WHAT I SEE AS MUSKOKA STEWARDSHIP; AND BEING AN OLD SOUL
WHEN I MOVED TO BRACEBRIGE, IN THE MID 1960'S, IT BECAME MY NEW AND APPROVED HOMETOWN. BUT MUSKOKA WAS MY HOME DISTRICT, AND TO ME, FOR ALL THESE YEARS, IN HAS TRUMPED THE MUNICIPAL THING. I HAVE BEEN A SELF APPOINTED ADVOCATE, AND STEWARDSHIP ZEALOT FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL DISTRICT EVER SINCE. I'VE LIVED IN AN URBAN BUNGALOW, AN APARTMENT, THREE OLD HOUSES, AND TWO LAKESIDE COTTAGES IN BRACEBRIDGE, RESIDED IN TWO LAKESIDE COTTAGES IN THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES, AND A BUNGALOW, WE CALL BIRCH HOLLOW, HERE IN GRAVENHURST. I'VE LIVED ON LAKE MUSKOKA, LAKE ROSSEAU AND LAKE JOSEPH. I COVERED MUSKOKA DISTRICT COUNCIL, AS A REPORTER, AS WELL AS COUNCIL MEETINGS IN THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES, GEORGIAN BAY, BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST. I COVERED ALL CORNERS OF THE DISTRICT, AS FAR AS NEWS EVENTS, AND I TRAVELLED WITH MP STAN DARLING AND MPP FRANK MILLER, OVER THE WHOLE BLESSED AREA, FROM HOMESTEAD, FALL FAIRS TO COMMUNITY HALLS AND BACK. I'VE BEEN A MUSKOKA HISTORIAN SINCE THE LATE 1970'S, AND I'VE WORKED ON FEATURE STORIES RANGING FROM AMERICAN PRESIDENT, WOODROW WILSON'S STAY AT THOMAS SNOW'S RESORT, "THE BLUFF," ON LAKE ROSSEAU, TO THE HANGING OF GEORGE CYR IN THE SIDEYARD OF THE FORMER HERALD-GAZETTE BUILDING IN BRACEBRIDGE. I'VE COVERED PRINCESS MARGARET, AND LADY SARAH'S VISIT TO MUSKOKA IN THE EARLY 1980'S, (AND I'VE GOT THE PHOTOS TO PROVE IT), AND I'VE REPORTED ON UFO SIGHTINGS, AREA HAUNTINGS, AND ONCE WAS SHOWN A CRIME SCENE PHOTO, WHERE THE VICTIM OF A SHOOTING, NEAR SKELETON LAKE, LANDED ON THE SPREAD OUT HERALD-GAZETTE.....SPECIFICALLY ON MY COLUMN FOR THAT WEEK. WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY, TO MY CRITICS, IS THAT I'VE SPENT A LOT OF TIME STUDYING THIS REGION OF ONTARIO, AND JUST AS MUCH TIME WRITING ABOUT IT......SOMETHING I TRULY ENJOY.
SUZANNE TOLD ME RECENTLY, DURING ONE OF MY GNASHING PERIODS OF FRUSTRATION WITH THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST, THAT MY PROBLEM IS A SIMPLE ONE........AND SHE USED AN EXAMPLE OF AN OBSESSIVE COLLECTOR OF A PARTICULAR ANTIQUE OR COLLECTABLE. SHE DIDN'T SPECIFY WHAT KIND OF ITEM......BUT WAS VERY FIRM ABOUT THE COMPULSIVE SIDE. SHE POINTED OUT HOW I HATE DEALING WITH PERSNICKETY, MAGNIFYING GLASS-TOTING COLLECTORS IN OUR SHOP. SHE LET ME KNOW THAT, AS REGARDS TO MUSKOKA, I TEND TO BE ON ANOTHER LEVEL FROM MOST OF THE FOLKS I TALK WITH, ABOUT THE REGION....AND CERTAINLY, WELL ABOVE WHAT MOST REGIONAL COUNCILLORS FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORY OF THE DISTRICT. IT WAS KIND OF AN AWKWARD ANALOGY OVERALL, BUT I GOT THE MESSAGE. EVER SINCE, I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT A LOT, AND IN PART, IT IS WHAT HAS LED ME TO CHANGE THE NATURE OF THIS BLOG A TAD.....IN ORDER THAT I MIGHT BE BETTER ABLE TO CLARIFY WHY THIS IS THE CASE. IT'S NOT THAT I'M SMARTER OR BETTER QUALIFIED TO SPEAK ON MUSKOKA'S BEHALF, BUT RATHER, THAT I'VE STUDIED IT FOR SO LONG, AND IN MY MIND, BEEN IT'S DEFENDER, THAT I'VE EXPERIENCED ASPECTS OF ITS CHARACTER I FIND ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO EXPLAIN.
