Gravenhurst Salvation Army Food Bank; Ada Kinton Part 5, Christmas Series

Brighten Your Christmas Spirits with your favourite Seasonal Music

There’s nothing more uplifting at this time of year then dusting off and turn up some of your favourite Christmas tunes particularly on these rather dull and unseasonable days prior to Christmas.  Here’s four of a long list of my favourites which I add to every year.    The Irish Rovers – Songs of Christmas, The Carlton Showband Family Christmas, Merry Christmas Everybody – Stompin’ Tom Connors, and Wayne Rostad’s Christmas In The Valley.    Fred Schulz Photo 

NOTE: FOR ANOTHER GLIMPSE OF MY NEW SERIES, "BRACEBRIDGE AND THE GHOSTS OF CHRISTMASES PAST," YOU CAN CLICK HERE http://thenatureofmuskoka.blogspot.ca/

THE MUSKOKA WOODLANDS OF THE 1880'S - WHAT THE ARTIST WITNESSED OF AN UNTOUCHED FOREST

PLEASE CONSIDER MAKING A FOOD OR CASH DONATION TO THE LOCAL FOOD BANK

     PIONEER MUSKOKA ARTIST, ADA FLORENCE KINTON, WAS ONE OF THE FIRST KEEN AND PATIENT PAINTERS, TO VENTURE INTO THE THICK PRIMAL WOODS OF NORTH MUSKOKA. THAT MAY NOT SEEM PARTICULARLY IMPORTANT, BUT THERE ARE FEW PUBLISHED OBSERVATIONS, AS POIGNANT, AND COLORFUL, FOR HISTORIANS TO MULL OVER. MANY OBSERVATIONS PUBLISHED FROM THIS PERIOD, AS PENNED BY OTHERS, ARE NOT AS DETAILED ABOUT THE COLORS AND TEXTURES OF FLORA AND FAUNA, AND THE WILDLIFE ENCOUNTERED. EVEN HER DESCRIPTIONS OF THE PIONEER BUILDINGS, OF THE TINY COMMUNITY, GIVE HISTORIANS A RARE INSIGHT ABOUT THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE LATE 1800'S. SHE WROTE IN HER JOURNAL, MUCH THE SAME AS SHE WOULD HAVE, IF ILLUSTRATING THE SAME SCENE WITH BRUSH AND PAINT INSTEAD. ADA KINTON, NEWLY SITUATED IN THE PIONEER VILLAGE OF HUNTSVILLE, PROVIDED MANY SIMILAR OBSERVATIONS, ABOUT THE BUILDINGS AND LANDSCAPE AROUND THE KINTON FAMILY HOME. HAVING JUST ARRIVED FROM ENGLAND, AFTER AN HORRENDOUS STEAMSHIP CROSSING OF THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, AND BITTERLY COLD AND EXHAUSTING TRIP BY SLEIGH NORTH TO HUNTSVILLE, ADA FOUND CURIOUS SOLACE IN THE PICTURESQUE NATURE OF MUSKOKA, FROM THE SOUTHERN BOUNDARY TO THE NORTH; DURING THE DAY TIME, AND THE LONG WINTER EVENINGS, SHE FOUND THE VISTA FASCINATING.

