1947 Cookbook with a recipe for Mustard Plasters; A Trip To The Sugar Bush in Art

1961 Elementary School Music Book - Study of music from around the world

Wheel Sounds

Small art panel, oil on canvas, signed; a second hand shop gem

HOME TESTED RECIPES - COOK BOOK, 1947, ORILLIA -

PUBLISHED BY THE LADY MARGARET ALEXANDER CHAPTER / THE IMPERIAL ORDER DAUGHTERS OF THE EMPIRE

     "THIS COOKBOOK IS AN EXCHANGE OF COOKERY IDEAS," NOTES THE ADVERTISEMENT ON THE BACK COVER, OF THE RATHER ROUGH, DOG-EARRED, TAPED, KITCHEN-BEATEN COPY, OF THE 1947 ORILLIA BOOKLET, PRINTED BY THE PACKET AND TIMES. IT'S NOT MUCH TO LOOK AT, BUT THEN NEITHER ARE THE HUNDRED OR SO OTHER HALF-DESTROYED VINTAGE COOKBOOKS, SUZANNE HAS IN HER ARCHIVES COLLECTION. BUT WE ARE RICHER FOR HAVING THEM, REGARDLESS OF THEIR CONDITION. AS LONG AS WE CAN READ THEM, THEY HAVE A VALUE TO US AND OUR CUSTOMERS, RESEARCHING ELUSIVE RECIPES. SOME ARE WORSE OFF, SOME A LITTLE BETTER. WE DO WHAT WE CAN TO CONSERVE THEM, AND IN SOME CASES, COPY THEM FOR POSTERITY, IN CASE THEY FINALLY TURN TO DUST. WE FOUND THIS LITTLE GEM IN A BOOK SHOP IN ORILLIA, YESTERDAY, AND WE WANT TO SHARE A LITTLE BIT WITH YOU. IT'S LIKE THIS; HISTORIANS GET EXCITED ABOUT SHARING THEIR ENTHUSIASM FOR FOUND ARTICLES. IT'S A HALF TO TWO THIRDS THE FUN OF COLLECTING. POSSIBLY YOU WILL FIND IT BORING. WE DON'T LIKE TO THINK THIS IS THE CASE, BUT IF YOU'RE NOT INTERESTED IN COOKERY HERITAGE, YOU WILL PROBABLY THINK OF THIS MATERIAL AS AN EDITORIAL WASTE OF CYBER SPACE. THEN AGAIN, MAYBE NOT. OF COURSE, THIS USUALLY CUTS OUR AUDIENCE IN HALF, BUT WE ARE STALWART BELIEVERS, THAT WE'LL FIND OTHERS TO FILL THE VOID. THE MATERIAL WITHIN THESE OLD COOKBOOKS, WHICH MAY SURPRISE SOME READERS, ISN'T JUST ABOUT COOKERY; ONLY CONTAINING THE PLETHORA OF CITIZEN-CONTRIBUTED RECIPES, WE'VE COME TO EXPECT FROM THESE COMMUNITY EFFORTS, OF WHICH THERE ARE A TRILLION EXAMPLES TO DRAW FROM. THERE'S QUITE A BIT MORE, AS A REFLECTION OF THE TIMES, THE ERA, THAT IS OFTEN PUBLISHED IN EDITORIAL COPY AND BUSINESS ADVERTISEMENTS, IMBEDDED INTO THE TEXTS AS WELL. YOU JUST HAVE TO LOOK FOR IT. SO WHAT DO YOU THINK THE STRANGEST INCLUSION WOULD BE, IN ONE OF THESE OLDTIME COOKBOOKS? LET'S JUST SAY IT WAS SOMETHING TO WEAR WHEN YOU WERE FEELING POORLY, THAT YOUR MOTHER WOULD MIX UP, IN THE KITCHEN, AND SLAP ON YOUR CHEST. THIS PARTICULAR RECIPE IS ON PAGE 84 UNDER THE HEADING "SIMPLE REMEDIES." IT WAS TO A LOT OF KIDS, A FEAR AND LOATHING SITUATION, WHEN MOTHER GOT THAT LOOK IN HER EYES, SEEMINGLY WORRIED ABOUT YOUR STATE OF HEALTH. THERE WERE WARNING SIGNS. HOW MANY OF US TRIED TO CONCEAL OUR AILMENTS, TO WARD OFF THE EVIL MUSTARD PLASTER? "NO MOTHER, I'M FINE, REALLY!"
     "MUSTARD PLASTERS - MIX ONE PART MUSTARD WITH FOUR PARTS OF FLOUR. ADD LUKEWARM WATER SLOWLY AND STIR UNTIL A THICK SMOOTH PASTE IS PRODUCED. SPREAD ON PAPER SERVIETTE OR THIN BROWN WRAPPING PAPER AND COVER WTIH SAME, FOLDING SO THAT THE PASTE DOES NOT ESCAPE. WRAP IN PIECE OF OLD COTTON. APPLY TO THE AFFECTED PART (CHEST) TILL AREA BECOMES REDDENED, AS IF SUNBURNED (APPROX. TWENTY TO THIRTY MINUTES). WATCH CLOSELY FOR FIRST TIME. REMOVE, DRY AREA WITH SOFT CLOTH. IF REDNESS PERSISTS FOR ANY LENGTH OF TIME, VASELINE MAY BE APPLIED TO RELIEVE IT. DO NOT APPLY ANOTHER PLASTER IF SKIN IS STILL REDDENED IN THREE TO FOUR HOURS. FOR CHILDREN, USE ONE PART MUSTARD TO EIGHT TO TEN PARTS FLOUR." (VERY FEW MOTHERS READ THIS ADVISORY, AND IT WASN'T UNTIL THERE WAS SMOKE VISIBLE, FROM BURNING FLESH, THAT THE PAD WAS REMOVED)
     MY MOTHER MERLE, USED TO THREATEN ME WITH MUSTARD PLASTERS, LIKE THE ONES HER MOTHER APPLIED WHEN SHE WAS A YOUNGSTER, BUT SHE WOULD OFFER UP THE MODERN ERA REMEDY FOR CHEST CONGESTION INSTEAD. I GOT VICKS VAPO RUB ON THE CHEST AND ON MY NECK, FOR A SORE THROAT; WITH AN OLD WORK SOCK WRAPPED ROUND IT, AND FASTENED WITH A BIG SAFETY PIN. "STOP COMPLAINING TEDDY CURRIE; IT COULD BE WORSE. MY MOTHER WOULD HAVE PUT ON A MUSTARD PLASTER AS THE ONLY WAY TO CURE WHAT WAS AILING US." IT WAS A CRAZY WAY TO SELL ME ON THE VICKS TREATMENT, WHICH BY THE WAY, WAS NOT MUCH OF A TREAT, OR A LESSER EVIL AS FAR AS I WAS CONCERNED. BUT THEN, I DIDN'T HAVE ANY COMPARISON TO MAKE EITHER.
     AS WELL, THERE IS A RECIPE FOR A "LINSEED POULTICE." "PUT TWO CUPS OF WATER IN A LARGE SAUCEPAN. BRING TO BOIL AND GRADUALLY STIR IN LINSEED MEAL (APPROX. TWO CUPS) TILL MIXTURE THICKENS AND DROPS FROM A SPOON. REMOVE FROM FIRE, BEAT VIGOROUSLY TO INCORPORATE AIR AND MAKE PLASTER LESS HEAVY ON PATIENT. A TEASPOON OF BAKING SODA WILL DO THE SAME. SPREAD QUICKLY AS DESCRIBED FOR THE MUSTARD PLASTER AND KEEP WARM. APPLY SLOWLY AND CAREFULLY TO AREA SO AS NOT TO BURN PATIENT. COVER WITH WAX PAPER AND EXTRA PIECE OF FLANNEL TO CONSERVE HEAT AND MOISTURE. MAY BE REPEATED AS SOON AS IT COOLS, OR AS IS ORDERED BY A PHYSICIAN. OATMEAL OR CORNMEAL CAN BE USED SIMILARLY IF LINSEED IS NOT AVAILABLE." THIS RECIPE IS SITUATED ON THE SAME PAGE AS EGGNOG AND CHOCOLATE SYRUP.
     ANOTHER INTERESTING EDITORIAL SECTION IN THE BOOKLET, IS HEADED "TABLE SETTING AND SERVICE." I THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE INTERESTING TO REVIEW SOME OF THE DETAILS, OF THIS 1947 ADVISORY, ABOUT THE PROPER WAY, IN THAT ERA, TO HANDLE A DINNER PARTY RESPECTFULLY, AND PROPERLY; SUCH THAT YOU WOULD RECEIVE GLOWING SOCIAL REVIEWS IN COMMUNITY GOSSIP CIRCLES.
     "LUNCHEON SET OR DOILIES ARE PERMISABLE FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCHEON OR SUPPER, BUT THE DINNER TABLE SHOULD HAVE ITS SILENCE CLOTH AND TABLE CLOTH. (SILENCE CLOTH WOULD BE A LINEN PAD LAID BENEATH THE TABLE CLOTH). CENTRE PIECE SHOULD BE LOW ENOUGH TO SEE OVER OR HIGH ENOUGH TO SEE UNDER WHEN SEATED AT THE TABLE. SILVER, NAPKIN AND PLATE, SHOULD BE PLACED ONE INCH FROM EDGE OF TABLE; WITH THE BUTTERPLATE AND GLASS, THIS CONSTITUTES A 'COVER.'
     "SILVER IS PLACED IN ORDER OF SERVING - THE FIRST USED BEING FARTHEST FROM THE PLATE, THE DINNER KNIFE AND FORK COME NEXT TO THE PLATE (ON OPPOSITE SIDES) UNLESS THE SALAD IS PLACED ON TABLE WITH THE MAIN COURSE, WHEN THAT FORK WILL BE NEXT TO THE PLATE. KNIVES AND SPOONS ARE PLACED AT THE RIGHT, CUTTING EDGE TOWARDS THE PLATE. FORKS, AS A RULE, ARE PLACED AT THE LEFT, TINES UP. HOWEVER, OYSTER FORKS ARE PLACED AT RIGHT OF SPOONS, AND SALAD FORKS, WHEN USED WITH A SALAD COURSE ALONE, ARE AT THE RIGHT.
    "SERVICE PLATES ARE NOT GENERALLY USED UNLESS ONE HAS A SERVANT. THESE ARE ALSO CALLED PLACE PLATES AND REMAIN ON THE TABLE THROUGH THE APPETIZER AND SOUP SERVICE, WITH THE FOOD DISH PLACED UPON IT. THE SERVICE PLATE IS NOT REMOVED UNTIL THE MAIN COURSE (FISH OR MEAT ENTREE) IS SERVED, WHEN THE MAID REM OVES IT WITH HER RIGHT HAND, IMMEDIATELY REPLACING IT WITH THE HOT DINNER PLATE AND PASSING THE FOOD FOR THE MAIN COURSE. IF THE SALAD IS SERVED AS A SEPARATE COURSE, THE SERVICE PLATE IS SET UP ON THE PLACE PLATE. ONLY WHEN READY FOR DESSERT IS THE INDIVIDUAL PLACE ALLOWED TO BE UNCOVERED. THE WATER GLASS IS PLACED AT THE RIGHT, JUST ABOVE THE POINT OF THE KNIFE. THE SALAD PLATE MAY BE PLACED BESIDE THE FORKS OR DIRECTLY ABOVE THE PLATE. THE BREAD AND BUTTER PLATE AT THE LEFT, ABOVE THE FORK, THE BUTTER KNIFE ACROSS THIS PLATE AT RIGHT ANGLES TO OTHER SILVER. FOR FORMAL DINNER THE BREAD AND BUTTER PLATE IS OMITTED.
     "THE NAPKIN IS AT THE LEFT OF THE FORKS OR ON THE SERVICE PLATE WITH OPEN EDGES TOWARD YOU. DON'T BE STINGY WITH SALT AND PEPPER; THERE SHOULD BE A SET WITHIN REACH OF EVERY TWO GUESTS. AT LUNCHEON, THE SOUP IS SERVED IN CUPS, CREAM SOUPS, OR RIMLESS DISHES. AT A FORMAL DINNER, A MORE SHALLOW RIMMED SOUP PLATE IS USED. BOULLION, CREAM SOUP OR DESSERT SPOONS ARE USED AT LUNCHEON. TABLE SPOONS FOR DINNER SOUP SERVICE. CELERY, OLIVES, CRACKERS OR ANY OTHER ACCOMPANIMENTS ARE SERVED DURING THIS COURSE.
     "LUNCHEON BEVERAGES ARE SERVED AT THE TABLE. FOR FORMAL DINNERS THE CUSTOM IS TO SERVE COFFEE IN SMALL CUPS AFTER DINNER IN THE LIVING ROOM. COFFEE MAY BE POURED AT THE TABLE FOR INFORMAL DINNERS. A WAITRESS STANDS AT THE LEFT OF EACH PERSON, WHETHER SHE IS PASSING A DISH FROM WHICH ONE HELPS HIMSELF, OR PLACING OR REMOVING A PLATE. IN FILLING THE BEVERAGE GLASS OR CUP, THE WAITRESS REFILLS OR SETS THE GLASS DOWN FROM THE RIGHT HAND SIDE. PLATES SHOULD BE PLACED AND REMOVED ONE AT A TIME. WHEN CLEARING THE TABLE ALL FOOD IS REMOVED FIRST, THEN THE PLATES, NEXT BREAD AND BUTTERS, WITHOUT STACKING. WHEN TWO OR MORE GUESTS HAVE FINISHED EATING THE WAITRESS MAY START TO CLEAR THE TABLE. AT A FAMILY MEAL SHE WAITS UNTIL EVERYONE HAS FINISHED EATING.
     "IN SEATING GUESTS, THE MOST DISTINGUISHED WOMAN GUEST IS PLACED AT THE HOST'S RIGHT, MOST DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMAN GUESTS, AT THE HOSTESS'S RIGHT. IF FINGER BOWL SERVICE IS INCLUDED IN YOUR MEAL, THE BOWL IS BROUGHT IN, RESTING ON A DOILY DIRECTLY ON THE DESSERT PLATE, WITH THE DESSERT FORK ON THE LEFT AND THE DESSERT SPOON ON THE RIGHT OF THE BOWL. THE GUEST REMOVES THE SILVER AND PLACES IT ON THE TABLE AT EITHER SIDE OF THE PLATE, THEN SLIPS THE DOILY AND FINGER BOWL OFF THE DESSERT PLATE, SETTING IT ON THE TABLE DIRECTLY ABOVE THE PLATE. DESSERT IS THEN PASSED BY THE MAID.
     "IN RECENT YEARS IT HAS BECOME UNPOPULAR TO SERVE THE HOSTESS FIRST. MANY OF US PREFER THIS SERVICE FOR THE HOSTESS WAITS LONGEST BEFORE THE FOOD SERVED IS EATEN, AND IF ANY UNFAMILIAR DISH IS PRESENTED SHE GIVES THE CUE AS TO HOW IT IS TO BE HANDLED. IT IS NOW CONSIDERED MORE GRACIOUS TO SERVE THE GUEST AT THE HOSTESS'S RIGHT FIRST, WITH THE MAID CONTINUING IN ORDER AROUND THE TABLE, SERVING THE HOSTESS LAST."
     BENEATH THIS IS, "RECIPE FOR A GROUP:" "ONE HALF CUP FRIENDSHIP AND ONE CUP THOUGHTFULNESS. TOSS TOGETHER WITH A PINCH OF POWDERED TENDERNESS, VERY LIGHTLY BEATEN IN A BOWL OF LOYALTY, WITH A CUP OF FAITH, AND ONE OF HOPE, AND ONE FULL CUP OF CHARITY. BE SURE TO ADD A SPOONFUL OF GAIETY THAT SINGS, AND THE ABILTY TO LAUGH AT LITTLE THINGS. MOISTEN WITH TEARS OF HEARTFELT SYMPATHY. BAKE IN GOOD NATURE AND SERVE REPEATEDLY."
     ON THE OPPOSITE PAGE, THERE IS A MENU TO SERVE ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE; THE INGREDIENTS INCLUDE, TWO AND A HALF POUNDS OF COFFEE, SIX GALLONS OF MILK, EIGHTEEN POUNDS OF MEAT, FIFTY POUNDS OF POTATOES, FIFTEEN NUMBER TWO CANS OF PEAS, FOUR GALLONS OF SOUP, THREE POUNDS OF BUTTER, SIX LOAVES OF BREAD, (LONG LOAVES), ONE AND A QUARTER POUNDS OF OLIVES, 25 HEADS OF LETTUCE, 100 EARS OF CORN ON THE COB, 100 RIBS OF BEEF, 50 POUNDS OF BEEF TENDERLOIN (FILET MIGNON), FIFTEEN POUNDS OF BOILED BONELESS HAM, TWENTY POUNDS SMOKED HAM, TWO AND A HALF GALLOONS OF ICE CREAM, 100 ROLLS, ONE TO EACH PERSON, EIGHT AVERAGE SIZE CAKES, EIGHTEEN AVERAGE SIZE PIES, FIFTY SPRING CHICKENS, ONE AND A HALF QUARTS OF CREAM FOR TEA, TWO AND A HALF QUARTS OF CREAM FOR COFFEE. (ONE SANDWICH LOAF CUTS INTO TWENTY SLICES."
     "THE CHIEF APPEAL OF THE RECIPES IN THIS BOOK TO MOST WOMEN, IS IN THE FACT THAT THEY ARE HOME TESTED - THAT OTHER WOMEN HAVE TRIED THEM AND FOUND THEM GOOD. THIS HABIT OF EXCHANGING IDEAS IS PROBABLY THE BASIC REASON WHY WOMAN CAN CREATE SO MUCH PLEASING VARIETY WITH THE SAME INGREDIENTS YEAR AFTER YEAR; WHETHER IT BE FOOD, FURNISHINGS OR THE HUMAN CHARACTERISTIC THAT GO TO MAKE UP A FAMILY. A GOOD COMMUNITY NEWSPAPER BASES ITS NEWS POLICIES ON THE SAME BROAD PRINCIPLES, NAMELY, THAT A WELL INFORMED COMMUNITY IS A MORE HARMONIOUS AND PROSPEROUS COMMUNITY." THIS, OF COURSE, WAS A LITTLE PLUG FOR THE ORILLIA PACKET AND TIMES, THAT HAD PRINTED THE COOKBOOK. ALTHOUGH IT IS VERY FAINT NOW, THERE HAS BEEN A RECIPE HASTILY SCRIBBLED ON A CORNER OF THE BACK PAGE, JUST BESIDE THE PACKET AND TIMES ADVERTISEMENT. THE BOOK BEGINS, WITH A LARGE AD FROM WESTINGHOUSE, SHOWING THEIR ARRAY OF ELECTRIC APPLIANCES, FROM THE KITCHEN FRIDGE, STOVE, VACUUM, IRON, WASHING MACHINE, TO THE FLOOR MODEL RADIO TO LISTEN TO, WHILE THE COOK WAS AT WORK.
     DO YOU THINK THE BOOK IS A TAD SEXIST? WELL, IT WAS 1947 AFTER ALL. ALL BUT ONE OF THE APPLIANCES LISTED ABOVE, ATTRIBUTED TO THE WESTINGHOUSE COLLECTION, WAS FOR THE ATTENTION OF HOUSEWIVES. THE RADIO, PRESUMABLY, WAS FOR THE MAN OF THE HOUSE. "IF YOU BUY ME A NEW WASHING MACHINE, YOU CAN BUY YOURSELF THAT RADIO!" OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT!

