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| Early Saturday morning Frost along Beaver Creek – Memories of Christmas Past - The early morning frost along the banks Beaver Creek flowing through the Kilworthy area brought back fond memories of walking with my Father along the creek bank looking for the perfect Christmas Tree to put in the window of the Kilworthy General Store. The search for the small tree was one of the most exciting parts of the Christmas season which went hand in hand with the set-up of the miniature village that was arranged around the base of the tree. Many an hour was spent looking at the Christmas themed town complete with it’s town folks and horse drawn sleds. (Photo By Fred Schulz) |
WHAT YOU SEE WHEN YOU LOOK CLOSELY - IS IT THE MEANING OF LIFE? IS THAT THE HOLY GRAIL OVER THERE?
NOTE: I HAD JUST RECEIVED MY BOWL OF STEAMING HOT TOMATO SOUP WHEN THE FIRST OF FIVE, OR SO, POWER SHUT-DOWNS OCCURRED, TONIGHT IN GRAVENHURST. ON THE LAST FLICKER, AND THEN TOTAL POWER FAILURE, SUZANNE SWITCHED ON THE FLASHLIGHT (WE KEEP AT CHAIR-SIDE, FOR SIMILAR EMERGENCIES), TURNED IT ON ME, FOR SOME UNEXPLAINED REASON, AND GADS, SHE YELLED OUT THAT I LOOKED LIKE A CRIME SCENE. I HAD SLOPPED HALF A BOWL OF SOUP ON MY CLEAN SHIRT, ON MY PANTS AND EVEN ON THE CAT. I HAVE A POLICY. FOOD IN HAND, IS GOING TO BE CONSUMED, WITH OR WITHOUT LIGHT. WHICH IN THIS CASE, MEANS I WILL NEED TO PRE-WASH MY SHIRT. I WAS REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT BOWL OF SOUP. DARN IT ALL.
THE POWER HAS JUST NOW BEEN SWITCHED ON, BUT I'M WARY ABOUT HOW LONG IT'LL BE BEFORE THE NEXT OUTAGE. SORRY FOR THE DELAY. THE PHOTO HAS ALSO BEEN DELAYED, BUT IT WILL BE POSTED AS SOON AS MY TECHNICIAN COMES TO MY AID. I'M A COMPLETE AND UTTER FLOUNDER IN THIS COMPUTER MEDIA THING.
WHEN SUZANNE'S FATHER DECIDED TO SELL THE FAMILY COTTAGE, IN WINDERMERE, (WHICH HAD ACTUALLY BEEN BUILT BY HIS FATHER, SAM STRIPP, AS A HOME, IN THE EARLY 1900'S), HE DID SO WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE. IT WAS HIS SECRET UNTIL THE INK DRIED ON THE DEAL. THEN HE BROKE IT TO US, THAT IT WAS A CASH DEAL WITH A QUICK CLOSING. AND BY THE WAY, THE ANTIQUE WOODEN BOATS WERE SOLD AS PART OF THE PROPERTY DEAL. THE CONTENTS WERE UP FOR GRABS. WE DID A LOT OF GRABBING.
WE WERE ALL SHOCKED BY HIS SUDDEN DECISION BUT FUNNIER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED IN OUR FAMILY. THE DEAL WAS TO EMPTY A HUGE COTTAGE, A SMALLER ONE ON THE BACKSIDE OF THE PROPERTY, AND THE BOATHOUSE WHICH WAS LOADED TO THE RAFTERS WITH BOAT PARTS. SOMEWHERE IN THE HISTORIC MARINE CLUTTER, WAS THE 999TH FORD ENGINE EVER BUILT. BUT IT WAS IN BITS AND PIECES, AND BY THIS STAGE OF LIFE, BEING VERY ELDERLY AND UNWELL, NORM HAD NO IDEA WHERE IT WAS ALL STREWN. WE WERE GIVEN ABOUT SIX WEEKS OR SO TO HAUL FURNISHINGS AND COTTAGE-WARE, LAMPS, DISHES, POTS AND PANS, TO NORM'S HOME IN THE VILLAGE OF WINDERMERE, WHERE IT WAS THEN STUFFED INTO THIS GARAGE....WHICH MEANT THAT WE WOULD HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT CLOG-UP AGAIN, UNFORTUNATELY, A YEAR OR SO LATER, WHEN NORMAN PASSED AWAY.
