CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - THE NOSTALGIA, GOOD NEIGHBORS, FAMILY TIMES, COMMUNITY GATHERINGS AND FESTIVE CHEER
NATURE HAS ALWAYS BEEN PART OF OUR CHRISTMAS CELEBRATIONS
AS I WAS SET TO EDIT TODAY'S BLOG, I WATCHED FROM MY GRAVENHURST PORTAL, AS A YOUNG BOY AND GIRL WALKED DOWN MUSKOKA ROAD, EACH SWINGING PAIRS OF SKATES. I ALWAYS GOT NEW SKATES FOR CHRISTMAS. SKATES, A HOCKEY STICK, A COUPLE OF PUCKS, EVEN SOME OF THE SPONGE KIND THAT DIDN'T KILL OUR ROAD HOCKEY GOALIES; AND I MUST NOT FORGET A PACKET OF FRICTION TAPE, FOR OUR LEGS TO HOLD THE PADS ON, AND SOME FOR THE STICK BLADE. AND IF THERE WAS ANY LEFT OVER, WE'D USE IT WITH THE PAPER CYLINDER, TO PUT A KNOB ON THE SHAFT END.
I USED TO GET A LOT OF WINTER JOY SKATING, BOTH ON MUSKOKA'S OUTDOOR RINKS, FROZEN PONDS, AND EVEN THE NATURAL ICE ARENAS, IN COMMUNITIES LIKE BAYSVILLE, PORT CARLING, BALA AND MACTIER. MY PARENTS BOUGHT ME NEW SKATES EACH YEAR, BECAUSE I WAS ALWAYS OUT-GROWING THEM, AND ADMITTEDLY, THE KIND OF SKATES THEY COULD AFFORD, OFTEN FELL APART AFTER ONLY ONE YEAR OF HEAVY USE. A LOT OF MY YOUTH WAS SPENT GLIDING ON SKATE BLADES. I CLEARLY RECALL THE RARE OCCASION, BEFORE THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE WELLINGTON STREET PLAZA AREA, KNOWN AS "BALLS FLATS," WHEN MULTI ACRES OF OLD PASTURELAND, WITH INTER-CONNECTED PONDS AND CREEKS, SNAKING THROUGH THE VALLEY, FROZE INTO A GENEROUS SKATING NETWORK, TAKING FIFTEEN MINUTES TO GO END TO END. I HAD NEVER BEFORE, SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS. THE WORD GOT AROUND TOWN FAST, AND THAT LATE NOVEMBER EVENING, SAW HUNDREDS OF CITIZENS SHOW UP, TO SKATE ON THIS OLD-TIME POND-RINK AND ICED-OVER FEEDER CREEKS, AND YES, UNDER A MOST BRILLIANT MOON LIGHT.
I REMEMBER COMING HOME THAT NIGHT, ON MY WAY UP TO OUR APARTMENT, ON ALICE STREET'S HUNT'S HILL, AND STOPPING FOR A MOMENT IN FRONT OF THE BIG PICTURE WINDOWS IN THE OLD PATTERSON HOTEL, AT THE CORNER OF MANITOBA AND THOMAS STREETS; TO GAZE, JUST FOR A MOMENT, IN UPON THE RETIRED RESIDENTS, DRINKING CUPS OF SOMETHING HOT, SITTING IN FRONT OF THE HEARTH, IN BIG COMFORTABLE CHAIRS. AND ME BEING HALF-FROZEN, SWINGING MY ICED-UP SKATES IN ONE HAND, THE OTHER HOLDING MY HOCKEY STICK THAT I SELDOM LET GO OF, ONCE WINTER BEGAN. ALL THIS, BECAUSE I SAW A COUPLE OF YOUNGSTERS HEADING SOME PLACE TO SKATE THIS AFTERNOON. BEING AN ANTIQUARIAN HAS IT DOWNSIDE FOR SURE. BUT THESE WERE HAPPY THOUGHTS ABOUT THE KINDER, MORE INTERESTING SIDE OF WINTER TIME RECREATIONS. IT WAS JUST ANOTHER OF MY POIGNANT MUSKOKA MEMORIES, I LOVE TO DUST OFF, AND ENJOY ONCE MORE, BEFORE I FORGET THEM ENTIRELY.