SERENITY NOW - OUT TO THE SUGAR BUSH

I can place myself in this painting quite easily. (A bald, portly guy, likely coming out of the sugar shack licking his fingers). One of my favorite March feature news assignments, was to visit a number of Muskoka’s sugar bushes, to watch the gathering and the boiling of the sap. This painting, an oil on masonite, by Dan Titman, we believe, holds a special place for me, because I have never found a more serene place anywhere on earth......than a grove of maples bathed in spring sunlight. The sugar bush has always been my writer’s sanctuary. A woodland paradise that is as invigorating as it is relaxing. This is “serenity now,” as far as I’m concerned.

I purchased this little gem of Canadian art, on Friday, at a wonderful antique and collectable shop, which has only recently opened, on Mississauga Street E., in Orillia, known as Carousel Collectables. I’m an impulse buyer and this one was an impulse purchase. I have always been interested in historic themes, which shouldn’t surprise any one, and most recently I have acquired a wonderful watercolor depiction of a steamship (paddle-wheeler) from the early 1800's known as the Royal William. This is still being researched with the assistance of a Maritime Museum on the East Coast. Another attractive watercolor, purchased recently, is a waterscape of “Fairy Point,” and numerous boat houses, but we’re not sure whether this location is on one of Muskoka’s lakes or not. We’re thinking it might be Lake Joseph where there is a Fairy Island. Or a point of land on Huntsville’s Fairy Lake. We think it has too many structures to be Fairy Point in Algoma. Research is ongoing, as with many of my paintings collected for over thirty years. I’ll be running a picture of this in the near future.

But of all the art pieces overflowing the realm of sensible proportion, here at Birch Hollow, I adore this sugar bush painting the most. It profiles a parallel woodland setting, to what I have experienced many times before, here in the hinterland of beautiful Muskoka. My wife’s relative is Bill Veitch, who has been a legend in maple syrup making in the Ufford, Three Mile Lake, Windermere area for decades. I love venturing out to his sugar bush for the annual two day Pancake festival in April. A walk in the woods there, and like a sweeping time warp, you’re back in pioneer times. And it’s great if you’re a history junkie like me.

I greatly enjoyed accompanying my son Robert on a trip to the V.K. Greer Public School, in Port Sydney, a few years back, where they have a small but scenic operation. The tour was given at that time by John Duncan, a former outdoor education co-ordinator, and George Anderson, well known and respected amongst outdoor education students in our region.

My most fascinating sugar bush adventure, with son Andrew, was courtesy Jim Hillman and his son-in-law Brian Milne, who took us back to the maple grove off Golden Beach Road, not far from the former Bangor Lodge on Lake Muskoka. It was just a few miles from Bracebridge. I could have spent the rest of my life in and around that magnificent sugar bush, so hauntingly beautiful in the March sunlight. I sat on a stump and wrote an entire feature article for the Muskoka Sun, and the Muskoka Advance, two publications I penned features for, back in the 1990's. Jim was a grand old chap who adored any opportunity to get outdoors, and this was an absolute haven for anyone needing inspiration....... and who quite enjoys the spirit of co-operation. Operating the sugar bush, as they did, without the plastic lines running from tree to tree, was the way Jim and crew liked it......hard work but rewarding in so many ways. Watching the gathering of the sap, and then the sugaring-off, was right out of the pages of Canadian history.....right before my eyes. I was witnessing a cultural folk-art and it tasted pretty good as well. There’s something powerful about the smell of woodsmoke, the scent of thickening maple syrup, and the spring melt, that brought out the Thoreau in me......and what a Walden Pond it was. I sat there watching the steam billowing out of the shack and looking up into the dark web of overhead boughs, watching the sunlight blotching down onto the old decaying snow, melting away into the forest soil. If heaven could be half as nice!

Jim was happy to show me all the old tools and artifacts he had collected, and conserved over the decades, from when he first began tapping the maple grove. He had numerous wooden spiles and treenware, molds all over the place, for shaping the syrup into sugar candies. He had a marvellous little museum out there in the Muskoka woodlands, and I’m so glad I had this opportunity to visit. Jim passed away shortly after my visit, and I have often wondered whether his buddies still venture out to the property, and fire-up the pit below the large tin trays. I think it has probably ceased operation but I’m very much honored that Jim would have thought to invite me out to his paradise. I had an up-close and personal opportunity to record history, and capture this folk art at its purist, while Jim was still in his heyday. He loved that place. It was a precious sanctuary that’s for sure. His generosity made us Currie lads pretty happy that day. Andrew still talks about it. He got to ride an ATV while I walked to the sugar shack.

This little painting reminds me of my numerous outings to regional sugar bushes. It incorporates a little from each that I’ve visited. I have it illuminated on a stand now, and in the recent blustery evenings here at Birch Hollow, it has been so wonderfully relaxing, just to sit back, with a buffalo robe (we have two) over my legs, and admire the history of maple syrup making in Canada.

We haven’t been able to situate the painting or the artist, as of yet, but we believe it is the work of a regional artist from Quebec. If you know anything more about the painting or know the work of the artist, please let me know.

I wander from antique shop to antique mall, thrift shop to yard sale, auction to estate sale, looking for art pieces that inspire. I got lucky this past week. I visited the right antique shop at the right time. I had a few dollars tucked away, just in case I found something for the permanent collection. What perfect timing for a sugar bush celebration.

Orillia and Leacock Found in an American Furniture History; Cookery Archives Year Two

1960's Reprint about the recovery of shipwrecks from the waters of the Isle of Wight

Diocese of Huron Churches circa 2006

Orillia Furniture and Carriage Plant circa 1926

"A COMPLETED CENTURY," 1826-1926, THE HEYWOOD-WAKEFIELD COMPAY - HISTORIC AMERICAN CHAIR MANUFACTURER WITH A MARIPOSA CONNECTION

THE LITTLE BONUS WITHIN - REFERENCE TO ORILLIA

     SUNDAY. A DAY OF MODEST REST, IN BETWEEN ADVENTURES. IT WAS A GREAT DAY FOR GARDENING. OOPS. THERE ARE THREE FEET OF SNOW IN THE WAY OF GETTING TO THE GARDENS. SO IT WAS A BETTER DAY, BY FAR, FOR BEING ON A MOTOR TRIP LOOKING FOR ANTIQUES AND COLLECTABLES. GADS IT WAS GOOD TO GET OUT AND WALK WITHOUT FEAR OF CARTWHEELING OVER THE ICE. IT WAS A DAY, BY GOLLY, WHEN DAWDLING WAS ENCOURAGED. THE SUN WAS LIFE-RESTORING, AND HONESTLY, I JUST WANTED TO FIND A PARK BENCH AND FALL ASLEEP IN THE AFTERNOON GLOW. SUZANNE KEEPS ME MOVING, USING HER ELBOW AS A SORT OF HAPPENSTANCE CATTLE PROD. BUT THE ALLURE OF ANTIQUES, AND GOOD BOOKS, IS ALWAYS GREATER THAN THE ATTRACTION OF SUNNY SOLITUDE. SO WE SOLDIERED ON, AND IT'S GOOD WE DID. WE WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO CLAIM THE INTERESTING TREASURES, WE FERRETED-OUY, IF WE'D FALLEN PREY TO SPRING FEVER, BEING LULLED TO LEISURE BY A MUCH KINDER, GENTLER NATURE.
   WE TOOK A TRIP TO ORILLIA, AND ENJOYED A GREAT LUNCH AT THE MARIPOSA MARKET, WHERE THE CURRIE FAMILY HAS BEEN GOING ON SUNDAYS, SINCE BOTH OUR LADS WERE IN BABY CARRIAGES. IT'S A HAVEN FOR US WANDERING ANTIQUE DEALERS, AND IT'S WHERE WE GATHER AFTER WE HIT OUR RESPECTIVE COLLECTING HOT SPOTS; WE HAVE OUR OWN FISHING HOLES YOU MIGHT SAY. I DON'T THINK WE'VE BEEN AS CHIPPER SINCE THE SNOWS OF WINTER CAME. SO WE TOOK A FEW MOMENTS TO BASK IN THE SUN IN BETWEEN SHOPPING VISITS. AS USUAL, WE ALL FOUND INTERESTING TREASURES, FROM RECORDS, VINTAGE CLOTHING, BOOKS AND ART WORK. THE PICTURES ABOVE SHOW THE TWO BOOKS, "BACK OF THE WIGHT," AND "A LIGHT IN THE FOREST -150 YEARS OF THE DIOCESE OF HURON," BOTH BOOKS FOR THE SHOP SHELVES. "THE BACK OF THE WIGHT," PUBLISHED IN THE ISLAND OF WIGHT, IS A CHRONICLE OF THE SHIPWRECKS THAT HAVE OCCURRED AROUND THE ISLAND, AND WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE 1930'S. I PICKED UP A 1960'S RE-ISSUE, WITH A MODERN ERA UPDATE, REGARDING A RECENT SHIPWRECK (JUST BEFORE THE REPRINT ISSUE WAS RELEASED), TO ADD TO THE LIST OF VESSELS SUNK OFF ITS SHORE; FROM SCHOONERS, STEAMSHIPS, TO MODERN SHIPS. THIS IS A WELL PRESERVED COPY WITH SOME INTERESTING TALES OF SHIPWRECKS AND RESCUES, DATING BACK INTO THE 1800'S. THE HISTORY OF THE DIOCESE OF HURON, IS AN IMPORTANT REFERENCE TEXT, WITH A HUGE COLLECTION OF PHOTOGRAPHS OF ITS HISTORIC REGIONAL CHURCHES. THIS IS ONE OF THOSE REGIONAL ONTARIO PUBLICATIONS THAT WE SELL FREQUENTLY, BECAUSE IT APPEALS TO A LARGE NUMBER OF OUR CUSTOMERS, VISITING FROM SOUTHERN ONTARIO. THIS IS A PRISTINE CONDITION COPY, AND FOR SEVERAL BUCKS, I WISH THERE HAD BEEN A DOZEN OF THEM.
     THE BIG FIND OF THE DAY, CONTAINED AN UNEXPECTED BONUS SECTION, I HADN'T BEEN AWARE OF, WHEN I MADE THE PURCHASE. THE HARDCOVER EDITION IS SIMPLY ENTITLED "A COMPLETED CENTURY." I PULLED IT DOWN FROM THE TOP SHELF OF A SECOND HAND BOOK STORE, IN ORILLIA, AND I WAS PLEASANTLY SURPRISED TO FIND OUT IT WAS A HISTORY OF ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS FURNITURE MANUFACTURERS IN THE UNITED STATES. THE BOOK WAS A COMMEMORATION OF THE "HEYWOOD-WAKEFIELD COMPANY," IN RESPECT TO ITS CENTENNIAL YEAR, AND WAS PUBLISHED ON JANUARY 1ST, 1926. IT WAS PUBLISHED BY D.B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, OF BOSTON. IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE, BOOKS LIKE THIS ARE QUITE IMPORTANT, BECAUSE THIS IS A SOURCE REFERENCE GUIDEBOOK, AND NOT AN INTERPRETATION, OR EDUCATED OVERVIEW, CARRIED IN A NEWER, GENERAL PUBLICATION. IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN EARLY MANUFACTURED FURNITURE, INCLUDING PIECES MADE OF RUTTAN, THIS IS THE "HORSE'S MOUTH" OF BOOKS. YOU JUST CAN'T GET A BETTER SOURCE ON THIS INDUSTRY, THAN ONE THE COMPANY PRODUCED ON ITS OWN CHRONICLE. SO WITH A HALF PRICE SALE ON, WHICH PARED THE COST DOWN TO SEVEN BUCKS, I LET SUZANNE KNOW, (THE COMPANY ACCOUNTANT), THAT I WASN'T LEAVING THE SHOP EMPTY HANDED. SHE KNOWS WHEN I'M FIRM LIKE THIS, SHE HAS TO LOOSEN THE PURSE STRINGS. IF I'M WISHY-WASHY, SHE KNOWS HOW TO MANIPULATE ME INTO SUBMISSION, BY OFFERING A FEW WELL PLACE CRITIQUES ABOUT CONDITION, OR WHAT WE CAN GET AS A MARK-UP PRICE, WITH A SENSIBLE PROFIT. THE OPENING OF THE BOOK READS AS FOLLOWS:
     "IN 1826, THE LITTLE TOWN OF GARDNER, MASSACHUSETTS, FIFTY-EIGHT MILES NORTHWEST OF BOSTON, ON A HEIGHT OF LAND IN THE PICTURESQUE COUNTRY, BETWEEN THE CONNECTICUT AND MERRIMACK RIVERS, HAD LESS THAT A THOUSAND INHABITANTS. HERE IN THAT YEAR THE 'HEYWOOD BROTHERS,' BEGAN TO MAKE CHAIRS IN A LITTLE SHED ADJACENT TO THEIR FATHER'S FARMHOUSE, WHERE THE CITY HALL STANDS TODAY. SUCH WAS THE MODEST BEGINNING OF THE GARDNER PLANT OF THE HEYWOOD-WAKEFIELD COMPANY - THE HISTORY OF WHICH EXTENDS BACK TO THE EARLIEST DAYS OF CHAIRMAKING IN AMERICA. ASSOCIATED WITH EACH OF THE VARIED INDUSTRIES THAT HAVE MADE NEW ENGLAND A GREAT MANUFACTURING CENTRE, THERE IS OFTEN A SINGLE NAME WHICH A MENTION OF THE INDUSTRY AT ONCE SUGGESTS. TO CHAIR MANUFACTURE THE NAME OF HEYWOOD BEARS THIS RELATION."
     WHILE THE BOOK IS A GREAT REFERENCE GUIDE FOR THEIR FURNITURE, ESPECIALLY THE RUTTAN WING OF THE ENTERPRISE, INCLUDING BABY CARRIAGES, AND COTTAGE FURNISHINGS, THERE IS A SECTION THAT BEGINS ON PAGE 42, THAT MAKES THIS AN IMPORTANT REGIONAL BOOK AS WELL. THE SECTION IS HEADED, "ORILLIA - HEYWOOD-WAKEFIELD COMPANY OF CANADA." THERE IS AN ACCOMPANYING PHOTOGRAPH OF THE PLANT AS WELL. THE NEAT HISTORICAL QUALITY OF THE SMALL SECTION, IS THE REFERENCE, IN AN INDUSTRIAL OVERVIEW OF FURNITURE MANUFACTURING, TO ORILLIA'S FAMOUS AUTHOR. THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST UNUSUAL INSERT PARAGRAPHS I'VE EVER READ, IN ONE OF THESE INDUSTRIAL, COMMERCIAL CHRONICLES, WHICH IN MORE THAN ONE WAY, MAKES IT A RARE FIND. IT BEGINS THUSLY:
     "THE TOWN OF ORILLIA, MOST FAMOUS, PERHAPS, FOR BEING THE SCENE OF STEPHEN LEACOCK'S 'SUNSHINE SKETCHES OF A LITTLE TOWN,' LIES IN THE PROVINCE OF ONTARIO, NINETY MILES NORTH OF TORONTO, WHERE LINES OF THE CANADIAN NATIONAL RAILWAY CROSSING THOSE OF THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY AFFORD EXCELLENT SHIPPING FACILITIES." KEEP IN MIND, THAT "SUNSHINE SKETCHES OF A LITTLE TOWN," WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1912, AND THIS BOOK WAS RELEASED IN 1926, WHCIH IS A RELATIVELY SHORT PERIOD TO BECOME WORTHY OF MENTION AS THE STARTING SENTENCE OF A MAJOR REFERENCE, TO ONE OF THE COMPANY'S MANUFACTURING PLANTS. IT SHOWS A HIGH REGARD FOR LEACOCK AND THE COMMUNITY OF ORILLIA.
     "HERE, IN 1921, A SMALL ASSEMBLING PLANT WAS ESTABLISHED, THE PERSONNEL OF WHICH CONSISTED OF FIVE EMPLOYEES. BABY-CARRIAGE PARTS, MANUFACTURED BY THE PLANT IN MENOMINEE, WERE SENT TO ORILLIA TO BE ASSEMBLED FOR THE CANADIAN TRADE. THREE QUARTERS OF THE TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED FEET OF FLOOR SPACE WERE DEVOTED TO WAREHOUSE PURPOSES. THE BUSINESS PROSPERED, AND TO THE LITTLE CORNER OF SPACE LEASED, AN ADDITIONAL FORTY THOUSAND SQUARE FEET WERE ADDED. MANUFACTURING OPERATIONS BEGAN WITH THE INSTALLATION OF TWO OF THE LLOYD LOOMS AND THE NECESSARY COMPLEMENT OF FIBRE TWISTING MACHINERY. AS TIME WENT ON, MORE AND MORE OF THE MANUFACTURING ACTIVITIES OF MENOMINEE WERE DUPLICATED, UNTIL TODAY THE GREATER PART OF THE MANUFACTURING OF THE ORILLIA PRODUCT IS DONE IN ORILLIA ITSELF.
     "IN MARCH, 1923, THE BUSINESS WAS INCORPORATED UNDER THE LAWS OF THE DOMINION AS HEYWOOD-WAKEFIELD COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD. ALFRED J. LLOYD, FORMERLY AN EMPLOYEE OF THE MENOMINEE PLANT, AND A NEPHEW OF MARSHALL B. LLOYD, WAS APPOINTED FACTORY MANAGER. THE BUSINESS HAS GROWN STEADILY, AND ALTHOUGH THE NUMBER OF EMPLOYEES AVERAGES ONLY THIRTY-FIVE, THAT FACT IS NOT AT ALL INDICATIVE OF THE VOLUME OF PRODUCTION, SINCE, WITH MODERN MACHINERY AND METHODS, THE AMOUNT OF LABOR IS KEPT AT A MINIMUM, AND THE PLANT, DESPITE ITS SMALL FORCE OF EMPLOYEES, RANKS WITH THE LARGEST CARRIAGE-PRODUCING CONCERNS IN THE DOMINION. THE CANADIAN COMPANY MAINTAINS A SALESROOM AND WAREHOUSE FACILITIES IN MONTREAL." THE BOOK IS IN FAIR OVERALL CONDITION. FOR A REFERENCE GUIDE OF THIS IMPORTANCE, A LITTLE BIT OF WEAR, AND SOME THUMB SMUDGES ON A FEW OF THE PAGES, IS A SMALL INTRUSION UPON ITS INTEGRITY, AND DOESN'T DIMINISH THE VALUATION. THE BOOK IS SIGNED, AND I EXPECT THAT IT BELONGED TO A FORMER EMPLOYEE OF THE ORILLIA PLANT. IT IS INSCRIBED "H.O. MARSHALL."
     SUZANNE PICKED UP A COUPLE OF VINTAGE COOKBOOKS, ONE IN PARTICULAR FROM ORILLIA, PUBLISHED IN 1947,  ENTITLED "HOME TESTED RECIPES COOK BOOK," COMPILED AND PUBLISHED BY LADY MARGARET ALEXANDER, CHAPTER IMPERIAL ORDER OF DAUGHTERS OF THE EMPIRE," PUBLISHED BY THE ORILLIA PACKET AND TIMES. A GREAT LITTLE BOOK FOR SUZANNE'S COOKERY ARCHIVES, WHICH WE KEEP AT THE SHOP. THERE ARE SOME GREAT ORILLIA ADS FROM THE PERIOD, PUBLISHED IN THE TEXT. BUILDING A COOKERY COLLECTION, ONE BOOK AT A TIME, HAS CERTAINLY BEEN AN ADVENTURE, BUT AFTER A YEAR OF INTENSIVE WORK ON THE PROJECT, WE'RE A QUARTER OF THE WAY TO OUR OBJECTIVE, OF HAVING IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF FIVE THOUSAND VINTAGE AND OUT OF PRINT COOKBOOKS, WITH GREAT EMPHASIS ON CANADIAN COOKERY. WE HAVE A HUGE BINDER OF HANDWRITTEN RECIPES WE SHARE WITH OUR CUSTOMERS, RESEARCHING SOME OF THE COOKERY MAGIC THAT THEIR GRANDMOTHERS ONCE CREATED, IN THOSE HUMBLE HOMESTEAD KITCHENS. IT'S A DIFFERENT SIDE TO HISTORICAL RESEARCH, THAN I'VE BEEN INVOLVED WITH, IN THE PAST, BUT IT'S THE FIRST TIME SUZANNE AND I HAVE FULLY CO-OPERATED IN ONE AREA OF COLLECTING, TO REACH AN OBJECTIVE. WHILE WE STILL HAVE A LONG WAY TO GO, WE'VE AT LEAST PASSED THE FIRST TOUGH OBSTACLES, OF FINDING THESE IMPORTANT OLD BOOKS, WITHOUT BREAKING THE BANK. THIS IS WHERE OUR BOOK SLEUTHING CAPABILITIES COME IN, BECAUSE WE COULDN'T AFFORD TO BUY THESE BOOKS FOR RETAIL PRICE. YOU HAVE TO BE CUNNING AND A STEALTH HUNTER-GATHERER, TO ACCOMPLISH A WORTHY COLLECTION, FOR A FRACTION OF ITS VALUATION. YES, IT IS A COMPETITION. BUT MOSTLY, A CHALLENGE WE CREATED FOR OURSELVES, TO SEE, IF AFTER ALL THESE YEARS OF COLLECTING, AND WRITING REGIONAL HISTORIES, WE STILL HAD THE MOJO TO TAKE ON ONE MORE MAJOR PROJECT; BUILDING A COOKERY ARCHIVES AND COLLECTION. SEEING AS WE HAVE NO PLANS TO RETIRE, EVER, WE EXPECT TO REACH OUR OBJECTIVE SAFELY, BEFORE MR. REAPER COMES FOR HIS HARVEST. THIS IS OUR WAY OF BEATING A NEGATIVE WITH A POSITIVE. SEEING AS WE HAVE BEEN AT LEAST PARTLY SUCCESSFUL, IN THIS COOKERY INITIATIVE, WELL, WE CAN'T REALLY FAIL; SO TAKE THAT MR. REAPER.