CLEANING OUT THE COTTAGE WAS A DOZEN NIGHTMARES STACKED ON TOP OF ONE ANOTHER, BECAUSE OF THE VOLUME OF STUFF, BIG AND SMALL, AND ITEMS WE DIDN'T HAVE THE HEART TO THROW AWAY. SUZANNE AND THE BOYS KEPT GRABBING THINGS OFF THE REFUSE PILE, IF WE HAD ANY ROOM LEFT IN THE VAN FOR THE DRIVE BACK TO GRAVENHURST. AT ONE TIME, WE HAD TWO SMALL BOATS STRAPPED ONTO THE ROOF RACKS, AND AN OLD PUMP ORGAN FROM THE FIRST METHODIST CHURCH IN UFFORD, JAMMED INTO THE BACK. PLUS BOXES AND BOXES OF DISHES, OLD RECORDS, DOZENS OF VASES AND PICTURES SUZANNE WANTED, TO REMEMBER THE COTTAGE.
NORM AND I WERE GETTING PISSED OFF WITH ONE ANOTHER, BECAUSE HE'D TOSS THINGS OUT OF CUBBY HOLES, AND HIT ME IN THE SHINS, AND THEN I'D FLING SOME TIN CEILING TILES, AND BOUNCE THEM OFF THE BACKS OF HIS LEGS. WE WERE BOTH INGESTING ENOUGH TOXIC DUST TO KILL US, THEN AND THERE. I GOT A COUGH THAT LASTED THREE MONTHS. I DON'T BELIEVE THE AIR CONTAMINATION HURT NORMAN, THE TOUGH OLD BUGGER, BUT I HATED BEING IN THE FUNGUS-SMELLING BASEMENT AREAS OF THE COTTAGE, PARTLY BECAUSE OF THE ASSORTED WEE BEASTIES, INCLUDING BATS, THAT HAD TAKEN UP RESIDENCE. SOME WERE LIVING IN THE OLD ROWBOATS AND UNDER THE PINE TABLES AND CHURCH PEW, WEDGED INTO THE SMALL, MULTI-ROOM BASEMENT. "HEY, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE THROWING THOSE WILL YOU," HE'D YELL AT ME, BUT IT WAS SO DARK IN THERE, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHERE HE WAS STANDING. WE KEPT BREAKING THE FLASHLIGHTS. WE HAD JUST ENOUGH WINDOW LIGHT TO WORK. FINALLY, WITH THE BRUISES OF PHYSICAL ENTERPRISE GONE WRONG, WE BOTH CAME OUT OF THE BASEMENT COUGHING AND HACKING, FALLING OUT IN A TUMBLE OF DUST, UNDER THE TALL PINES; VOWING THEN CURSING, THAT WE SHOULD JUST LET THE COTTAGE BE TORN DOWN, WITH THE STUFF STILL IN BASEMENT. IN FACT, THAT DID HAPPEN, BUT BY THEN WE'D HAULED OUT THE MOST IMPORTANT RELICS.