THIS MORNING, THE LILAC BUSHES IN THE FRONT YARD OF BIRCH HOLLOW, WERE WEIGHED DOWN BY GIANT PUFF BALLS OF NEWLY FALLEN SNOW. THE EVERGREENS AND MAPLES LADEN WITH CLUMPS OF SNOW, MAKE IT ALL LOOK SO AMAZINGLY PICTURESQUE; AND WHILE A LITTLE EARLY TO BE ADORNED IN THIS WINTER FASHION, IT IS STRIKINGLY CHEERFUL. FOR A MOMENT, STANDING OUTSIDE, LOOKING OVER THE BRILLIANT WHITE CANOPY BLANKETING THE LOWLAND, AND BEING SUBTLY INFLUENCED BY THE SOUND OF FALLING SNOW OFF THE LEANING BIRCHES, AND STRETCHING PINE BOUGHS, ONE COULD FORGET THE EXPECTATIONS AND OBLIGATIONS OF THE DAY. I CAN SEE TRACKS FORM THE DEER, THAT TRAVEL OUR LANE ALMOST DAILY, AND THE IMPRINTS OF A LONE RABBIT, AND SEVERAL SQUIRRELS, ARE VISIBLE, BECAUSE OF THE SHADOWING IN THE BRIGHT MORNING ILLUMINATION THAT, AT TIMES, IS BLINDING. THE IMPRINTS ARE BLACK ON WHITE, AND UPON LOOKING INSIDE THE FOREST WHERE I USUALLY WALK ON DAYS LIKE THIS, THERE ARE ALREADY DOZENS OF INTERCONNECTING TRAILS OF THE WEE CRITTERS, THAT CALL THE BOG HOME. THE SILENCE IS SHORT-LIVED, AS A NEIGHBOR HAS STARTED UP HIS JET-POWERED SNOWBLOWER, AND THE TOWN SNOWPLOW HAS JUST RUMBLED BACK UP THE STREET, NECESSITATING THAT I TAKE UP THE SHOVEL TO OPEN THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY. I CONTEMPLATED STAYING HOME AND PULLING A CHAIR TO HEARTH-SIDE.
IT ONLY TAKES A SLIGHT RUSH OF WIND, TO DISLODGE THESE PLEASANT LOOKING SNOWBALLS, FALLING IN A SILKEN, SILVER SPRAY OF ICE CRYSTALS, DASHING AGAINST THE BLUE MORNING SKY. IT'S EASY TO FORGET THE MORE DIFFICULT ASPECTS OF LIVING IN A SNOWY ENVIRONS; THE NECESSITY TO SHOVEL LANES AND DRIVEWAYS, SIDEWALKS AND THE ROOF-TOPS OF OUR STORAGE SHELTERS. AT THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, WHEN IT IS NOT SO COLD, AND THE WIND NOT QUITE AS STINGING, AS A MONTH FROM NOW, THESE ARE MILD, JUNIOR TASKS, THAT STRIKE A NOSTALGIC CHORD, AS WE REMEMBER MAKING SNOW ANGELS AS YOUNGSTERS; AND ATTEMPTING TO BUILD FIRST-OF-THE-SEASON SNOWMEN, AND SNOWWOMEN, AS WELL AS DISLODGING THE OLD SLEIGH, OR TOBOGGAN FROM THE SHED, TO GET IN SOME RUNS BEFORE THE SUN MELTS AWAY THE FIRST MAJOR SNOW.
MY OWN FIRST TOBOGGAN OUTING, AS A NEW RESIDENT OF BRACEBRIDGE, WAS IN MY GRADE SIX TERM, WHEN I WAS INVITED TO JOIN SOME SCHOOL CHUMS, I SAT CLOSE TO IN MISS MCCRACKEN'S CLASSROOM. WE MET NEAR BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL, AS EVERYONE EXCEPT ME LIVED CLOSE BY; AND WE HAULED OUR SLEDS DOWN, TO WHAT WAS KNOWN THEN, AS THE OLD TURKEY FARM, ON SANTA'S VILLAGE ROAD, A COUPLE OF BLOCKS WEST OF WELLINGTON STREET. IT WAS CONNECTED TO THE CLIFF PARROT FARM, IF MEMORY SERVES THIS PURPOSE, AND THE TOPOGRAPHY WAS A MIX OF STEEP HILLS AND DEEP VALLEYS, CREEKS AND A LINKAGE OF LOW-LAND PASTURES. I HAD NEVER GONE SLEDDING IN SUCH A WILD PLACE, WITH SUCH HUGE SLOPES DOWN INTO A VALLEY OF UNKNOWN OBSTACLES, AND DANGERS, ASSOCIATED WITH CREEKS THAT HADN'T YET FROZEN OVER.
THE GROUP HAD SIX OR SO SCHOOL CHUMS, WITH A LARGE TOBOGGAN, SOME SMALLER SLEIGHS, AND ONE TIN SAUCER THAT LOOKED MORE LIKE A RESTAURANT SERVING TRAY. WE COULD GET FOUR OF US ON THE TOBOGGAN, BUT AFTER THE FIRST TRIP DOWN THE SLOPE, THE BUMPS AND LEVELS OF SERIOUS DECLINE, LEFT ONLY THE DRIVER HOLDING THE REINS, BY TIME THE BOTTOM HAD BEEN REACHED. THE REST WERE BURIED IN THE SNOW FURTHER UP THE SLOPE. I REMEMBER IT BEING SUCH AN AMAZING NIGHT, WITH MOONLIGHT ILLUMINATING WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN A DEEP, DARK VALLEY, BURIED AS A VISTA, BY THE FRAMING OF BORDER TALL PINES. IT WAS COLD BUT NOT THE KIND OF ARCTIC AIR THAT MIGHT HAVE FROST-BITTEN FINGER TIPS, OR THE EXPOSED LOBES OF OUR EARS. JUST ENOUGH TO MAKE OUR CHEEKS ROSEY, AS MY MOTHER USED TO SAY, AND MAKING STEAM FROM OUR BREATH. IT WAS MY FIRST FULL EXPOSURE TO A MUSKOKA WINTER SEASON. I WAS A KID SO I DIDN'T REALLY REGISTER THE SCENE, AS EITHER PICTURESQUE, OR ENCHANTING.