     WALKING IN THE MUSKOKA WOODS, MYSELF, THIS MORNING, I WAS TRYING TO COME UP WITH A WAY OF BEGINNING TODAY'S OPENING EDITORIAL, TO INTRODUCE ANOTHER PORTION OF THE JOURNAL, COMPOSED BY THE YOUNG ADA KINTON. I WONDERED, MOMENTARILY, WHAT SHE WOULD HAVE FOUND INTERESTING TO WRITE ABOUT, OR SKETCH, IN THIS EARLY DECEMBER PANORAMA.....LOOKING TODAY, MORE LIKE THE ARRIVAL OF AN EARLY SPRING. BUT AFTER ONLY A FEW MINUTES, PUTTING MYSELF IN ADA'S MINDSET, I COULDN'T HELP BUT NOTICE A LONE CHIPMUNK, SCURRYING ALONG THE EMBANKMENT, THAT RISES A FEW METRES ABOVE THE BOG. YOU DON'T SEE MANY CHIPMUNKS AROUND HERE, THIS LATE IN THE FALL SEASON. IT ONLY TOOK A FEW MOMENTS, ON THAT RISE OF LAND, TO NOTICE THE FAT BLUE JAYS BOUNCING FROM LIMB TO LIMB, IN THE VENERABLE PINE TREE, A HAVEN TO WOODPECKERS, THAT LEANS AWKWARDLY, OUT OVER THE LOWLAND. TWO SQUIRRELS WERE CHATTERING OVERHEAD, AND ACROSS THE BREADTH OF BOG, I COULD SEE THE TAIL OF A DEER BOBBING THROUGH THE FAN OF EVERGREEN BOUGHS; AND PRETTY SOON, TWO OF THESE BEAUTIFUL CREATURES, AMBLED OUT INTO THE OPEN. I SEE THEM ALMOST EVERY DAY, BUT USUALLY ALONG THE ROADWAY, AS THEY MEANDER, ON THE WAY TO SOMEONE'S HOME WHO HAS BEEN FEEDING THEM. MIXED WITH THE SOUNDS OF BIRD CALLS, AND SQUIRREL CHATTER, WAS THE SOOTHING, REFRESHING DIN, OF THOSE MYRIAD, HIDDEN, MINIATURE CATARACTS, TUMBLING WITH CRYSTALLINE SPARKLE, THROUGH THE MOUNDS OF MATTED GRASSES, AND OVER FALLEN BIRCH LOGS, THROUGHOUT THIS CONFLICTED LANDSCAPE. WITH THE MELT WATER RUNNING FREE, THE POOLS OF BLACK WATER, IN PLACES, MADE WALKING THROUGH THE AREA DIFFICULT. I REMAINED ON THE RIDGE INSTEAD. EVEN ON SUCH A DULL DAY, WITH A MIST WAFTING-IN OFF THE LAKE, THIS SMALL URBAN OPEN SPACE, WAS FULL OF LIFE AND TRANSITION; THE SUBTLE CHANGES OF LATE AUTUMN, INTO THE PREAMBLE, LOOK-ALIKE DAYS OF WINTER. THEN THERE WAS THE SOFT WASH OF WIND THROUGH THE PINE NEEDLES AND CEDAR BOUGHS, AND THE NOW AUDIBLE RUSTLE OF ONE DEER BREAKING THROUGH THE LOW BRANCHES, DIRECTLY ACROSS THE HOLLOW. I THINK ADA KINTON WOULD HAVE FOUND THE LIFE HERE QUITE PLEASING. THE CHIPMUNK, IN A FRANTIC DASH, CROSSES RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, AS FOUR OR MORE CHICKADEES FLY TO THE LAST FEW LIMBS, OF A STILL-UPRIGHT BIRCH, JUST PARTLY STANDING, AMIDST ITS DECAY, FAR OUT IN THE BOG.

     BEFORE THE LOGGERS HAD SET FOOD INTO CERTAIN POCKETS OF FOREST, AROUND THE SETTLEMENT, ADA KINTON HAD THE PRESENCE OF MIND, TO VENTURE INTO THE INTERIOR, TO SKETCH THE GIFTS OF NATURE BEFORE IT WAS ALL RAZED; AS SO MUCH OF THE LANDSCAPE, AT THIS PERIOD OF PERMITTED CLEAR CUTTING, WAS DESTINED BY THE WOODSMAN'S AXE. IT MAY NOT SEEM IMPORTANT TO SOME READERS, BUT TO HISTORIANS, THESE OBSERVATIONS OF MUSKOKA, BEFORE GROWTH COMPROMISED THE ENVIRONMENT, ARE OF CONSIDERABLE RELEVANCE; PROVIDING A MENTAL PICTURE WE CAN BENEFIT FROM IN SO MANY WAYS. ADA WROTE MUCH MORE THAN SHE PAINTED, BUT THE COMBINATION OF THE TWO CREATIVE EXERCISES, MAKE HER DIARY ONE OF MUSKOKA'S RAREST BOOKS. THE TEXT OF "JUST ONE BLUE BONNET," IS NOT JUST ABOUT ADA KINTON'S EXPERIENCES IN PIONEER MUSKOKA. IN FACT, ON THE FIRST OCCASION, SHE DIDN'T SPEND LONG HERE AT ALL. WHAT SHE DID, IN A SHORT STAY, BECAME AN "ILLUMINATION" OF SORTS, THAT VERY FEW OTHERS HAD REASON TO PROFILE. THERE ARE MANY PIONEER PERIOD DESCRIPTIONS, BUT NOT QUITE AS SENSITIVE TO THE ENVIRONMENT, AND THE PREVALANT COLORS, THAT COULD BE ADDED TO THE HISTORIC BLACK AND WHITE IMAGES, OF WHICH WE ARE MOST FAMILIAR. THE JOURNAL ALSO DELVES INTO HER DEVOTION TO THE HUMANITARIAN WORK OF THE SALVATION ARMY, ACTUALLY WORKING AS A NANNY FOR THE BOOTH FAMILY, IN AUSTRALIA, AT ONE POINT IN HER LIFE. BUT IT IS THE DESCRIPTION OF THE MUSKOKA BACKGROUND, EARLY IN THE BOOK, THAT ESTABLISHES HER SENSITIVES ABOUT THE NATURE OF THE WORLD AROUND HER; INCLUDING THE DESCRIPTIONS OF CITY LIFE IN ENGLAND.