OUR HOUSE BEGAN TO LOOK, FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, LIKE THE COTTAGE WE HAD JUST CLEANED OUT. JUST WITHOUT THE WALLS AND ROOF. WE HAD ROWBOATS AND CANOES, A SAILBOAT, AND SIX FORMER ENGINE HATCHES OFF DITCHBURNS. CHAIRS. LOTS OF CHAIRS. TABLES, MORE THAN WE COULD EVER USE IN FOUR LIFETIMES. WE WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPIER TO POSSESS THE BOATS RATHER THAN JUST THE HATCHES, BUT WE SOLD THEM FOR A NICE PROFIT AT THAT YEAR'S BOAT SHOW AT SAGAMO PARK. IN FACT, WE SOLD JUST ABOUT EVERY SIGNIFICANT BIT OF BOAT WOODWORK, TO HARDWARE, INCLUDING BOAT WINDSHIELDS. WE HAD SO MANY COTTAGE RECOVERY PIECES, I HAD TO BUILD A TEMPORARY FENCE AT THE TOP OF THE DRIVEWAY BECAUSE IT WAS STARTING TO LOOK LIKE "SANFORD AND SONS," FROM THE TELEVISION SHOW WITH RED FOXX. I WOULD HAVE NEEDED A GARAGE THE SIZE OF A SMALL BARN TO FIT IT ALL UNDER COVER. SO I JUST BUSIED MYSELF SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, IN MY OUTDOOR JUNKYARD, REFINISHING AND REBUILDING FURNITURE ETCF., AND HAD A BALL. I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS HAVING A BALL. I HADN'T HAD TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK ABOUT IT. BUT ANDREW SAID TO HIS MOM, ONE AFTERNOON, WHEN I WENT BACK OUT, AFTER LUNCH, "DAD SURE IS HAPPY WORKING OUT THERE ON THOSE THINGS." SHE CONCURRED. WHEN SHE MENTIONED IT TO ME AT DINNER, IT DIDN'T TAKE MUCH REFLECTION AT ALL, TO REALIZE THE WEE LAD WAS RIGHT. MY WHOLE DEMANOUR CHANGED IN TWO MONTHS OF SLUGGING, HEAVY, OUTDOOR WORK. AT HOME, I WAS RESURFACING CHAIRS AND TABLES, ONE BEING A BEAUTIFUL HARVEST TABLE, THAT CANADIAN ACTRESS BARBARA HAMILTON HAD ONCE COZIED UP TO, FOR A COTTAGE BREAKFAST. THE STRIPP FAMILY COTTAGE HAD SEEN QUITE A FEW CBC NOTABLES OVER THE YEARS, AND A FEW PIECES, LIKE THE TABLE, HAD THIS BROADCASTING PROVENANCE ATTACHED. CBC EXECUTIVE MEL BREEN AND HIS FAMILY RENTED THE HOUSE FOR QUITE A FEW SUMMERS, AND SOME OF HIS ACTOR FRIENDS SHOWED UP THERE ON WEEKENDS. MEL ACTUALLY PASSED AWAY, RESTING ON A COUCH UP ON THE FRONT VERANDAH.
DURING THIS TIME, DEALING WITH ALL THE COTTAGE MATERIALS, HERE IN MY DRIVEWAY, I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT IT WAS GREAT TO BE DOING SOMETHING OTHER THAN RESEARCH AND WRITING. OVER THIRTY-FIVE YEARS, OF WRITING ALMOST DAILY, I'VE INJURED MY HANDS AND BACK, WHICH IS A CONTRIBUTING FACTOR TO MY MOST RECENT LIMP. I'VE HAD CRAPPY POSTURE, SITTING AT THE KEYBOARD, AND NOW I'M PAYING FOR IT, BIG TIME. WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LEG, AND WHY I'M NOT AS NIMBLE AS I USED TO BE, AS A FORMER HOCKEY GOALTENDER, I BLAME IT ALL ON HARD PLAY AND THE SUCCESSION OF COACHES THAT MADE ME EXERCISE THE BUTTERFLY DROP..... MY PADS GOING POST TO POST, STRETCHING OPPOSITE WAYS IN THE CREASE. I'D OFTEN HAVE TO DO THESE DROPS FOR TWENTY MINUTES AT A TIME IN PRACTICE. I'M SURE IT CONTRIBUTED BUT IT CERTAINLY WASN'T WHAT CAUSED MOST OF THE LEG DAMAGE. I'M A LITTLE EMBARRASSED TO TELL PEOPLE THAT I LIMP BECAUSE OF MY PROFESSION. "WRITING CAUSED THIS?" THEY ASK, WITH A LITTLE AUDIBLE TITTERING. TO MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A DORK. IT MAY BE HARD TO BELIEVE, BUT HOVERING OVER A KEYBOARD, CLENCHING MY JAW, WHICH IS ALREADY DAMAGED, AND SITTING HALF ON THE CHAIR AND HALF IN SUSPENDED ANIMATION, HAS OVER TIME, GIVEN ME PERPETUAL BACK AND NECK DISFUNCTION. SO, I'VE GONE BACK IN HISTORY, AND HAVE DECIDED TO SPEND A LOT LESS TIME HUNKERED DOWN IN MY OFFICE, CREATING THINGS, AND MORE TIME OUT AND AROUND BIRCH HOLLOW, WORKING AT THE THOUSAND AND ONE PROJECTS I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO TEN YEARS AGO....BUT WRITING GOT IN THE WAY; AND THEN ANTIQUE HUNTING ROBBED FROM THAT SHALLOW POOL OF OPEN TIME.