WHEN MY MOTHER USED TO CALL ME AN OLD SOUL, I HAD LITTLE IDEA WHAT SHE MEANT. SHE WOULD SAY IT TO OTHER PEOPLE, SHE WAS VISITING WITH, WHEN I'D SUDDENLY ENTER THE KITCHEN, OR PASS THEM IN THE FRONT YARD OF WHEREVER WE HAPPENED TO BE LIVING. "THERE GOES THE OLD SOUL NOW." CRIPES, I WAS A KID. BUT SUZANNE TODAY, KNOWS WHAT SHE MEANT.....AND I THINK I FINALLY DO AS WELL. SUZANNE BELIEVES I'M A FORMER SCOTTISH BARD, NOT QUITE AS FLAMBOYANT AS ROBBIE BURNS, BUT ONE WHO NONE THE LESS, FEELS IT INCUMBENT TO HIGHLIGHT, PROMOTE, SERVE AND PROTECT A REGION OF WHICH I AM ONLY A TEMPORARY RESIDENT......IN MY LIFETIME. BACK A NUMBER OF CENTURIES, LIKE AMERICAN AUTHOR, WASHINGTON IRVING, AND HIS CONTEMPORARY, SIR WALTER SCOTT, THE LANDSCAPE WAS OF PIVOTAL IMPORTANCE IN THEIR LEGEND AND LORE.....THE BORDER TALES, FABLES, HAUNTINGS, BEWITCHING, HOBGOBLINS AND EVIL SPIRITS GIVEN SAFE HAVEN AMONGST THE THICK FORESTS AND PROTECTED NOOKS AND CRANNIES. I HAVE FOUND MYSELF FEELING EXACTLY THE SAME.....BUT FOR ME, IT HAPPENED IN CHILDHOOD; I BECAME REVERENT MORE SO, OF THE LANDSCAPE POSSIBILITIES IN THIS ENCHANTED LAKELAND; THAN SIMPLY THE MUNDANE CURIOSITIES OF MORTAL KIND AND THEIR INHABITATIONS.
"WHEN I LOOK OUT THE WINDOW HERE, I SEE FERNS AND WILDFLOWERS, AND THE BIRCHES IN THE LOWLAND, WHICH MAKES A WONDERFUL PICTURE," SUZANNE EXPLAINED TO ME. WHEN YOU LOOK OUT THE WINDOW, MAYBE LIKE WASHINGTON IRVING LOOKED OUT OVER THE HUDSON RIVER VALLEY; IMAGINING STRANGE FICTIONS, ON TOP OF WHAT IS TO MOST OF US, JUST A PLEASANT SCENE. YOU ADD THE MYSTERY. IT'S WHAT YOU SEE AND BELIEVE DWELLS WITHIN THIS SAME VISTA......AND THEN YOU GET MAD BECAUSE I DON'T SEE THE SAME THING."
I'VE NEVER HAD THIS POINTED OUT TO ME QUITE SO POIGNANTLY. AS ONE OF MY MANY IRONIES AND COINCIDENCES, I PICKED UP A WONDERFUL ART PRINT FROM A SECOND HAND SHOP, ON THE WEEKEND, DEPICTING CHARLES DICKENS SITTING IN HIS OFFICE, WITH GHOSTLY IMAGES OF CHARACTERS FROM HIS MANY BOOKS, ENCIRCLING HIM......AS IF THIS WAS AN AVERAGE DAY IN THE WRITER'S LIFE. IT STRUCK ME LIKE A BOLT OF LIGHTNING, BECAUSE IT IS PRECISELY WHAT I ENVISION CONSTANTLY, ESPECIALLY WHEN PLANNING A FEATURE COLUMN OR BLOG ABOUT OUR REGION. I CAN DRIVE MYSELF CRAZY WITH ALL THESE SAME SCENARIOS AND SUBJECTS PLAYING AND REPLAYING IN MY MIND......CONTAMINATING PLEASANTLY, THAT WINDOW-FRAMED VISTA I SEE FROM THIS DESK, LOOKING OUT OVER THE BOG. THIS BEGAN IN CHILDHOOD, WHEN I STARTED WRITING SHORT STORIES, IN GRADE FIVE, WHILE AT BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL. THEY WERE STORIES ABOUT THE GREAT OUTDOORS.....MUSKOKA, THE PLACE WE HAD JUST RECENTLY RELOCATED FROM SOUTHERN ONTARIO. ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS ESCAPING SCHOOL, AND RUNNING OFF TO SOME SECLUDED PORTAL IN THE HEAVENLY WOODS.