I DID APPRECIATE THAT THIS LANDSCAPE WAS VERY MUCH DIFFERENT THAN WHAT I HAD BEEN USED TO, SPENDING MY EARLY LIFE IN THE CITY OF BURLINGTON, WHERE WE USED TO SLED ON A NEIGHBORHOOD LANEWAY DOWN TO RAMBLE CREEK. OR SOMETIMES, AT A LOCAL GOLF CLUB, THAT KINDLY OPENED ITS HILLS FOR TOBOGGANING IN THE WINTER. BOTH WERE URBAN LANDSCAPES, AND WHILE STILL SPLENDIDLY NOSTALGIC, WHEN I THINK BACK, THERE WAS NO COMPARISON. BETWEEN SLIDING DOWN AN ICED-OVER PAVED LANE, BETWEEN APARTMENT BUILDINGS, AND TOBOGGANING DOWN THESE GREAT SLOPES INTO THE DEEP VALLEY, OF AN OLD PASTURE, BENEATH A STARSCAPE THAT WAS SO PROFOUNDLY AMAZING. WE'D REST ON OUR BACKS, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL, AND STUDY THE UNIVERSE AS IT OPENED TO US IN THE DARK ENVIRONS, OF AN EVERGREEN WREATHED, MUSKOKA VALLEY, ON THE CUSP OF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON. THIS WAS IN THE EARLY WINTER OF 1966. I REMEMBER THE NAME OF ONLY ONE MATE THEN, AS BEING CHRISTINE SORENSON, FROM THAT GRADE SIX CLASS. WE ALL HAD A GOOD TIME THAT NIGHT, AND HAD A LOT OF STORIES TO SPIN FOR OUR SCHOOL MATES, WHEN WE GOT BACK TO CLASS THE NEXT MORNING.
I KEPT MY ENTHUSIASM MUTED, BECAUSE I WAS THE NEW KID ON THE BLOCK, AND DIDN'T WANT TO SHOW MY SENSITIVE SIDE, FOR FEAR THEY'D THINK ME STRANGER THAN I ACTUALLY WAS! I WAS MOST DEFINITELY ENTHRALLED BY THE NATURAL ASSETS OF MY NEW BALLYWICK. THE KIDS I HAD BEEN SLEDDING WITH, WERE ALL FROM LONG-TIME MUSKOKA FAMILIES, THAT I SUPPOSE, TOOK THE SCENERY AND LANDSCAPE PRETTY MUCH FOR GRANTED. I WAS A CITY KID, AND WHAT I HAD EXPERIENCED, IN MY NEW HOME TOWN, SET THE SCENE FOR ME; AND GAVE ME A LIFELONG MISSION TO INTERPRET WHAT IT ALL MEANT; WHAT IT HAS ALL MEANT, UP TO, AND INCLUDING THE PRESENT. I WOULDN'T DARE SHOW OVER-ENTHUSIASM, TO MY CLASSROOM FRIENDS, BECAUSE I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH THE CITY-KID STIGMA. MY MISSION WAS TO PROVE MY QUICK ADAPTATION TO THE COUNTRY WAY OF LIFE. IF I HAD REMARKED ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL EVENING, AND HOW MUCH I LIKED LIVING IN BRACEBRIDGE, I WOULD, OF COURSE, HAVE BEEN STATING, WHAT TO THEM, WAS OBVIOUS; THE FACT MUSKOKA IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE, EVEN TO KIDS, WAS DEEPLY AND SOLIDLY IMBEDDED. THE EVIDENCE WAS, THESE LITTLE FOLKS LOVED BEING OUTDOORS, CAREENING DOWN THE STEEP SLOPES; BLAZING AND SPARKING THROUGH SUCH A MAGNIFICENT SETTING, LIKE THE OLD FARMSTEAD VALLEY. I HAVE BEEN MAKING UP FOR MY SILENCE, AND MUTED OPINION EVER SINCE, AND THE QUEST I SUGGEST, WILL TAKE ME TO THE END OF MY LIFE. MY ONLY FEAR, I SUPPOSE, IS THAT I WILL NEVER DO IT JUSTICE; AND NEVER BE ABLE TO FULLY QUALIFY, WHY I HAVE SPENT MOST OF A LIFETIME, TRYING TO EXPLAIN THE SAME ALLURE, AND ENCHANTMENT, I FOUND ON THAT QUITE INNOCENT NIGHT OF SLEDDING, ON A FROZEN LANDSCAPE, THAT SEEMED, TO ME, A BACKDROP RIGHT FROM THE PAGES OF A STORY-BOOK. POIGNANTLY SPECIAL, AND HAUNTING, BEYOND THE REALITY OF ICE AND SNOW, AND THE TRADITIONAL FABLE OF A MOONLIT WINTER NIGHT.