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL DAY FOR BEING OUTDOORS. IT WAS ALMOST AN INDIAN SUMMER-TYPE DAY, HERE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA, AHEAD OF THE STORMS EXPECTED ON SUNDAY NIGHT. I'VE BEEN CUTTING DOWN TREES, AND TROUBLESOME BRANCHES, CLEARING UP PILES OF DEBRIS THAT HAD BECOME CRITTER CONDOS, AND TRANSPLANTED SOME TREES I'VE BEEN MEANING TO, FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS. SINCE WE MOVED INTO BIRCH HOLLOW IN 1989, I'VE WANTED TO RE-ACTIVATE THE FORMER WORKSHOP, AT THE END OF THE HOUSE, THAT HAD BEEN CONSTRUCTED BY A PREVIOUS OWNER. IT'S TAKEN THIS LONG, FOR GOSH SAKES, FOR ME TO MAKE THAT LITTLE DREAM COME TRUE. WE HAD A PRETTY LARGE VOLUME OF SUZANNE'S FAMILY RELICS HOUSED IN THIS SMALL ROOM, UP UNTIL A FEW MONTHS AGO. I'M SO LOOKING FORWARD TO HAVING ALL THE TOOLS I OWN, IN ONE CONVENIENT LOCATION. CURRENTLY, I HAVE ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE HAMMERS, SOMEWHERE IN AND AROUND THE HOUSE, BUT I CAN'T FIND ONE OF THEM WHEN I NEED IT. I ALSO HAVE TWENTY OLD HANDSAWS GATHERED FROM HERE AND THERE, THAT I WAS GOING TO USE AS WALL HANGINGS FOR MY WORKSHOP, IF AND WHEN IT ACTUALLY CAME TO FRUITION. I'M HOPING TO GET THE WORKSHOP ALL PUT TOGETHER SOON, SO THAT I CAN WORK IN THERE THROUGH THE WINTER. IT'S JUST SOMETHING DIFFERENT THAN WRITING. I LOVE AUTHORSHIP, BUT IT'S KILLING ME. EVEN IF I WORK OUTDOORS FOR HALF THE DAY NOW, IT DOES WONDERS FOR BOTH MY WONKY LEG AND STIFF BACK. MOST OF ALL, IT IS JUST WHAT MY OLD SOUL NEEDS.....AND IT'S ALL ABOUT LIBERATION FROM THE FETTERS OF THE CREATIVE PROCESS. WHAT I HAD ALWAYS ASSUMED WAS HALF RECREATION, WAS A WOLF IN SHEEP'S ATTIRE. SON ROBERT SUGGESTED THAT I WORK ON WRITING PROJECTS IN THE MORNING ONLY, AND HE SET ME UP IN THE COMFORTABLE STUDIO OF THEIR MAIN STREET MUSIC SHOP, WITH A SPECIAL BOARD FOR MY LAP-TOP, AND A MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE CHAIR; LESS HARMFUL TO MY BACK. BY NO LATER THAN ONE IN THE AFTERNOON, HAVING STARTED AT TEN, I'M DISPATCHED BY SUZANNE TO GO HOME AND FIX WHAT NEEDS TO BE FIXED. SHE KNOWS THAT IF SOMETHING ISN'T BROKEN, I WILL BREAK IT IN SHORT ORDER, THUS, AT LEAST GIVING THE OLD MAN SOMETHING TO DO. TELL YOU WHAT THOUGH.....THIS IS MY KIND OF SEMI-RETIREMENT, EVEN FROM THE ANTIQUE TRADE.
