CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - A NICE PLACE TO VIST, A GREAT PLACE TO LIVE, A BEAUTIFUL PLACE TO WAKE UP TO EACH MORNING
RAIN OR SNOW, WIND OR CALM, SUN OR CLOUD THERE'S SOMETHING SPECIAL BEING MUSKOKAN - ESPECIALLY SWELL ON CHRISTMAS DAY
It is a scene this morning, here at Birch Hollow, that you won't see featured in the traditional Christmas pictorials, showing the festive season in Canada. It is more likely, a vista from a coastal area of Canada, or of the British countryside, after receiving a small quantity of snow, followed by days of rain and fog. In Southern Ontario, where I spent the first years of my life, I would have heard the fog horns of passing lake freighters. I grew up with many Christmases just like this, when our family lived in Burlington, where winters were cold, with a sharply bitter wind coming off Lake Ontario, but seldom had much in the way of snow. I used to play down along the banks of Ramble Creek, and it was great fun when we could put on our bobb skates, to criss-cross the frozen shallows of the sandy bottom water course. You might remember, from a previous blog, that I fell through the ice on this same snaking little creek, and nearly drowned. There were a few deep pools with swirling water that never froze over solid. My mother issued orders to stay away from these pockets of open water, or I'd be in "so much trouble." That's something I knew a lot about. My chum Ray Green and I, were a sort of Dennis the Menaces back in those days, when we both resided up on Harris Crescent. I can still see that day before Christmas, when so many of the brightly clothed and toqued youngsters, were skating on the silver ice in the ravine, surrounded by the vintage architecture, of the three multi-story apartment buildings in the neighborhood, and the decorated houses around us, and along the embankment on the other side of the creek. It was the first time I had ever used bobb skates, fastened to my snow boots, and well, it was a disaster. I couldn't do anything more athletic than stand on the two bladed skates, but that was okay, because there was a lot to see, and kids my age to laugh with, through the afternoon snowflurries; generated from the earlier rain that day. The ice got better through the rest of that day, and was perfect throughout the holiday as I recall. I liked Burlington back then because it was either a big town or a small city, but our neighborhood had a perfect post war patina, and rural character, partly because it was bordered by a large farm field owned by the Ratkowskis I believe, and the ravine and woodland of the Ramble Creek basin. When we moved to Muskoka, I got a lot more hinterland to enjoy that's for sure.
The rain was much heavier when I got up this morning, and looked out over The Bog, as I do every morning, even before brushing my teeth; and having the first of many coffees to get myself in gear. I have seen a few Christmases like this before, and as I am very fond of traditional English holiday celebrations, and the dining fare of our ancestors, this scene in the hollow, is just as remarkable, as if it was a recollected vision of my past; playing down in the ravine of Ramble Creek, or wandering through the haunted woods of Nottingham Forest, in England, where Robin Hood is said to have robbed from the rich to give to the poor. I have enjoyed many Christmases, where the weather could be described as inclement, according to what we generally hope will amount to a white Christmas; to go with the song of the same title. But it is no less a charming, and picturesque scene, because there is green ground cover showing up in The Bog, the result of previous days of sun, and rain, washing the snow away into the myriad little creeks, that eventually drain into Muskoka Bay, of the greater Lake Muskoka. I can remember Christmas Days in the past, here at Birch Hollow, when our family could walk across the snow crust, deep into the woodlands, across the basin; and others, where I used snowshoes to access the same region, of the tiny acreage of urban wetland. And there have been Christmas Eves just like this, and although not quite a parallel to poet Robert Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening," is just as enchanting and invigorating for the hiker passing along the barely visible pathways. Looking out upon the woods, has been my passion here, since we arrived in the fall of 1989, and I can't imagine what it would be like now, to not awake and see it sprawling so beautifully to the horizon; its inhabitant foxes, deer, squirrels, rabbits, moles and mice, keeping the birds company; that thrive in the tall pines, and venerable old oaks, which have yet to shed their leaves. I really don't care whether it is raining or snowing, on Christmas Eve, because the wilds of Muskoka are special places no matter what time of year, or what the prevailing weather. The Hawks and Owls, and noisey Crows, mix with the huge Blue Jays in the mix of thick evergreens and hardwoods that provide roosts and safe haven through the rolling year. To some citizens, who pay it little, if any attention, it is just a wasteland, that would be put to better use, affording more urban residences and apartments. It is the danger of the modern era, that we truly don't appreciate what we have, until it no longer exists in its natural splendour.