FROM THE ARCHIVES BUT FONDLY RECALLED

The Picturesque as Haunted –

A scene penned, painted, poeticized

The sweet scented air reminds me of the naturally enticing aroma of Nottingham’s Sherwood Forest. The low mist tumbling over the mounds of matted grasses, might well be the stage-curtain’s opening to reveal the stark, historic English moor. The voyeur even might expect momentarily, to watch either Robin Hood and his Merry Men cajoling by Major Oak (the tree they could hide inside), or see Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, seeking out clues about the Hound of the Baskervilles down in this bog of ours.

This urban green belt tangle is mysterious as always. Even though I’m close enough to the old homestead to yell to my sons or wife, the enclosure, only steps inside, is as if the traveler was miles beyond the bustle of civilization. It is as much like a child reading a story-book. The adventure in story-land begins in earnest, once the choice of titles is selected from the bookshelf. The moment I make my intention known, to all who care that I shall be walking the great beast, Bosko, over to the Bog, my imaginative process commences to concoct and churn, in sincere hopefulness something unusual will be encountered on this latest foray.

Maybe we will cross in front of a deer or two, a wild turkey, a fox or folly of grey squirrels wrestling noisily in the dead leaves. It takes only a few strides down this beaten path to glorify the unanticipated. As Bosko intently studies every scent and wind-inspired knock or creak, I am at the mercy of an unbridled fascination, where indeed it can be said the writer expects it just as likely as a deer or bear, to cross paths with a specter, troll, gnome, fairy, witch or hobgoblin….take your pick. It’s just the way I view life. Escaping into this storied woods, provides a wonderful hiatus from the electronic world I have been unceremoniously dumped by profession. I’m not at all sure I could even muster the energy to type a full page now on a manual typewriter. I don’t remember even once, feeling I needed to escape the keyboard of the old Smith-Corona. If it did cross my mind that the typewriter had a smothering, confining effect over a day’s work, it was certainly not as much then as now.

The spring rain has generated much activity in our neighborhood, particularly noticeable down in the bog where the brown, dry stands of field grasses are slowly being replaced by vivid green plants at their base. It is hard not to feel that same potential in heart half expecting that old bones will strengthen and ambition flow eternal just standing amidst this inspiring, strong, earthly re-generation. I suppose it would be nice if this strong seasonal force could re-shape humanity, as it is now transforming the winter landscape. It is changing daily as the sunscape through the still bare tree-tops warms away the last ground frost, which the oldtimers here claim was down a fair piece in the aromatic bog muck.

I used to reference David Grayson’s writings frequently, from his book, “Adventures in Contentment.” He writes about his stint in farming, having turned his back on city-life in order to preserve his health. He was tilling the field one day when he happened to look up to witness a most impressive sprawling topography beneath a gentle, universal sky, and it seemed to him momentarily, as a strange, unfamiliar scene; one that he knew had been there before, since creation, but in his days at the farm it had never seemed so important to study. The hillside view of the valley below was as if the world had immediately opened to him. When he looked back at his impressively straight furrows created that day, and then contrasted them with what had been provided naturally, he felt foolish about having ignored the bigger picture of life and times. He had been so concerned about making the furrows straight and appearing expertly contoured to the land that he had ignored all the magnificent world and life forces thriving around him. His preoccupation with the task had blocked out all else, the loss being a deprived existence. This bothered him moreso, because it was nature, this sprawling, inspiring landscape and its unlimited possibility, that brought him to the farm in the first place. It was as much an escape as a quest for salvation from city life.

There are times, even as a longstanding student of “Adventures in Contentment,” I find myself immersed in modern day commerce up to my eyeballs, such that I am just as ignorant and blind to the world around me as Grayson complained. It takes a great resolve to stop and admire the view in the course of modern day commerce….modern day hustle. We risk our health and sanity at this mill wheel because we find it impossible to invoke, impose, command change upon our condition. I have had to stop myself many times this past year, to break from the obsession of business at all cost. With exception of these daily walks over to the bog, and down this peaceful country lane, the computer commerce glowing in my office, beckoning me to invest just a few more hours, has been a powerful force to reckon with, and occasionally forcefully escape. It is a terrible reality, one that should never have happened to someone who claims dutifully to being of “the enlightened.” Yet it has happened to millions of folks who have given up entirely on the possibility there is something more in life other than technology….. and straight, perfectly spaced furrows.

When I used to look up from my typewriter keyboard, I might have been privileged to see the lilacs blossoming in the front yard, and the storm clouds blackening along the horizon. I might have looked out in time to see a hummingbird at the feeder, or a squirrel sitting up on the fence post having an afternoon respite. When I look up now I see this wavering white on grey screen, and beyond that is a dark opening of cabinet with an askew wall of books behind. Where the window should be in a visionary’s office! To look out the window at the world around me, I must get up and strain my neck to sneak a little peak out at the front yard, and the bog across the lane. And the humming. My old typewriter made a lot of sounds but all acceptable in the pursuit of story-line. This infernal racket of buzz and internal function, makes me crazy after only a few minutes. I can feel the radiation penetrating my soul. At the old Smith-Corona, the worse symptom was a stiff neck and some ribbon ink on my fingertips from undoing a key jam.

I have to be particularly disciplined at this computer terminal, to step away every half hour or so just to connect with what is real and breathing in this environment around me. Even if I was to stop right now, in the middle of this sentence, and head out the front door and down into the bog, it would take about fifteen minutes to adjust to the new normal. Adjust to the fact there is no sustained humming and neatly boxed, tailored viewpoint ahead. I resisted a computer for many years and only agreed to purchase one as a facilitator of more efficient office operation. It is true that work in both writing and antique professions has become easier in many ways because of computer technology; yet with improvement and efficiency has come isolation and numbness of spirituality. I have been known to sit at this fool contraption for upwards of four hours. When I proof-read what has been composed, it’s quite usual for the work to be flat, sloppily written, and rather lifeless even when read aloud. I put more work into corrections and re-structuring columns and editorials than was ever necessary from the greasy rollers of a manual typewriter.

Even though I have the advice of David Grayson imprinted on my soul, because it is truly what I believe important in life, I fall victim regularly to the modern trappings of the so-called “better-easier-most efficient way” of living and making money. The only salvation is having the determination to pull up from this post, this whiter than white monitor screen (despite enough furrows to make up a day’s work), and wander off into the woods for a brief sojourn from the world as it has been manufactured. I never leave this sanctuary without feeling restored and invigorated. If there is any misery at all in my life, it is the reality of this unhealthy, uninspiring attachment to the modernists’ convention and new century accepted practice of blatant disregard….for anything that doesn’t smack of new technology..

I need these sojourns, as Grayson needed his vista of heaven on earth. I want to kick this habit one day soon, and spend more time haunting these woods, than hovering over a space-age keyboard in half-spirit dreaming of a better way!

Books on Tom Thomson Could Fill A Small Library; The Ghost Canoe Of The Lost Artist

A Landmark reference book on the life and work of Tom Thomson, by David Silcox and Harold Town

1970's book by Judge William Little that opened public debate on Tom Thomson's death

BOOKS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT - I'D FEEL NAKED AS A BIBLIOPHILE. IF ALL OF A SUDDEN THEY WERE GONE

THE HERITAGE RESOURCES THAT GET A WORK-OUT EVERY MONTH - NUMBER ONE "ANYTHING ABOUT CANADIAN ARTIST, TOM THOMSON"