I DON'T RACE AROUND THE YARD, AND I ALWAYS GET HELP THESE DAYS, WHEN FELLING THE BIRCH HOLLOW FOREST. IN MY YOUTH, I WAS PRETTY GONZO ABOUT THIS KIND OF OUTDOOR WORK, AND BROUGHT DOWN MANY LARGE TREES ON MY OWN. I'M NOT SAYING THIS WAS SMART, BUT I DID IT ANYWAY. I REMEMBER BRINGING A DAMAGED BIRCH DOWN, ONE MORNING, AND ALTHOUGH I SAW SEVERAL LADIES HAVING TEA ON THE PATIO, AT THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR, I LET HER RIP ANYWAY. THERE WAS NO DANGER OF THE TREE HITTING THEM, BUT IT DID HIT MY FENCE, AND OH WHAT A DIN IT CREATED. I THINK THEY BOBBLED THEIR TARTS AND MUFFINS, AND MAY HAVE SPILLED THEIR TEA, WHEN THIS MONSTER BIRCH CAME BOUNCING DOWN ON THE FENCE, AND SUPPORT WIRES, WHICH ACTUALLY SENT IT IN THE AIR AT LEAST TWICE MORE, AS THE LENGTHS OF WIRE, CREATED A TRAMPOLINE-TYPE REBOUND. THE OLD GIRLS RAN OVER TO SEE WHAT HAD HAPPENED, AND I JUST STOOD THERE, WITH MY ELMER FUDD HAT AND AXE, TO GREET MY SURPRISED NEIGHBORS. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT OVER THERE MR. CURRIE," THEY ASKED. "OH JUST FINE THANKS. I HOPE I DIDN'T SCARE YOU WITH THE TREE, LADIES," I OFFERED, WITH A LITTLE TONE OF APOLOGY IN MY VOICE. "SHOULDN'T YOU HAVE HAD SOME HELP DOING THAT," ONE LADY ASKED, WHILE THE OTHER ONCE ANSWERED, "YOU'RE ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO HAVE A SPOTTER, IN CASE SOMETHING GOES WRONG.....LIKE HITTING THIS FENCE." HEY, EVERYBODY'S A CRITIC. I RETURNED TO THE WORK AT HAND. I CUT UP THE BIRCH LOG, WITH A NICE LENGTH TO BORDER SUZANNE'S FRONT GARDEN, AND WAS ABLE TO FIX THE FENCE BEFORE MY ABUTTING NEIGHBOR GOT HOME FROM WORK. I STILL HAD ALL MY FINGERS AND LIMBS ATTACHED AFTER THE WORK-OUT IN THE YARD, AND FELT PRETTY GOOD ABOUT BEING ABLE TO GET THE JOB DONE, AND SURVIVE TO TELL THE TALE.
I REALLY DON'T TAKE RISKS ANY MORE. I ONLY BRING DOWN SMALL TREES, AND EVEN THEN, I ROPE THEM SO THEY'LL FALL EXACTLY WHERE I WANT THEM TO LAND. BUT I'VE GOT GREATER RISK HURTING MYSELF WORKING AT THIS KEYBOARD, THAN FELLING THE TREES IN OUR WOODLOT. BUT WORKING OUTSIDE IS FANTASTIC, AND IT SHOWS ME HOW HURTFUL IT WAS, TO SPEND THE PAST FIVE YEARS GLUED TO THIS DESK, AND THESE PROJECTS, BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS DOING ME THE WORLD OF GOOD. BEING OUTDOORS.....NOW SIR, THAT'S DOING ME THE MOST GOOD OF ALL.
