching job, after our sons’ respective arrivals. My father never really became all that enlightened about household chores, but he found enjoyment in the kitchen.

    When my father Ed (Edward) began taking more control over Sunday dinners, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Merle’s role in the kitchen through the week didn’t change; she looked after the meal grind from Monday to Saturday. I don’t know where his passion for cooking came from but it had fully matured by retirement, and my mother was delighted. What began as Sunday meal preparation, morphed into a seven-day-a-week culinary protocol. It was his amazing Yorkshire puddings and gravy that won me over as a kid, and what kept me wandering by their place on Sunday afternoons, long after I had moved out, hoping for an invitation. There was always lots of food in the Currie kitchen. As my mother was on a restricted, low-sodium diet, and had problems with her gall-bladder and hiatus-hernia, I ate the menu items that Merle couldn’t, so my dad was always glad I showed up to try his latest recipes.

    When my wife, Suzanne and I, began preliminary work, to develop an archives, and promote the preservation and collecting of "handwritten recipes," Ed offered a great deal of reference assistance, and showed me many scrap pieces of paper, and some others scribbled onto journal pages, and the inside covers of published cookbooks, that he had penned since those roast beef and Yorkshire days back in the early 1960's. He had shared many recipes with his other culinary arts friends, everything from making the perfect pickled pig’s feet, pickled eggs, dill pickles, chutney, chili sauce, spaghetti sauces, fabulous full-course dinners and desserts, and the list goes on. When we had to pack up his apartment, after his passing, some years ago, we found a huge collection of cookbooks stored in cupboards and closets. I have spent many enjoyable hours, despite the sentimental melancholy of the collection, sorting through some of his most important keepsake recipes, many from his own hand. There are of course handwritten recipes given to him by his apartment building chums, who were fascinated by this former naval gunner/ lumberman’s passion for good food.

    I asked my mother, one day, if she was jealous about Ed’s takeover of the kitchen. "Not at all..." she fired back, letting me know that I shouldn’t ever think of rocking the boat, with a situation so wonderfully seaworthy, as a man taking more responsibility in the kitchen. Her only complaint was that he often cooked things that were too spicy or too rich for her stomach to handle but it was a minor objection. His complaint of course, was that she was simply too fussy, and could handle more than she would admit. I was there to mediate. I recall that during the period of the late 1970's and early 80's, it was Ed’s kitchen magic that kept me fueled. As a lowly paid reporter I sure benefitted from his desire to cook for others.

   He didn’t cook in a state of the art kitchen. It was small and very much run of the mill. Nothing special. Everything special was contained in those handwritten recipes, clumsily stuck and folded inside the many volumes of cookbooks, he got as gifts every birthday and Christmas from his family. He used the published recipes to develop a framework for a dish but he would add ingredients he fancied, and ones he thought we did too. Hence the handwritten versions he used, that while not entirely original, had been adapted to his and our taste.

    The funniest cookery story I have of my father, dated back to our first days living in Bracebridge, Ontario. We had just moved from Burlington, Ontario, to the mid-Muskoka community, where my father had accepted a job with Shier’s Lumber; a legendary name here in the logging industry for many decades. Shortly after we arrived however, my father got into a dispute with the owner, and quit on the spur of the moment. What made it a tad more complicated, is that we were living then, in a company-owned house up on the extension of Toronto Street. While we were given time to pack-up, we didn’t have much in the way of financial resources to survive. While my mother had found work at a local bank, Ed, when he wasn’t trying to hustle up another job, did try his best to be a creative cook on a tight budget. We have laughed at it many times since but he did have one major folly; a recipe someone had given him for, get this, "peanut butter potatoes."

    These were baked potatoes, scooped from the skins, mixed with peanut butter (crunchy to make matters worse), put back in the skins and baked again. My mother and I tried to be brave but it just didn’t fly. At first he did seem to a little hurt by the fact we couldn’t swallow the concoction but joined us for a chuckle later on that evening. Whether it had come from his Cabbagetown roots, (Toronto) or not, we never found out. We don’t mean to suggest that this wouldn’t be fine for some folks, just not us! Ed’s attempt to stretch the food resources cost us some potatoes and peanut butter that first winter but gave us a longstanding good humor, about culinary trial and error that would last literally a lifetime.

Building A Four Year Tribute to Tom Thomson

NEXT MAJOR MISSION……BUILDING A SIGNIFICANT TOM THOMSON ARCHIVE COLLECTION

TO RECOGNIZE THE UPCOMING 100TH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS DEATH; 1917 - 2017

     SUZANNE ASKED ME IF I WAS PLANNING ANY BIG RESEARCH PROJECTS IN THE NEAR FUTURE. NEWLY RETIRED, AND WITH HER COOKERY HERITAGE BUSINESS OFFICIALLY LAUNCHED….."SUZANNE CURRIE'S COOKERY NOOKERY," I THINK SHE WAS A LITTLE NERVOUS, I WAS GOING TO SPRING A NEW RESEARCH MISSION ON HER. SUZANNE HAS BEEN MY LONG-SUFFERING RESEARCH PARTNER SINCE BEFORE OUR HONEYMOON, AND SHE KNOWS WHEN I'M GETTING RESTLESS. SHE'S RIGHT ABOUT THIS, OF COURSE, AND HERE'S WHY. IF I'M UNSETTLED, I NEED TO LATCH ONTO SOMETHING THAT WILL GENERATE SOLID RESULTS. SOMETIMES THE PROJECTS NEVER GET OFF THE GROUND. HERE IS A CASE IN POINT.

     I HAD BIG PLANS TO PUT TOGETHER AN ARTIST BIOGRAPHY, OF FORMER GRAVENHURST PAINTER, FRANK JOHNSTON. I HAVE WANTED TO DO THIS FOR ABOUT TEN YEARS NOW, BUT OTHER UNANTICIPATED RESEARCH ASSIGNMENTS GOT IN THE WAY. HEY, PAYING GIGS DESERVE SPECIAL TREATMENT. SO WHEN I TRIED TO PROMOTE THE IDEA OF PUTTING TOGETHER A MEANINGFUL BIOGRAPHY, OF AN ARTIST, KNOWN AS ONE OF THE FINEST PRINT MAKERS IN CANADA, AND AN OUTSTANDING WATERCOLORIST, WHO PAINTED MANY HISTORIC SCENES IN GRAVENHURST, AND THE WIDER MUSKOKA, RESULTS WERE IMMEDIATELY POSITIVE. SO POSITIVE IN FACT, THAT I WAS READY TO DROP EVERYTHING ELSE, INCLUDING A PAYING JOB, TO GIVE THIS PROJECT MY UNDIVIDED ATTENTION. A YEAR AGO, I CONNECTED WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, AND IT APPEARED AS IF THE BIOGRAPHY WOULD GET UNDERWAY IMMEDIATELY. BY THE WAY, I WAS DONATING MY TIME TO WRITE THE MANUSCRIPT, WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN DONATED AS A FINISHED BOOK, TO BOTH THE NATIONAL GALLERY AND THE ART GALLERY OF ONTARIO. I WAS SO CONFIDENT, I TOLD EVERYONE, INCLUDING READERS OF THIS BLOG, THAT IT WAS COMING.  SUZANNE, LIKE MY MOTHER, ALWAYS REMINDS ME ABOUT GETTING MY HOPES UP, AND WELL, "PUTTING ALL MY EGGS IN ONE BASKET." A BIG BASKET. WITH TOO MUCH EXPECTATION INSIDE. THIS WAS AN EXAMPLE OF BEING MONSTROUSLY OVER-CONFIDENT THAT I WAS GOING TO GET WHAT I NEEDED, AS PROMISED, TO PUT SUCH A BIG RESEARCH ASSIGNMENT TOGETHER.

     THREE TIMES I'VE HAD TO MAKE AN ADJUSTMENT IN MY SCHEDULE, ANTICIPATING THAT AT ANY MOMENT, THE MATERIAL WAS GOING TO ARRIVE FOR ME TO USE AS A FOUNDATION, TO START THE BIOGRAPHICAL INTERVIEWS. THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I'VE HAD TO OFFER AN APOLOGY, THAT FOR REASONS UNKOWN, FAMILY HAS DECIDED NOT TO PARTICIPATE…..WHICH KILLS THE PROJECT BEFORE THE FOUNDATION HAS BEEN PROPERLY ESTABLISHED. I AM A GREAT ADMIRER OF FRANK JOHNSTON'S WORK, AND I DO THINK THAT WE NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THIS TALENTED PRINT-MAKER AND PAINTER, AS DO THE RESEARCHERS INTERESTED IN REGIONAL, PROVINCIAL AND NATIONAL ARTISTS. ALAS, I DON'T HAVE THE PATIENCE……LIKE FRANK HIMSELF WAS FAMOUS FOR, TO DILLY DALLY, ANY LONGER, HOPING MATERIALS WILL BE FORTHCOMING, TO ALLOW THE BIOGRAPHY TO CONTINUE. THE UNANTICIPATED DELAYS, AND MY GENERAL FRUSTRATION, AT NOT GETTING WHAT I NEED TO ADVANCE INTERVIEWS, AND INFORMATION GATHERING, HAS BECOME THE END BEFORE THERE WAS A GOOD AND SOLID BEGINNING. I'M SORRY TO HAVE TO ABANDON IT, BUT I'M GETTING TOO OLD TO "WAIT FOR GODOT"…..OR JUST ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. POSSIBLY ONE DAY, THERE WILL BE A CHANGE OF HEART, AND A GENUINE INTEREST IN MOVING THE BIOGRAPHY FROM PROPOSAL, TO FULL ENGAGEMENT. MAYBE SOME OTHER BIOGRAPHER WILL TAKE AN INTEREST IN THIS STORY…..BECAUSE IT'S A DANDY.