     WORKING IN THE STUDIO OF OUR GRAVENHURST SHOP, IS LIKE HAVING A CHAIR SMACK-DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF ALICE'S WONDERLAND. THERE ARE THINGS HAPPENING HERE, YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE; EVENTS AND STRANGE VISITATIONS IN A CASUAL, SOCIAL / CULTURAL SENSE, THAT I FIND BOTH REMARKABLE, ON THE SIDE OF THE FANTASTIC, EVEN TO A SORT OF FICTION THAT MAKES ME ASK THE BOYS, IF WHAT HAPPENED MOMENTS EARLIER, WAS A DAYDREAM OR A SUDDEN REALITY. I WANT TO SEE THE JUST RELEASED MOVIE "THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL," BECAUSE SHORT OF MURDER PLOTS, I THINK THE WRITERS MUST HAVE BEEN IN OUR SHOP FOR AN AFTERNOON FINDING THEIR INSPIRATION. IT'S THAT WILD IN HERE. IN A GOOD WAY OF COURSE. THIS HAS BECOME AS MUCH A "THEATRE STAGE," WHERE ALL KINDS OF CREATIVE ENERGY IS EXPENDED, ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, WITH VERY INTERESTING OUTCOMES. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO WRITE THIS BLOG FOR THE PAST FOUR HOURS. IN THAT TIME, I HAVE HAD AT LEAST TWENTY FLY-BYS, OF PEOPLE HERE TO PLAY OUR PLETHORA OF MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS, AS WELL AS HAVING SOME OF MY REGULAR CRONIES DROP BY FOR A LITTLE AFTERNOON VISIT. I'VE LISTENED TO AN UPRIGHT BASS BEING PLAYED, THREE GUITARS, INDIVIDUALLY, A MANDOLIN, AN ORGAN, AND A BANJO FROM SOMEWHERE DOWN THE HALL. IN THE MEANTIME, SUZANNE HAS BROUGHT ME TWO PAINTINGS FOR EVALUATIONS, AND ASKED MY OPINION ON A CUSTOM ORDER FOR FINGERLESS GLOVES, SHE'S KNITTING FOR A CLIENT-FRIEND OF OURS. GET THIS! SHE'S USING HUNDRED YEAR OLD WOOL, STILL IN THE ORIGINAL SKEENS.
    THERE HAVE BEEN THREE STUDIO TOURS, AND I'VE HAD CHATS WITH EACH GROUP, BECAUSE I'M SORT OF IN THE WAY AND I LIKE TO TALK. IT'S ALL A LOT OF FUN, AS I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT PREVIOUSLY, EXCEPT THE PART ABOUT MY OWN CONTINUITY. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO PROOF-READ MY COPY FOR THE PAST HALF HOUR, AND DURING THAT TIME, I'VE BEEN OFFERED HOME-MADE GRANOLA, FROM A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY, (I NEARLY CHOCKED TO DEATH WHEN I INHALED CRUMBS) SEVEN CHERRY TOMATOES, FROM ROBERT'S LEFTOVER SALAD, A CUP OF COFFEE BROUGHT IN BY ANOTHER PATRON OF THE ARTS, AND THEN SPILLED THAT SAME COFFEE ALL OVER MY SHIRT, WHEN I WAS ACCIDENTALLY ELBOWED BY A PASSERBY IN CLOSE QUARTERS, WITH A SNARE DRUM UNDER HIS ARM. DAMN THING IS, I TRIED TO WRITE AT HOME THE OTHER NIGHT, AND I HAD TO GIVE UP AFTER AN HOUR STARING AT THE FLICKERING SCREEN. I TOLD SUZANNE THAT UNLESS SHE WAS GOING TO CREATE SOME KIND OF SUBSTANTIAL DIN, OR INVITE THE NEIGHBORHOOD IN FOR A MEET AND GREET, THE SILENCE WAS GOING TO END MY WRITING RELATIONSHIP WITH BIRCH HOLLOW. IN ONLY A FEW MONTHS OF THIS PLEASANT RECREATION, UPTOWN, IN THE MIDST OF TRYING TO WRITE THIS BLOG, I HAVE BECOME A SOUND ADDICT; NOW I CAN'T PRODUCE MUCH OF ANYTHING, BEYOND THE TITLE, UNLESS THINGS GET WEIRD HERE, AND SUDDENLY SOMEONE SITS DOWN ON A CHAIR, AND BEGINS PICKING AT A BANJO; OR BEATING ON THE DRUMS. SO PLEASE, FORGIVE SOME OF THE DIGRESSIONS, BUT THEY ARE ALL VERY AGREEABLE TO THE WRITER IN RESIDENCE, WHO AT BEST CAN CLAIM TO BE THE AUTHOR OF A MOSAIC CHAPTER; A DAY IN THE LIFE. BUT AS I'VE WARNED, IF YOU INTERRUPT MY SOLITUDE, YOU MAY BECOME PART OF MY STORY-LINE.
     I REMEMBER TALKING ON THE PHONE, ONE AUTUMN AFTERNOON, WITH THE DAUGHTER OF JUDGE WILLIAM LITTLE, AUTHOR OF "THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY," AND SUDDENLY SHIFTING OUR CONVERSATION TO HER FAMILY'S OLD FRIEND, JACK EASTAUGH. JACK EASTAUGH, A LONG TIME ART INSTRUCTOR AT THE TAYLOR-STATTEN SUMMER CAMPS, ON CANOE LAKE, HAD BEEN WITH WILLIAM LITTLE, WHEN THEY, AND TWO OTHER MATES FROM THE CANOE LAKE COMMUNITY, PARTICIPATED IN AN UNAUTHORIZED EXHUMATION, OF THE UNMARKED GRAVE OF CANADIAN ARTIST TOM THOMSON, BACK IN THE 1950'S. THE SHORT VERSION OF THIS, IS THAT AFTER SEVERAL EXCAVATION ATTEMPTS, THE FOURSOME DID FIND THE REMAINS OF THOMSON'S ORIGINAL COFFIN, AND SKELETAL REMAINS. LITTLE HAD PROVEN HIS LONG-HELD THEORY. DESPITE WHAT THE OFFICIAL DOCUMENTATION STATED, DATING BACK TO JULY OF 1917, (AFTER THOMSON'S BODY WAS PULLED FROM THE LAKE, ATTRIBUTED TO ACCIDENTAL DROWNING), THE ARTIST'S MOWET CEMETERY GRAVE HAD NEVER BEEN EXHUMED; UNTIL, OF COURSE, LITTLE AND EASTAUGH PUT THEIR SHOVELS INTO THE ALGONQUIN EARTH FORTY ODD YEARS LATER. IT WAS A BIG "OOPS" MOMENT FOR THE PROVINCE, BECAUSE FINDING A BODY IN A GRAVE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EMPTY, WAS A QUITE EMBARRASSING. IT'S WHAT JANE AND I WERE TALKING ABOUT ON THE PHONE, WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN, I BEGAN TO STUDY A SMALL WATERCOLOR HUNG ON THE WALL, JUST ABOVE THE PHONE TABLE. IT WAS ONE OF SUZANNE'S FAVORITE PAINTINGS, OF HUNDREDS WE HAD MOUNTED AROUND THE HOUSE. I DON'T KNOW WHAT MADE ME LOOK CLOSER AT THE SMALL PAINTING OF A LAKE AND ISLAND, BUT THERE IT WAS; ONE OF MANY COINCIDENCES I HAVE EXPERIENCED, WORKING ON THOMSON RESEARCH. "YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO BELIVE THIS, JANE, BUT I'M LOOKING AT A JACK EASTAUGH ORIGINAL PAINTING RIGHT NOW." HONEST TO GOD, I HAD NEVER LOOKED AT THE SIGNATURE BEFORE. WE PICKED IT UP AT A THRIFT SHOP IN HUNTSVILLE, BECAUSE SUZANNE HAD A PLACE IN MIND THAT IT WOULD FIT THE SURROUNDINGS. SO AT THE VERY MOMENT I'M RECALLING THE EXHUMATION OF THE REMAINS OF TOM THOMSON, WITH THE DAUGHTER OF ONE OF THOSE PARTICIPANTS MANNING THE SHOVELS, THAT DAY, THE OTHER PARTNER'S PICTURE IS STARING ME IN THE FACE. AS TIME WENT ON, AND I IMMERSED MYSELF EVER DEEPER IN THOMSON RESEARCH, THE COINCIDENCES BECAME A CHAPTER ON THEIR OWN. FOR MUCH OF THIS, THE COINCIDENCES PROVIDED OPPORTUNITIES TO ACQUIRE RESOURCE MATERIALS, BOOKS AND PAPER RELATED TO THE ARTIST'S BIOGRAPHY. EACH TIME I PUBLISHED A SERIES OF COLUMNS, REGARDING THE THOMSON MYSTERY, I'D RECEIVE PACKETS OF OLD CLIPPINGS AND MAGAZINES WITH STORIES ABOUT THOMSON AND THE LATER GROUP OF SEVEN ARTISTS; A GROUP THOMSON INSPIRED, BUT HAD DIED BEFORE ITS CREATION.
     I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT THIS MANY TIMES IN THE PAST, BUT IN THE CONTEXT OF TODAY'S BLOG, IT IS NECESSARY TO REVISIT HOW I GOT STARTED, CARRYING FORTH THE RESEARCH, REGARDING THE MYSTERY OF TOM THOMSON'S DEATH. IT CAME SHORTLY AFTER THE DEATH OF WILLIAM LITTLE. I WAS READING A CONTRIBUTED COLUMN, WRITTEN BY LEGENDARY ALGONQUIN PARK TRAPPER, RALPH BICE, PUBLISHED IN A LOCAL MUSKOKA DISTRICT NEWSPAPER, KNOWN AS THE WEEKENDER. WHAT BOTHERED ME ABOUT THIS PARTICULAR COLUMN'S SLANT, WAS THAT IT MOCKED THE THEORIES PUT FORWARD BY JUDGE LITTLE, IN HIS EARLY 1970'S LANDMARK BOOK, "THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY." BICE REFUTED LITTLE'S CLAIMS THAT THOMSON HAD MET WITH FOUL PLAY, INSTEAD OF THE CORONER'S REPORT TO THE CONTRARY, THAT THOMSON HAD DIED OF ACCIDENTAL DROWNING. BICE EVEN CLAIMED THAT THOMSON WAS A POOR CANOEIST, AND A HEAVY DRINKER, WHO HAD A RECKLESS STREAK WHEN IT CAME TO MIXING THE TWO. IT IS NOTED, BY BICE, THAT HE HAD BEEN IN THE PARK AT THE TIME THOMSON WAS GUIDING AND PAINTING, SO HE DID HAVE SOME INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT HE WAS WRITING ABOUT. WHAT LITTLE HAD CLAIMED, ABOUT THOMSON BEING WHACKED ON THE HEAD, BY AN ASSAILANT, AND THEN DUMPED IN THE WATER, TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE HE HAD DROWNED BY MISADVENTURE, BICE CLAIMED THAT INSTEAD, IT WAS PROBABLY, THAT THE ARTIST, TRYING TO RELIEVE HIMSELF OVER THE GUNNEL OF THE CANOE, SIMPLY TOPPLED OUT AND HIT HIS HEAD ON THE WOODWORK AS HE FELL. HE WAS UNCONSCIOUS WHEN HE HIT THE WATER, AND DROWNED AS A RESULT. WHAT I THOUGHT WAS UNFAIR ABOUT THIS, ON BICE'S PART, WAS THAT JUDGE LITTLE COULDN'T DEFEND HIS POSITION. I WONDERED IF LITTLE'S DEATH, GAVE BICE THE OPPORTUNITY TO GET THE LAST WORD-IN, ON THE UNSOLVED MYSTERY OF THE ARTIST'S FINAL MOMENTS.
     THE COINCIDENCE IS THIS; I WENT UP TO THE GRAVENHURST THRIFT SHOP, FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER READING BICE'S COLUMN, (WHICH I READ WHILE HAVING A BOWL OF SOUP FOR LUNCH), AND THE FIRST BOOK THAT CAUGHT MY ATTENTION, ON THE CLUTTERED SHELF OF USED BOOKS, WAS A SIGNED, HARDCOVER FIRST EDITION, WITH A PRISTINE DUSTJACKET, OF "THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY." I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE ODDS OF THAT HAPPENING WOULD HAVE BEEN, IF A STATISTICIAN HAD BEEN CONSULTED; BUT ALL THAT MATTERED, WAS THAT IT WAS COMING HOME WITH ME. THE FIRST TIME I WAS INTRODUCED TO THE BOOK AND THE MYSTERY, WAS SHORTLY AFTER I HAD STARTED HIGH SCHOOL, WHEN I WATCHED THE CBC DOCUMENTARY, ON THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY, CIRCA 1970; THAT OF COURSE, HAD BEEN INSPIRED BY JUDGE LITTLE'S NEWLY RELEASED BOOK. SO FINALLY GETTING MY OWN COPY OF THE BOOK, WITH THE BONUS OF IT BEING SIGNED, WAS A SIGN IN ITSELF, THAT THOMSON AND I WERE ABOUT TO HAVE A CLOSER RELATIONSHIP. I MADE THE PURCHASE. ONE DOLLAR. I READ THE WHOLE BOOK THAT AFTERNOON, AND A MONTH LATER, I READ IT AGAIN. I THINK I'VE PROBABLY READ THE BOOK FIVE TIMES SINCE, AND ON EACH OCCASION, I FIND SOMETHING I MISSED PREVIOUSLY. THERE IS A LOT OF INFORMATION CONTAINED IN THE WELL WRITTEN BOOK; SO IT'S EASY TO OVERLOOK SOME DETAIL IMPORTANT TO UNDERSTANDING THE STORY.
     FROM RALPH BICE'S PROVOCATIVE COLUMN, TO FINDING A COPY OF WILLIAM LITTLE'S IMPORTANT BOOK, THE SEED OF OBSESSIVE INTEREST IN THE LIFE AND WORK OF TOM THOMSON, HAD BEEN PLANTED IN FERTILE SOIL. IT HELPED LAUNCH A QUARTER CENTURY RESEARCH INITIATIVE, THAT INVOLVED OUR WHOLE FAMILY. IT WAS THE REASON WE BEGAN VISITING ALGONQUIN PARK REGULARLY, CAMPING AND CANOEING WHERE THOMSON WAS KNOWN TO HAVE PAINTED, AND LIVED, DURING HIS YEARS IN THE PROVINCIAL PARK. WE PADDLED EVERY NAUTICAL INCH OF CANOE LAKE, AND HAVE ENJOYED A HUNDRED PICNIC VISITS TO THE TEA LAKE DAM, WHERE THOMSON USED TO FISH IN THE RAPIDS. SO WHILE I MIGHT NOT CREDIT RALPH BICE, FOR HAVING THE BEST INSIGHTS REGARDING THE THOMSON MYSTERY, HE DID CREATE ENOUGH DOUBT IN MY MIND, THAT I APPROACHED LITTLE'S PERSPECTIVE MUCH MORE CRITICALLY; THAN IF I HAD READ IT FIRST, AND BICE'S ACCOUNT, SECOND. FOLLOWING THIS? I LAUNCHED SOME SERIOUS RESEARCH INTO THOMSON'S DEATH, AS YOU CAN RE-READ ON THESE BLOGS BY ARCHIVING BACK. THE SECOND REFERENCE BOOK, WAS "TOM THOMSON; THE SILENCE AND THE STORM," WRITTEN BY ART HISTORIAN, DAVID SILCOX, AND GROUP OF ELEVEN ARTIST, HAROLD TOWN. IT WAS PUBLISHED FOLLOWING LITTLE'S BOOK, BUT DOES SUPPORT THE ACCIDENTAL DROWNING THEORY, AS ORIGINALLY PUT FORTH BY THE ATTENDING CORONER; HELD AT A CANOE LAKE INQUEST, SHORTLY AFTER THE ARTIST'S BODY WAS PULLED FROM THE LAKE. POINT IS, THESE BOOKS, AND BICE'S ORIGINAL COLUMN, GOT ME HOOKED ON THE THOMSON MYSTERY, WHICH I'M STILL WORKING ON, HEADING TO THE 100TH ANNIVERSARY RECOGNITION OF THIS DEATH, IN JULY 2017. I'M CURRENTLY BUILDING A COLLECTION OF THOMSON MATERIALS AND COMMEMORATIONS, HOPEFULLY TO DISPLAY AT OUR GRAVENHURST SHOP, WHEN THE ANNIVERSARY ROLLS AROUND. I'M STILL ONLY A THIRD OF THE WAY, TO THE KIND OF COLLECTION I'M HOPING FOR, BY THAT TIME IN THE THOMSON CHRONICLE.
     THIS MORNING, I WAS LOOKING OVER MY THOMSON RELICS, ONE OF OUR CATS HAD SHIFTED DURING A WALK-OVER, AND WHEN I MOVED A HALF DOZEN ITEMS, FROM ONE SHELF TO ANOTHER, JUDGE LITTLE'S BOOK FELL OFF THE DESK, AND HIT MY FOOT. NO FOOLING. IT OPENED TO A SECTION WRITTEN BY JACK EASTAUGH, AND I THOUGHT BACK TO ALL THE COINCIDENCES I'VE HAD WITH THE THOMSON STORY. I DON'T MESS WITH KARMA OR COINCIDENCE, SO HERE ARE A FEW WORDS FROM EASTAUGH'S INTRODUCTION, IN COMPLIMENT TO HIS FRIEND, WILLIAM LITTLE'S LANDMARK BOOK:
     "IT WAS ONE OF THOSE RARE AND CONSEQUENTLY CHERISHED WARM SEPTEMBER DAYS, WHEN EVEN THE GEESE BELIEVE THE SUMMER WILL LAST FOREVER. I WAS FISHING FOR SOME OF THE LARGE BASS THAT FREQUENT THE DOCKS, AT CAMP WAPOMEO, AT CANOE LAKE, IN ALGONQUIN PARK. AS I SAT REFLECTIVE AND MUSING, ALERT FOR ANY CHANGE TO THE TENSION OF MY LINE, A CANOE WITH THREE YOUNG MEN, IN THEIR LATE TEENS PULLED CLOSE TO THE DOCK. WE EXCHANGED GREETINGS AND THEY TOLD ME THIS WAS THE THIRD YEAR IN A ROW THAT THEY HAD MOTORED FROM TORONTO TO SPEND A FALL WEEKEND IN ALGONQUIN.
     EASTAUGH WRITES, "THINKING TO TEST A THEORY THAT WAS LOOSELY FORMED IN MY MIND, I LAID DOWN MY ROD AND SAUNTERED OVER TO THEIR CANOE. I ASKED THEM IF THEY ASSOCIATED CANOE LAKE WITH ANY SIGNIFICANT CANADIAN EVENT. THEY LOOKED PUZZLED AND REMARKED THAT CANOE LAKE WAS NOTHING MORE TO THEM THAN THE BEGINNING AND THE END OF THEIR ANNUAL JOURNEY. ENDEAVOURING TO GIVE THEM A CLUE, I SUGGESTED THAT THIS LAKE PLAYED A PROMINENT PART IN THE EVENTS SURROUNDING THE LIFE AND DEATH OF A FAMOUS CANADIAN ARTIST.
    "WHEN THEIR RESPONSE WAS STILL A PUZZLED BEWILDERMENT, I TOLD THEM ABOUT THE IMPORTANT CONTRIBUTION TO CANADA THAT HAD BEEN MADE BY TOM THOMSON; THAT HE HAD LIVED AND PAINTED ON THE SHORES OF THIS LAKE, AND THAT HERE HE HAD DROWNED ON JULY 8TH, 1917. THE FACT THAT THOMSON DROWNED HERE SEEMED TO CAPTURE THEIR ATTENTION AND THEY BEGAN TO RECALL VAGUELY SOME HIGH SCHOOL REFERENCES TO A PAINTING ABOUT A 'PINE TREE.' CERTAIN NOW THAT MY THEORY WAS CORRECT, I SOUGHT TO FURTHER PIQUE THEIR CURIOSITY BY TELLING THEM THAT THERE WAS SOME DISSATISFACTION WITH THE CONCLUSION OF THE CORONER, WHO INVESTIGATED THE DROWNING, AND EVEN DOUBLE ABOUT THE PRESENT LOCATION OF THOMSON'S REMAINS.
     "BY NOW WE WERE A PARTY OF FOUR SITTING ON THE DOCK, THOROUGHLY ENGROSSED IN THE EVENTS THAT HAD TAKEN PART AT CANOE LAKE IN JULY, 1917. FROM A DISCUSSION OF A TRAGEDY AND A MYSTERY WE WENT ON TO TALK ABOUT ART AND THE PARTICULARLY SIGNIFICANT CONTRIBUTION OF TOM THOMSON, TO THE FIRST MAJOR CANADIAN ART MOVEMENT. I WAS WITH JUDGE LITTLE DURING THOSE EARLY YEARS AT CAMP AHMEK, WHEN MARK ROBINSON USED TO EXPRESS HIS DISSATISFACTION, WITH THE CORONER'S VERDICT AND THE COMPETENCE OF THE UNDERTAKER. I WAS WITH HIM WHEN WE FOUND SKELETAL REMAINS IN A GRAVE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EMPTY."
     MR. EASTAUGH GOES ON TO WRITE, "ALL THROUGH THE YEARS WE HAVE FOUND AN AVID INTEREST, ON THE PART OF INDIVIDUALS, AND GROUPS, IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES SURROUNDING THOMSON'S DEATH, AND HIS SUPPOSED REBURIAL AT LEITH. BUT IT IS THE QUALITY OF TOM THOMSON'S ART THAT HAS MADE THE MYSTERY OF HIS DEATH AND BURIAL PLACE IMPORTANT. THIS BOOK WILL FAIL IN ITS ENDEAVOUR IF THE READER DOESN'T MAKE A PILGRIMMAGE TO THE MCMICHAEL CONSERVATION COLLECTION, AT KLEINBURG, OR FAILS TO LOOK WITH ADDED INTEREST, THE NEXT TIME A THOMSON PAINTING COMES TO HIS ATTENTION.
     "FROM THOMSON THE READER SHOULD BE ENCOURAGED TO EXAMINE THE LIVES AND WORKS OF THE MEMBERS OF THE GROUP OF SEVEN, OF WHICH THOMSON WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY HAVE BEEN A MEMBER, HAD HE LIVED BEYOND HIS THIRTY-NINE YEARS. THIS BOOK HAD TO BE WRITTEN, AND I AM HAPPY THAT MY FRIEND OF LONG STANDING, HAS PRESENTED THE KNOWN AND THE SPECULATIVE FOR THE READER TO PONDER. ASK YOURSELF, WAS TOM THOMSON MURDERED? ARE HIS REMAINS AT LEITH, OR AT CANOE LAKE? LOOK AT HIS PICTURES AND SHARE HIS BURSTING, ENTHUSIASTIC APPRECIATION OF OUR BELOVED ALGONQUIN PARK."
     WILLIAM LITTLE, IN HIS PREAMBLE TO THE TEXT, WRITES, "IT HAS BEEN MAINTAINED BY MANY CANOE LAKE RESIDENTS WHO KNEW TOM THOMSON INTIMATELY THAT HE MET DEATH THROUGH FOUL PLAY; OTHERS SHARE THE OFFICIAL VIEW THAT THIS DEATH WAS DUE TO ACCIDENTAL DROWNING. INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH, THOSE WHO SUBSCRIBE TO THE ACCIDENTAL VIEW ARE PEOPLE WHO WERE NOT ASSOCIATED WITH TOM DURING THE PERIOD PRECEDING HIS DEATH. EVEN HIS OWN FAMILY CAN GIVE BUT HEARSAY ACCOUNTS OF BOTH HIS DEATH AND BURIAL - THOMSON WAS NEVER IDENTIFIED OR VIEWED BY ANY MEMBER OF HIS FAMILY AFTER HIS DEATH.
     "THE SOLE DOCUMENTARY EVIDENCE ON WHICH THE CASE RESTS WAS TAKEN AT AN INQUEST BY A CORONER WHO NEVER SAW THE BODY, BUT ACCEPTED THE INTERPRETATION OF IMPORTANT CIRCUMSTANCES GIVEN BY A MEDICAL DOCTOR WHO NEVER MET TOM THOMSON. THE DOCTOR HAD CONDUCTED A POST-MORTEM EXAMINATION WITHOUT HAVING ACCESS TO MANY FACTS THAT BECAME AVAILABLE AFTER THE OFFICIAL INQUEST HAD BEEN HELD. ALTHOUGH MANY OF THE DEDUCTIONS MADE IN THIS BOOK ARE BASED ON PERSON-TO-PERSON COMMUNICATIONS, TAPE RECORDINGS, CORRESPONDENCE AND DIARIES, THE PEOPLE CONTACTED THROUGH THE YEARS HAVE CLAIM TO CREDABILITY, BECAUSE OF THEIR CLOSE RELATIONSHIP WITH TOM DURING HIS ALQONQUIN PARK YEARS, AND THEIR PROXIMITY TO AND AGREEMENT ON THE EVENTS THAT PRECEDED AND FOLLOWED HIS DEATH."
     AS THIS BLOG IS MORE ABOUT BOOKS, THAN JUST REVIEWING THE CIRCUMSTANCES SURROUNDING THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF TOM THOMSON, I CAN TELL YOU, THAT AS A DIRECT RESULT OF THAT FIRST BOOK FIND, AND TURNING-ON TO THE THOMSON STORY, I HAVE ACQUIRED MANY MORE BOOKS AND BOOKLETS, THAT IN SOME FASHION, IN SOME SECTION OF THE TEXT, DEAL WITH THE ARTIST, HIS BIOGRAPHY, ART ACCOMPLISHMENTS, AND DEMISE. I HAVE A WHOLE SECTION IN MY ARCHIVES DEVOTED TO THOMSON, INCLUDING THE FIRST BOOK WRITTEN ABOUT THOMSON'S DEATH; WHICH WAS RESEARCHED AND PRIVATELY FUNDED, ORIGINALLY, BY ART HISTORIAN BLODWEN DAVIES, IN THE EARLY 1930'S. IT WAS BLODWEN DAVIES, OF COURSE, WHO WENT TO THE ONTARIO PROVINCIAL POLICE, AFTER COMMENCING HER RESEARCH IN THE LATE 1920'S, TO REPORT EVIDENCE THAT CONTRADICTED THE CORONER'S VERDICT, THAT THOMSON HAD BEEN A VICTIM OF DROWNING. THE OPP DROPPED THE CASE AFTER ONLY A BRIEF INVESTIGATION. IT HAS LONG BEEN RUMORED, THAT POLITICS DID ENTER THE THOMSON MYSTERY, AND COVER-UPS OF IMPORTANT INFORMATION, HAVE BEEN AN ONGOING REALITY OF THE CASE, CERTAINLY UP TO THE TIME, WILLIAM LITTLE PROVIDED THE ALLEGED SKELETAL REMAINS OF THOMSON; REMOVED FOR FORENSIC TESTING BY THE PROVINCE, WHICH DETERMINED THE BONES TO HAVE BELONGED TO AN ABORIGINAL MALE AND NOT THOMSON. KEEP IN MIND, IN JULY 1917, THE THOMSON FAMILY, ORDERED THE BODY OF THEIR SON AND BROTHER, TO BE MOVED FROM THE CEMETERY PLOT, AT CANOE LAKE, TO BE REBURIED IN THE THOMSON PLOT, IN THE VILLAGE OF LEITH. THE HUNTSVILLE UNDERTAKER, A MR. CHURCHILL, WAS SUPPOSED TO BE IN CHARGE OF THIS EXHUMATION AND REBURIAL, BUT IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN SUSPECTED, HE LOADED UP A METAL CASKET WITH ALGONQUIN EARTH INSTEAD, TO THE APPROXIMATE WEIGHT OF A HUMAN BODY OF THOMSON'S HEIGHT. THUS, WE STILL, TO THIS DATE, HAVE ONE ARTIST, IN TWO GRAVES. JUDGE LITTLE'S BOOK OFFERS SOME THEORIES ABOUT THIS TWO-GRAVE DILEMMA.
     BY THE WAY, YOU CAN BUILD A DECENT THOMSON ARCHIVES, BY SHOPPING VIA THE ADVANCE BOOK EXCHANGE, ONLINE, WHERE YOU CAN FIND USED AND EVEN SIGNED COPIES OF THE BOOKS MENTIONED; SUCH AS "SILENCE AND THE STORM," "THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY," AND THE BLODWEN DAVIES BIOGRAPY OF TOM THOMSON.
     SO AS FAR AS NEAT BOOKS GO, THE STUDY OF TOM THOMSON CAN INVOLVE THE BETTER PART OF A LIBRARY, IF YOU WERE TO COLLECT ONE OF EACH TITLE THAT HAS BEEN PRODUCED SINCE HIS TRAGIC DEMISE.