     THIS IS PART FIVE OF THE ADA FLORENCE KINTON STORY, IN SUPPORT OF THE GRAVENHURST SALVATION ARMY FOOD BANK, AND OF COURSE, THEIR CHRISTMAS KETTLE CAMPAIGN. IF YOU CAN FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO DONATE EITHER FOOD ITEMS, OR OFFER A CASH DONATION, THIS CHRISTMAS 

SEASON, IT WOULD CERTAINLY BE IN THE SPIRIT OF GENEROSITY, ADA KINTON LIVED HER FULFILLING LIFE. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Part 5

ADA FLORENCE KINTON CAPTURED THE ESSENCE OF PIONEER LIVING IN CANADA

By Ted Currie

As hard as I might try, looking out at the beautiful ferns and wildflowers of The Bog, this bright June morning, I simply can't arrive at any creative parallel, as a wordsmith, to the descriptions once penned by Ada Florence Kinton, detailing so poignantly, the Muskoka she witnessed, in the 1880's. Ada wrote as if she was painting a unique, fantastic scene that she wanted us to experience for ourselves. Her descriptions were clever manipulations of the senses, and when she wrote her impressions of the wind and spiraling snowfall, it is very much the case you begin feeling the chill air, and detect a faint, nostalgic scent of woodsmoke from the kitchen stove. Where we might be huddled to watch the final toll of spring storm upon the landscape.

Her journal affords the reader the liberties of smelling freshly baked bread, and the imagined taste of maple syrup and fresh butter, upon a fluffy stack of hot pancakes. It's what writer's aspire to do, for their readers. While I fail to do justice to the same, this untrained writer-kind, created a landmark journal I have come to cherish, for its brilliant illumination of even the dullest, most threatening winter day. Inspiring the watcher to celebrate each moment of each day, and enjoy the dynamics of the world in which we dwell.

As you are sitting on the patio, or in a quaint little restaurant courtyard, lounging on the back deck, or sitting out on the dock listening to the loons, if you're feeling a tad warm and would like a wee chill to the air, I've got a story that will take you back to March. March 1883 actually. Huntsville, Ontario. And we will meet up with artist Ada Florence Kinton, in this latest installment of the multi-column series. It's nice to read about March from the comforts of July.

The pioneer artist, who had only recently arrived in Canada, after the death, in England, of her father (her mother had died some years earlier) Ada took up temporary residence with her brother's family in the pioneer hamlet of Huntsville, situated in the northern climes of the District of Muskoka. The painter, who would later become a well known and respected missionary with the Salvation Army, and both writer and illustrator for the "War Cry," publication, took many forays into the thick woodlands surrounding the settlement, to sketch the flora and fauna, and the wildlife she encountered. We resume her journal on March 12th, 1883.

"Second day of Wiggin's Storm. Seven a.m. Bright, soft, light morning. Pale, thin blue mists creeping up the hillside, veiling the trees halfway up in horizontal lines, and the smoke from the village chimneys crossing at right angles in steady, perpendicular streaks. Multitudes of downey oblique clouds covering the sweet azure sky, only leaving little peeps here and there, and icy river mottled with snow and shot with yellow and purple and blue, but very delicately, and all over a general pearly atmospheric effect, tender and soft."