ASSIGNMENT THOMSON; TO BUILD A REMARKABLE, DYNAMIC AND INTERESTING THOMSON COLLECTION BY 2017

     I AM COMMENCING THIS NEW PROJECT, BASED ON THE SUCCESSES OF ALL THE OLD MISSIONS OF DISCOVERY, I'VE LAUNCHED REGARDING TOM THOMSON, SINCE THE MID 1990'S. IT'S TRUE, THAT MY FOUR YEAR PLAN, TO BUILD A HUGE COLLECTION OF THOMSON MEMORABILIA, COLLECTABLES, RESEARCH MATERIALS, BOOKS AND PRINTS, WILL COMMENCE FROM A PRETTY SUBSTANTIAL PLATFORM, ALREADY IN MY POSSESSION. I'VE BEEN COLLECTING THOMSON MATERIALS, AND CONSERVING THEM AS A PRIVATE COLLECTION, SINCE I FIRST BEGAN WRITING ABOUT THE MYSTERY OF HIS DEATH, THE RESULT OF ALLEGED DROWNING, WHILE TRAVERSING ALONGQUIN PARK'S CANOE LAKE, BACK IN JULY 1917.

    DURING THIS PERIOD, LEADING UP TO THE PRESENT, I'VE PUBLISHED HUNDREDS OF ARTICLES AND AT LEAST FOUR SERIES, IN REGIONAL PUBLICATIONS, REGARDING THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY, AS FIRST PRESENTED BY JUDGE WILLIAM LITTLE, IN A BOOK OF THE SAME TITLE. OF ALL THE THOMSON BOOKS, I AM PARTICULARLY FOND OF JUDGE LITTLE'S WORK, AND IT REMAINS THE CORNERSTONE OF MY OWN WRITING FORAYS, INTO THE THOMSON DEATH. I HAVE READ HIS BOOK AT LEAST FIVE TIMES, ONCE FROM COVER TO COVER WHILE CAMPING ON TEA LAKE. IT WAS THE BOOK THAT INSPIRED THE CBC FILM DOCUMENTARY IN THE EARLY 1970'S, ABOUT THE MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARTIST'S SUDDEN DEATH…..AND INSIGHTS BY LITTLE, REGARDING THE "STILL OCCUPIED" ALGONQUIN GRAVE…..THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EMPTY. IT WAS LITTLE, AND MATE JACK EASTAUGH (PLUS TWO OTHERS) WHO DUG UP THE SUPPOSEDLY EMPTY GRAVE AT MOWAT, ON CANOE LAKE, BECAUSE LOCAL RESIDENTS CONCURRED……THE BODY OF CANADIAN ARTIST, TOM THOMSON HAD NEVER BEEN MOVED FROM THE PARK, CONTRARY TO WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE HAPPENED. THE ORIGINAL BURIAL OF THOMSON WAS UNEARTHED BY A HUNTSVILLE UNDERTAKER, A DAY AFTER THE ORIGINAL CEREMONY, AND SHIPPED BY TRAIN TO LEITH, ONTARIO, WHERE IT WAS LATER RE-BURIED AFTER A FAMILY FUNERAL SERVICE. THE PROBLEM FOR LITTLE, WAS THAT FORENSIC TESTING, AS IT WAS THEN, AND EXAMINATION OF THE SKULL FOUND IN THE GRAVE, WAS RULED BY SEVERAL EXPERTS, AS A FIRST NATIONS SKELETON; NOT THOMSON AT ALL. SO HOW WERE THE BODIES SWITCHED? IT WAS THOMSON'S GRAVE, HIS COFFIN, BUT WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN EMPTY GRAVE, TURNED OUT TO BE A PLACE OF RESIDENCE. I LOVED ALL THE INTRIGUING REALITIES OF THIS FAMOUS CANADIAN COLD CASE…..THAT WAS SO OBVIOUSLY COVERED-UP FOR SO MANY YEARS, OUT OF FEAR OF SOMETHING……BUT WHAT? THERE ARE MANY THEORIES ABOUT THIS, AND I'VE BEEN PURSUING EACH OF THEM, OVER TIME, AND WHEN RESOURCES BECOME AVAILABLE…..WELL, I'LL KEEP PLUGGING AWAY.

     THE ONLY WAY THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY WILL EVER BE, EVEN PARTLY RESOLVED, IS IF FAMILY AND THE PROVINCE AGREE TO EXHUME THE SKELETON IN THE MOWAT PLOT, AND CONDUCT APPROPRIATE DNA TESTING, WITH THE COOPERATION OF EVERYONE CLOSE TO THE CASE. THE GRAVE IN LEITH DOESN'T NEED TO BE DISTURBED, WHICH HAS BEEN PART OF THE PROBLEM…..GETTING FAMILY TO AGREE TO THIS INVASIVE PROCEDURE, TO FIND OUT IF THERE IS A BODY IN THE GRAVE…..OR JUST AN EMPTY COFFIN. THE FACT THERE IS STILL A SKELETON BURIED IN THOMSON'S PLOT, IS PARTICULARLY TROUBLING, AND IF A DNA TEST WAS DONE, AND PROVEN THE BONES OF THIS CANADIAN ARTIST, THEN A PROPER GRAVE MARKER SHOULD BE ERECTED ON THE SITE. SEEMS LIKE THE THING TO DO. AND BY THE WAY, THERE ARE HUNDREDS OF ALGONQUIN VISITORS EACH YEAR, WHO FIND THEIR WAY TO THE TINY, OBSCURE LITTLE PLOT, WITH ONLY A FEW OCCUPIED GRAVES. THEY ALSO BELIEVE, THOMSON IS RESTING IN PEACE, DEEP IN THE ALGONQUIN SOIL. WHY NOT PROVE IT ONE WAY OR ANOTHER? THE PROVINCE SHOULD WANT THIS TO BE SETTLED ONCE AND FOR ALL, AND THEY HAVE THE JURISDICTION, EVEN WITHOUT FAMILY'S APPROVAL, TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE CEMETERY PLOT INTERLOPER.

I'M BUILDING THE COLLECTION AS A TRIBUTE TO THOMSON, AND TO MARK THE 100TH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS DEATH

     I'D LIKE TO THINK, THAT FOUR YEARS FROM NOW, THE THOMSON FAMILY AND THE PROVINCIAL AUTHORITY FOR THE PARK, WILL HAVE FINALLY AGREED TO ASK FOR DNA TESTING OF THE ALGONQUIN BONES. IF THE BONES LEFT BEHIND, ARE INDEED THOSE BELONGING TO THOMSON, WOULDN'T THAT BE UPSETTING TO FAMILY?  JUST THE FACT THERE IS THIS DOUBT, SEEMS REASON ENOUGH TO END THE SPECULATION…..AND IF JUDGE LITTLE AND COMPANY, WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG, BELIEVING THE ARTIST NEVER LEFT THE PARK, THEN IT WOULD BE PARTICULARLY PRUDENT, TO THEN, AFTER POSITIVE TESTING, MARK HIS GRAVE APPROPRIATELY, FOR ALL PARK-GOERS, WHO REVERE THE NAME "THOMSON." BUT REGARDLESS, I PLAN TO PUT ALL MY EFFORTS, FOR THE NEXT FOUR YEARS, TO SEEK OUT AND ACQUIRE WHATEVER THOMSON RELICS (COLLECTIBLES), OF GOOD TASTE (AND SOME ARE DEFINITELY NOT), I CAN, WITH THE INTENT OF SHARING THEM WITH THE PUBLIC, WHEN WE HIT JULY 2017…..WITH BOTH AN EXHIBIT IN GRAVENHURST, AND PUBLISHED ONLINE VIA THIS BLOG. THIS WON'T BE THE LONGEST COMMITMENT OF TIME TO ANY ONE PROJECT, FOR SUZANNE AND I, BUT IT IS DEFINITELY ONE THAT WILL BE MY LAST MAJOR PROJECT BEFORE RETIRING MYSELF…..TO WRITING PASSIVE (NO BARBS) LANDSCAPE STORIES, FROM HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. SO I WANT TO DO THIS WELL, AND HAVE A COLLECTION, THAT WILL BE REVERED FOR ITS CONTENT, AND ENJOYED BY ITS RESIDENT STEWARD……WHO WILL GET A HUGE BUZZ, LET ME TELL YOU, SHARING IT WITH ALL OF YOU. OF COURSE I WILL NEED SUZANNE'S HELP. I WILL NEED EVERYONE'S HELP, INCLUDING YOURS…..SHOULD YOU HAVE ANY RELEVANT THOMSON RESEARCH, RELICS OR COLLECTIBLES YOU WISH TO PART WITH…..OR DONATE TO A GOOD CAUSE.