Sunset encounters with the lone Algonquin canoeist

My very first trip to Algonquin Park after beginning research on the mysterious death of Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, began and ended at the Tea Lake Dam. It had been one of Thomson’s favorite fishing locations, from the rocks bordering the rapids below the old dam. When I made my way down to the water-side that first day, it was as if I truly expected to encounter in one form or another,... his spirit, still hovering in the mist prevailing over that peaceful Algonquin alcove of water, rock and forest. It was as if for a moment in time, I was allowed to walk into one of his paintings to see from the inside out, how his inspiration had manifested by brush and paint onto board. I sat on a fallen log for a long while, listening to the gentle wash of shallow water rushing over the rocks mid-stream. When the sun burned away the morning vapor, the sunlight dazzled on the water as if there were diamonds tumbling along in the current. My sons threw small stones into the dark water to watch the splash and ripples generate in the sunglow, and giggled when the chilled water penetrated their shoes.....and toes. It was poetry in art. It was the comforting natural embrace of a most beautiful place on earth.....a place you could not casually dismiss, or forget amidst the memories of a million other visitations abroad over a lifetime. Here was the portal into legend, an entrance I willingly stepped through, in my own adventures into contentment, as author David Grayson once wrote about spiritual re-awakening, and explorations in nature.

I’ve spent many hours paddling the Algonquin lakes visiting places that had encouraged his studies and invigorated his ambition to capture stirring lakeland scenes from sunset and storm to spring re-awakening and haunted, spirit-full forests. On cold autumn evenings my wife and sons would sit for hours watching the fanning colors of the Northern Lights, over Tea Lake, another quality of the environment that had intrigued Thomson. There were friends and admirers of his work, who paid particular attention to his sketches of these enchanted rainbow lights, some remarking to him that the scenes were "cold and lonely" in appearance, and that pleased the artist, as this is what he had intended.

Whether we have been traversing picturesque Tea Lake, Canoe Lake, Smoke Lake or our favorite Rock Lake near the east gate, there is always a wonderful lingering aura of Tom Thomson....and many vistas around these lakes, at all times of the year and day, can remind one in a subtle way, of an Algonquin sketch made by his hand ninety two years earlier.

Those long time admirers of Thomson’s powerful landscapes may agree that Algonquin is forever haunted by his lake traverses by grey-green canoe. Pleasantly haunted of course. Each year there is a Thomson sighting.....a lone canoeist paddling gently, just after sunset, heading toward the watcher, only to disappear as strangely as it first appeared on the horizon. In William Little’s book, "The Tom Thomson Mystery," 1970, McGraw-Hill, pages 98-100, there is the first reference to the ghost of Tom Thomson.

There were persistent, year after year claims, all part of the escalating Tom Thomson legend, "that former guides had seen Tom in his canoe in various places in the Park. One such experience is described by a prominent summer resident in Algonquin Park only a few miles away from Canoe Lake. Mrs. Northway, her husband, and daughter Mary were vacationing in their beautiful summer home, Nominigan, on the east side of Smoke Lake. They had as their guest Mr. Lawren Harris, one of the Group of Seven’s leading artists and a close friend of Tom Thomson. Miss Northway recounts the following story, written verbatim as told her by her mother in 1931: ‘It was a very calm day last summer when my guide and I had been in a hidden, hill-locked lake, with the most diabolical modern apparatus to ensnare any unfortunate fish who would be taken in by the flashy advertising on a first class, well-hooked spinner. We had been up at dawn, and had travelled from lake to lake across portages which made my city lungs gasp, and over long stretches of still blue water into ponds where lilies bloomed. The winds had slept all day. We had talked through the hours, my guide and I, for he, as he smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, could discourse on many a thing and could weave tales of adventure or truth in which the incidents were all seen as under a strong magnifying glass.

‘It had been a happy day and ever so lazy. At dusk we were coming home, tired, rested, and at peace with the world. It was a tremendously still evening, you could hear the silence sing against your ear. The hills made strange, statuesque, figures against the haunting orange of the western sky, while the first star set its light akindle, as an altar lamp of the universe against the canopy of the afterglow. Even my guide’s tales had ceased, and through my mind drifted fragments of harmonies as if heard from a far away cello. Suddenly the voice of my guide shattered the silence. ‘They’re coming out to meet us from the portage.’ And turning toward the sunset I saw a man kneeling in a canoe that slowly came towards us. ‘So they are,’ I answered. ‘I guess we are pretty late.’

‘My guide turned from his course in order that we might better meet our herald, now a little less than a hundred yards away. I raised my voice and called and waved my hand, while my guide kept paddling toward the camper. But there was no response, for even as we looked the canoe and its paddler, without warning or sound, vanished into nothingness, and on the undisturbed lake were only our lonely selves and the shrieking loon." Miss Northway, in re-telling her mother’s story stated that "My father and Mr. Taylor-Statten, being practical people, on hearing the tale insisted it had been a mirage, but Lawren (Harris), a theosophist, was sure it was the spirit of Tom Thomson. His rationale was that those who depart before their time continue to haunt the lands they loved. My mother was inclined to accept Lawren’s interpretation much to my father’s disgust. A point that was much discussed but never settled, was what colour shirt was Tom wearing when he was drowned. (The ghost paddler had been wearing a yellow shirt)"

According to William Little, "This story of the phantom canoeist has become part of the saga of Tom Thomson. Lawren Harris, one of the last surviving members of the Group of Seven (now deceased), verified the above experience of his friend."

Maybe you are reminded of this curious presence while sitting at fireside, when you casually glance out onto the lake to admire the final rays of the July sun disappearing below the evergreen ridge. Possibly the sound of wind etching down across the hollows of the rock landscape, singing through the pines and knocking about the leaning birches, will remind you of a painter once. And maybe it will be the sound of water in the deep of night, lapping at the shore, that reminds you of the mysterious paddler, traversing the dreamy solitude, looking for a kindred spirit to awaken to the legend in which he dwells. It is not disturbing at all, to be in company of such an acquaintance.....enriching the grandness of Algonquin.

I would be delighted, absolutely enthralled, to have such an opportunity, to witness this spirited traverse of a misty Algonquin lake. Yet I have never visited this enchanted region of Ontario, and not, in some subtle way, been reminded of Thomson’s enduring stewardship of these magnificent lakes and forests.

Visit Algonquin Park this season and enjoy its spell-binding ambience. Just watch for crossing moose and other park wildlife. And watch for the lone canoeist!

"Willow" A Novel by Wayland Drew, Film by George Lucas; Food in the Logging Camp

Willow, The Novel by Wayland Drew film by George Lucas

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS - AND EVERY ONE OF THEM HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH A GOOD BOOK

TRACING BACK, BOOKS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PROJECT SOURCES