I have re-located just now, to work for the afternoon, in the studio of our Uptown Gravenhurst shop, where the door has been opening and closing like mad, with last minute shoppers buzzing through the building, looking for last minute gift ideas. In only a few minutes, I've already had my quota of chocolates for the day, and Robert came into the studio, to drop off yet another box just given to us, by a parent of one of his guitar students. Talk about perks of the job. The nicest part, is hearing all the Christmas greetings being extended to us, by our regular customers, and half listening to the conversations breaking out between those folks meeting up with friends, in our cozy digs; and honestly, it would be quite impossible to remain unmoved by the seasonal goodwill, up and down the street. Despite the fact it has again begun raining heavily, with a pronounced mist moving across the region. It's always so remarkable to me, to find so many citizens who still honor those old and tired traditions, at this time of the year, of going shop to shop, wishing the proprietors the best of the holiday season. I know of one kindly chap, who wears a full Santa outfit, and wanders about the town, wishing "Merry Christmas," with a hale and hardy laugh, just because he insists on keeping tradition alive, as he has celebrated it, for long and long; as his own initiative to bring the neighborhoods and citizens together in the light-heartedness of Christmas and New Years. He may never be rewarded with a "Citizen of the Year," citation, but in our eyes, people like this are our greatest human resources.
I have enjoyed many wonderful Christmas seasons in Muskoka, from a young age, and whether it was playing road hockey, in the light snowflurries, on a small patch of illuminated roadway, on Bracebridge's Alice Street, or sitting in the attic of Dr. Peter McGibbon's former home, on upper Manitoba Street, looking down from the attic window, watching the kids running along the path, or even in the wet conditions, making snow angels in Memorial Park; or in the modest early 1900's Ontario Street house, where Suzanne and I moved shortly after we were married, and where Andrew arrived home as a newborn; all of the special occasions, were celebrated equally with anticipation, yet peaceful acceptance, that the place where we were celebrating the holiday, was a darn fine homestead in which to host Christmas revelry; as high or low key as the mood dictated.
Suzanne is always very low key, about her own family celebrations, recalled from when she was growing up in the Village of Windermere, on Lake Rosseau, but fondly recalling activities at the Windermere United Church, where her mother Harriet was a frequent organist, and general community activities, that were about as Muskokan in tradition as you could get. For quite a few years, every Christmas Eve, Suzanne and I would take Andrew and Robert, to her aunt Ada and Jack's (Gillis family) house in Ufford, which was actually her grandfather's John Shea's original farmstead, in Watt Township, where Ada would fuss for no less than three hours, to make up a dinner spread for us, that was a most incredible country dinner, with the most amazing pickles and preserves, a rich treat for the senses. Ada and Jack never had children of their own, but enjoyed their nieces and nephews when they came for visits. Jack insisted on lemon pie for his special dinner treat. Me too. I'm glad our boys had this opportunity to visit with these two fine members of the family, who gave us some spectacular Christmas Eve dinners, and an old fashioned country social, in keeping with the way the Shea kin had been celebrating the holidays for generations.
Maybe it's true that the historian-me, has more interest in the details of Christmas past, than most others, and to some readers this may seem more of an impediment than a blessing of recollection. There are of course sad memories, that take their toll on us especially at this time of the year; yet I find them now to be of the bitter-sweet variety, and tolerable, full of kinder nostalgia, despite the reality there is much of Christmas past that can, no matter what traditions are employed, never be relived as one might like.