     WHEN I GOT INVOLVED RESEARCHING THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THOMSON, IT CHANGED A LOT OF THINGS FOR ME……PARTICULARLY ATTITUDE. I BECAME MORE AGGRESSIVE AS AN HISTORIAN, AND I HAVE DEBATED THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THOMSON'S DEATH WITH HUNDREDS OF HOBBY RESEARCHERS, AND THOMSON ADMIRERS…..AND EVEN A GHOST HUNTER, WHO SOUGHT OUT MY OPINION. IT INFLUENCED ME TO SPEND MORE TIME IN ALGONQUIN PARK, AND IT LED TO HUNDREDS OF FAMILY OUTINGS, CAMPING NEAR WHERE THOMSON PAINTED, FISHED, AND TRAVERSED REGULARLY. WE USED TO PICNIC ONCE A MONTH, FROM THE SPRING TO FALL, ON THE SHORE OF THE TEA LAKE DAM, WHERE THOMSON LOVED TO FLY FISH IN THE RAPIDS. I CAN STILL REMEMBER, THE FIRST TIME I STOOD ON THE SHORE OF CANOE LAKE, AND THE SENSATION OF THAT COOL WATER ON MY FINGERS, WHEN, IN MY MIND, I FINALLY, INTIMATELY AND SPIRITUALLY CONNECTED TO THE LEGEND OF TOM THOMSON. I HAVE NEVER SEEN THOMSON TRAVERSING THE LAKE IN HIS PHANTOM CANOE, WHICH, IT IS CLAIMED, MAKES ITS APPEARANCE IN THE FINAL MOMENTS BEFORE SUNSET. BUT I HAVE FELT HIS PRESENCE……AND I'M WILLING TO BET, THAT ANYONE INTIMATE WITH THE CAREER OF THIS CANADIAN PAINTER, HAS FELT THE SAME.

     TO GET STARTED ON THIS FOUR YEAR ADVENTURE, IN HUNTING AND GATHERING, BOTH IN AN OUT OF A CANOE, FAMILY FRIEND FRED SCHULZ, SO KINDLY GOT SUZANNE A BAG OF THE SAME TYPE OF COFFEE BEANS, BREWED BY THOMSON, CIRCA 1917, IN A TIN POT OVER HIS LAKESIDE CAMPFIRES. IT WAS ACTUALLY A RETIREMENT GIFT TO SUZANNE, WHO FINISHED HER TEACHING CAREER YESTERDAY, AFTER THIRTY-ONE YEARS…..BUT THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT, THAT WE CURRIES ARE GOING TO SPEND A LOT OF TIME IN ALGONQUIN OVER THE NEXT FOUR YEARS……SO THE COFFEE WILL GET US IN THE MOOD.

     AS I HAVE DONE OVER THE PREVIOUS TWO YEARS, WITH OTHER COLLECTING INTERESTS, I WILL KEEP YOU UP TO DATE, ON MY LATEST THOMSON FINDS, AND WHERE THEY WERE MADE. I LOVE STARTING OUT ON NEW PROJECTS, WITHOUT ANY BOUNDARIES. MY ONLY CONCERN NOW, IS IF MY WONKY HIP WILL ALLOW ME TO FIT BACK INTO OUR CANOE. IT'S BEEN IN DRY-DOCK FOR AWHILE.

     THANKS AGAIN FOR JOINING ME. IT'S ANOTHER YARD SALE SATURDAY TOMORROW, AND WE'VE GOT A LOT OF STOPS TO MAKE OUT THERE. IF YOU'RE OUT AND ABOUT THIS WEEKEND…..PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY….AS TRAFFIC VOLUME IS HUGE FOR THE HOLIDAY.

The Last Hour of A Teaching Career: Blodwen Davies And Tom Thomson

RETIRING ONE MINUTE, HEADING A NEW COMPANY A SECOND LATER -

THE LAST HOUR OF A TEACHING CAREER, WITH SON, A SCHOOL TOUR, AND A FEW TEARS OF FAREWELL

     ANDREW WAS ONLY TWO AND A HALF MONTHS OLD, WHEN I TOOK OVER AS MR. MOM; SUZANNE HEADING OFF TO SCHOOL THAT MORNING IN SEPTEMBER, LOOKING BACK FREQUENTLY, AS SHE SLOWLY, AND I SUPPOSE REGRETFULLY, WALKED UP TANBARK HILL, IN BRACEBRIDGE, WORRIED HER HUSBAND WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO HANDLE THE RESPONSIBILITY. TWENTY MINUTES AFTER SHE LEFT ME IN CHARGE, ANDREW BEGAN TO CHOKE ON HIS FORMULA, AND MY GOD, I WAS OUT OF MY MIND WITH FRIGHT. IN BETWEEN THE SELF DOUBT AND THE EMERGENCY SITUATION, I MANAGED TO CLEAR HIS AIRWAY, AND THE CRISIS HAD BEEN AVERTED. THERE WERE MANY MORE TO COME. I WASN'T THE IDEAL CANDIDATE TO BE A "MR. MOM," BECAUSE OF MY HARD-LIVING REPUTATION, AND TO SOME DEGREE, TRADITION. I DRANK TOO MUCH, HATED MY JOB, SO I DRANK MORE TO COMPENSATE. HERE I WAS THEN, SPENDING MY DAYTIME HOURS WITH THIS LITTLE FELLOW, WHO WE CALLED BOOGEN…..BUT WE HAVE NO IDEA WHY! IT JUST FIT. NOW I JUST CALL HIM BOOG, AT THE STORE, AND HE ALWAYS ANSWERS. I WORKED THE SAME WAY WITH SECOND SON, ROBERT, ALTHOUGH THIS TIME SUZANNE TOOK A FULL YEAR OFF. I HAVE ALWAYS FELT SHE WAS SHORT-CHANGED THE BOYS' EARLY YEARS. IT WAS JUST EASIER FOR ME TO WORK AS A MUSEUM MANAGER, ANTIQUE DEALER AND WRITER, FROM HOME BASE……AND WE NEEDED THE INCOME. SO WE WERE LIVING LIKE A MAJORITY OF OTHER CANADIANS. PAY CHEQUE TO PAY CHEQUE. WE DIDN'T LIVE A GLAMOROUS LIFESTYLE, BUT WE ENJOYED EACH OTHER'S COMPANY. WE ARE A CLOSE FAMILY, AT HOME, AND IN BUSINESS. WE STILL LIVE SALE TO SALE, CONTRACT TO CONTRACT, BUT GENERALLY, FOR SOME OF THE NON-TRADITIONAL METHODS WE HAD TO EMPLOY, TO GET FROM HERE TO THERE, THINGS HAVE WORKED OUT PRETTY WELL. NOW SUZANNE WILL GET A DAILY CHANCE TO BE WITH HER SONS A LITTLE LATER IN LIFE, TO ENJOY THIS SIDE OF THE FAMILY EXPERIENCE. WHAT SHE MISSED DURING THE DAY-TIME, OF THEIR CHILDHOOD, SHE'S GOING TO GET IN A MORE MATURE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE WEE LADS……WHO STILL HAVE THE OCCASIONAL TANTRUM….LIKE DAD.