SEEING MUSKOKA IN ITS CHRISTMAS SEASON SOLITUDE
When I was working as a reporter, for the Muskoka Lakes-Georgian Bay Beacon, in the Village of MacTier, back in late 1979, early 80's, I lived in Bracebridge, in the former house / medical office, of Dr. Peter McGibbon; the house where I decided to launch a writing career, and to take on an apprenticeship, to become a regional historian. While I lived in "Seven Persons Cottage," in Foote's Bay, Lake Joseph, for the summer months, I spent the winters in Bracebridge, commuting daily to MacTier. My news beat was enormous, involving regular trips to Honey Harbor, in the Township of Georgian Bay, up to the hamlet of Humphrey, north of Lake Joseph; and then to Port Sandfield, Minett, Port Carling, Bala, and Glen Orchard. When I began working with our sister publication, The Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge, as a supporting reporter, the coverage area doubled; but it seemed even bigger when I tabulated my mileage reports. What it meant, other than a lot of driving between gigs, and to get home every night, was that by happenstance, I was being tutored by the Muskoka landscape, at virtually all times of day and night. I witnessed this geographic area of West Muskoka, over the four seasons, from first light, to the wee hours of the morning, coming home from late night assignments, and council coverage. I drove Highway 69 north and south, through squalls and full-steam-ahead blizzards, in my little green Datsun I leased from MacTier's Riva Motors. I had many pleasant trips this time of the year, in the late autumn season, after the first dusting of snow. I witnessed breath-taking scenery, that I had never experience before, even after many years of living in Bracebridge. As a result of employment, I had to travel thousands of miles throughout the district, each year on the news beat; and while there were times it was bloody exhausting, and seemed extravagant as well as inconvenient, I know today, that these recollections of district motoring, make up a goodly store of my Muskoka memories. The wealth of knowledge and insight that I draw upon constantly for this blog. They might have been casual observances back then, that I paid only modest respect, but I wouldn't be comfortable at all, making these retrospectives; or in any way, trying to define the Muskoka experience, as I attempt almost daily, in editorial landscapes.
I remember one particular night, driving back from a photo-shoot at the arena in Humphrey. I was responsible for taking photographs of the young skaters, who would be participating in their annual skating carnival, for the program The Beacon was producing. The theme was "The Wizard of Oz," and the skaters were outfitted in their carnival costumes. It was a neat evening for me, because skating coach, Dianne Lloyd, had everything organized for me, and above all, it was neat seeing the kids all decked out. I remember it as a bitterly cold night, and I had a long ride home in snowy weather. I decided to drive back through the Village of Rosseau, because there would be less traffic, and it was so much more scenic even at night. It had been a long day, and it was about nine o'clock in the evening, by time I hit Rosseau, on what were ice covered roads, frequently obscured by snow squalls. I was hungry on top of all else, including exhaustion, and when I'd pass by some of the old farmhouses, so picturesque in the snow fall, and set into the white and shadowed landscape, that I would make a little game for myself; as I often did on those long drives, feeling the grasp of exhaustion taking control, of imagining myself what these rural families had enjoyed for dinner, in those bright, warm kitchens. Some possibly heated by still active cookstoves as I always found so historically fulfilling; like seeing ignited oil lamps on the inside sills of frosted-over windows, of abodes I would have liked to visit. But it just made me hungry and feel lonely and a little desolate. I used to wonder what it would be like, if I just drove up one of these country lanes, to the old dwelling places, and asked if I could sit for awhile in their glorious kitchens, and sip a little cider, or egg nog, from a festive cup. What was I thinking? I was delusional. These kitchens were probably well modernized, and the woodstove long since replaced by new state of the art ranges; and what might have been an oil lamp in bygone years, was electrified. There might have been a cup of tea steeping, but not likely cider or egg nog. I have always been influenced by my love for history, but it occasionally clashes with the present. My old fashioned reckoning, of what is old, should remain old.
I have come upon farmhouses, hauntingly bathed in the moonlight of cold December nights, and stopped at the side of the road, to get a better look. On these occasions, I can rightfully claim, to have felt in total awe, reckoning just how influential Muskoka was, on the resident psyche, because it would be impossible to pass scenes like this, without feeling humbled by the near-divine handiwork of nature, and the way we, in this rural life, nestle into its bosom, as if painted that way by the artist on a wood panel. Within this tantalizing landscape, is a strange, intrusive melancholy, that might reference it as a sad vision for the voyeur; the sentimental, nostalgic panorama; that reminds us of Christmases past. And all the history of our families, that has evolved into the aura of what we know as "the contemporary." We might feel momentarily, as if we have passed through some portal to another time in history, of which we have had some connection; and sense the presence of those folks who have since passed. In moments, we have flashed through our own chronicle, of people, places and events, and might wish to pull away from this roadside vigil, because as it was initially an enchanting scene, it has sadly reminded us, we are no longer young,.... and our memories possessing a yellowing around the edges. Sometimes, we wonder if we have, in our hearts, been unable to move-on from those days, when time seemed so boundless.