     "THE VISION FORMED. BAVMORDA APPROACHED THE CRUCIBLE. IT HAD FILLED WITH MILKY FLUID, AND IN IT SHONE THE FACE OF FIN RAZIEL AS SHE HAD BEEN THOSE MANY YEARS AGO, STILL BEAUTIFUL, STILL RADIANT. OUT OF THE HOWL CAME THE GHOSTLY ECHO OF FIN RAZIEL'S VOICE: 'YOU MAY DEFEAT THE CHILD, BAVMORDA. THE MYSTERY OF THE CHILD IS LARGER THAN YOU, AND IN THAT MYSTERY YOUR REIGN WILL END. HERE IS THE SIGN, BAVMORDA.'
     "FIN RAZIEL'S FACE FADED, AND THE MILKY FLUID FORMED INTO A SHIMMERING CIRCLE THAT BAVMORDA KNEW TOO WELL. EYES BLAZING, THE QUEEN LEANED CLOSE TO THAT HATEFUL MARK.
     "LIGHTNING AND FIREBALLS CRACKLED OFF BAVMORDA'S FINGERS AND SLAMMED INTO THE BOWL, RICOCHETING IN ALL DIRECTIONS. THE OPAQUE FLUID SWIRLED INTO FOUL STREAM. WHEN THE BOWL HAD BEEN SEARED CLEAN, THE MISTRESS OF NOCKMAAR RAISED HER ARMS AND UTTERED A SOUND EVEN MORE TERRIBLE THAN HER LAUGHTER - A LONG WAIL OF HOLLOW TRIUMPH. SHE KNEW, AND ALL WHO HEARD HER KNEW, THAT NO MATTER HOW OFTEN SHE MIGHT BLAST THAT VISION IT COULD ALWAYS BE CONJURED AGAIN, FOR ITS ESSENCE LAY BEYOND HER POWER."
     THE ABOVE PASSAGE, COMMENCES THE BOOK, "WILLOW," A NOVEL BY WAYLAND DREW, BASED ON A SCREENPLAY BY BOB DOLMAN, FROM A STORY BY GEORGE LUCAS, OF STAR WARS FAME. THE NOVEL WAS PUBLISHED IN 1988, BY BALLANTINE BOOKS, OF NEW YORK. I HAVE SEEN THE MOVIE AND IT WAS PRETTY NEAT.
     "THEN, WHEN THE CHILDREN WERE SETTLED FOR THE NIGHT, WILLOW EMBRACED HIS BELOVED KLAYA, AND THEY WALKED A LITTLE DISTANCE AWAY FROM THE HOUSE, TO A SPOT WHERE THEY COULD WATCH THE MOONLIGHT ON THE BOUNTIFUL FIELDS OF UFGOOD REACH, AND THE SILVER EDDIES OF THE FREEN. THERE THEY STOOD A LONG TIME IN ONE ANOTHER'S ARMS, CONTENT WITH THAT SIMPLE LIFE, AT PEACE IN THE MYSTERY OF THAT GREEN WORLD."
     A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY IN THE BACK OF "WILLOW," ACKNOWLEDGES WAYLAND'S OTHER LITERARY ACCOMPLISHMENTS; "WAYLAND DREW WAS BORN IN OSHAWA, ONTARIO, AND RECEIVED HIS EARLY EDUCATION THERE. HE BEGAN TO WRITE SERIOUSLY IN HIGH SCHOOL AND CONTINUED WHILE STUDYING ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO. SINCE GRADUATION HE HAS COMBINED HIGH SCHOOL TEACHING AND WRITING (BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL). HE IS THE AUTHOR OF 'THE ERTHRING CYCLE,' A TRILOGY PUBLISHED BY DEL REY BOOKS. MR. DREW AND HIS WIFE GWENDOLYN LIVE IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE HE HAS TAUGHT ENGLISH FOR ELEVEN YEARS. THEY HAVE FOUR CHILDREN."
     THIS WRITE-UP DOESN'T LIST HIS OTHER WELL KNOWN BOOKS, INCLUDING "HALFWAY MAN," "WABENO FEAST," "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE," AND HIS EXCELLENT STUDY OF THE ST. LAWRENCE WITH PHOTOGRAPHER, BRUCE LITTELJOHN.
     IN THE BACK OF THE BOOK, THERE IS AN ADVERTISEMENT FOR THE "ALL NEW LUCASFILM FAN CLUB," SO THAT YOU CAN FOLLOW THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF WILLOW AND MADMARTIGAN. THE ADVERTISEMENT IS PICTURED ABOVE.
     MY REGRET IS THAT I DIDN'T GET WAYLAND TO SIGN MY ENTIRE COLLECTION. SHORTLY AFTER I BEGAN WORKING WITH WAYLAND, IN OUR MUTUAL BID TO ORGANIZE THE BRACEBRIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, I STARTED TO COLLECT SOME OF THE BOOKS HE HAD WRITTEN TO THAT POINT. THEN WHEN I MOVED ON TO THE POSITION OF EDITOR, WITH THE BRACEBRIDGE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND ASSISTANT EDITOR WITH THE MUSKOKA SUN, WE WOULD RUN BOOK REVIEWS, AND ANY UPDATES ON HIS CAREER. SO AS THESE BOOKS BECAME AVAILABLE, I TRIED TO COLLECT MULTIPLES OF EACH. I JUST FORGOT ABOUT GETTING THEM SIGNED. AS I USED TO SEE WAYLAND ALMOST EVERY DAY, WALKING FROM HOME TO SCHOOL AND BACK, I JUST NEVER EXPECTED THIS SPRY CHAP WOULD SOON BE UNABLE TO WALK UP HIS OWN STREET UNASSISTED. THE LAST TIME I TALKED WITH WAYLAND, WAS (AS I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT MANY TIMES BEFORE), AT A "MUSKOKA INK" EVENT, FOR REGIONAL WRITERS, DURING A SPECIAL OUTDOOR READING, HELD AT WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM, IN BRACEBRIDGE; A PLACE WE HELD WITH CONSIDERABLE FONDNESS, AS WE HAD BOTH BEEN A PART OF ITS CREATION.
     I HAD ENTERED A SHORT NON-FICTION PIECE, IN THE WRITING COMPETITION SPONSORED BY "MUSKOKA INK," THAT YEAR, AND WAS ONE OF THE WINNERS ON THAT OCCASION. WAYLAND AND GWEN HAD BEEN INVITED AS SPECIAL GUESTS. MY STORY WAS ALL ABOUT TORONTO SUN COLUMNIST, PAUL RIMSTEAD, AND IT GOT QUITE A FEW LAUGHS WHEN I WAS ASKED TO READ IT ALOUD, TO THE LARGE CROWD IN ATTENDANCE. RIMSTEAD HAD LIVED WITH HIS FAMILY IN THE BRACEBRIDGE AREA, AND HAD ACTUALLY ATTENDED CLASSES AT THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL. HE AND FORMER DETROIT RED WING GOALIE, ROGER CROZIER, USED TO SNEAK OUT OF CLASS, AND VISIT JOE'S BILLIARDS, ON MANITOBA STREET; WHERE RIMMER OF COURSE, USED TO THRASH THE SOON TO BE NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE NETMINDER. THERE ARE A LOT OF STORIES ABOUT RIMSTEAD'S YEARS IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND OBVIOUSLY, A FEW IN THE AUDIENCE REMEMBERED THE YOUNG LAD. AS A CUB REPORTER FOR THE ORILLIA PACKET AND TIMES, HE USED TO HAVE A PRESS CARD ATTACHED TO HIS BICYCLE, AND HE'D FOLLOW ALONG AFTER THE FIRE TRUCKS, TO GET THE BIG SCOOP. THAT WAS, UNTIL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT DECIDED, IT DIDN'T WANT HIM TAGGING ALONG; AND WOULD THUSLY PUT A FALSE LOCATION ON THE CHALK BOARD, TO THROW HIM OFF TRACK. I DIGRESS.
     AT THE END OF MY PRESENTATION, SUZANNE, WHO WAS A TEACHER AT BMLSS WITH WAYLAND, TOLD ME THAT HE HAD BEEN TRYING TO GET MY ATTENTION, TO COME OVER AND HAVE A CHAT. HE WAS SITTING OFF TO THE RIGHT OF THE MICROPHONE, AND WE WERE STANDING AT THE VERY BACK; QUITE A DISTANCE AWAY. WHEN SHE TOLD ME THAT WAYLAND WAS MOTIONING ME, WHICH I HONESTLY HADN'T SEEN, I EXCUSED MYSELF, TO WALK OVER AND SEE HIM. BEFORE I COULD TAKE A STEP, I SAW HIM SLOWLY AND CAREFULLY WALKING TOWARD US. I KNEW HE HAD BEEN QUITE ILL, SO I HURRIED TO HIS SIDE, TO SAVE HIM WALKING ALL THE WAY BACK. HE WANTED, YOU SEE, TO COMPLIMENT ME ON MY STORY ABOUT RIMSTEAD, AND HE WANTED A COPY TO SEND, TO A FRIEND, WHO HAD WORKED WITH THE COLUMNIST, AT THE FORMER TORONTO TELEGRAM. IT RECALLED THE TIME, EARLY IN OUR RELATIONSHIP, WHEN HE COMPLIMENTED A BOOK OF SHORT STORIES, PHOTOGRAPHER TIM DUVERNET, AND I PUBLISHED, IN 1983, ENTITLED "MEMORIES AND IMAGES;" AND I REMEMBER STANDING THERE, WITH MY CHIN AGAINST MY CHEST, WONDERING WHY AN AUTHOR OF HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS IN LITERATURE, WOULD FEEL THAT OUR BOOK WAS EVEN MILDLY INTERESTING. WAYLAND WAS LIKE THAT AS A MENTOR. IT NEVER MEANT HE OFFERED PRAISE FOR WHAT WASN'T DESERVING, BUT HE BELIEVED IN THE POTENTIAL OF THE CREATOR, EVEN IF THE WORK DIDN'T MAKE THE MARK. HE FIGURED THAT IF YOU WERE WILLING TO PUT IN THE EFFORT, BRAVE THE CRITIQUES, AND SHOULDER THE RESPONSIBILITY, OF MAKING IMPROVEMENTS, YOU SHOULD RECEIVE CREDIT AND ENCOURAGEMENT. THE RIMSTEAD STORY WAS A CASE IN POINT. IT WASN'T A GREAT LITERARY ACHIEVEMENT ON MY PART, BUT IT WAS AN HONEST ATTEMPT TO PORTRAY THE COLUMNIST. IT WAS A CLASSIC EXAMPLE OF THE KIND OF MENTORSHIP HE WAS FAMOUS FOR BESTOWING, ON YOUNG WRITERS HE MENTORED. HE COULD HAVE CRUSHED ME, WITH CRITICISM, ESPECIALLY ON OUR LITTLE BOOK, BUT HE CHOSE TO TAKE A POSITIVE APPROACH; AND GIVE TIM AND I THE VALIDATION WE NEEDED, AS YOUNG ARTISTS, TO CARRY ON WITH OUR CREATIVE PROJECTS. TIM HAS BECOME ONE OF MUSKOKA'S WELL KNOWN AND RESPECTED PHOTOGRAPHERS, AND WELL, I'VE NEVER STOPPED WRITING FOR MORE THAN A FEW HOURS EVER SINCE.
     WHAT WAS NEAT THAT AFTERNOON, AT WOODCHESTER, IS THAT WE HAD A CHANCE TO REMINISCE ABOUT ALL THE WORK, AND NEGOTIATIONS, IT TOOK TO BRING THE MUSEUM TO FRUITION. I RECALLED MEETING WITH WAYLAND AT HIS HOME, BACK IN 1978, TO DISCUSS THE POSSIBILITIES OF FORMING AN HISTORICAL SOCIETY. I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME WE BOTH STOOD ON THE GROUNDS OF THE BOARDED-UP OCTAGONAL HOUSE, THE FORMER RESIDENCE OF BIRDS WOOLLEN MILL FOUNDER, HENRY BIRD, TRYING TO IMAGINE WHAT IT WOULD LOOK LIKE WHEN RESTORED. IT WAS A LONGSHOT FROM THE BEGINNING, BUT WAYLAND WAS THE MAN TO LEAD THE CHARGE; AND THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HE DID, SUPPORTED BY CITIZENS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL PRINCIPAL, KEN BLACK, REPRESENTING THE BRACEBRIDGE ROTARY CLUB; THE ORGANIZATION THAT PROVIDED THE PURCHASE PRICE TO ACQUIRE THE WOODCHESTER PROPERTY.    BUT WHAT WE BOTH RECOGNIZED, WITH AN EVER SO MILD, UNSPOKEN RECOLLECTION, OF PAIN AND SUFFERING, WAS THE REALITY THE MUSEUM PROJECT HAD DRAINED THOUSANDS OF HOURS FROM OUR RESPECTIVE FAMILY LIVES, INCLUDING THE PARTNERS WE DRAGGED INTO THE PROJECT. GWEN DREW WAS PIVOTAL IN THE RESTORATION AND MUSEUM DEVELOPMENT PROJECT, AND SUZANNE, MY PARTNER IN THE EARLY 1980'S, HELPED RUN THE MUSEUM AND ITS CULTURAL PROGRAMS, UNTIL 1990, OR SO, DURING THE TIME I WAS THE SITE MANAGER. BUT, ON THAT SUNNY AFTERNOON, IT WAS NICE TO LOOK DOWN OVER THE NEATLY MANICURED LAWNS OF THE MUSEUM PROPERTY, AND SEE PEOPLE COMING AND GOING FROM THE BUILDING, EXUDING SOME CONTENTMENT, THE SITE HAD AFFORDED A PLEASURABLE VISIT. IT'S WHAT WE INTENDED FOR THE PROPERTY A WAY BACK WHEN, BUT FOR MOST OF THE TIME OF OUR MUTUAL ASSOCIATIONS WITH THE PROPERTY, THERE HAD BEEN SO MUCH STRESS TO KEEP THE MUSEUM FUNDED, IN GOOD CONDITION, AND STAFFED, THAT WE NEVER REALLY GOT A CHANCE TO ENJOY IT THE WAY WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE. MANY OTHER VOLUNTEERS FELT THE SAME WAY. BUT FOR THOSE FEW MOMENTS, AT THE END OF ANOTHER MUSEUM DAY, AS THE ORGANIZERS OF MUSKOKA INK, BEGAN FOLDING UP THE CHAIRS, AND HAULING THE PODIUM BACK TO STORAGE. IT WAS A BELATED CELEBRATION, I SUPPOSE, FOR BOTH OF US, TO AT THAT MOMENT THINK BACK, AND BELIEVE, WE HAD DONE THE RIGHT THING, BY PUTTING IN ALL THOSE HOURS, TO BRING THIS BEAUTIFUL TREED LOCATION, ABOVE THE CATARACT OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, BACK TO ITS ORIGINAL GRANDEUR, AS A BRACEBRIDGE SOCIAL / CULTURAL, HERITAGE ATTRACTION. HE PATTED ME ON THE SHOULDER, WE SHOOK HANDS, AND WE WANDERED WITH OUR PARTNERS, BACK UP THE LIMESTONE DRIVE WE HAD BOTH RAKED FREE OF WEEDS, ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS; AND THEN HEADED-OFF HOME, WITH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF THE OLD HOUSE, FRAMED NEATLY IN THE REAR VEIW MIRROR. IT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW WAYLAND, AND FOR ME, IT WAS A POETIC LAST OCCASION, ON A PIECE OF MUSKOKA HILLSIDE, THAT AT ONE TIME, HAD FAIRLY OR UNFAIRLY OCCUPIED OUR LIVES.
   THE MUSEUM PROPERTY HAS BEEN CLOSED FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS NOW, AFTER IT WAS DETERMINED, FOLLOWING THE COLLAPSE OF A WRAP-AROUND VERANDAH, THE HOUSE HAD SOME STRUCTURAL ISSUES THAT REQUIRED RE-CONSTRUCTION, AND RESTORATION GENERALLY. ALTHOUGH I HAVE NEVER BEEN ASKED TO CONTRIBUTE IN ANY WAY TO THE REVITALIZATION PROJECT, STILL UNDERWAY, I HOPE THE COUNCIL OF THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, WILL DO THE RIGHT THING WHEN WOODCHESTER VILLA IS FINALLY RE-OPENED; FOR WHATEVER IS INTENDED AS THE NEW-USE FOR THE OLD BUILDING - MUSEUM OR ART CENTRE. THE RIGHT THING? THERE SHOULD BE A HIGHLY VISIBLE ACKNOWLEDGMENT, POSSIBLY A HERITAGE MARKER, POSTED ON THE PROPERTY,S LISTING THE NAMES OF ITS FOUNDERS, OF WHICH THE NAME WAYLAND DREW SHOULD BE MOST PROMINENT.

FROM LOGGING CAMP COOKERY TO THE HOMESTEAD KITCHEN

One of the finds I hope to make some day, is to secure, with established provenance of course, a collection of handwritten recipes once used in a Muskoka, Algonquin, Haliburton, or Parry Sound logging camp.

I have researched the earliest logging operations in our region of Ontario, Canada, and have been particularly attracted to the "stick to the bones" creations that were baked, boiled, fried and simmered in those rustic camp kitchens. From the famous baked beans set in iron pots (with lids) beneath the hot ash of open fire pits (to simmer and flavor with ash through the day), to the huge pots of stew and soup on the camp stove......from lamb, beef, pork, chicken, venison and fish to fresh, golden brown bread, delicious pies, cakes, and maple syrup enhancements, all day, every day from the smoky camp kitchens, and outdoor ovens and fires.

It has often been noted, in various late 1800's journals I have read, that in order for a logging camp to keep its workers, the food had to be well above average. There were lots of camps operating in this period in rural Ontario, and word got around about which company was providing the best meals to their loggers. It wasn’t uncommon to have women from nearby homesteads, baking an assortment of breads, cakes and pies to transport to the camps, usually by sleigh; as the winter season was the period of the main cut of timber, and the late season haul across the snow to the shores of rivers and lakes for transport to mills; when the waterways of course were free of ice. Many camps did have outside bake ovens for bread. You can imagine what the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering beans would do to a logger with a budding appetite, invigorated for many long hours by sub zero weather conditions.

Lunches were provided to the men out on the cutting sites and while it held them over until their traditionally late dinner, it was a pretty impatient lot that arrived in the oil-lamp adorned dining hall, after a grueling day of cutting and hauling. A number of loggers, who penned journals, noted that in the stews and soups there was often more fat than anything else....and in the morning, if you were to see the large and deep covering of solidified fat on the surface of the cold remains, it might well make you feel nauseous. One observer noted that the fat was not always skimmed off the stew but rather stirred in for the next day’s offering. At that time it was thought the fat content would help the men better deal with the cold and rigors of the outdoor work. As for heart disease amongst loggers, well, there’s very little evidence of coronary problems. You simply had more chance of being killed, or seriously injured by a felled tree than death due to high fat content from the camp fare. From a long term perspective, you’re quite right to ponder if the shorter lives then, had something to do with excesses from the cooks of the day. What happened in the camps generally happened in the homesteads as well, so yes, fat was part of the nourishment considered a dietary requirement to help one survive between meals.

Most camps did keep up a pretty fair regimen of weekly deliveries to maintain vegetable and dairy supplies. So that unless the weather turned particularly violent for a long period, the camp kitchen received regular loads of that autumn’s garden harvest from a variety of suppliers in the closest communities. Homesteaders might have been able to provide meat and fresh eggs but probably didn’t have the vegetable volume to feed a logging camp. They might have sold the camp an array of preserves, jams, pickled items, cranberries etc. Camps used to have a limited pen of livestock to serve immediate needs of meat supply in particular, and it was common for a group of loggers to take to the field, on free weekends, to hunt and fish where possible, bringing back the catch for the benefit of mates and the camp cook.

I have only read one or two entirely negative stories about the culinary shortfalls of these logging camp kitchens. Most of the overviews straddle the line between good and acceptable, and the truth is, when you’re hungry.....as these folks were at the end of a hard day in the cold, culinary excellence would probably be wasted on the inmates anyway. There is particular attention however, at the deserts made for the loggers, and by most accounts, the freshly baked pies were fit for any fine restaurant the world over. All were baked humbly in wood-fired stoves in less than ideal conditions.

