GOOD BROTHERS ON THE BARGE ON SUNDAY NIGHT - SEE YOU AT GULL LAKE PARK
SORRY FOLKS. I DIDN'T GET MY USUAL PRESS MATERIAL THIS EVENING, ABOUT THE SUNDAY EVENING CONCERT, AS PART OF THE MUSIC ON THE BARGE SUMMER SERIES, AT GRAVENHURST'S GULL LAKE PARK. IT MUST HAVE GOT LOST IN CYBERSPACE. TRUTHFULLY, FOR WHAT THIS CANADIAN MUSIC FAMILY HAS DONE FOR THIS NATION, IN OH SO MANY WAYS, THEY REALLY DON'T NEED MUCH OF AN INTRODUCTION, COURTESY A"WATCHER FROM THE SHORE" LIKE ME. I'M NOT A MUSIC CRITIC AND HONESTLY, I'M JUST A FELLOW WHO LIKES MUSIC IN HIS EARTHLY EXISTENCE. I LOOK FORWARD TO THE GOOD BROTHERS NIGHT ON THE BARGE EVERY AUGUST, AND THIS YEAR IS NO DIFFERENT. WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE BIT, BECAUSE SUZANNE IS OF A BETTER FRAME OF MIND THIS YEAR, CONSIDERING SHE HAS NOW RETIRED AS A SECONDARY SCHOOL TEACHER. SO WHAT, YOU ASK? WELL, ABOUT THIS TIME OF YEAR, FOR MORE THAN THREE DECADES, SUZANNE WOULD GET THE "BACK TO SCHOOL JITTERS." THAT MAY NOT SEEM LIKE A BIG DEAL TO SOME, BUT AS THE SPOUSE OF A CAREER TEACHER, LET ME TELL YOU, IT WAS AN 'ON EDGE" TIME OF YEAR, THAT ACTUALLY MESSED UP A LOT OF QUALITY FREE TIME, INCLUDING AUGUST BARGE CONCERTS, BECAUSE SHE WAS IN THAT HORRIBLE ZONE OF SELF DOUBT, WONDERING IF SHE COULD HANDLE THE KIDS FOR ANOTHER YEAR. I HAD A PROTOCOL THAT BEGAN IN EARLY AUGUST OF GETTING SUZANNE ON LENGTHY DAY TRAVELS, AND OUT IN THE CANOE UP ON ALGONQUIN'S ROCK LAKE, SO SHE COULD RELAX A TAD. IN TOWN, SHE COULDN'T GO INTO THE GROCERY STORE, OR A RESTAURANT, WITHOUT RUNNING INTO HER STUDENTS.....WHO WOULD REMIND HER THEY WOULD BE VISITING WITH HER SOON.....OH JOY! SO SHE WOULD START THE SELF DOUBT THING ALL OVER AGAIN. I WAS A HOCKEY GOALTENDER SO I KNOW ALL ABOUT SELF DOUBT AND A LITTLE BIT OF LOATHING FOR THE GAME I WAS SUPPOSED TO LOVE. SUZANNE LOVED HER JOB, AND THE KIDS BECAME HER LIFETIME FRIENDS, BUT IT TOOK ALL OF SEPTEMBER TO FLUSH OUT THE DOUBTS ABOUT HER CAPABILITIES. SO FAR THIS YEAR, ALL THE SAME HAS HAPPENED, BUT THIS TIME HER FORMER STUDENTS ARE STILL, AFTER TWO MONTHS, SAYING GOODBYE, AND WISHING HER A HAPPY RETIREMENT. NOW THAT'S NICE. IT MEANS A LOT COMING FROM STUDENTS.
SO MY POINT IS, SUZANNE MAY JUST BE ABLE TO ENJOY THE GOOD BROTHERS' CONCERT THIS YEAR, AND WHEN SCHOOL POPS INTO HER HEAD, AS IT WILL MANY TIMES IN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, SHE CAN CHUCKLE AND POP THAT BUBBLE OF UPCOMING RESPONSIBILITY. WE'RE ANTIQUE DEALERS AND FREE SPIRITS NOW, AND FOR ONCE, WE'RE FINALLY ON THE SAME PAGE.