This is a common experience for me, whenever I travel the country roads of Muskoka, at this time of the late fall and early winter, leading up to the Christmas holiday. I do find myself retreating into the goodwill of Christmases past, without regret, and stopping by places as I have described above, and linger too long on the fading memories of once, long ago. Yet in these lonely scenes, in the pure embrace of a Muskoka winter season, we can find pleasure in its solitude; its forgiving nature, so picturesque in the bathing moonlight of mid December nights. Across this terrain of hills and valleys, sprawling pastures, and snow adorned pine forests; lowlands with leaning birches, and highlands with venerable, but barren maples, and oak, bordering the sanctuary of the friendly-appearing abodes, dotted across the landscape, as if placed there by the hand of the poet.
I have never ceased my investigation of Muskoka and its seasons. It is far too fascinating, to ignore its familiar peculiarities I have enjoyed throughout my half century, playing in its woodlands, sledding down its hillsides in mid winter, and studying its position beneath the starscape, by the stroke of New Years Eve. On snowy days, and rainy ones, bitterly cold mornings, and warm sunny afternoons, it is the Muskoka landscape that shines through everything else; to make itself a gracious host to its inhabitants and curious other travelers. Those who traverse its hills and valleys, flats and basins, lakesides and boglands, in the grace of its seasonal inclinations. It's at this time of the late autumn, that Muskoka has always seemed at its most powerful, its nature most intense and the companion weather, as wildly dynamic, as it is, so much, a place of strange solitude. At this precise moment, a black squirrel we call Seymour, another Birch Hollow inhabitant, has jumped across three long divides, between snow-laded pine boughs, becoming a floating silhouette against a silver afternoon sky. The sprays of snow have weighed-down the branches below, and down from the heights, there is a subtle lessening of the loads, as displaced snow, filtering the diamond light, as the proverbial sands through nature's hourglass. It's not hard to become mesmerized by it all, and yet soon, this snow will melt away, and the ground will be clear again. It is too early for lasting snow, and by tradition, we should still be eligible for a late fall Indian Summer.
"To Alec (A.Y. Jackson) the Canadian artist was not only a creative person who forged his, or her own future, he or she also had a social responsibility. 'We need artists to reveal to us the beauty of our heritage, and the adventures and the struggles, and the heroism that have gone into making Canada'." This quotation was taken from the biography entitled "The Other A.Y. Jackson," written by O. J. Firestone, published in 1979.
Muskoka is art.
From My Christmas Archives
MY CHRISTMAS SOJOURN AT BRACEBRIDGE'S ALBION HOTEL - A WINTER'S EVE WITH AN "ANIMAL"
TO BEGIN THIS HUMBLE, INTIMATE, TIME-WORN CHRISTMAS STORY, I MUST FIRST CLARIFY THAT I DIDN'T SPEND ALL OF CHRISTMAS EVE DROWNING MY SORROWS IN CHEAP DRAFT BEER, AT THE FORMER ALBION HOTEL....NOW A RUBBLE OF OLD BRICK, DOWN ON BRACEBRIDGE'S "MAIN STREET," OPPOSITE THE FORMER TRAIN STATION. THE "ANIMAL" I REFER TO, IN THE HEADING, WAS ACTUALLY THE NAME OF MY ADOPTED CAT. SOMEONE HAD DRIVEN BY THE HERALD-GAZETTE OFFICE, ON DOMINION STREET, TWO YEARS EARLIER, AND HURLED THE KITTEN ONTO THE TARMAC IN FRONT. IT USED TO HAPPEN THAT PEOPLE WHO DIDN'T WANT THEIR PETS ANY LONGER, FIGURED THAT THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE WAS THE PERFECT PLACE TO ABANDON THEM. THEY FIGURED WE'D PUT AN AD IN THE PAPER, OR WRITE A SAD STORY FOR THE FEATURE PAGES, AND SOMEONE WOULD COME IN TO ADOPT THE PARTICULAR DOG OR CAT. THERE WAS NO HUMANE SOCIETY OPERATION BACK THEN. IT HAPPENED SO FAST, I DIDN'T CATCH THE PLATE NUMBER, AND I WAS SO CONCERNED ABOUT RESCUING THE CAT FROM THE BUSY STREET, BEFORE IT GOT HIT, I COULDN'T EVEN RECALL THE MAKE OF THE CAR, OR ACCURATELY DESCRIBE THE PERSON, WHO SO INHUMANELY TOSSED IT OUT OF THE MOVING VEHICLE. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN A CAT LOVER, SO I WAS ALL OVER THAT LITTLE BEAST, IN THOSE FIRST FEW MOMENTS, TRYING TO DETERMINE WHAT INJURIES IT HAD SUSTAINED IN THE ROLL ALONG THE ASPHALT.