I MIGHT GET SUZANNE TO GO FOR A WALK THIS EVENING. MAYBE OVER IN THE WOODS, ABOVE THE BOG. A MOONLIT NIGHT OVER THERE IS EXQUISITE. I CAN SEE MYSELF GETTING HOOKED ON THIS OUTDOOR ADVENTURE JAG......BUT WHO WILL WRITE THESE BLOGS. I MIGHT HAVE TO HAUL THIS LAPTOP INTO THE WOODLANDS AS A LIFESTYLE COMPROMISE. THEN THE POWER WENT OUT!
HERE'S ANOTHER PIECE I WROTE IN THE FALL OF 2011.
CHRISTMAS IN GRAVENHURST -
A WRITER'S NIGHT - A CRICKET - A CHRISTMAS HEARTH - BY THE LIGHT OF THE OLD OIL LAMP - A SENTIMENTAL REFRAIN
Note to reader: This cricket of which I've informed you about, has annoyed me for the last hour. I have chased the bandy-legged wee beastie, from one corner to the next, and despite its sense of peril, it chirps with total disregard, for what the proprietor of this establishment might eventually resort to, for peace and quiet once more. I shall endeavor to tell my story, in between the exorcism of this insect, so pardon the deviations you might find within……as the cricket on the Christmas hearth, enjoys its winter respite, in the sanctuary of my humble book-strewn office.
WHEN I RETURNED HOME FROM UNIVERSITY, IN THE SPRING OF 1977, I OPENED UP A SMALL ANTIQUE AND GIFT BUSINESS WITH MY PARENTS, IN A TURN OF THE CENTURY BRICK HOME, ON MANITOBA STREET, IN BRACEBRIDGE. IT WAS THE FORMER HOME AND MEDICAL OFFICE BELONGING TO DR. PETER MCGIBBON, WHO ALSO SERVED AS OUR REGION'S M.P. IN OTTAWA, AND HE IS SAID TO HAVE PLAYED HOST TO A WOULD-BE PRIME MINISTER, SIR ARTHUR MEIGHEN.
OUR FAMILY OPENED THE BUSINESS ON THE MAIN FLOOR, AND RESIDED INITIALLY IN THE BACK OF THE HOUSE, WHERE I HAD A SMALL BEDROOM. BUT WHAT I DID GET, WAS ACCESS TO A THIRD FLOOR ATTIC, THAT WENT FROM THE FRONT OF THE LARGE HOUSE TO THE BACK, AND THAT AFFORDED ME A SPECTACULAR VIEW OF MEMORIAL PARK AND THE ILLUMINATED BANDSHELL. I HAD MY WRITING DESK PULLED AS CLOSE TO THE WINDOW AS I COULD, TO GET THE BEST PANORAMA OF THE PEDESTRIAN AND VEHICULAR TRAFFIC ON THAT SECTION OF UPPER MANITOBA STREET. IT WAS THE PLACE THAT GOT ME STARTED ON MIDNIGHT WRITING JAGS THAT WOULD END AT SUNRISE. IT WAS A FASCINATING PLACE TO WORK THROUGH THE FOUR SEASONS. IT WAS A PORTAL ONTO WHAT WAS THEN, MY HOME BASE. FRANKLY, I THOUGHT IT WAS THE PLACE I'D REMAIN UNTIL THAT LAST KEYSTROKE HIT THE PAPER. I WANTED TO BUY THE HOUSE. AH, THE CEASELESS DILEMMA OF THE WRITER. I DIDN'T HAVE THE FUNDS. AND I COULDN'T FORSEE A TIME, IN THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE, WHEN THAT WAS GOING TO CHANGE. ON A REPORTER'S SALARY, I WAS LUCKY TO MAKE RENT, LET ALONE PAY-DOWN A LARGE MORTGAGE.