     ANDREW SPENT THE LAST HOUR OF THE LAST DAY WITH HIS MOM, AT SCHOOL, AND TOGETHER THEY WALKED THE HALLS AND VISITED THE CLASSROOMS THEY USED TO OCCUPY, ONE AS A TEACHER, THE OTHER AS THE DUTIFUL STUDENT. THEY WENT TO SEE THE STAGE IN THE CAFETERIA WHERE THEY USED TO PERFORM….MOM AS A CONCERT SUPERVISOR, ANDREW AND ROBERT PLAYING WITH THEIR BAND CHUMS, FOR EVENING COFFEE HOUSES AND BATTLES OF THE BANDS. THEIR MUSIC CAREERS BEGAN IN EARNEST, AT GRAVENHURST PUBLIC SCHOOL. ROBERT EVEN WON THE GORDON SLOAN MUSIC AWARD WHICH WAS A TREMENDOUS HONOR….KNOWING THE REPUTATION OF THIS TALENTED CITIZEN, WELL ENTRENCHED IN TOWN HISTORY. ANDREW AND SUZANNE DAWDLED HERE AND THERE, AND TALKED TO SOME TEACHER ASSOCIATES, AND STAFF FRIENDS, MAKING THEIR WAY SLOWLY BACK TO THE LIBRARY, WHERE SHE FOUND HER SANCTUARY……SURROUNDED BY BOOKS AND THOSE STUDENTS WHO LOVED TO READ. IT WAS HOLLOW TODAY, EXCEPT FOR SUZANNE AND ANDREW, BOTH RELUCTANT TO TURN OUT THAT DOOR, FOR THE LAST TIME, THEN HAVING TO TURN IN THE KEYS TO THE OFFICE. WHEN IT CAME TIME TO SWITCH-OFF THE LIGHTS, AND CARRY-ON DOWN THE HALL, I AM SURE SHE WAS COUNTING THE FOOTFALL, MEASURING WHAT SHE HAD TAKEN FOR GRANTED, AS THE ENTRY AND THEN EXIT, OF EACH DAY, OF EVERY WEEK, EACH SEMESTER, NEVER THINKING ABOUT WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE, ON AN AFTERNOON LIKE THIS……WHEN THESE STEPS WERE ONE WAY ONLY.

     ANDREW ARRIVED IN THE SHOP, CARRYING A THRIVING TOMATO PLANT, GIVEN TO HIS MOTHER AS A KIND, PARTING GIFT, BY A TEACHER COLLEAGUE. SUZANNE CAME INTO THE ROOM A FEW MOMENTS LATER, HOLDING TWO BAGS OF HER CREATURE COMFORTS SHE KEPT ON HER LIBRARY DESK, WITH A SMILE I HAVE SEEN MANY TIMES, IN OUR MARRIED LIFE…… THAT COULD NEVER QUITE MASK THE SADNESS BENEATH; AND SOON THE SMILE COLLAPSED INTO A GENTLE, QUIET SOBBING, NOT JUST ABOUT LEAVING THE TEACHING PROFESSION…..BUT THAT A PART OF HER LIFE, AND OUR LIVES, HAS SO ABRUPTLY BECOME AN IMPRINT OF FAMILY HISTORY…..WHEREAS, IT HAD ALWAYS BEEN A WORK IN PROGRESS. I FEEL BAD FOR SUZANNE, BECAUSE I KNOW HOW MISERABLE I WAS, AFTER LEAVING THE NEWSPAPER INDUSTRY. IT TOOK A LONG TIME TO ADJUST, AND SUZANNE KNOWS BETTER. I NEVER FULLY ADJUSTED. AS SHE LOVED HER JOB, HER COLLEAGUES AND STUDENTS, FOR THE PAST 31 YEARS, THIS IS GOING TO BE A TOUGH ONE TO GET PAST…..BUT IT'S WHY WE HAVE INITIATED HER OWN BUSINESS…….TO RUN SIDE BY SIDE HER BOYS' BUSINESSES, ONLY A BLOCK FROM THE SCHOOL…..WHERE I'M SURE SHE WILL WIND UP, AT LUNCHES IN THE FUTURE…..TO WIND-DOWN, ON HER TERMS, FROM A LIFE LIVED FULLY AS AN EDUCATOR.

     I HAVE LIVED THE LIFE OF A TEACHER'S SPOUSE. IT HAS BEEN A PRIVILEGED EXISTENCE IN MANY WAYS, BUT IN MANY OTHERS, IT HAS BEEN A BURDEN OF RESPONSIBILITY THAT SHE HAS BROUGHT HOME, EVERY DAY OF OUR RELATIONSHIP……..AND LAMENTED ABOUT CONSTANTLY, THROUGH OUR OFF-TIME TOGETHER. SHE HAS WORRIED ABOUT A LOT OF STUDENTS, OVER THE YEARS, AND SPENT A LOT OF PERSONAL TIME, TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WAYS TO HELP THEM DEAL WITH PERSONAL CRISIS. IT'S NOT PART OF THE JOB DESCRIPTION, YET IT IS ANYWAY. JUST ASK A TEACHER WHETHER THEY CAN LEAVE THEIR JOB AT THE SCHOOL, WHEN THEY GO HOME AT NIGHT. FOR SUZANNE, SHE THRIVED ON HELPING AT-RISK KIDS, GET AN EVEN BREAK, AND THAT INCLUDED GIVING HER LUNCH AWAY, TO KIDS THAT DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING IN THEIR LUNCH BAGS. BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T HAVE LUNCH BAGS IN THE FIRST PLACE, OR MONEY TO BUY ANYTHING AT THE CAFETERIA. SHE NEVER SAID MUCH ABOUT THIS, BUT SHE'D BEEN DOING IT FOR YEARS. SHE USED TO TUCK A FEW EXTRA PORTIONS IN HER LUNCH, LIKE BANANAS, THINKING ONE OF HER STUDENTS MIGHT NOT HAVE HAD BREAKFAST THAT DAY. SUZANNE WASN'T EXCEPTIONAL. SHE WAS A CARING TEACHER, AS SHE HAD BEEN MENTORED BY CARING TEACHERS WHEN SHE WAS STARTING OUT. YOU FOLLOWED PROTOCOL AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, AND THEN YOU FOLLOWED YOUR INSTINCTS……ABOUT WHEN TO INTERVENE, TO STAVE OFF CRISIS. SUZANNE KNEW HOW AND WHEN TO REACT, BUT NOT BECAUSE THE HANDBOOK TOLD HER HOW TO PROCEED.

     I CAN'T TELL YOU, HOW MANY TIMES, WE ARE STOPPED IN GROCERY STORES, SHOPPING MALLS, WALKING ON THE MAIN STREET, OR IN A PARK, BY FORMER STUDENTS, WISHING TO TALK WITH MY WIFE ABOUT WHAT SHE MEANT TO THEM…..BACK IN SCHOOL DAYS. SHE NEVER BRUSHES THEM OFF, AND IT'S KIND OF FUNNY TO WATCH THE HUGE, HULKING LADS, BLUSHING AS THEY GREET HER, "HELLO MRS. CURRIE, IT'S ME BILLY…..REMEMBER ME?" SHE REMEMBERS EVERYONE. SUZANNE HAD GREAT AFFECTION, AS A TEACHER, FOR PRINCIPAL JACK PUNTIS, WHO HAD THE AMAZING ABILITY TO MEMORIZE THE NAMES OF HIS STUDENTS……WHICH AT BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL REPRESENTED ABOUT 900. SO SHE ADOPTED THE SAME ATTITUDE…..THAT IT WAS IMPORTANT FOR HER STUDENTS……AND SHE MEMORIZED THEIR NAMES. AS THE SCHOOL LIBRARIAN, IT COULD BE UPWARDS OF 400 STUDENTS. THEY LIKED THE FACT SHE TOOK AN INTEREST IN THEM, AND WAS SO RESPECTFUL, SHE ALWAYS CALLED THEM BY THEIR FIRST NAMES.

     WE HAD A NICE DINNER OUT THIS EVENING, AND REMINISCED ABOUT A LOT OF THINGS……RELATED TO TEACHING AND FAMILY REARING. WE BOTH AGREED IT HAS BEEN AN AMAZING ADVENTURE FOR ALL OF US……AND THAT WE WOULD NEVER FORGET THE INFLUENCES SUZANNE'S TEACHING CAREER, HAD ON ALL OF US, FOR SO LONG. NOW SHE'S GOT A BUSINESS TO RUN…..AND A FAMILY TO ENJOY…..AND A HUSBAND TO SEND ON ERRANDS.

     THANKS SO MUCH FOR JOINING THIS BLOG TODAY…….WHICH IS ADMITTEDLY A LITTLE ON THE MELANCHOLY SIDE. SHE'S MAKING THE COOKIE DOUGH FOR FRIDAY BAKING, WHICH OF COURSE, PROVIDES THE DESERT FOR OUR REGULARS, AND FRED SCHULZ, ON SATURDAYS.