WELL, THE LITTLE FELLOW WAS A PRETTY BADLY SCRAPED-UP, BUT NOTHING APPEARED BROKEN, AND THERE WAS NO SERIOUS BLEEDING ANYWHERE I COULD DETECT. I TOOK IT TO THE VETERINARIAN, A FRIEND OF MINE, AND THE WORD WAS GOOD. THE KITTEN WOULD SURVIVE. SO OVER THE NEXT FOUR YEARS OR SO, WE WOULD BE PARTNERING IN MY SMALL APARTMENT AT THE MCGIBBON HOUSE; AND THEN FOR A FEW MORE YEARS WITH MY BRIDE SUZANNE, AT TWO RESIDENCES, ONE BEING OUR FIRST PURCHASED HOUSE, AT THE BOTTOM END OF QUEBEC STREET, BELOW THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL. THIS IS THE HOUSE, I'M SORRY TO SAY, THAT CONTRIBUTED TO ANIMAL'S DEMISE. IT WAS A BUSY STREET, AND IT'S ONE OF THE REASONS WE MOVED OUR YOUNG FAMILY TO A LESS HEAVILY TRAVELLED NEIGHBORHOOD OF MUSKOKA. THERE WERE A NUMBER OF ACCIDENTS ON THE STREET, THAT OCCURRED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STEEP AND WINTER-SLIPPERY TANBARK HILL, AND ONE OF THESE ENDED ANIMAL'S SHORT LIFE. SHE GOT OUT OF THE HOUSE, AND BEGAN CHASING A SQUIRREL, PUTTING HIM DIRECTLY IN THE PATH OF AN ONCOMING CAR. HE SURVIVED FOR A FEW MINUTES IN SUZANNE'S ARMS BUT DIED ENROUTE TO THE CLINIC. I WAS WORKING THAT NIGHT AS AN ELECTION SCRUTINEER IN A PROVINCIAL ELECTION, AT THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE CENTENNIAL CENTRE, JUST A BLOCK AWAY. WE WERE MOVING TO OUR NEW HOUSE, AT GOLDEN BEACH, THE NEXT MORNING, AND IT WOULD HAVE MEANT, HAD ANIMAL SURVIVED, THAT ITS NEW HOME WOULD HAVE BEEN IN A NICE RURAL SETTING WITH SOME ROOM TO ROAM. IT JUST DIDN'T WORK OUT SO WELL....AT LEAST AS WE HAD INTENDED.
LET'S GO BACK A FEW YEARS. ANIMAL WAS STILL IN THE KITTENISH PERIOD. AS A RESULT OF ME BEING SINGLE, AND THE FACT THAT MY PARENTS HAD GONE TO FLORIDA FOR THE WINTER, LEAVING ME TO CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS WITH ANIMAL, I GOT SADDLED WITH BEING THE ON-CALL REPORTER FOR THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. AFTER HAVING SUFFERED THE UNCEREMONIAL HEAVE-HO FROM A LONG TIME GIRLFRIEND, A FEW YEARS BACK, I WAS CONTENT TO BE MISERABLE ON MY OWN....WITH MY STRAY CAT. OTHER THAN WORKING THROUGH THE DOLDRUMS, DAY BY DAY, THERE WAS ALSO A PLAN TO JOIN UP WITH THE FRENCH FOREIGN LEGION, WHERE I COULD LOSE MY IDENTITY. AMIMAL AND I WERE CERTAINLY A COUPLE OF MISFITS, SORT OF LIKE RUDOLPH AND HERBIE THE DENTIST, FROM THAT CLASSIC CHRISTMAS CARTOON I ENJOYED SO MUCH AS A KID.
ON THAT PARTICULAR CHRISTMAS EVE, I'D BEEN OUT AT A FIRE SCENE FOR MOST OF THE AFTERNOON, AND HAD BUMPED INTO MY OLD RINK RAT PAL, ALISTAIR TAYLOR, WHO HAD BEEN CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. AS IT OFTEN TURNED OUT, WE RETREATED, TO WHAT HERALD-GAZETTE REPORTERS CALLED "THE PRESS CLUB," WHICH WAS AN UNBALANCED CORNER TABLE, WITH A FOLDED COASTER UNDER A LEG, AT THE HISTORIC ALBION HOTEL, OPPOSITE THE FORMER TRAIN STATION. WE ARRIVED AT AROUND THE DINNER HOUR, BUT YOU WOULDN'T DARE EAT THERE....EVEN THE PRETZELS ON THE BAR, WERE IN PROXIMITY TO THE COUGHING OF OLD FARTS WHO COVETED THE LINE OF STOOLS, AS THE PLACE OF HONOR IN THE CAVERNOUS TAVERN. THE FOOD WAS JUST ON THE CHALK BOARD TO SATISFY TERMS OF THE LIQUOR PERMIT....OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. I IMAGINE THE SANDWICHES WERE GREEN BY THAT POINT OF THE WEEK....MADE FRESH EVERY MONDAY. THERE WERE ONLY A FEW SOULS LEFT FROM THE AFTERNOON AUDIENCE. SO AL AND I HAD A JUG OF DRAFT BROUGHT TO THE TABLE, OF NUMEROUS JUGS THAT EVENING, AND FOR HOURS ON END, WE SAT AND RECOLLECTED OUR RESPECTIVE PASTS....UNBURDENED OURSELVES OF TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS, WHILE GETTING REGULAR REPORTS ON THE WEATHER, WHICH WAS GETTING WORSE BY THE MOMENT. AL AND I WERE SNOWED-IN AT THE ALBION HOTEL IN ALL ITS GLORY. THERE WERE NO STRIPPERS BOOKED THAT NIGHT, AND THE BARTENDER HAD TO WAIT ON TABLES. SO WE DIDN'T GET TO HUG OR MILDLY PINCH THE FEMALE SERVERS, WHO WE LIKED TO TEASE. I WOULDN'T HAVE PINCHED THE BIG GUY WITH THE BEER TRAY FOR LOVE NOR MONEY, AS THEY SAY. AL LIVED A CONSIDERABLE DISTANCE AWAY, AT BALSAM CHUTES, AND EVEN THOUGH I HAD ONLY TWO BLOCKS TO TRAVEL.....IT SEEMED THE BEST THING TO DO.... WAS JUST TO STAY AT THE PRESS CLUB TABLE AND CHAT. IT WAS A LITTLE DISTURBING TO WATCH AS SEVERAL OLDTIMERS, FEEL ASLEEP AT THE TABLES, WITH DRINKS IN HAND, FEELING DESOLATE ABOUT THE LIVES THEY HAD, AND WHAT THEY HAD TO LOOK FORWARD TO WHEN THEY GOT HOME. NO, ON THAT NIGHT, WE WERE TWO OF THE MOST OPTIMISTIC SOULS IN THAT BUILDING. AND PEOPLE AT THE BAR WERE EATING THOSE SNEEZED-OVER PRETZELS....AND ASKING ABOUT THOSE SANDWICHES, WHILE THE BAR-KEEP SHOOK HIS HEAD. AMIDST THE SMOKE AND DIN OF COUGHING AND CONVERSATION, IT HAD ITS RESIDENT HAPPINESS NONE THE LESS. THERE WAS ACCEPTANCE HERE, IN THOSE HOURS, AND THAT'S WHAT COUNTED.