Bones were in plentiful supply, and nothing was thrown out until every last molecule of fat, marrow and flavor was drained out for the soup of the day....a hearty mixture of leftovers and filler. There was talk of deceased horses winding up in the brew, as many fell in the line of duty hauling logs, and were, as a rule, used as an available food resource, to make up any particular shortfall in dietary requirements. I’ve only ever read several of these claims but it certainly isn’t far fetched, and in fact makes perfect sense, to utilize every resource in the isolated circumstances these camps were often situated within. While some camps were close to habitations and suppliers, others were far more remote and needed large shipments of supplies instead of the smaller, frequent ones, for those operations near established villages and homesteads.

The most common negative associated with the logging camps and cookery, was the invasive scent of loggers without benefit of daily, weekly or monthly showers. There did seem to be a balance however, between the pungent aroma of workers and the scent of coal oil lamps, woodsmoke from the belching old stove, and the unmistakable smell of wet wool.....from the array of woolen-wear, coats and pants, hanging up to dry. Then there was the welcome permeation of steaming tea and strong coffee. After awhile, it all became irrelevant, except for the wafting aroma of hot food, which always found an eager appetite despite all the other intrusions of life in a logging camp.

Although I have a number of handwritten recipes that came from families who had kin involved in the logging camps of yore, I can’t say with any assurance these baked beans and stew recipes were once in the hands of the camp cook. One thing’s for sure, the camp cooks must have been a stalwart bunch to have endured the rough comments and reactions of so many critics throughout the day, who always had the company of a good and sharp axe should a complaint need to be registered. I have minor evidence of this fear of real and emotional distress, as camp cooks were changed suddenly to avoid camp revolt. There are other instances that the loggers themselves feared the scorn of the cook, and treated them with great respect and spirits (snuck into the camp) if they were available after hours. Heaven knows what a perturbed cook might add to the recipe if aggravated. It was a tough job regardless and turn over was high in some of the larger camps.

It would be a treasure indeed, to one day come upon a handwritten diary, kept by one of these lumber camp chefs, with an assortment of the daily fare that kept loggers well nourished.

-30-

Franz Johnston, Ruebens, Wayland Drew and Some More Cookery Heritage

The book circa 1981 written by Wayland Drew from the movie's screenplay

Early 1900' s first edition biography of Ruebens

You can see the artistic signature of Franz Johnston who we believe was a member of The Group of Seven Artists

A GOOD BOOK? THE WORK OF A GOOD WRITER! IT'S WHAT MAKES IT TRULY COLLECTABLE, SIGNED OR NOT

CRAGGANMORE? "DRAGONSLAYER," THE BOOK -

     EVERY GENERATION HAS ITS HEROES. FOLKS WE BELIEVE TO BE MODELS OF CIVILITY, AND BEACONS OF INSPIRATION. EVERY PERSON, HAS, OVER A LIFE-TIME, LONG OR SHORT, FOUND SOMEONE TO LOOK UP TO, OUT OF RESPECT. I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE, TO HAVE ASKED OUT LOUD, AFTER A MENTOR'S DEATH, "WELL THEN, WHAT'S LIFE ALL ABOUT ANYWAY?" IS IT JUST ABOUT UNSPECIFIED GAINS AND LOSSES, SHORT FRIENDSHIPS AND INTIMATE RELATIONS, BUT MOSTLY A SUCCESSION OF FAREWELLS? AT TIMES, FOR ME RECENTLY, THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT MORE FAREWELLS THAN FOND GREETINGS. I SUPPOSED I'VE REACHED THAT PLATEAU IN LIFE, ON THE BRINK OF BEING CONSIDERED A SENIOR CITIZEN, WHEN THESE DEPARTURES ARE EXPECTED BE MORE FREQUENT; AT LEAST ACCORDING TO NATIONAL STATISTICS. AND WHILE I RESPECT, THAT NOT EVERY MENTOR WHO HAS EVER LIVED, DESERVES A STATUE IN THE PARK, FOR PIGEONS TO PERCH ON, OR A BRASS PLAQUE FASTENED TO A PARK BENCH, I GET FRUSTRATED THAT THE CONTRIBUTIONS MADE BY PAST CITIZENS, ARE SO QUICKLY AND EASILY FORGOTTEN. SOMETIMES SO FAST, IN FACT, YOU ASSESS OF YOUR OWN LIFE, THAT IT HAS ALL BEEN AN EXERCISE IN FUTILITY. HAVE YOU EVER ASKED, IN THOUGHT IF NOT ALOUD, "WHO WILL REMEMBER ME?" "WHAT WILL THEY REMEMBER OF ME?" "HAVE I ACCOMPLISHED ANYTHING AT ALL, TO JUSTIFY MY EXISTENCE?" SOME OF US SEEK THESE ANSWERS MORE FREQUENTLY THAN OTHERS, AND WE DON'T LIKE THE ANSWERS. ESPECIALLY, WHEN SOME OF OUR MOST NOTABLE CITIZENS, CAN BE FORGOTTEN IN A HEARTBEAT, A FEW MINUTES AFTER THE HEARSE CARRIES THEIR MORTAL REMAINS, IN THE PROCESSION DOWN THE MAIN STREET, OF WHAT HAD BEEN THEIR HOMETOWN FOR DECADES. I'M TOLD IT IS HUMAN NATURE TO SURRENDER HEROS TO THE VERY NEXT MENTOR IN LINE; A SORT OF WAITING LIST, OF HEROES YET TO COME. I SPEND A LOT OF MY WRITING TIME, AS YOU KNOW ALL TOO WELL, CONTINUING TO HONOR AND RESPECT THOSE MENTORS WHO I BELIEVE DESERVE MORE RECOGNITION FOR WHAT THEY DID ACCOMPLISH, TO IMPROVE OUR HOMETOWNS AND OUR COUNTRY; TO IMPROVE OUR OWN LIVES.
    IT'S NOT NECESSARY TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT EVERY LOCAL HERO, AND EACH KIND CITIZEN, WHO HAS MADE OUR COMMUNITIES WONDERFUL PLACES TO CALL HOME. TRUTH IS, ALL CITIZENS MAKE A CONTRIBUTION, AND LIKE THE MORAL OF THE STORY, "IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE," THE WORLD WOULD INDEED, BE A DIFFERENT PLACE, WITHOUT OUR LIFE-LONG CONTRIBUTIONS. WE JUST CAN'T IMAGINE WHAT THAT WOULD MEAN; UNLESS WE TAKE THE MOVIE AS A TEMPLATE. LIKE GEORGE BAILEY, OF BEDFORD FALLS; AND HOW THE COMMONPLACES WOULD HAVE CHANGED WITHOUT HIS CONTRIBUTION. WHAT WOULD MY HOMETOWN, OR YOUR HOMETOWN BE LIKE, IF WE HAD NEVER EXISTED? HAVE WE ALL MADE SUCH AN IMPRINT, WITH OUR WORK AND BENEVOLENCE, THAT THE VERY CHARACTER OF THE TOWNS WOULD BE ADVERSELY AFFECTED, IF WE HAD NEVER BEEN BORN? WELL, FOR SOME PEOPLE, WHO HAVE CONTRIBUTED MORE THAN OTHERS, YES INDEED; THOSE OLD HOMETOWNS WOULD BE VERY MUCH DEFICIENT IN THOSE AREAS. IT'S JUST HARD FOR US TO IMAGINE THAT PARTICULAR EVENTUALITY. WE DEAL WITH REAL LIFE SCENARIOS. BEDFORD FALLS AND GEORGE BAILEY WERE THE HANDIWORK OF A WRITER AND HOLLYWOOD MAGIC.
     I REMEMBER TALKING TO A COUPLE OF PROMINENT BRACEBRIDGE CITIZENS, A WHILE BACK, AND BEING STUNNED TO FIND OUT THEY HAD NEVER HEARD OF WAYLAND DREW. YET THEY HAD BEEN ACTIVE IN THE COMMUNITY, AT THE TIME, WAYLAND AND GWEN DREW, WERE WORKING EVERY WEEKEND, AND SPARE MOMENT, (WITH A LARGE COMPANY OF LOCAL CITIZENS) AS HISTORICAL SOCIETY VOLUNTEERS, IN ORDER TO GIVE BRACEBRIDGE ITS FIRST-EVER COMMUNITY MUSEUM. I BRING UP HIS NAME OFTEN, IN CONVERSATION, ABOUT MATTERS OF LOCAL HISTORY, AS MY OWN PERSONAL SURVEY, JUST TO SEE HOW MANY REMEMBER THIS TALENTED WRITER WHO HAD BEEN LIVING IN OUR MIDST. I CAN UNDERSTAND NEWER CITIZENS TO THE COMMUNITY BEING UNFAMILIAR WITH THE NAME. I CAN'T BE SO ACCOMMODATING, TO THOSE WHO LIVED IN THE COMMUNITY, DURING THOSE YEARS, WHO APPARENTLY MISSED SEVERAL DECADES OF HIS CONTRIBUTIONS. I WANT TO SAY, "SO WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING" AND "DIDN'T YOU EVER READ A NEWSPAPER IN THOSE YEARS?" OF COURSE THIS ISN'T FAIR OR NICE OF ME, TO INTRUDE WITH THIS QUESTIONING, SO MOST OF THE TIME, I JUST SWALLOW THE ANSWER I'M GIVEN, AND FEEL BAD THAT SUCH AN IMPORTANT NAME IN OUR PAST IS LOSING ITS RECOGNITION.
     WAYLAND DREW WASN'T THE BEST WRITER IN CANADA. HE WASN'T THE MOST PROLIFIC EITHER. HE DIDN'T MAKE ANY CLAIM, TO MY KNOWLEDGE, THAT HE WAS EITHER, THE BEST OF THE WRITER-KIND, OR ABLE TO COMPOSE MORE COPY PER WEEK, THAN ANY OTHER AUTHOR. IN FACT, IT WAS HARD TO GET ANYTHING OUT OF WAYLAND, THAT WOULD BE EVEN MODESTLY PROMOTIONAL OF HIS OWN CAREER. I CAN'T EVEN GIVE ONE EXAMPLE, WHERE HE SOUNDED IN ANY WAY BOASTFUL ABOUT HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS. YET, HIS LITERARY WORK, HAD MANY INFLUENCES, AND AMONGST HIS PEERS, HE WAS CONSIDERED AN OUTSTANDING WRITER, AND BRILLIANT TEACHER. MODESTY MAY HAVE BEEN WAYLAND'S DOWNFALL, AT LEAST WHEN WE LOOK AT THE WAY HIS NAME HAS FADED IN PROMINENCE, WITH THE ADVANCE OF TIME. WE ALL THINK ABOUT IMMORTALITY. WE WANT TO BELIEVE WE'LL BE REMEMBERED FOR A WEE BIT, AT LEAST. SO, I SUPPOSE I DO FEEL COMPELLED, BECAUSE OF PERSONAL BELIEFS, THAT WE NEED TO KEEP THESE NAMES IN THE CONTEMPORARY DOMAIN, BASED ON THEIR RELEVANCE TO OUR COMMUNITY HERITAGE GENERALLY. WAYLAND WROTE A LOT OF HIS PUBLISHED MATERIAL WHILE RESIDING IN THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. WHAT THAT MEANS TO ME, IS THAT HE WAS INSPIRED BY THE PLACE HE LIVED, BECAUSE WRITERS AND ARTISTS ARE FUNNY THIS WAY.....WE COUNT ON BEING MOTIVATED BY OUR SURROUNDINGS. I SUPPOSE YOU'RE THINKING I'M GOING TO LAUNCH A CAMPAIGN TO NAME A PARKETTE IN HIS HONOR, OR TO NAME AN INLET OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, AS "WAYLAND DREW BAY." I KNEW HIM WELL ENOUGH, TO APPRECIATE, THAT THIS WOULD NOT HAVE PLEASED HIM. WHAT WOULD HAVE MADE HIM FEEL A SENSE OF ACCOMPLISHMENT, IN RETROSPECT, WOULD BE IF SOMEONE SOUGHT OUT HIS BOOKS TO READ, AND WHO WOULD THINK ENOUGH OF THEM, TO SUGGEST "HIS WORK" AS GOOD BOOKS TO OTHERS, AND SO FORTH, ONCE AGAIN. HE WAS A MODEST, GENTLE MAN, WHO SEEMED MOST CONTENT, WITH A PADDLE, CANOE, AND A PAINTED AUTUMN LAKE STRETCHING TO THE HORIZON'S TALL PINES. IT'S WHAT I REMEMBER OF HIM, AND THE STORIES HE TOLD AFTER RETURNING, ESPECIALLY THOSE PENNED INTO THE TEXT OF "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE," NOW AN INGRAINED PART OF OUR CANADIAN CHRONICLE. SO IF I SEEM TO BE USING HIS NAME, AND THE NAMES OF OTHER MENTORS I HAVE KNOWN, TOO FREQUENTLY, I OFFER NO APOLOGY, AS THESE ARE IDENTITIES THAT NEED TO SURVIVE THE RIGORS OF TIME, AND THE OVERLAP OF NEWFOUND COMMUNITY HEROES AND MENTORS.
    