I OFTEN THINK OF THAT PORTAL ONTO BRACEBRIDGE'S MEMORIAL PARK. EVEN HERE, AT BIRCH HOLLOW, WITH THIS FROZEN, BEAUTIFUL BOG, ACROSS THE ROAD, I DO, ON MIND-FULL OCCASION, MISS ALL THE ACTIVITY I WAS ABLE TO WITNESS DAILY, CRISS-CROSSING THE PARK…..THE KIDS ON THE WAY TO AND FROM SCHOOL, LEAVING THEIR FOOTPRINTS IN THE NEW SNOW…..WATCHING THEM MAKE SNOW-ANGELS AND SNOWMEN……SEEING YOUNG-TIMERS, OLD-TIMERS, WISE GUYS AND WISE GIRLS, MAKING TRIPS UP TOWN AND DOWN, AND THE MOTORCADE OF VEHICLES PASSING BY, DAY AND NIGHT.
YET I HAVE ALWAYS HAD GREAT APPRECIATION FOR SOLITUDE. THIS PLACE, THIS PORTAL OF COURSE, IS OF GREAT RELEVANCE TO MY OUTLOOK ON JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING THESE DAYS. WHEN I AWAKEN, AND LOOK OUT UPON THIS FROZEN LANDSCAPE, AND SEE HOW BRIGHT AND PROSPEROUS IT ALL LOOKS, I KNOW THERE IS NO FINER PLACE, FROM WHICH TO WRITE. I WAS YOUNGER AND MORE INTERESTED IN REPRESENTING THE DYNAMIC OF SMALL TOWN LIFE. THAT PARTICULAR VANTAGE POINT, ABOVE THE PARK, OFFERED ME THE VOYEUR'S PERSPECTIVE……NO ONE KNEW I WAS THERE….BUT I WAS WATCHING THEIR EVERY MOVE. THESE WERE THE ACTIONS AND REACTIONS THAT MADE THEIR WAY INTO MY EARLY NOVEL ATTEMPTS…..WERE THE EARLY CHARACTERS IN SHORT STORIES; THE SUBJECTS OF POETIC ATTEMPTS TO REPRESENT MY CONTEMPORARY CIRCUMSTANCES. I NEEDED THAT PERIOD TO WATCH AND LEARN. TO FEEL COMFORTABLE AS AN OBSERVER…..ON THE VERGE, THEN, OF BECOMING A TOWN HISTORIAN. IT WAS ALL HISTORY THAT WAS PASSING HERE, AND I WAS IN ONE OF THE MOST HISTORIC HOUSES ALONG THAT MAIN STRETCH OF SMALL TOWN COMMERCE. I SUPPOSE, FOR THOSE MANY HOURS SPENT WATCHING AND TYPING AT WINDOW-SIDE, THAT I EXHAUSTED WHAT I NEEDED TO, IN ORDER TO MOVE ON……EXPAND MY HORIZONS…..BREAK FREE OF THE BOOK I HAD WRITTEN MYSELF INTO……A HISTORY THAT VERY NEARLY SWALLOWED ME LIVE.
IT IS DIFFERENT HERE. I STARE OUT AT THE TREE LINE, WELL BEHIND THE HOLLOW OF THE BOG, AND FEEL UNBRIDLED BY THE ATMOSPHERE OF ADVENTURE, BECKONING THE VOYEUR TO COME FORTH…….AND WALK WITH SELF RIGHTEOUS CONVICTION, TO THE CENTRE OF THE STORM……THAT ONCE SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH. THERE IS NOTHING THAT CONFINES ME HERE…….JUST THE ROOF OVER MY HEAD, THE CATS ON MY LAP, AND THE ATTRACTION I HAVE NOW, TO THIS HOT TEAPOT AND ITS GLORIOUS CONTENTS.
I was out a while ago, and it seemed on the verge of rain. I've heard the weather prognosticators declaring……as if with early election results, (even before the polls close) that we will be having a green Christmas this year. I know they are only referring to the Toronto region of our province, as they don't spend much time these days, worrying about weather conditions in the hinterland. I suppose they've decided the market is too small, and unpopulated to deserve full weather disclosure on the nightly news.