I WON'T KID YOU. IF YOU HAVE, OR ARE STILL, A FREQUENT TAVERN-GOER, YOU CAN EASILY IMAGINE WHAT THE CROWD OF PATRONS MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE THAT NIGHT. FOLKS THAT DIDN'T WANT TO GO HOME.....FINDING NO REASON TO HEAD BACK TO A PLACE THAT WAS HOLLOW AND FOSTERED THEIR LONELINESS. AT LEAST IN THE BIG ROOM, THAT SMELLED LIKE STALE BEER AND WET FEET, THEY COULD CLAIM TO BE WITH LIKE-MINDED MATES.....WILLINGLY COMMITTING TO AN IMPOSED EXILE FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD. THIS WAS THEIR PLACE ON EARTH; THE HOME THEY PREFERRED, NO MATTER WHAT IT COST TO SIT AT ONE OF THESE STICKY TABLES, WITH WET RINGS FROM WHERE THE LAST GLASS LIFTED OFF. AL AND I TALKED ABOUT LIFE AND WORK, AND OF COURSE, ABOUT THE RINK RATS, OF WHICH HE AND I WERE FOUNDING MEMBERS. HE WAS WORRIED ABOUT HIS WIFE AT HOME, BUT THE SNOW WAS COMING DOWN HEAVY, AND THE WIND WAS MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE TO SEE TO THE END OF THE BLOCK.....WHEN AL WOULD LOOK OUT THE DOOR TO THE WORLD BEYOND. IT WOULD SETTLE DOWN SOON, AND AL WAS ABLE TO SECURE A RIDE HOME WITH A NEIGHBOR, WHO HAPPENED TO STILL BE IN TOWN.....STRANDED BY THE SAME BLIZZARD. I SWALLOWED THE LAST FEW DROPS OF WARM BEER, BUTTONED UP MY COAT, TOSSING MY SCARF AROUND MY NECK, MITTS AND TOQUE APPLIED, AND WE BOTH HEADED TO THE DOOR. I LOOKED AROUND AT THE REST OF THE CLIENTELE, THAT WOULD LIKELY BE HERE UNTIL AFTER LAST CALL, WONDERING IF I'D BE BACK HERE NEXT CHRISTMAS EVE TO JOIN THIS LONELY HEARTS CLUB. AL CALLED ME LATER THAT NIGHT, JUST TO LET ME KNOW HE HAD ARRIVED SAFELY HOME, DESPITE A HARROWING MOTOR TRIP.