BOOKSELLERS HAVE BEEN ALLIES FOR HISTORIANS AND AUTHORS SINCE THE BEGINNING

THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY COMES TO A THE NEIGHBORHOOD OLD BOOK DEALER

     IN 2013 IT'S INCREASINGLY DIFFICULT TO FIND A CANADIAN ARTIST HISTORIAN / BIOGRAPHER, OR COLD-CASE SLEUTH, WHO HASN'T ADOPTED THE "MURDER" EXPLANATION, FOR THE DEATH OF LANDSCAPE ARTIST, TOM THOMSON, IN ALGONQUIN PARK'S CANOE LAKE, IN JULY OF 1917. FROM 1917, ON TO THE LATE 1990'S, MOST RESEARCHERS BELIEVED IN WHAT THE CHIEF CORONER HAD RULED, THAT JULY EVENING AT CANOE LAKE. THOMSON DIED THE RESULT OF ACCIDENTAL DROWNING, WHILE TRAVERSING CANOE LAKE FROM WHERE HE HAD BEEN LODGING, IN THE TINY INHABITATION KNOWN AS MOWAT, SPECIFICALLY AT SHANNON FRASER'S MOWAT LODGE. CERTAINLY INTO THE LATE 1990'S, THOSE BELIEVING HIS DEATH WAS THE RESULT OF FOUL PLAY, WERE SERIOUSLY OUT-NUMBERED BY THOSE WHO FELT THE ARTIST HAD PROBABLY BEEN PEEING OVER THE SIDE OF THE CANOE, (AFTER TOO MUCH BOOZE) AND SIMPLY TOPPLED INTO THE WATER……HITTING HIS HEAD ON THE GUNNEL, ON THE WAY DOWN. THUS, BEING KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS, HE HAD NO WAY OF SWIMMING OUT OF THE JAWS OF FATE.

     TODAY, THERE ARE FAR MORE HISTORIANS AND RESEARCHERS, CONNECTED WITH THE THOMSON STORY, WHO ARE OF THE OPPOSITE OPINION. THE LATEST BOOKS OUT, AND ARTICLES ON THE CIRCUMSTANCES SURROUNDING HIS DEATH, POINT TO FOUL PLAY AS THE ONLY REASON, THE TALENTED ARTIST DIDN'T LIVE ON, TO PAINT MANY MORE AMAZING LANDSCAPES. YET EVEN AS THE INQUEST WAS BEING HELD, MINUS THE BODY (THOMSON HAD ALREADY BEEN BURIED BEFORE THE CORONER COULD ARRIVE FROM NORTH BAY), THERE WERE REPORTEDLY MANY IN ATTENDANCE, WHO DID NOT AGREE WITH THE OFFICIAL FINDING. THEY KNEW THOMSON AS A MORE COLORFUL, AGGRESSIVE PERSON, AND RECOGNIZED HE HAD ADVERSARIES IN THE CANOE LAKE COMMUNITY. FOR WHATEVER REASON, AND IT WAS PROBABLY ASSOCIATED WITH SMALL-COMMUNITY LOYALTIES, THE CORONER, DR. RAINEY, DIDN'T RECEIVE ONE RESPONSE WHEN HE ASKED IF ANY ONE IN THAT ROOM, HAD REASON TO CONTRADICT THE FINDINGS, AND THE THEORY OF ACCIDENTAL DROWNING. SO WHILE THERE WERE SIGNIFICANT CONCERNS, ONLY DAYS AFTER HIS DEATH, THAT THOMSON HAD BEEN MURDERED, IT WOULD BE ALMOST A DECADE BEFORE ANY OF THESE CONCERNS WERE EXPRESSED, TO SOMEONE WHO COULD TAKE IT FURTHER THAN GENERAL CONVERSATION.

     WHILE WORKING ON A BIOGRAPHY OF THOMSON, WELL KNOWN CANADIAN WRITER AND RESEARCHER, BLODWEN DAVIES, BEGAN FINDING SOME DISCREPANCY IN THE STORY OF THOMSON'S FINAL HOURS. IT ACTUALLY BECAME SO GLARING, THAT THE THOUGHT PROBABLY CROSSED HER MIND, ABOUT WHY THESE RESIDENTS AND FORMER ASSOCIATES HAD NOT RAISED THE CONCERN TO THE CORONER, WHEN THEY HAD THE CHANCE. WHO WERE THESE PEOPLE PROTECTING? KEEP IN MIND, MANY IN THAT ROOM WERE CONSIDERED THOMSON'S FRIENDS. IT IS REPORTED THEY WERE MUMBLING ABOUT MURDER AMONGST THEMSELVES, MINUTES AFTER THE CORONER ENDED THE INQUEST.

    DAVIES WAS SO DISTURBED BY WHAT SHE WAS HEARING, THAT SHE GATHERED UP THE CONTENT OF THE STORIES, AND APPROACHED THE ONTARIO PROVINCIAL POLICE, ASKING THEM TO RE-OPEN THE COLD CASE. AFTER A PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATION, THE MATTER WAS RULED A NON-STARTER. NOT FOR DAVIES, BUT AS FAR AS THE OFFICIAL PROVINCIAL STAND…..IT WAS GOING TO REMAIN AS ACCIDENTAL DROWNING. SHE WAS PRETTY MUCH AWARE THERE WERE A NUMBER OF ROAD BLOCKS BEING ERECTED TO STOP THIS FROM GAINING MOMENTUM. THIS HAS BEEN A CONTINUING ISSUE IN THE INVESTIGATION OF JUST HOW TOM THOMSON DIED. IT IS KNOWN THERE WERE HIGH RANKING PROVINCIAL OFFICIALS WHO REFUSED OUTRIGHTLY TO RE-OPEN THE CASE, EVEN THOUGH THERE WAS COMPELLING EVIDENCE OF MURDER. BUT HERE IS WHERE A BOOKSELLER ENTERS THE HISTORY BOOKS, ON THE THOMSON FILE.

DORA HOOD MEETS AUTHOR BLODWEN DAVIES

     "Fame came, as everyone knows, to Sir Fredrick Banting, at a very young age," wrote Toronto Bookseller, Dora Hood, in her 1958 biography, "The Side Door - Twenty-six Years In My Book Room," published by the Ryerson Press. "With the perfecting of the discovery of insulin by him, in association with Dr. C.H. Best, he emerged from the sheltered life of the laboratory into the turmoil of publicity. When I met him this phase, so overwhelming to one of his nature, had passed and he, through his new friends, the artists of the Group of Seven had discovered another talent. He reveled in his ability to paint the wild scenery of Northern Ontario and Quebec and this led him to begin his collection of books on exploration. I believe he was happier then than at any time in his short life." (Banting was more than a proficient painter, and his works today sell for many thousands of dollars, at fine art auctions in Canada)

     She notes that, "Among the friends who influenced his taste was Miss Blodwen Davies. At that time, about the early 1930's, she had won a reputation as a writer collecting material for a life of Tom Thomson, the artist who had lately met a tragic end in the northern woods. Many years after Miss Davies told me Banting had helped her theory of how Thomson met his death. Together these two interesting persons visited the Book Room. They generally came in the evening when they had plenty of time to examine the bookshelves. His taste for first editions of fur trader journals, such as Hearne was expensive, but he wisely did not deny himself this extravagance.

     "He had an ambition to study and perhaps later write a paper on Indian medicine and remedies. I doubt, however, that he ever got beyond the desire. Miss Davies' interest in artists and local history led her to other shelves and between these two brilliant personalities I was kept on my toes and enjoyed my evenings. Once Banting asked me to see his collection and to give him some advice as to how he should proceed. We spent an interesting hour in his studio-study-library, and alas, that was the last time we were to meet. With the breakup of his first marriage and his home life, he ceased to collect Canadiana. Had he lived through the war I feel sure he would have returned to the interests of this happy period of his life. Dr. Lloyd Stevenson, in his biography of Banting, refers to his visits to the Book Room. Thus is this small business immortalized."

     It is more than just an old rumor that Blodwen Davies was part of the marital issues at this time.

     The theory that Blodwen Davies and Dr. Banting had been examining, in regards to Thomson, was that he had most likely met with foul play, and that accidental drowning could not explain all the circumstances of his mysterious disappearance at mid-day on a calm lake, on a waterway he had traversed many hundreds of times. In later years, Judge William Little would use her theory, in the 1950's, and arrange an informal (without proper permission from the Park Authority) exhumation of the allegedly empty Mowat gravesite. It has been documented that Thomson's body had been moved from the Mowat plot, to a family gravesite in Leith, Ontario, as arranged by his brother George Thomson, and Tom's girlfriend, Winnie Trainer of Huntsville. Judge Little, of course, found that the empty grave was still occupied. There were skeletal remains found in what appeared to be the same coffin that had been afforded Thomson in July 1917. The name plate hadn't been inscribed, due to the fact the funeral had occurred quickly because of the decomposition of the body. An undertaker, by the name of Churchill, had been hired to move the body, but there have been many doubts about what was in the metal shipping casket, taken from Canoe Lake by train. Most likely enough Algonquin soil to make it seem a body was inside. In the early 1970's, Judge Little wrote the book, "The Tom Thomson Mystery," based in part of the suspicions raised initially by Davies, and Banting in the 1930's. A CBC documentary was aired on the allegations made by Judge Little, and once again, Blodwen Davies was mentioned in the film, as one who had suspicions Thomson had been murdered.