THE WEATHER FOR THE GOOD BROTHERS CONCERT IS LOOKING GREAT, WHICH MEANS IT WILL HAVE BEEN A PERFECT SUMMER SEASON, WITH NO RAIN-OUTS.....NOT ONE! OF COURSE, AS A GOALTENDER, IT DROVE ME NUTS WHEN ONE OF MY PLAYERS WOULD USE THE WORD "SHUTOUT" IF I WAS COMING CLOSE IN THE THIRD PERIOD. NEVER FAILED. I'D MISS A BOUNCING PUCK, AND THE SHUT OUT BECAME A MATTER OF REGRET. SO I HOPE I HAVEN'T JINXED THE CONCERT, BY SUGGESTING IT WILL BE A PERFECT SUMMER NIGHT IN THE HEART OF MUSKOKA. BUT TRUST ME ON THIS ONE. IT WILL BE ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOKS. I'M KIND OF HOPING IT WILL ALSO BE THE BIGGEST CROWD YET, FOR ANY BARGE CONCERT IN RECENT MEMORY.
THIS IS A GREAT GRAVENHURST TRADITION, AND THE GOOD BROTHERS SHOULD, BY THEIR HISTORY HERE, BE AWARED THE KEY TO THE TOWN......IF ANY ONE AT TOWN HALL COULD FIND ONE SUITABLE FOR SUCH A PRESENTATION. THE KIND WORDS THESE GENTLEMEN BESTOW ON OUR TOWN, WHILE ON TOUR, IS SOME OF THE BEST ADVERTISING WE CAN GET......IN COTTAGE COUNTRY. THEY ARE PLEASED TO PROMOTE GULL LAKE AND MUSIC ON THE BARGE, EVEN WHEN THEY HAPPEN TO BE IN EUROPE.......ESPECIALLY WHEN ASKED ABOUT SOME OF THEIR FAVORITE VENUES. THE TOWN COUNCILLORS MAY NOT BE AWARE OF THIS, BUT IT'S TRUE. I THINK, FROM THESE CANADIAN MUSIC HALL OF FAMERS, IT IS A POWERFUL ENDORSEMENT.
THIS IS EXPECTED TO BE THE BIGGEST CROWD THIS SUMMER, SO THE BEST ADVICE IS TO ARRIVE EARLY, TO GET A GOOD PLACE TO SIT. THIS IS A NICE, RELAXING, ENTERTAINING EVENT FOR THE COMMUNITY AND GUESTS, WATCHING OUT OVER A BEAUTIFUL MUSKOKA LAKE. IF YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN TO A BARGE CONCERT, THIS IS THE LAST ONE OF THE SEASON. IT BEGINS AT 7:30 P.M. BRING A LAWN CHAIR. FOOD IS AVAILABLE ON SITE OR BRING A PICNIC HAMPER. HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE. THERE WILL BE A COLLECTION TAKEN DURING THE CONCERT, TO HELP SUPPORT THE ONGOING MUSIC ON THE BARGE PROGRAM.
I'M HOPING GRAVENHURST COUNCILLORS WILL DROP BY TO SEE WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON AT OUR PARK THESE MANY SUNDAY EVENINGS.
NOTE: I HAVE DECIDED TO TAKE A HIATUS FROM WRITING ABOUT LOCAL POLITICS.....FOR THE THIRD TIME THIS YEAR. SINCE I BEGAN WRITING ABOUT PERCEIVED AND ACTUAL PROBLEMS AT TOWN HALL, MY HAIR HAS DROPPED FROM THE TOP OF MY HEAD, TO MY CHIN, WHERE IT REMAINS TODAY. SO TO IMAGINE ME WITH A FULL HEAD OF HAIR, JUST MINDFULLY TAKE WHAT APPEARS TO BE MY BEARD, AND REVERSE IT ONTO MY BARE SCALP. IT'S TRUE, TO SOME I WILL SEEM RATHER WILD, AS IF HAVING JUST EMERGED FROM A BORNEO JUNGLE HIDE-OUT, AND NOT HAVING HAD BENEFIT OF A COMB FOR A DECADE OR MORE. BUT HONESTLY, I FEEL LOCAL POLITICS IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS REVERSAL OF FORTUNES; WHAT THE HAIRLINE LOST, IS THE CHIN'S GAIN. SOME SAY I LOOK WISER THIS WAY, AND IF THIS IS CORRECT, I WILL QUALIFY THIS, BY NEVER, EVER MENTIONING TOWN COUNCIL AGAIN. UNTIL WE GET A NEW ONE.
THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOOD STUFF GOING-ON, AND ABOUT MUSKOKA, TO MIRE DOWN WITH THE PERPETUAL FOLLIES OF LOCAL GOVERNMENT. SO I'M GOING TO WRITE ABOUT MUSKOKA.....AND WHAT MAKES THIS PLACE SO DARN ENCHANTED AND INSPIRING.......AND STORIED. I'VE HAD MANY WONDERFUL YEARS OF WORK AND PLAY, AS A CITIZEN RESIDING YEAR-ROUND, IN THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION OF ONTARIO, AND NOW I WANT TO REPRESENT IT THE WAY IT SHOULD BE........POLITICS FREE! HERE'S THE BEST WAY I CAN THINK OF, TO START THIS ONGOING PROFILE.
Storied Muskoka –
Canada’s Haunted Lakeland
When I pass from this tired, frayed mortal coil, I too shall find Muskoka an accommodating domain for the still-unsettled spirit…..in this hauntingly craggy, gnarled, forested landscape that has for too long been taken for granted by her users and abusers.
I can’t take but one footfall from this homestead, here at Birch Hollow, than I feel the invigoration of unspecified old spirits and musty legend left to its own devices. Even when I sit in this creaking office chair, looking out over The Bog, I feel the presence of so much more than does the everyday traveler, who out of imposed necessity is too busy to stop and ponder the grand virtues of nature, and the subtle intrigue of the unexplained.
There are many good folks who reside down this lane, who have little use for “haunts” and the “marvels” of the hinterland. They have more important things to do in this frenetic world in which we live. There are aspects of this ballywick I feel are important and life-enhancing but a few of my contemporaries believe I am wasting my time selling virtues of enchantment and poetry; fantasy and the good graces of both legend and lore. The woodland I see now has a depth beyond what the naturalists identifies. The snaking creek through the hollow means more to me as analogy than the science of watershed alone. I suppose I am forever locked into the confusing hiatus between the natural and the supernatural. Yet I am contented to experience the joys of reality and then expectation while walking down these misty, well-worn pathways down into the hollow.
When the wind gusts bang at the light fixtures on the verandah, it’s as if the spirits are attempting to awaken the dead to their own new reality. Right this moment the gale force wind of an early spring storm whines through the cracks in this humble abode, and it’s as if there’s a cauldron of boiling souls somewhere beyond.
There are those who prefer to acknowledge weather as weather, wind as wind, and sunrise and sunset as a matter of sheer routine. There is no reason to question the quirks and peculiarities of a given day, other than possibly to offer some complaint about the inconvenience of having to go out in the rain or snow, or the blast of spring wind that puts sand into eyes, and hair into disarray.
I am rather passionate about these blustery circumstances, as I can always find something to write about when the sky is black, or the lightning flashes ignite so much brighter than white. I might sit here for an hour in a gentle submission, listening to birds chirp from the lilac boughs. In the event a fringe of dark, ominous looking cloud was to appear suddenly over the horizon pines, my typewriter would be employed in a rapid transmission from mind to key to paper. It is so wonderfully provocative when the wind howls and this house creaks in the thrusts of a storm’s initial bluster. Just as the wind etches down upon this vulnerable landscape presently, as we reside precariously on the brink of yet another spring storm. It is oh so much more interesting when nature decides it’s time to shatter mortal complacency. While the calm of early morning inspires the poet to write sentimentally about new beginnings and the rejuvenation of life, a mid afternoon storm cascades a wild fury of emotion and contempt, and it’s difficult to keep the fingers in tempo with the peaks and valleys of a powerful gale force.