It is all fine by me. I enjoy this landscape regardless of the weather……though I confess to being nervous about lightning strikes and damaging winds, as we have many, many maples and pines on our property. In the lamplight the lilacs and raspberry canes still have large clumps of snow and ice from the weekend bluster, and the rose bushes are bowed over awkwardly under the weight. Suzanne reminds me that I was supposed to wrap them up long before the first snow. I am delinquent and she will remind me many times until the job is complete. The rain will give me a reprieve I suppose. I'm going to get her to help me. I don't think she'd approve what I come up with to protect her most precious summer plants.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT MUSKOKA?
Prior to 1871, Reverend John Webster wrote one of the earliest descriptions of the Muskoka countryside. It's not a stretch to see this same landscape, either from my daily walks, or even to the most limited degree, from this wee portal at Birch Hollow, in Gravenhurst.
"The country is diversified - it is not one great plain, neither is it a mountainous country. We have hills and dales, rocks and lands, rivers and lakes in abundance. The scenery is most beautiful. It would be hard to surpass in loveliness some of those lakes, nestled as they are in an almost unbroken forest, still with enough of clearance on their shores to give them a beautiful romantic appearance. As you sail on those waters, and pass silently around numerous rocky islands, covered with trees, mostly pine and other evergreen trees, as the balsam, spruce, and hemlock; passing now and then an island with one solitary tree standing on it, to brave the buffeting of the storm alone, you can imagine you see some of the scenery described in some fairy tale you have read in childhood. But the Christian can, however, turn the whole scenery to a better account, as he reads his Bible, and reads of Christ, the 'Rock of Ages,' upon which the soul can anchor and be safe, while the storm of life passes over him."
As a researcher, I'm always looking for early descriptions of our region, from the first folks to make notes about what they encountered of weather, the seasons, curiosities of the landscape, and even much later, what artists and poets had to say about the hinterland they came to write about, and capture on paint boards. In a modern sense, I've tried to experience everything I have read, to either concur or disagree with their assessments. While it's not possible to re-create entirely, the pioneer landscape, isolation is potential through the region……just as it is, to paddle a canoe into tranquil, wild inlets and bays, and feel as if you are the first to have come that way. And I've looked out onto Muskoka from many different portals, and not just in wild areas, but in the midst of the urban din, in order to represent it accurately, and proportionately. From an upstairs window looking down on a busy town artery, a bustling park area, the vastly different glimpses of the seasons against the townscape, to this vantage point, looking out upon the frozen gardens, and the abutting bogland, and feeling the same about it all…….that from that first winter of this mission, in 1977-78, to represent my host region, I have never once been disappointed, or felt in anyway limited, as to what I could reap as inspiration, from the immersion in this amazing, and tantalizing lakeland.
"Some imagine that because we live back in the woods, we must be extremely lonely, and destitute of all means of enjoyment. This is a great mistake," wrote Thomas McMurray, in 1871, published in his settlers' guide book, "Muskoka and Parry Sound."
"We would not exchange positions with our city friends."
"Here in the bush, life is found, work and play both abound, and yet strangely agree, here extremes we'd unite, here the sombre and the bright, mixed together you see; unrestrained seem to run, both the serious and fun, in the wool-picking bee." Have you been to one of these. Lost in history, you see!
By the glow of the oil lamp, in my office now, there is a strange reflection of it, and me in the window beyond. It might be frightening to some, as I appear quite malevolent, as if a ghost hovering over a desk, like the ones Ebeneezer Scrooge had to contend, so many Christmases ago. My cats don't find me particularly frightening, as I pat their tiny heads and perky ears, and the dog scratching its behind has little concern as well, and I'm relieved it's just a strange but truthful reflection……and not really a ghost at all. For if I was to come back, from the great beyond, and sit again at this desk, I doubt my wafting vapor would support, these two burdensome cats.
I feel so wonderfully alive. Now for some more mortal pleasure…..the rest of this still hot tea.
Merry Christmas to you.
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