WHEN I HAD ARRIVED IN MY ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT, AT THE FORMER MCGIBBON HOUSE, THAT OVERLOOKED THE BANDSHELL OF MEMORIAL PARK, I FOUND MY CAT "ANIMAL" SITTING ON THE ARM OF THE SOFA, AWAITING SOME COMPANY. I ASSUMED HE WAS LOOKING FOR HIS DINNER, WHICH WAS LONG OVERDUE. MY FAULT. I HAD NO BUSINESS OWNING A CAT IN THE FIRST PLACE. BUT HE WAS A LOYAL SORT OF BEAST, AND HE FORGAVE ALL OF MY TRESPASSES, BY JUMPING UP ON MY KNEE, AND PURRING BOTH OF US TO SLEEP. I WOKE UP BEFORE MIDNIGHT, WITH MY NECK STIFF FROM THE WAY I WAS SLUMBERING IN THE CHAIR, AND ANIMAL WAS STILL SNORING ON MY LAP. I LOOKED UP AT THE TWINKLING CHRISTMAS LIGHTS ON THE ARTIFICIAL TREE, AND I COULDN'T HELP BUT NOTICE HOW BEAUTIFUL IT LOOKED, OUT OVER THE TINY PARK, ALL FRESHLY ADORNED WITH THAT EVENING'S SNOW. I DON'T GET MISTY-EYED OFTEN, AND THIS WAS ONE OF THOSE OCCASIONS. NOT BECAUSE I WAS LONELY, OR FELT ABANDONED, WITHOUT ANY FAMILY TO VISIT FOR CHRISTMAS.....BUT BECAUSE I WAS WITH A WONDERFUL FRIEND THAT I HAD REALLY ONLY KNOWN, TO THAT POINT, AS ANOTHER MOUTH TO FEED. I SAT THERE FOR A LONG TIME, PATTING THE LITTLE FELLOW, AND I SOON CAME BACK AROUND, AFTER TEMPORARY DISDAIN, TO THE PLEASANT REALITY, THAT CHRISTMAS IS A FORGIVING TIME.... OF GOODWILL AND KINSHIP; OF THIS, I COULDN'T ASK FOR MORE THAN THE CREATURE COMFORTS OF MY SMALL LITTLE HOME, AND FURRY COMPANION, THAT ASKED FOR NO MORE THAN A FEW CANS OF FOOD EACH DAY, SOME WATER, AND A GENTLE OWNER WHO WOULD BUDGET A FEW MOMENTS EACH DAY.....TO CURL UP TOGETHER IN A CHAIR, SITUATED SUCH, AS TO AFFORD A NICE VIEW UPON THE REAL BUSTLING WORLD, SO SILENT THEN, BEYOND THE PURRING.
FOR ALL THAT IT DIDN'T HAVE OF CHARM AND ELEGANCE, I HAD ACTUALLY ENJOYED THE COMPANY OF BAR PATRONS THAT NIGHT, IN THEIR OWN PURSUIT OF CONTENTMENT, AND MY ENJOYABLE CHAT WITH AN OLD FRIEND AT THE PRESS TABLE IN A LOW-LIT CORNER OF THE FORMER ALBION HOTEL. WHEN I DRIVE BY IT, ON MY TRAVELS TO BRACEBRIDGE, I'M PLEASANTLY REMINDED OF THAT CHRISTMAS EVE, OF LONG AGO, WHEN I FOUND SOLACE WITH GOOD COMPANY....IN THE MIDST OF A WINTER STORM. I CRIED FOR A LONG TIME, THE NIGHT SUZANNE HAD TO TELL ME ABOUT "ANIMAL'S" TRAFFIC MISADVENTURE, OUT FRONT OF OUR HOME. I WAS HEARTSICK FOR A WEEK AFTER, EVEN WHILE TRYING TO RE-ESTABLISH OUR FAMILY IN THE HOUSE AT GOLDEN BEACH. I MUST HAVE MADE TEN OR MORE SLOW TRIPS PAST THE OLD HOUSE, DURING THAT NEXT WEEK, TRYING TO RECONCILE HOW IT HAD HAPPENED AS GOD'S PLAN, BEING A MOTOR VEHICLE AND ALL....COMPOUNDED BY OUR HUMAN ERROR; AND TO ADJUST TO THE NEW REALITY, THAT THE TABBY WAS NO LONGER. YOU KNOW SOMETHING....WHAT A TREAT IT WOULD BE, ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS....A NEW AGE CHRISTMAS EVE, TO FEEL THE LIGHT, WARM WEIGHT, OF THAT LOVING LITTLE CREATURE, IN SPIRIT, JUMP BACK ONTO MY LAP....FOR OLD TIMES SAKE. HE KEPT ME FROM BEING LONELY ON THOSE LONG WINTER NIGHTS....AT A TIME WHEN I WASN'T AT ALL SURE WHERE I WOULD WIND-UP MYSELF IN GOD'S DETERMINATION. I HOPE, AS A MATTER OF CONSIDERABLE FAITH, THAT GOD'S FOUND HIM A NICE PLACE TO ROAM UP THERE IN THE GREAT BEYOND.
SUZANNE, ANDREW AND I, HAVE SUBTLE AND MODEST MEMORIALS SET UP TO ALL OUR FORMER PETS, REPRESENTING FORMER DOGS AND CATS; BEING TOMMY, FESTER THE FIRST, AND FESTER THE SECOND, SNOWBALL, AND SMOKY (THE CATS); ALF AND KRAMER OUR CANINE COMPANIONS OF ONCE. OUR CATS TODAY ARE ZAPPA, BEASLEY, CHUTNEY AND BUDDY, ALL STRAYS FOUND DUMPED IN THE BOG.
PLEASE CONSIDER GIVING A DONATION TO THE ONTARIO SOCIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS, IN BRACEBRIDGE, OR IN YOUR COMMUNITY, TO HELP FEED AND HOUSE ALL THE STRAY AND UNWANTED ANIMALS IN OUR REGION.....AND IF YOU HAVE PLACE IN YOUR FINE HOME FOR A PET LIKE "ANIMAL" THE CAT, PLEASE CONTACT THE SHELTER FOR INFORMATION ON ADOPTIONS
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEARS TO ONE AND ALL. HAVE A SAFE HOLIDAY.
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