"YOU SHOW YOUR FRUSTRATION WITH PEOPLE, LIKE COUNCILLORS, WHO DON'T SEE WHAT YOU SEE......EVEN WHEN LOOKING AT THE SAME THING," SUZANNE CONTINUED. "YOU WORRY ABOUT THE COMPROMISES TO THE ENVIRONMENT, AND YOUR OBJECTION IS OFTEN BASED ON MORAL, CULTURAL GROUNDS......THAT TO DESTROY A FOREST, IS TO OBLITERATE THE LIFE FORCES OF ALICE'S WONDERLAND. YOU PRESUME FICTION TO BE REALITY, AT TIMES, WHEN YOU'RE WRITING. IT'S BECAUSE YOU SENSE THINGS THAT OTHERS CAN'T IMAGINE....OR DON'T WISH TO ACKNOWLEDGE. YOU ARE AN ENVIRONMENTALIST WITH A POET'S SENSITIVITY, DEAR HUSBAND.....AND YOU CAN'T EXPECT BUSINESS-MINDED PEOPLE TO WAX POETIC TO PLEASE YOU."
IF I HAD LIVED THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO, I WOULD HAVE BEEN CONSIDERED JUST AS ECCENTRIC AS I AM TODAY, BUT MY TALES OF GHOSTS AND BANDY LEGGED WEE BEASTIES, HAUNTING THESE MUSKOKA WOODS, WOULD HAVE BEEN TAKEN FAR MORE SERIOUSLY. I MIGHT HAVE EVEN BEEN SOMEWHAT REVERED, FOR MY RESPECT AND PRACTICE OF TRADITIONS. TODAY I KNOW THAT I AM CONSIDERED AN OUT OF PLACE COUNTRY PHILOSOPHER AS A WRITER.....BUT IF I WAS AN ARTIST, WELL, MY IMAGINATION WOULD BE MUCH DIFFERENT BY APPLICATION OF PAINT AND BRUSHSTROKE, THAN THE KEYSTROKES OF THIS MOMENT IN TIME. I WANTED TO TAKE A FEW MOMENTS TO OFFER THESE INSIGHTS, MY WIFE HAS OFFERED OF HER WRITER HUSBAND, AS A SORT OF CLARIFICATION OF ALL THAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN BEFORE, AND IS YET TO BE COMPOSED. THAT MY LOVE FOR THE REGION IS BOTH RARE AND ECCENTRIC, AND A LITTLE LIKE A JACKSON POLLOCK PAINTING.......CONFUSING, AND ABSTRACT, YET INTELLECTUALLY STRANGE ENOUGH TO ATTRACT AN AUDIENCE.
I SUPPOSE THIS IS MY LATENT CONFESSIONAL. I AM COMPULSIVE IN MY DEFENSE OF THIS REGION, MOSTLY, BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN MORE INTIMATE WITH IT, FOR LONGER, THAN ANY OTHER PARTNER, INCLUDING MY WIFE. I HAVE WANDERED THESE WOODLAND AND LAKESIDE TRAILS FOR HOURS ON END, AND HATED TO COME HOME AGAIN. I HAVE THOUGHT OF MYSELF AS A SORT OF PART TIME HOBO, PREFERRING MOST OF THE TIME, TO BE ON THE MOVE ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE.....WHICH I FIND SO INSPIRATIONAL AND ALLURING.
"YOU A GOOD OLD SOUL," SUZANNE SAID, JUST A MOMENT AGO, READING OVER MY SHOULDER. "I'D LIKE TO THINK I AM," WAS MY RESPONSE, TRAILING OFF AS I WAS AGAIN FLOODED WITH THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW TO END THIS PART OF TODAY'S BLOG. BELOW, I HAVE RE-PUBLISHED AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF THESE LANDSCAPE PIECES, USED TO EXPLAIN HOW THE HINTERLAND HERE HAS RESTORED MY FAITH A THOUSAND TIMES......WHEN STRUCK BY LOSS AND SUDDEN DEPRESSION ABOUT A CHANGE OF LIFE. IT MAY SERVE AS AN EXPLANATION, IF THESE MANY BLOGS HAVEN'T, WHY I AM CONTINUALLY USING RETROSPECTIVE AS A SPLICE-IN TO WHATEVER IS CONTEMPORARY, INCLUDING POLITICS OF THE DAY. I PREFACE IT ALL, THAT I AM A MUSKOKA WRITER, FIRST, AND A HOMETOWNER, SECOND. I DO FEEL THAT THERE ARE PERKS TO BEING AN OLD SOUL. INSIGHTS, FOR ONE THING. I OFTEN FEEL I'M GOING TO DROWN IN THEM. BUT I SURVIVE.