     "THE TOWER WAS SQUARE AND THICK. IT SQUATTED DEFIANTLY ON ITS HILLTOP, ITS NARROW WINDOWS AND ARROW-SLOTS FACING NORTH AND SOUTH, EAST AND WEST, LIKE ELONGATED AND BLINDED EYES. ONCE THE KEEP OF A PROUD FORTRESS, IT WAS SURROUNDED NOW BY RUBBLE AND BY RUINS, AND IN ITSELF WAS CRUMBLING INEXORABLY. CENTURIES OF RAIN AND FROST HAD NIBBLED ITS MASONRY. PARTS OF ITS ROOF HAD COLLAPSED. ITS SILLS AND TIMBERS WERE SOFT WITH ROT.
      "A WINDLESS BUSH SURROUNDED THE TOWER, AND FILLED THE VAST BOWL OF LAND AROUND ITS KNOLL. THE LAST SUNLIGHT LAY ON THE BROKEN ROOF, BUT THE VALLEY BELOW WAS BLANKETED BY HEAVY DUSK, AND THE QUICKSILVER RIVER HAD DARKENED AND VANISHED BEHIND ITS SCREEN OF TREES.
      "THE SUN SET RELUCTANTLY. IT TOUCHED THE HORIZON, BULGED, BEGAN TO MOVE BENEATH. IT WAS THE EVE OF THE SPRING EQUINOX; THE FOLLOWING DAY WOULD BE GIVEN HALF TO LIGHT AND HALF TO DARKNESS.
      "MOTIONLESS, CLINGING UPSIDE DOWN ON THE COARSE BARK OF AN OAK, A SMALL BROWN BAT WATCHED THE SETTING OF MANY SUNS. ALL WERE IN THE COMPOSITE EYE OF A FAT BEETLE, TWO INCHES AWAY. THE BEETLE WAS SMUG AND DROWSEY, WATCHING THE SUN; IT DID NOT KNOW IT WAS ABOUT TO DIE. IT HAD BEEN CARELESS. SO STILL HAD THE BAT BEEN, SO PERFECTLY DID THE BAT'S COLOR BLEND WITH THE BROWN AND MOSSY HUE OF THE BARK, THAT THE BEETLE HAD NOT SEEN IT.
     "BOTH HUNG MOTIONLESS, INSECT AND PREDATOR. THEN, AS THE SUN SHRANK FINALLY TO A MERE BEAD, THE BAT'S LEFT WING UNFOLDED WITH ONLY THE SLIGHTEST SILKEN WHISPER, MOVED OVER THE DROWSING BEETLE, ENFOLDED IT. THE INSECT SCREAMED, A SOUND HEARD ONLY BY THE BAT. IT STRUGGLED BRIEFLY UNDER THE MEMBRANE, BEFORE IT WAS CRUSHED AGAINST THE BARK. WHEN THE BAT'S KEEN MANDIBLES CLOSED UPON IT, IT WAS STILL TWITCHING, ALTHOUGH IT WAS QUITE DEAD. THE BAT WAS RAVENOUS. IT HAD EATEN NOTHING FOR TWO DAYS AND TWO NIGHTS. DURING THE DAYS IT HAD SLEPT EXHAUSTED, BUT DURING THE NIGHTS IT HAD TRAVELLED, LAUNCHED ON A LONG FLIGHT ACROSS THE DARKENED LAND.
     "IT DID NOT KNOW WHY IT HAD LEFT HOME. NOR HAD IT ANY REASON TO RECALL WHAT IT HAD SEEN ON ITS LONG FLIGHT. BUT SOME THINGS IT DID RECALL. THE TINY DOTS OF SUN IN THE EYE OF THE UNFORTUNATE BEETLE, FOR EXAMPLE, HAD RECALLED OTHER DOTS - THE FIRES OF LONELY VILLAGES AND ENCAMPMENTS FLICKERING IN THE VAST DARKNESS OF THE UNDULATING LAND. SOME HAD BEEN LARGER THAN OTHERS, VILLAGES AFLAME. AND THE BEETLE'S DYING SCREAM HAD RECALLED OTHER SOUNDS, AS WELL, THE SCREAMS OF TORN ANIMALS, AND MEN'S CRIES FOR HELP FROM THE BORDERS OF RANDOM FIELDS, AND SOMETIMES THE SHRIEKS OF WOMEN. AND THE MANGLED CORPSE HAD RECALLED OTHER CORPSES, BOTH FRESH AND BLACKENED, LITTERING THE BATTLEFIELDS OVER WHICH THE BAT'S SILENT AND INQUISITIVE WINGS HAD BORNE IT. LOOKING DOWN NOW THROUGH THE DEEPENING DUSK AT A SILVER BAND OF RIVER, THE BAT RECALLED OTHER RIVERS, SOME WITH WEIRD SHAPES MOVING ON AND IN THEM; SOME QUITE EMPTY. THE EDGE OF ITS HUNGER BLUNTED, THE BAT UTTERED CRIES, THE PLAINTIVE CRIES OF A CREATURE SEARCHING FOR ANOTHER OF ITS KIND."
     I OWN A SOFTCOVER FIRST EDITION, OF THE JUNE 1981 RELEASE OF THE BOOK, "DRAGONSLAYER," A BOOK BASED ON A MOVIE SCRIPT, WRITTEN BY FORMER MUSKOKA AUTHOR, WAYLAND "BUSTER" DREW. THE BOOK WAS BASED ON THE SCREENPLAY WRITTEN BY HAL BARWOOD AND MATTHEW ROBBINS, AND WAS PUBLISHED BY BALLANTINE BOOKS. WAYLAND WROTE MANY BOOKS, SEVERAL FROM SCREENPLAYS INCLUDING "CORVETTE SUMMER," WHICH I BELIEVE WAS A RON HOWARD FILM, AND THEN "WILLOW," A GEORGE LUCAS FILM. HE OF COURSE WROTE THE WELL RESPECTED BOOKS, "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE," WITH PHOTOGRAPHER BRUCE LITTELJOHN; AND "A SEA WITHIN: THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE," TWO EXCEPTIONAL PIECES OF CANADIANA.     WAYLAND TAUGHT NATIVE STUDIES, AMONGST OTHER ENGLISH COURSES, AT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL. I WORKED WITH WAYLAND IN THE LATE 1970'S, TO FORM THE BRACEBRIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, AND THE EVENTUAL FOUNDING OF WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM. AND WHENEVER I COULD, I WOULD IMPOSE UPON HIM, TO TALK ABOUT WRITING AND SOME OF HIS ACHIEVEMENTS. I SURPRISED HIM ONCE, BY TELLING HIM THAT OF ALL THE BOOKS HE HAD WRITTEN, IT WAS "BROWN'S WEIR," THAT I FELT WAS HIS BEST OVERALL COMPOSITION. THE CANADIAN EAST COAST FISHERY STORY, OF A FISHER FAMILY, PROFILING IN AMAZING, WARM DETAIL, THE HISTORIC / TRADITIONAL USE OF "WEIR" NETTING (NETS MOUNTED ON POSTS, PLACED IN A CIRCLE IN THE WATER). HE HAD CO-WRITTEN THE BOOK WITH WIFE GWEN, AND I REMEMBER HER SMILING BACK, WHEN I MET HER IN BRACEBRIDGE, SHORTLY AFTER WAYLAND'S FUNERAL, AFTER I COMMENTED THE BOOK WAS MY FAVORITE. SHE AGREED. BUT UPON RE-READING THE OPENING PASSAGES OF "DRAGONSLAYER," I'VE GOT TO ADMIT, HE WAS ONE HELL OF A WORDSMITH, WITH ANY EDITORIAL PROJECT HE UNDERTOOK.
     IN A NOTE, FROM JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO, ONE DAY, QUITE A FEW YEARS AGO, HE CRITIQUED ONE OF MY GHOST STORY COLUMNS, FROM THE MUSKOKA SUN, AS BEING VERY SIMILAR TO THE WORK OF WAYLAND DREW. HE HAD NO IDEA, WAYLAND WAS ALSO ONE OF MY FRIENDS IN LOCAL HISTORY, AND A WELCOME CRITIC OF MY OWN WRITING. I REMEMBER PAUSING, WITH NOTE IN HAND, THINKING AT THAT MOMENT, THERE COULD BE NO GREATER COMPLIMENT FOR A STRUGGLING, STARVING WRITER, THAN TO BE PARALLELED TO THE WORK OF SUCH A TALENTED CANADIAN AUTHOR. I FEEL THE SAME TODAY, AND IT WAS A HIGHLIGHT OF MY WRITING YEARS. ACTUALLY, I WOULD HAVE BEEN THRILLED TO BE CONSIDERED EVEN HALF AS COMPETENT. THE SAD THING ABOUT IT ALL, WAS THAT VERY FEW PEOPLE IN BRACEBRIDGE, AT THE TIME WAYAND LIVED IN THE COMMUNITY, KNEW JUST HOW ACCOMPLISHED HE WAS AS AN AUTHOR. HE WAS A LOW KEYED INDIVIDUAL AND CERTAINLY DIDN'T HAVE A SWAGGER BECAUSE OF HIS PAST CREDITS. BUT WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN HIM BETTER.
     "WHAT SOLACE? THE BLEAK COMFORT THAT THE WORLD WAS NOT AS MAN PERCEIVED IT TO BE, BUT THAT IT WAS STILL, AFTER THE LONG AND LONELY DECADES OF INQUIRY, AN UTTER MYSTERY." (WAYLAND DREW; DRAGONSLAYER)

WHAT YOU CAN FIND OUT THERE, IF YOU ARE A PATIENT ANGLER

     THE 1905 FIRST EDITION, OF THE BIOGRAPHY AND STUDY, OF THE PAINTINGS BY "RUBENS" (PICTURED ABOVE), WRITTEN BY ADOLF ROSENBERG, IS WORTH FROM BETWEEN $75 TO $100 BASED ON CONDITION. THIS COPY WOULD PROBABLY FIT SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN. THE FASCINATION WITH THIS LOCALLY FOUND BOOK, OF COURSE, IS THAT IT IS ELABORATELY SIGNED ON THE INSIDE COVER PAGE, AS HAVING FORMERLY BELONGED TO "FRANZ JOHNSTON," WHICH PRESUMABLY, OR AT LEAST AS FAR AS WE HAVE BEEN ABLE TO RESEARCH, WAS THE CANADIAN GROUP OF SEVEN ARTIST. WE BELIEVE THE BOOK WAS DONATED IN MEMORY OF THE INDIVIDUAL ABOVE JOHNSTON'S NAME, DATED ON THE 4TH OF AUGUST 1943. ACCORDING TO A BOOK WRITTEN ABOUT FRANZ JOHNSTON, AND HIS FAMILY, THE ARTIST AND HIS SON, PAUL RODERICK, OPERATED A SMALL ART SCHOOL WITH REFERENCE BOOKS, IN THE AREA OF WYEVILLE, ALTHOUGH IT MAY HAVE BEEN CLOSER TO GEORGIAN BAY. THE THUNDER BEACH AREA COMES TO MIND.
    I'M A POOR EXAMPLE OF AN HISTORIAN, BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE THE JOHNSTON BIOGRAPHY IN FRONT OF ME. THE RUBENS BOOK MAY HAVE BEEN DONATED, FOR THAT VERY PURPOSE OF ART REFERENCE. THE TEXT HOWEVER, IS IN GERMAN. WE HAVE CROSS REFERENCED THE ARTFUL SIGNATURE, WITH EXAMPLES OF HIS SIGNATURE SHOWN IN THE BIOGRAPHY. IT WAS PURCHASED FROM A SECOND HAND SHOP, IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE MEMBERS OF THE JOHNSTON FAMILY HAD LIVED FOR MANY YEARS. WHILE IT'S ALWAYS NICE TO HAVE AN EXPERT OPINION, ON WHETHER OR NOT IT IS A GENUINE FRANZ JOHNSTON SIGNATURE, VALIDATION OFTEN COMES SLOWLY IN THESE IDENTIFICATION MATTERS, IN PART, BECAUSE IT DOES COST FOR APPRAISAL SERVICES. IT'S ALWAYS BETTER IF WE CAN PROVE IT OURSELVES, AND IN NINETY OUT OF EVERY HUNDRED SIMILAR SITUATIONS, OF HAVING TO VARIFY AN AUTOGRAPH, WE ARE ABLE TO PROVE, BEYOND DOUBT, THE AUTHENTICITY OF A SIGNATURE. THIS IS ONE OF THE EASIEST TO IDENTIFY, BECAUSE THIS PORTION OF THE INSCRIPTION IS CLEAR, AND THE LINES OF THE LETTERING CAN BE EASILY CROSS REFERENCED WITH OTHER SIMILAR SIGNATURES PENNED BY JOHNSTON. IF, ON THE OTHER HAND, WE WERE ONLY DEALING WITH THE SIGNATURE AT THE TOP OF THE SAME PAGE, IT WOULD BE MUCH MORE TIME CONSUMING, AND FRUSTRATING. THERE ARE TRICKS OF THE TRADE, TO EMPLOY, IN SUCH CASES. SOME SIGNATURES ARE NEVER PROPERLY IDENTIFIED, WHICH IS, AS THEY SAY, "THE WAY THE COOKIE CRUMBLES."
    TODAY, ONLINE SEARCHES, AND CONSULTING POSTED IMAGES OF ART WORK AND SIGNATURES, HAS CUT OUR RESEARCH TIME BY TWO THIRDS, AND THIS IS ONE OF THE BIGGEST CHANGES IN THE PAST TWENTY YEARS FOR US COLLECTOR-TYPES. IN MANY CASES TODAY, WITH A CELL PHONE CAPABILITY, WE CAN DO ALL THE RESEARCH ON AN ARTICLE, PIECE OF ART, BOOK, OR DOCUMENTS, BEFORE WE MAKE THE PURCHASE. THIS SAVES A LOT OF MONEY AND TIME, BECAUSE YES INDEED, WE HAVE MADE MISTAKES AND PURCHASED BOOKS THAT WERE SIGNED; BUT NOT BY THE AUTHOR. MANY BOOK OWNERS, WOULD APPLY THEIR HARD-TO-READ SIGNATURES, TO THE TITLE PAGES OF BOOKS, AND SOMETIMES, THEY'D LOOK REMARKABLY SIMILAR TO THE AUTHOR'S NAME. THERE ARE STILL MANY OCCASIONS, WHEN THERE IS NO COMPARABLE EXAMPLE ONLINE, TO CROSS REFERENCE SIGNATURES. SO BY TRIAL AND ERROR, AND CONSIDERABLE CAUTION, WE VALIDATE MOST SIGNATURES NOW, BEFORE WE MAKE THE PURCHASE. WHAT A GREAT SAFEGUARD, TO MAKE AN EDUCATED PURCHASE, WITH MITIGATED RISK. IDENTIFICATION IS STILL AN ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE DEALER'S BIGGEST HURDLE, EVEN FOR THE MOST LEARNED OF COLLECTORS.
     ALTHOUGH THIS BOOK IS FROM OUR PRIVATE STOCK, IN COMPANY OF OUR OTHER CANADIAN-ART RELATED AUTOGRAPHS, IF IT WAS PLACED FOR SALE, WITH A SIGNED DECLARATION FROM AN AUCTION HOUSE, OR ART EXPERT, THAT IT IS A DEFINITELY A "FRANZ JOHNSTON" SIGNATURE, THE EIGHTY DOLLAR FIRST EDITION, WOULD PROBABLY THEN SELL FOR THREE TO FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS, BASED ON THE ARTISTIC WAY THE NAME WAS PRINTED; VERSUS A NORMAL SIGNATURE. I HAVE SOLD NUMEROUS "A.Y. JACKSON" SIGNATURES ON BOOKS, AND IN GALLERY PUBLICATIONS, AND THE HIGHEST AMOUNT TO DATE, WAS SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. THIS DATES BACK FIVE YEARS, SO I EXPECT THE SELLING PRICE WOULD BE MORE TODAY. I HAVE ANOTHER BOOK SIGNED BY CHARLES COMFORT, ANOTHER WELL KNOWN CANADIAN ARTIST, THAT I EXPECT WOULD SELL FOR TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS IF PUT FOR SALE IN OUR SHOP. ALL OUR AUTOGRAPHED CANADIANA IS KEPT UNDER LOCK, KEY AND ALARM AT SECURE LOCATION.

One Year Later - A Retrospective About Getting Hooked On Cooking

"I can remember as a rookie reporter, suffering dearly for my craft back in the late 1970's, driving hundreds of miles on assignments in the West Muskoka area for our newspaper, The Georgian Bay-Muskoka Lakes Beacon, in MacTier. In the winter, while it was as picturesque as any place on earth, with an illuminated mantle of snow on the evergreen woodlands, the demands of driving were extreme. The conditions often times more than just a tad dangerous. Even though I was a pretty experienced driver, some of the conditions warranted turning back and waiting for the snowplow to clear the way first," Ted Currie wrote in a recent journal about his memories of being a cub reporter for the lolocal press. "The editor had a deadline to meet so there wasn’t a lot of flexibility. I got stuck a lot!

"Traveling the country lanes of Muskoka, particularly in the early evening, just as the moonlight had begun its winter haunting over the old farmhouses, I used to occupy myself by imagining what was going on in these rural kitchens that I, a hungry reporter, might sincerely enjoy if by chance, invited to stop over. I still do this today when Suzanne and I are out on an antiquing adventure. It’s the dinner hour that always fascinates me. Just as it did when I was a lonely single, working through dinner, and driving past these historic, friendly looking abodes with their twinkling lights, visible candles and oil lamps engaged on the tables. I imagined the wonderful cuisine being prepared in that farm kitchen, and I suppose it was, as a writer, the catalyst for many kitchen related feature articles from that point.....and from that perspective; the passerby looking in and wishing that instead of driving past, I might instead, and as a real treat, be invited to partake of the evening’s cuisine.

"While putting most concentration on the state of the open road, I kept myself awake with this kitchen fare curiosity. I could so vividly imagine grand harvest tables with a crispy, brown, sage covered old Tom Turkey sitting there all hot and buttered, awaiting the carver’s first cut. I could visualize the sideboard loaded with pickles and sweet relishes, a bowl of steaming dressing, and big vessels of squash or turnip. It was a case when imagination was my best advantage, as in a lot of these motor trips, I was pretty much broke and heading home to a somewhat empty cupboard. It was the way many reporters operated in my day, the printed word being far more important than contented tummies. We sacrificed for our craft. I wasn’t much of a cook anyway. But imagining such wonderful fare was within my creative licence anyway, and it didn’t cost me a cent.

"There were times however, that I arrived to do a story on an anniversary couple, for example, in time for tea and treats. The kind folks of West Muskoka always fed the hungry reporter. I was fed at many events I covered, and for a hungry, lonely guy, many of these get-togethers were more fun than work. I’d get the story, the photograph, and a plate of roast beef courtesy the local Lions Club or a recreation group hosting a fundraiser. I was food-conscious as a writer and I guess it was a natural progression then to wrap-up my years in journalism, composing websites about recipes and dining traditions here in Muskoka.

"Imagining what was going on in these farm kitchens wasn’t too much of a stretch for me, as I visited many houses of friends with my parents, during my formative years, and watched as hosts of events prepared their food. I wasn’t satisfied with just eating the local fare but I wanted to see how it came about. I can remember looking in the kitchens and seeing the chaos of preparation, and saw clear evidence of handwritten recipes strewn on the counter-tops, as if they had been both the first and last defense of a really good dinner party. I loved all the hub-bub associated with kitchens......a fetish? I don’t think so but it has been a pretty powerful and life-long addiction to the culture of the kitchen.

The author in me was fascinated by both what I could see, and could not (and had to imagine instead), in these warm kitchen windows, in the farmhouses and neat little homesteads and cottages, I passed quickly by on my reporting jags through the Ontario hinterland. I would love to have visited each one, and experienced not only the food but the family aura that made the kitchens such fabulous places to hole-up; especially when all else in the daily routine became tiresome and oppressive. I felt like that a lot. Alas, when I got home, well, there was just something missing. A partner for one. I had just recently been dumped by a long time girlfriend, and admittedly I was a wee bit despondent about this sudden change of life. As part of the settlement of the relationship, she got the friends, and kitchen gatherings of old mates became pretty thin after this. It was pretty much my cat "Animal," a few hockey mates who dropped over for beer when they heard I had a few, and small social events that were not quite culinary extravaganzas. I did give it the old college try but there always seemed to be something missing. I knew I had to make some changes because this wasn’t my concept of a good life. A good life was having a home where people wanted to visit; and an abode that had the kind of kitchen that would attract a country fiddler at the same time as comforting a poet philosopher, a political wannabe, an out of work store clerk, a maiden in distress, a bartender with a night off, or a flutist looking to entertain. I wanted my place to be a safe haven, where over a good feast the problems of the world would be debated and resolved.

"It is wrong and sexist for me to say it was my partner Suzanne who made all the difference. As a home economist by profession, it’s true, she made me cease eating potato chip and oyster sauce sandwiches, (a lowly reporter’s quick fix before another meeting) and turned me against processed food in return for lemon chicken, casseroles to die for, roast beef that melted in my mouth.....and desserts that were heavenly. Suzanne helped me refine my kitchen fantasies. I begged her to allow me to participate in food preparation......even if that meant being offered a seat to watch. I am a pretty fair cook of basic foods now, thanks to her tutorship for all these years. And it brought to our combined home, here at Birch Hollow, a true joy for time spent in preparation of food, as much as in its ceremonial consumption as the glorious end to the cooking adventure.

When I’m out on a winter junket now, I still can’t help looking longingly into the distant windows of old cheerfully appointed farmhouses, and those neat little bungalows tucked into the snowy landscape, bathed with the moonlight’s milky glow, and wonder about the respective dinner fare being served to the eager inhabitants tonight. What time tested recipes might have been employed to make these hot dishes, and the cake under glass on the oak sideboard? An idealist? A Rockwelian hold-out? A spirit encased in sentiment? You bet! When I come upon these handwritten recipes, some more than a century old, well folks, I just can’t help myself....I just get lost in time and tradition but I always return in time for dinner."