A few minutes at the studio, and I had already experienced one of those wild and crazy impulses, in the most conservative sense, of course, to let the boys run the shop for the afternoon, so I could take Suzanne on a trip up to the very hamlet I was writing about earlier in this blog; to Lake Rosseau and Windermere, through her ancestral grounds of Ufford, with a stop by the Ufford Cemetery, for seasonal visit to Jack and Ada Gillis, and Norm and Harriet Stripp, and all the Sheas (including John Lily Shea) and the Veitches, of which my dear wife is related. We armed ourselves with a couple of mugs, some nicely chilled egg nog, and a couple of seasonal treats, and hit the misty road. It was a great outing, and as I noted above, Muskoka looks amazing no matter what the weather, and today it was veiled by the rolling fog over the hills of Ufford; and out over Lake Rosseau at the Windermere waterfront. There was very little traffic on the road, and it was a charming motor-trip through a lovely hinterland solitude. But it was nice to see the lights of a Christmas tree, through the farmstead front windows, and watched some neighborhood kids sledding down the hillsides, despite the drizzle. I was thinking back, to what it looked like, driving through Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and Vermont where I once used to travel frequently, in the winter months, on the way to, and from Florida. I think we under-rate Muskoka, for its countryside qualities, and rural living generally. This trip today, was as romantic, nostalgic as it was contemporary to the Christmas of 2014, while we listened to Christmas Carols all the while.
Suzanne visited her own family home in Windermere, that has been nicely restored to its former Victorian era elegance, and it was the first time back, since it was sold as part of her father's estate. I thought she would begin to cry, but I knew she had to make this visitation regardless; and she seemed quite pleased that it was looking much as it had been during her childhood. So it brought back good memories instead of adverse. We had discussed buying the house from the estate, but we knew it would take fifty thousand dollars more, on top of the purchase price, to make the necessary upgrades. It got a little tearful on the day we drove away for the last time, but I was delighted she had a good feeling about what she saw this afternoon. We have long considered buying a small house in Windermere, but Suzanne has preferred to spend more money instead, to upgrade Birch Hollow. We still have a few years left to decide on stuff like that, although we're both pretty happy with how Gravenhurst turned out as a hometown; something we weren't sure about in 1989, when we had our first Christmas at Birch Hollow.
When we arrived back at the store, to help the boys close up, Andrew was pleased to report that his brother Robert, had sold quite a few pieces from our part of the business, and well, it paid for gas and lunch, for our pleasant little journey through Muskoka. We also visited some of our old residences, from Ontario Street, Quebec Street, Manitoba Street, and Alice Street in Bracebridge, and had a momentary stop at the former Black's Variety and Bamford's Store on Toronto Street, where I would have been browsing for last minute gifts, in the era of the late 1960's, on a Christmas Eve just like this. I even enjoyed being part of the hustle and bustle today, in a number of local shops, and we had a nice time meeting up with some old friends, also scrambling for last minute gifts.
I hope all readers of this humble, overly nostalgic blog, will enjoy the best of the season, a Merry Christmas, and have a safe and pleasing holiday with kith and kin; a good book, favorite pets, and those old songs and carols we remember from childhood. It is okay to wax poetic at Christmas, and think fondly back to the places in your former hometowns, where you invested so much heart and soul, waiting for Santa Claus to come down the chimney. I used to live in apartments, so this part of Christmas used to freak me out a bit. We didn't have chimneys. My mother told me he could basically vaporize to get under the door, and then re-materialize with his sack full of toys, by our Christmas tree. I was good with that explanation. It is part of the tradition that I harp about, which probably adds to my irrelevance, but rest assured, it is my sincere belief, that we all need the strong roots of times past, our past, to secure ourselves for the future.