I can sit here in the company of modern conveniences, a hot cup of tea and fresh biscuit, in warmth and comfortable sanctuary, yet feel as if, with this display of violent weather outside, I am alone in some remote wilderness cabin with a modest fire in the hearth, and most basic, humble shelter. I can feel the reaper’s long nails scraping at the window pane to harvest yet another wayfarer at the end of an adventure. I feel the icy grasp of death on my shoulder and shudder at the possibility this fire will extinguish, this hot tea run cold, this storied cabin left to erode into the landscape from which it was raised. There are many faces pressed against the glass, of travelers once, who may have lodged here for a time, partaking of nourishment to continue their passage to a homestead allotment further down the road.
Muskoka has been a tantalizing, alluring mistress for all these years. She has inspired me onward to discover the road less traveled, and left me questioning pertinent legend and lore at lakeside, when a spring sunset ignites the water into a great ball of liquid fire. I watch phantom canoes drift slowly across the lake, and have heard the whistle of a long lost steamship, and then saw the vapor off a lakeside bog float across the waterscape like two dancers in a tango. Nothing is quite as it seems. There is an intermingling of fact and fiction, legend and lore, ghosts and wee beasties that travel in the twilight of summer nights, up and down the rock faces of frozen-in-time ogres, and assorted other malevolent entities who curl up in the story-lines yet to be written.
There is a deep satisfaction in making a connection, with the qualities and quantities of unspecified manifestations; the ghost witnessed along the fern-laden garden path, or the fairy-kind found in dance ‘neath the midnight moon. It’s truly marvelous to find yourself in company with some goblin or other, at a time when a source of inspiration proves hollow and boring. How could any writer or artist-type, fail to be thoughtfully provoked, when provided exposure in some fashion, to the curious facets of what is often called the supernatural. I consider myself quite fortunate indeed to feel the hair on my neck standing in the chill of strange company, possibly encountered on a cemetery walk, or on a misted-over trail from one cottage structure to another.
I have no interest in protecting myself against all exposures to what a soothsayer might call “the paranormal.” I drink it all in as would any inspiration-starved creator, having this unnatural craving to compose until the final, ultimate collapse into exhaustion. It would be an unremarkable enterprise should these paranormal encounters suddenly cease. My goodness, what would I do? What would inspire me to sit for hours on end at this typewriter, if it wasn’t for a well placed, unanticipated haunting?
It’s apparent from what visitors to Birch Hollow tell me…. that we have quite enough ghosts already, to keep me company for many years to come. As an antique collector it is said that these wayward spirits may have arrived in our abode, quite unceremoniously attached to a work of art,….possibly an old pine cradle, a painting, book, or even a Victorian era teddy bear. My wife claims we have haunted dolls, and I have nary a reason to challenge her assumption.
Muskoka is most definitely a haunted, spiritual place, and there have been many testimonials from some of the country’s great poets and artists, agreeing there’s more here than just rocks, trees and water. There’s an ecstasy to experience. A spiritual freedom, a universality of potential beckoning free-thinkers to explore and create.
For those who wouldn’t recognize a spirit if they had one hop on their back for a wee joy-ride, sensing out the paranormal from the normal, the supernatural from the natural, is a matter of letting one’s imagination run unencumbered. It is necessary to allow your sensory perception to delve beyond the obvious. Pre-conceived notions block out a great deal of sensory perception. It’s a modern day condition consuming the child before its time. Possessing the good graces of a child’s imagination is the catalyst of unfettered adventure.
What do you feel sitting out along the Muskoka lakeshore in the darkness, and watching the magnificent fanning colors of the northern lights? Do you hear voices in the wind, when a spring gale washes down over the rock bluffs, and then through the pinery highlands? Do you feel that sense of awe when a storm-front rages down over the lakeland with a powerful fist, unclenching onto vulnerable lowlands, and then culling old leaning birches and evergreens as it rages through the woodlands.
Muskoka is a storied place, much like the historic valley of the Hudson River, made famous by American author Washington Irving. Muskoka has a collection of tales and legends to bestow the keen watcher….the curious traveler, the seeker of adventure, with the truths of good, faithful and historic hauntings.
If ye are the seekers of such adventure, you are welcome to join this mission of discovery…..and yes, I’ve known a few spirits in my time. If you don’t believe in ghosts and the paranormal, then consider these coming entries as wild speculation, ravings of a lunatic, and flights of unfathomable fancy. But if you dare to experience Muskoka’s spirited legacy, do read on…..more to come soon in this blog journal….the Nature of Muskoka.
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