NOTE: THE COLUMN BELOW WAS WRITTEN SHORTLY AFTER MY FATHER'S DEATH, AND THE FINAL DAYS CLEANING UP MY PARENTS' APARTMENT, JUST BELOW THE LEGENDARY BASS ROCK, WHERE US HUNT'S HILL KIDS USED TO SWIM BACK IN THE HIPPY DAYS OF THE LATE 1960'S. I USED TO GO TO BASS ROCK WHENEVER I WAS FEELING BLUE.....HAVING JUST BEEN DUMPED BY A GIRLFRIEND, OR HAVING RECEIVED A FAILING GRADE IN JUST ABOUT EVERY HIGH SCHOOL COURSE I WAS TAKING. I ALWAYS FOUND BASS ROCK TO BE A HEALING PLACE, AS IT WAS DURING THOSE DAYS CLEANING OUT THE LAST OF OUR FAMILY POSSESSIONS.....FROM A HOME MY PARENTS THOUGHT WAS HEAVEN ON EARTH.
PEACE AT BASS ROCK
Shortly after I arrived in Bracebridge, back in the mid 1960's, I was looking for those inspirational places to hole-up when times got tough. Even as a kid I was enthralled by long walks in the Muskoka woods, and lengthy vigils by lake or riverside, to calm the restless beast within. I was a kid on the prowl. I was an adventurer. When I had a day free of my fetters, the school in particular, I was off and roaming not long after daybreak. I didn’t waste time and I didn’t consider it wasteful in any way, to find myself in a comfortable portal, looking out over my new hometown, or the nature that cradled it in pine forests and rock-exposed hillsides. I was as much, living in one of the Group of Seven art panels that I used to drool over in the school textbooks.
I found Bass Rock, on the Muskoka River, a wonderful place to hide-out from mother’s Saturday list of chores, and the perfect retreat when I was in trouble for actions and subsequent reactions, brewing within the neighborhood. I was a bad little bugger and believe me, I was often in need of a cooling-off area. They were self imposed "time-outs," you might say, to borrow from today’s parenting jargon. I returned home many times in the low-light, to avoid my pursuers young and old. My favorite hide-out was just below the Bass Rock rapids, where the wonderfully smooth rock shore, comforted the travel-weary "Tom Sawyer" types. There were trees to hide behind and shadows to disappear into, should some of my contemporaries give up my sanctuary to adversaries. What began as a kid’s relationship with a really good retreat, from the alleged misdemeanors of the day, became a place where I came to dream and compose. It was quite common to find me there at almost any time of the day or night, staring out over that sparkling Muskoka water, reflecting mindfully on the magic of the starscape, at night, or brilliant sun on hot summer afternoons. It was a wild place in the early spring, as the force of the current pounded water through its narrows. A romantic place to bring a young lady, to impose some poetry and grandiose expectations. In the moonlight it was magnificent, and its universality made its way into my landscape writing for decades.
I can remember coming to its shores when I was bursting in love and arriving in its comforting embrace after being dumped and feeling lost in life. I’ve sat on these rocks in quiet contemplation, in moods of desperation, anxiety churning my stomach, and then arrived here on so many other occasions, joyful and contented, having made copious notes about this healing place in the heartland. I’ve sat on the trunk of that fallen tree, and talked with the love of my life about marriage and family. I’ve sought this place out when at a loss for inspiration, and have been fulfilled generously by experience celebrated here. It is the one identifiable place that has inspired more stories than even this portal at Gravenhurst’s Birch Hollow. I’ve written hundreds of outdoor essays, over the past 35 years spent exploring Muskoka, that I can trace back to some lonely but thought-provoking hiatus upon its smooth and mossy contoured rocks. I’m so glad I found this place as a child.....and as it shielded and nurtured me then, it has inspired and comforted me ever since.
It is with some irony that my mother and father, who decided to move their young family to Muskoka in 1966, decided to make their last abode.... a residence on the bay of Bass Rock. As we were closing up their apartment recently, after the death of my father Ed, his wife having died a year and a half earlier, I stood for a few moments on the bank of the Muskoka River, watching as the currented, silver water, gurgled-up against the ice-clad shore,..... enthralled, as a child in heart again, to witness the pinery enclosure being brushed everso lightly by the January wind, as if by an artist’s brush.......a caress just enough to release the snow from the burdened boughs, in a crystalline spray down over the water. My parents loved this place....... because of the river’s gentle and soothing flow, the picturesque qualities of these giant pines and Muskoka rock. Even in death’s shadow, this sanctuary was the heaven on earth I had always thought, and it softened the heartache of loss, as it had always done as a companion. It was still the healing place.
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