     Ever more books are written about Thomson and his demise, and most theories today, shine an adverse light on Mowat hotelier, Shannon Fraser, as being the one most likely to have killed Thomson. It is believed that a drunken fight broke out between the two men, at the Mowat Lodge, over an outstanding amount of money owing to Thomson, and the bigger man, Fraser, had knocked the artist to the floor, where he hit his head on a fire grate……knocking him unconscious. There is a scenario discussed amongst Thomson historians, that Fraser and his wife loaded Thomson's body in a canoe, towed it with a rowboat out into Canoe Lake after midnight, and dumped the body and set the canoe adrift. It is also suggested they had lashed a weight to his legs with fishing line, but the action of the waves on the rocks below, severed the body from the anchor. The bottom line. It's much easier to put forward the "murder" theory today, than it was in Blodwen Davies' day, when she was scorned for suggesting it, and the same held, much later for Judge Little…..yet both books today still serve as reference for a host of Thomson books.

     The author of the bookseller's biography, Dora Hood, wrote, "Occasionally during my busy years in the Book Room I thought it might be worthwhile to record my experiences. But beyond keeping a brief diary for a few months of the requests of my callers, I made no effort. Two years after I retired, Mr. Stewart Wallace, who succeeded me in the business, suggested that I write a book on the subject of buying and selling Canadian books. By then I had begun to miss the stimulation and excitement of my book work and decided to try my hand at authorship. I had my letter files, and many of my old customers were still coming into the Book Room or buying by mail from the catalogues, and it was therefore not difficult to recall incidents of my former occupations. As more than one third of my life had been devoted to books and collectors it was chiefly a matter of selection, which proved quite a formidable task. Many of my collectors came to have a talk (while in Montreal) and I thoroughly enjoyed it, for I am convinced, that by and large, book collectors are among the most delightful people one can meet."

     She writes, "My decision to retire came about as swiftly and easily as had my determination to be a bookseller. I was seated as usual at the large table in my office surrounded by piles of books, and was about to take up my pencil to trace the words 'Catolgue 47,' when suddenly the thought came, 'You've done this long enough. Why not do something else in what remains of your life?' The business was still flourishing, and until that moment I was conducting it with as much interest and vigor as I had from the beginning, but the incentive was now lacking. My two children were married, and I began to realize that  I must seek companionship outside my house and work. I was anxious, too, to give more time to the work for the deaf. I had been partially deaf myself for many years and was intensely interested in what is now known as the Canadian Hearing Society, and had been a member of the board for some time. On my retirement I was able to act for three years as President of the Toronto Women's Auxiliary of this society.

     "As I looked back over the years, I knew how fortunate I had been. Although not endowed with unlimited strength, my health had been remarkably good. I had not made a fortune but I had been free from financial crises and had no bad debts, which speaks well for book buyers as a class. i had customers all over the free world who honored me with their business and those whom I met in my office were highly intelligent and nearly all of them friendly. But like the 'folios and quartos,' there seemed no rest for the bookseller as long as his door remained open and his telephone connected."

     She notes in conclusion, "All beginnings must have endings. But it seemed unthinkable and above impossible simply to bring the business to an end. I began to look for a successor. Once again, with very little effort on my part, events were favorable, and I was able to pass the business on to the one person I knew who would more than do it justice. The name has been carried on and the quarters remain the same. An old customer returning would scarcely notice any change except that now a well known and scholarly man sits at the office table. Dr. Stewart Wallace, on his retirement in 1954, after thirty years of distinguished work as Librarian of the University of Toronto, has become owner and proprietor of the Book Room."

     "Never again shall I feel as pleasant a glow of accomplishment as I did in bygone years on reading such letters as - 'Dear Mrs. Hood: Last night I spent a very pleasant hour perusing your fine catalogue. I have all your catalogues and treasure them as the most important series of Canadiana offering that have been issued. I would like to purchase any of the following that are still unsold…..yours sincerely, F.C.K."

     You can search for this book, by visiting the Advanced Book Exchange collective of old book dealers, and typing in the author and title. Suzanne and I buy books from the ABE with confidence, so I can heartily recommend their wonderful service to bibliophiles around the world.

Dave Brown, Algonquin Paddler Knew Thomson Was Still In Mowat Grave

AT HOME ALONE; WITH TOM THOMSON ON MY MIND - AND A RETIRING TEACHER SOON TO BE

     TONIGHT, SUZANNE IS ATTENDING HER FINAL COMMENCEMENT OF HER TEACHING CAREER.  SHE WILL BE ON STAGE HANDING OUT DIPLOMAS TO GRADUATES. SHE HAS ALWAYS LIKED THIS TASK, AND EARLIER IN THE AFTERNOON, SHE WAS FOLDING PROGRAMS FOR THE BIG EVENT. SHE WON'T ADMIT SHE'S FEELING A LITTLE NOSTALGIC, AND A WEE BIT SAD ABOUT HER DEPARTURE, TOMORROW (THURSDAY); BUT THAT WILL COME LATE THURSDAY, IN THE FINAL HOUR OF THE FINAL DAY…..WHEN SON ANDREW COMES OVER TO TAKE A FAREWELL TOUR OF THE CLASSROOMS THEY BOTH FREQUENTED, OVER THEIR YEARS OF ASSOCIATION. SON ROBERT DIDN'T LIKE SCHOOL TOO MUCH, SO HE'S GOING TO STAY WITH ME AT THE SHOP INSTEAD. I THINK I WILL MISS BEING MARRIED TO A TEACHER. FUNNY THING THAT! FOR ALL THESE YEARS I'VE COMPLAINED ABOUT BEING BOSSED AROUND BY MY TEACHER PARTNER, AND TREATED LIKE A SCHOOL-KID, AND FANCY THIS……THAT I WILL ACTUALLY MISS HER CONNECTION TO THE TEACHING PROFESSION. NOW SHE WILL BE MY BOSS IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE. I WILL BE ON THE ROAD A LOT.

     SUZANNE NEVER HAD A CHANCE TO PUBLICLY THANK SOME OF HER TEACHER-MENTORS FROM HER EARLY YEARS, AT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL. SHE HAD A CHANCE TO TRANSFER TO GRAVENHURST, RATHER SUDDENLY, AND IN ONLY DAYS, HER PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT CHANGED. SEEING AS WE WERE LIVING IN GRAVENHURST, AT THE TIME, IT WAS JUST A MOVE OF CONVENIENCE FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY. BUT SHE NEVER REALLY GOT THE OPPORTUNITY TO EXPRESS HOW IMPORTANT THOSE PERSONAL CONTACTS HAD BEEN, BACK THEN, TO THE REALITY TODAY……SHE SURVIVED MORE THAN THREE DECADES.

     ON HER LIST OF TEACHER FRIENDS, STILL FONDLY RECALLED, ARE NAMES LIKE JOHN RUTHERFORD, CHARLIE CUNNINGHAM, BOB KIRKPATRICK, GRACE MELVIN, CATHY PICKARD, DAVE BROUGHTON, STAN BYRNE, ART LUKER, DAVE WHITESIDE, (WHO SPOKE FOR US AT OUR WEDDING), WAYLAND DREW AND KEN BLACK. IT WAS KEN BLACK, ABOVE ALL OTHERS, WHO BELIEVED IN SUZANNE'S CAPABILITY AS A FLEDGLING TEACHER, AND MADE SURE SHE WAS MAINTAINED SOMEWHERE IN BOARD EMPLOY, FOLLOWING SEVERAL REDUNDANCY SITUATIONS IN THE EARLY YEARS OF HER CAREER.  I KNOW SHE CREDITS KEN'S MENTORSHIP, AS BEING CRITICALLY IMPORTANT, WHEN SHE BEGAN TO SERIOUSLY RE-EVALUATE, AND DOUBT, WHETHER SHE HAD CHOSEN THE RIGHT CAREER AFTER ALL.

     SUZANNE HAS ALWAYS SPOKEN HIGHLY, OF FOLKS LIKE JOHN BROWNLEE, AND JACK PUNTIS AS WELL, FOR ENCOURAGING HER TO STAY THE COURSE. THERE ARE MANY OTHERS, AND I'M GOING TO ENCOURAGE HER TO WRITE A MORE COMPREHENSIVE LIST, SO AS NOT TO MISS ANYONE. SHE HAS MADE MANY FRIENDS AT GRAVENHURST HIGH SCHOOL AS WELL, AND HOPEFULLY, THERE WILL STILL BE A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN FORMER COLLEAGUES LONG INTO RETIREMENT. HER FORMER STUDENTS KNOW WHERE TO FIND HER……..BY JUST VISITING THE FORMER MUSKOKA THEATRE, WHERE THE CURRIE BOYS HAVE THEIR MUSIC AND ANTIQUE SHOP.