I shall once again, expect the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, to visit me, to undoubtedly point out, that I have not been the kind of human being I am supposed to be; and once again, I shall make every effort to repent, and restore myself, to a more faithful, moral existence for the coming year. Now, as Santa nears, I would like to wish you all, a sincere Merry Christmas from all of the Curries of Birch Hollow, whether you're living in Muskoka, or anywhere else in the world, and have found this blog somewhat seasonally and geographically entertaining.
The last portion of today's blog has been written with the background glow from two Victorian era oil lamps, that are as bright as they are warming, and it reminds me so much, of the way I used to compose my stories, when I composed on a manual Underwood typewriter, that I had used at the Bracebridge Herald-Gazette back in the early 1980's. Now I'm just basking here, catching the wonderful scent of Suzanne preparing our Christmas breakfast in advance; a homestead menu that might have been served up by Granny Shea in her log cabin on the hillside of the family's Ufford farm.
HOPE YOU ALL HAD A COMFORTABLE AND PLEASING CHRISTMAS DAY
FIRST, THE GIFT OF AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH
AS AN ANTIQUE DEALER, I HAVE THOUSANDS OF UNNAMED, UNTITLED VINTAGE PHOTOGRAPHS. AMONGST ANTIQUE AND SECOND HAND DEALERS, IT WOULD BE MOST UNCOMMON INDEED, TO VISIT ONE AND NOT FIND THE TYPICAL BOX OR BIN FULL OF PHOTOGRAPHS THAT HAVE BEEN ACQUIRED AT ESTATE SALES AND AUCTIONS. IN FACT, THERE IS NOTHING SO FRUSTRATING, AS TO FIND A WONDERFULLY APPOINTED OLD PHOTOGRAPH, THAT IS UNIDENTIFIED, EVEN EXCLUDING THE NAME OF THE STUDIO IT WAS TAKEN. SO WE ARE VERY CAREFUL WITH OUR OWN PHOTOGRAPHS, TO LABEL EACH OF THEM, FOR THE BENEFIT OF GREAT GRANDCHILDREN IN THE FUTURE…..SO THEY CAN GET A GOOD LOOK AT THEIR KIN. THEY MIGHT BE SCARED BY IMAGES OF THEIR AUTHOR GREAT-GRANDFATHER. SO IMAGINE MY SURPRISE, THIS MORNING, WHEN SON ROBERT HANDED ME A THIN BAG, WITH A BOW ON TOP, CONTAINING ONE OF MY FAVORITE FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS. SUZANNE AND ROBERT CONSPIRED TO HAVE A BLOW-UP IMAGE OF AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH, MY MOTHER PASSED-ON TO ME, JUST BEFORE SHE PASSED AWAY, OF MY GRANDFATHER, STANLEY JACKSON, OF TORONTO, PLAYING HIS VIOLIN. IT WAS A TINY, DARK PHOTOGRAPH, WITH A FAIR BIT OF SURFACE DETERIORATION. THEY TOOK IT TO THE ARTSTRACT COMPANY, OF GRAVENHURST, WHO CAN DO THIS SORT OF MAGIC WITH OLD IMAGES, AND HAD IT BLOWN UP TO AN EIGHT BY TEN FORMAT. I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE IT, BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH IT WAS STILL FOGGY WITH AGE, IT SHOWED HIS VIOLIN AND HIS CONFIDENT POSE WITH IT, TUCKED TIGHTLY AGAINST HIS NECK. I WOULD ONE DAY LIKE TO HAVE A PAINTING DONE FROM THIS SAME MARVELOUS DEPICTION OF MY GRANDFATHER AS A YOUNG MAN.