"March 17th. More snow in the night over forest and river. Sun rising cloudily with subdued light above Conn's bluff. Concert at the grist mill last night," writes Miss Kinton. "Nine-thirty p.m. Silent night, but in the night no black darkness like in England; only deep twilight, the snowflakes descending softly, gently, lovingly on the pale untrodden snow, shadowless and windswept, and around and above only the white mist of the coming flakes as they fall between here and the quiet mountain and the bush, and the distant shore of the lake. All encircling the house in a faint, mild, neutral, grey dome, and a sort of patterning swish on the window, and a murmuring wind blustering against the house, and a rush in the stove pipe - the meeting of the draught from the stove, and the wind. And a glimpse down the hill of the ice-prisoned river."

She writes, "Eleven-thirty p.m. It is getting stormier. Now the lights are all going out in the village, and all the fences around the place and the bits of shrub and rosebush are the only signs of past summer to be seen, standing out sharp and dark against the whitening ground; and the winds begin to howl and wail. Everyone's to bed but me, and there's nothing to be heard but the winds and the tick of the clock and the sound of burning wood. Boxer (the dog) is enfolded in a deep snoreless sleep, the sleep of a dog who has patiently borne to be pummeled and squeezed all day, to have his tail hung on to by two babies and his wavy hair hugged by a third. A rest deserving dog - and so he sleeps in peace. Sunday morning. Not Sunday morning at home (England). with prayer-meeting at seven o'clock, over the water and through the fog; but Sunday morning in Muskoka, Canada, with breakfast at ten and bright fragrant daylight. One relishes daylight here after the valley of the Thames. The morning is sweet. Sometimes she gets up blue, and sometimes she gets up saffron. But I think I like her best when she gets up grey, like this one today, sunny grey, cloudy grey, golden grey."

"Eight-thirty. Mail from Paris and letter from Mrs. "W." Attempt to blowup houses of Parliament by dynamite (England). The children have had a little sleigh given to them by Johnnie Ecclestone, a little hand-sleigh that they drag over the carpet with great delight, and quarrel about, and tumble off in sweet content. It has been a dazzlingly brilliant day. The sun is sinking low now, and the shadows of the village are stretching out and undulating over the easily curving sides of land across the river. There are some cows down at Mr. Hooie's and sheep, and the sunbeams are so golden that the brown cows look like wall flowers and the shed like clover blossoms. The shadows are so blue and pure and delicate, and the earth has no tone taint of dust in sight; all spotless and clean. Boyo has just washed the window with a big crust of new baked bread dipped in my tea. My sunset view, of course, is rather blurred. Went for a Wordsworth, (quiet contemplation) and had a few minutes sweet peace in the rocking chair after the babies went to rest before supper. Ed suffering from an epidemic influenza, quite a sickness. Had a lovely walk in the village. The moonlight and the frosty snow make it a sort of fairy daylight, rather than night, and at every fresh footstep 10,000 little lights twinkle and tremble before you, and the trodden snow shrieks like a tin whistle."

Ada Kinton wrote in her journal, as she sketched what surrounded her. She was astute to the details of the pioneer settlement, the weather, and the appearance of the woodlands in this final intrusion of the winter seasons. Of many pioneer journals, describing this region of Ontario, Miss Kinton's is the most detailed and sensitive, and it isn't a stretch whatsoever, even as you sit on the dock listening to waves lapping against the shore, to imagine the setting surrounding that 1880's Huntsville homestead. She was keenly aware of her environs, and she sketched the scene with carefully, thoughtfully chosen words, so that we might be able to visualize what it was like then, isolated in the Ontario wilds.

Ada Kinton matured into an accomplished artist and art instructor, and after a lengthy missionary service abroad, she thoroughly immersed herself in art and writing with the Salvation Army's publication, "The War Cry." Shortly before her death, just after the turn of the century, she had returned to the Huntsville home of her brother, where she again liked to watch the comings and goings of her cherished 'little town."

The journal of Ada Florence Kinton will continue in the next blog. The multi-column series is dedicated to the Gravenhurst Food Bank, as operated by the Salvation Army, a program the artist-missionary would have approved.