     I'D VERY MUCH LIKE TO DISAPPEAR INTO THE SOLITUDE OF THE ONTARIO WILDS, THIS WEEKEND, WITH MY WIFE, A CANOE, AND A VAST LAKELAND SURROUNDING US. ALGONQUIN WILL LOOK LIKE A CITY SUBURB THIS WEEKEND, SO IT WILL BE A GOOD TIME, TO BASK A LITTLE INSTEAD, AT BIRCH HOLLOW, THE PLACE ABOVE THE BOG, HERE IN BEAUTIFUL SOUTH MUSKOKA…..WHERE I'VE LIVED WITH THE TEACHER-KIND, SO HAPPILY AND MEMORABLY, FOR MANY WONDERFUL YEARS. MY ONLY HOPE, IS THAT SHE WILL STILL FIND ME SOMEWHAT INTERESTING, AND AMUSING, NOW THAT WE WILL BE CLOSER THAN EVER……NOW THAT TWO CAREERS ARE NOW ONE AND THE SAME.

  

Miles David Brown and the Thomson Mystery

Dave Brown, of Hamilton, was not only a well known outdoor educator in Ontario, he was an accomplished historian, book collector of considerable acclaim and had spent many years as a summer camp instructor. He was familiar with the lakes of Algonquin and his canoe had traversed hundreds of miles on these waters in quest of logging relics of which he possessed a significant collection.

     Dave was a frequent house guest of hours while up on his camping excursions, and we enjoyed many conversations about nature, history and his favorite subject "outdoor education." Before Dave passed away after a short illness, I had agreed to be his biographer. His was a life well-lived, and he had so many interesting stories about people and fascinating places in this province, and oh so many adventures, that it warranted a much larger study than what I was able to provide without extensive interviews. He passed on just as we were in the planning stage of what was supposed to be a co-operative effort. While I did complete his biography it was only half what it could have been if Dave had been at my side.

     I had talked to Dave many times during my early foray into the Thomson research, about whether or not the Canoe Lake Cemetery plot, that was once occupied by the deceased artist, was still "occupied," as was determined in the 1950's, during and impromptu exhumation by William Little, Jack Eastaugh and friends. The grave that was supposed to be empty wasn’t quite.....the broken sections of what appeared to be Thomson’s original coffin was found in the excavation, as were human bones. Everybody including family was surprised by Little’s revelations. I don’t believe they were happy about any of the publicity, and who could blame them. Tom had been a unique and fascinating character in life and his work was gaining huge acclaim at the time of the exhumation. It was obvious any information contrary to what had been accepted fact of his demise would have a sensational zing.

     The problem with this is that shortly after Thomson was buried in July 1917, an undertaker by the name of Churchill, was sent by the Thomson family, to remove the coffin with his remains from Algonquin, to be re-buried in a family plot in the Village of Leith, near Owen Sound, Ontario. Churchill wasn’t aware at the time of his arrival at Canoe Lake, that the coffin had already been buried in the plot near Mowat, during a hurried ceremony earlier the same day. There has been concern over the years the undertaker didn’t quite fulfill the terms and obligations he was sworn. It has long been alleged that Churchill had only transported a box of Algonquin earth in the sealed metal casket, having decided not to go to the effort of digging up Thomson’s coffin....although he always denied this allegation. The metal coffin was tightly sealed and according to some witnesses at the funeral in Leith, the box had a musty odor but was never opened to confirm Tom was inside. There is another story that maintains Tom’s father insisted the coffin be opened, and it was, revealing the remains of his son. There are however, suggestions the seal was never broken on the metal casket and definitely not opened.

     While we will go into this situation with more detail later in this series of columns, the "two grave" scenario, factors large in the Thomson mystery. According to Judge Little, Thomson is undeniably still buried at the Canoe Lake Cemetery. Even though forensic tests on the skull revealed it to be the remains of a native male and not those of Thomson, there are still concerns the testing did not go far enough before the remains were re-buried in the Algonquin cemetery. The plot in Leith has never been investigated.

     Dave Brown was a friend to all, and he knew many folks with long histories at Canoe Lake and in Algonquin Park, from guides, Park Rangers, to cottagers. One evening shortly before his death, after asking me how my research was going on Tom Thomson, he told me quite bluntly that he had it on good and trusted authority, Thomson’s body was still in his original grave as he was committed in July of 1917. When I pressed him for more information he said he couldn’t betray the trust of his sources but said it would be hard to deny that these particular folks had a much closer connection to the circumstances of Thomson’s demise and initial burial. "I just wanted you to know that I have solid information from a number of people I have known up there, who believe Thomson was never moved from Mowat....and that the undertaker hauled back a metal coffin full of dirt to avoid digging the coffin up. To these people it’s not much of a mystery at all....he was injured during a fight, knocked unconscious, taken out onto the lake and dumped to make it look like he drowned. He didn’t. I’m telling you, he’s still in Algonquin Park....sorry I can’t help you any more than this."

    Dave wasn’t a story spinner as such. He told a good story but he had the historian’s need for accuracy so when he told me this, while it wasn’t particularly useful to prove or disprove....because I couldn’t follow up with his sources (some were already deceased), it at least gave me some confidence there were dissenters who didn’t buy some of the information about Thomson’s death and burial.

     I would have loved to pursue this with Dave but within weeks his condition had deteriorated and there was no chance of recovery. It is really the last full discussion I had with Dave and although it wasn’t a pivotal amount of information it at least let me know I wasn’t a fool to be following this up......as had many other researchers over the decades from Blodwen Davies in the early 1930's onward to Judge William Little and others to the present.

The Inner Storm of Tom Thomson

     Note: When I initiated my research foray into the circumstances surrounding the death of Canadian artist, Tom Thomson, which commenced for me back in the mid 1990's, I had no idea that my interest in the story would be self perpetuating and offer no clear final chapter. In reality the story of Thomson has occupied my attention for more than fifteen years. Not solely the mystery of his death but his art work and life. His life is a most fascinating study. From the time I began a more intensive examination of his alleged accidental drowning, there were many splendid examples of serendipity playing a weighty role in discovery. One good source would direct to another, then another, and even unrelated sources often times provided some unexpected Thomson or Canadian art information that did influence the course of research. As an active regional Ontario historian for many decades now, serendipitous discovery is pretty much an anticipated part of the quest for information. We come to count on accidental findings to give us a hand up. Admittedly it can get a little spooky how these connections come about. For most of the first year there were few days that didn't have a Thomson intrusion in one form or another but it was all very welcome.

     After my preliminary article on the death of Thomson (drowning, Canoe Lake, July 1917), carried by Muskoka Today, published in Gravenhurst, and then a larger series of columns in The Muskoka Sun in the late 1990's, I was getting help, advice and information from all over and much of it was in support of the murder theory versus the long accepted verdict by a coroner's inquiry, of 1917, that ruled Thomson had drowned. There were times during research and preparation for these columns that I very much felt the artist's presence..... as if he was as interested in my story-line..... as much as the readership was demonstrating, by offering me a plethora of clippings and personal opinions about the cold case. My wife Suzanne said to me one day that it was almost as if Tom was "sending a message from the other side." There are circumstances surrounding this story and these years of initial research, that did seem to border on the paranormal, particularly experienced on a canoe venture to Canoe Lake and a visit to Thomson's memorial cairn on Hayhurst Point. I will present the story of this unsettling traverse of Algonquin's best known lake, later in this blog collection.

     This is not a story about Thomson's ghost. Although there have been sightings in the past, one in fact, by a member of the Group of Seven artists visiting the park sometime after his death. It is the accounting of an admirer's mission to shed more light on the Thomson mystery, as others have in the past......and how a wonderful artist's life, his work, and demise affected us, and other researchers intimately close to his story. My work on Thomson has been based on the utmost respect for the artist and I have never once received a penny of remuneration for any of the research and composition work I've published over the past 15 years, the last series running in Curious: The Tourist Guide, over 12 months in 2007. From the time I began working on this story in the mid 1990's, there has never been any attempt to sensationalize or to make a profit from content. It was written with the unfaltering respect and credit for those who broke trail on the research, such as Judge William Little (1970's book The Tom Thomson Mystery) and Blodwen Davies the first writer, in the early 1930's, to question the theory of accidental death versus murder most foul. It is a fascinating and compelling story....a Canadian legend that in some way or other makes it to print each year in some Canadian locale. Each year some camper will tell the story of seeing the ghost paddler on the cusp of nightfall, in that silent traverse of the Algonquin Lakes he was famous for. Most of all, it is out of a sense of awe for his art work, that I continue to find great inspiration to not only follow his canoe path but to re-visit some of the places he haunted, and depicted so powerfully on his wood panels.

    The short piece you are about to read, was written in the mid 1990's, at a time when I had only just begun my research into Thomson's mysterious demise. I penned these observations, after a long day traversing some of the artist's canoe routes. The idea to write something about the impending storm, came to me all of a sudden, while sitting on the shore of Tea Lake with my family, watching the aggressive front, push over the Algonquin hills. Tom Thomson would have studied intently, the unfolding precariousness of the scene, as it unfolded over the lakeland; mesmerized by the brute force of this pent-up natural power, manifesting in the confluence between the wild currents of air, and horizontally driven rain, pounding like a succession of fists against this evergreen-bordered, etched-rock shoreline. It was from our perspective, a Thomson day in Algonquin! The boys and Suzanne had retreated to the van, to weather the storm, but I stayed outside, as Thomson was famous for, until the lightning was snapping down, off the nearby rocks. Thomson was fascinated by this severe change of weather, and he would try to sketch the progression of the storm over the lakeland. I wrote the balance of this landscape piece, while sitting in the van, as the heavy downpour made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front. The lightning would light up the interior, as if we were in an x-ray machine. The thunder vibrated deep into the earth that evening. It was definitely a Thomson moment for me…..as if he was inspiring the whole weather event from the great beyond……as part of the lore of this amazing parkland.  I found these scribbled notes a while ago, and I had already crumpled them up for discard…..because frankly, they seemed irrelevant. They were only random thoughts, at a time when the romanticism of the story, was far greater than the sum of all its realities, as known today.  Just before I tossed them in the bin, I thought about what Thomson has meant to me, for all these years, delving so deeply into his intimate biography…..for such a long time. I rescued the water-damaged pages, with blurred ink, and stuck it in the thick, overflowing file folder, I've been building on the artist. If nothing else, it shows how much Thomson's work imprinted on this researcher. I dug the crumpled copy out a while ago, and after reading it again, thought you might be interested to know how my fixation with Thomson, has been as inspiring, as it has been haunting……and I have never figured out why! It just is! 

      WRITTEN AT A CAMPSITE ON TEA LAKE, ALGONQUIN PARK

     "Each bold, smooth, wave of brush stroke, laps dark and deeply into the long furrow of emerging wake. The voyeur can feel its undertow reaching for his soul. The traverse imprints a profound and contrasting depth and breadth of shadow, paint and coloration, as impression whirlpools from the surface, into the black confluence of the lake's history.

The paddle is thrust in a furious rage, deep below the surface of the boiling lake. Paint streams in a twist of art, fate and nature, in a mist silhouetted passage across an open, mirrored universe. The manifestation upon the painter’s board, began in this violation of event against reflection, as the paddle-stroke evermore propels the canoe toward the open bay.....the twisting event of storm unfurling along the horizon pines.

    "In this storied sanctuary, in the sweet-grass scented basin of legend and spirits, the artist finds the portal to oversee creation. A hallowed place to live and paint, one side in the actuality of Algonquin, the other in the ethereal current of ecstasy. The poet is the artist, the environs the pinnacle of enlightened observation, between realities and illusion, natural heaven and hell.

The devil stirs against a subtle divinity of calm. Above the contoured rocks on the distant shore, actuality is painted an ominous black against green. Demons generate free-will within the cavernous tomb of autumn storm, just this moment blocking away the sun. There is a threatening free-fall earthward of fear and trembling; a deep, vibrating roar beyond the shaking, ugly jowls of stormscape. A hard, piercing, rhythmic drumming of wind and rain, growing deeply fertile, fueled by the inspiration of still-warm air that spans the lakeland.

    "The first bite of ill-fame has clearly cut with a dagger point, across the uneven expanse of this once still life. The gale generated whitecaps rage along the blunt rock shoreline. Seeking refuge from the painter’s intent, the wind’s malevolent passion, the canoeist turns sharply back toward shore. The precarious balance between paddler and storm stages mortal and artistic co-habitation. It is the will of artist. The traverse must end. The cyclonic force at the heart of creative storm, will paint, without mercy, without apology, a soon-fatal blow. The paint-board presents this tragic wake, the biography of evasive yet found immortality.

     "A gallery voyeur has just taken a step-back, mindful that art and artist demand space in which to thrive. What then is this unsafe passage of imagination, but the cruel play now of creator on the unsuspecting?

     "This thrusting, bitter October wind pounds down against the Algonquin woodland with a brutal force, snapping limbs off the bare old hardwoods and sending the fallen leaves into a filmy crimson sheet, draping across the hazy passage ahead. The deeply rolling waves pummel the canoe, bashing against the stern, the wind and current beneath wrenching the bow toward the sawblade of rock.

     "It became impossible to make any progress up the shore toward Mowat. The bounce-back of waves off the rocks had become severe, and the only way to avoid capsizing, was to pull into the first shallow inlet. At times the manifestation of wind and whitecaps was so powerful that the wooden canoe seemed to lift fully into the air, a precarious, spirited flight across the peaks and valleys of this unfolding legend.

     "The irregular, unpredictable, violent thrusts of autumn gale, strike down upon this haunted lake with a murderous, determined, unfaltering stroke. A mournful, darkened sky tumbles along the horizon, the true rage of Algonquin storm yet to unfurl. The shrill and haunting windsong, of air current through the tight embrace of towering evergreens, enchants in a warning voice. There is no safe passage. The sharp slap and cascade of waves upon silvered rocks, the creak and groan of aged docks, holding as schooner planks in high seas, peaks the voyeur’s sense that the spirit-kind are at work, sculpting in essence the bust of a tragic hero.

     "Adrift in this cauldron of tugging undertow and battering wave, a tightly clenched fist of wind jerks stern then bow, inward hard against the rocks. Long canvas shards engrave windward, giving the appearance of razor-cut paper in the flight of a kite. A clench of malevolent history strikes upward against the wooden hull, now shattered and torn open violently to the flood of dark twisting current. There is an evil succession of crashing waves, a tangle of green serpents diving one through the other, in this constant, wicked caress of nature’s most evolutionary intent. Drowning in this abstraction of legend, the canoe-mate disappears into the fictional depths of our own spirit lake. The challenger of nature, the ignorant transgressor, is overcome today by manifestation of art and artist, brush stroke and inspiration.

    "The creator stops work abruptly, resting hand and brush on the open paint box, as if he has been suddenly disconnected from prevailing realities. It is necessary to re-acquaint with the storm’s fury, still etching across the white and black contrasted bowl of Canoe Lake. As the overturned canoe, wood against stone, bobs like a corpse in the foaming inlet below, the bare knuckle of storm-surge bashes down like a lover spurned. In the slow but profound fade of life-shade into death, at this precise moment of sacrifice, the protocol of legend has been satisfied. An ominous, transforming darkness encroaches upon the watcher’s soul; brush is returned to oil and board, as if carried by wind and wave; a spirited rush of energy from earth beneath, into conflict, toil and creation.

     "A poignantly haunted lakeland emerges in this new warm light exposed, over the cold clasping rigor-mortis of life imitating art.

Just when it appears a typhoon might at any moment unfurl from the deepest black of spiraling cloudscape, the trace golden lines of sun enhance in thin cuts, along the deep green and blue hollows of afternoon horizon. Striking imprints, curious painted evolutions of storm and legend, are roughly hewn from contrary environs of wild reality yet enduring sanctuary.

     "Suspended at this moment is a raw cocktail of vigorous inspiration and sage advisory, the firmly brushed imprint of fiction against actuality; the uncertain oblivion that exists between canoe and storm, reality and impression, and the artist at the mercy of raging emotion. A cold, wicked penetration of arctic air stabs into the flesh, while the warm intoxication of creation keeps artist at task.

In earnest devotion, and unfaltering faith, it is mindfully acknowledged by the creator, the story has been successfully composed. A re-animation of the dead, you might say. A fatal traverse of life and times, captured for posterity. The last brush stroke, an illusion, has chaptered painter within the storm. Fear and trembling, blood and soul, rock and sky, our mutual surrender to Algonquin in transition.

    "In the glow of a gallery light, the fury manifests anew, as if released in our presence, the passion and glory of ecstasy bestowed.

With every paddle stroke against the current, we revere the legend that brought us here. Faithful, silent witness to the spirit within the storm.

In tribute to Canadian landscape painter, Tom Thomson."

     The fire in the pit, sparked its last bit of vigor, and it was time to enjoy the last few minutes of solitude before retiring to bedlam; the lakeland was gently infilled with all its character spirits and legends, beneath the sparkling universe; we know they are there, these spirits……in the cosmic relevance of their own strange harmony.

     Thank you for joining today's blog, in tribute to the life and art accomplishments of Tom Thomson. In just over a week, it will mark the 96th anniversary of his death, alleged as being the result of accidental drowning, while traversing Algonquin Park's Canoe Lake. Murder. Me thinks, this is the more likely case!