I'VE MENTIONED STAN JACKSON MANY TIMES IN MY BLOGS. HE WAS A HOUSE BUILDER FROM TORONTO, BUT ORIGINALLY FROM THE TRENTON AREA OF THE PROVINCE, WHERE HIS FAMILY WERE AMONGST THE EARLY HOMESTEADERS. HE BUILT THEIR FAMILY HOME, LATER IN TORONTO "THE GOOD," AND THERE WAS EVEN A STREET IN THE CITY NAMED AFTER HIM…..KNOWN AS "JACKSON AVENUE." I BELIEVE IT'S NORTH OF BLOOR, NEAR JANE STREET, IN THE AREA OF OLD MILL. HE WORKED AS A BUILDER, WITH HIS SON, CARMEN, AND MY FATHER TED SR. (ED), IN CONJUNCTION WITH PAUL HELLYER, THE FORMER MINISTER OF DEFENCE, FOR CANADA, WHO AT THAT TIME DEVELOPED MANY ACRES OF CITY LANDSCAPE. WHAT I ALWAYS FOUND ODD ABOUT STAN, WAS THAT HE WORKED IN AN INDUSTRY THAT WAS AWFULLY HARD ON THE HANDS AND JOINTS. YET HE WAS AN ACCOMPLISHED VIOLINIST, WHO I HEARD A WEE BIT, WHEN WE'D VISIT STAN AND HIS WIFE BLANCHE, MY GRANDPARENTS, WHEN WE LIVED IN BURLINGTON. HE WAS ASSOCIATED FOR A TIME, WITH THE TORONTO SYMPHONY OCHRESTRA, AND HE WAS ABLE TO GET MY MOTHER MERLE, A JOB WITH THE GROUP ONE SUMMER AFTER SCHOOL. I HAVE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO FIND WHAT HIS ASSOCIATION WITH THE SYMPHONY WAS, AS HISTORICAL FACT, BUT MERLE HAD CALLED HIM A "CONCERT MASTER," BUT THERE IS NO EVIDENCE HE PERFORMED THIS TASK WITH THE TSO.
HIS MUSICAL TALENT SKIPPED A COUPLE OF GENERATIONS. MERLE WENT TO THE ROYAL CONSERVATORY FOR PIANO, AND WAS A LOVER OF CLASSICAL MUSIC, BUT THE TALENT GENE JUMPED A GENERATION. THIS IS WHAT I TELL THE BOYS ANYWAY, ALTHOUGH IT'S TRUE I DID PLAY UNDER THE DIRECTORSHIP OF MUSKOKA MUSICIAN, JOHN RUTHERFORD, WHEN I ATTENDED BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL, BACK IN THE 1970'S. I WAS EVEN IN THE FAMOUS ENGLAND BAND BACK IN 1974. JOHN RUTHERFORD WAS A LEGEND IN MUSIC HERE, AND COULD COUNT, AMONGST HIS FRIENDS, CANADIAN DIRECTOR, COMPOSER HOWARD CABLE.
I HAVE INCLUDED THE FOGGY IMAGE OF MY GRANDFATHER ON TODAY'S BLOG. IT WAS ONE OF THE MOST THOUGHTFUL PRESENTS I'VE EVER RECEIVED. WHEN I KNEW MY GRANDFATHER, HE WAS VERY ELDERLY AND WE DIDN'T HAVE A LOT TO SAY TO ONE ANOTHER. I REMEMBER MERLE, SHARING A STORY ABOUT HIM, AND ONE OF THE REASONS HE QUIT GOING TO CHURCH. IT WAS DURING THE GREAT DEPRESSION, THAT HE WAS HIRED TO BUILD A CHURCH FOR A LOCAL CONGREGATION. WHEN HE HAD THE WELL CRAFTED STRUCTURE COMPLETED, THE MINISTER ADMITTED THEY DIDN'T HAVE MONEY TO PAY HIM…..BUT HE COULD BRING HIS FAMILY TO THE FRONT OF THE CHURCH EACH WEEK, IN THEIR OWN SPECIAL PEW. STAN WAS A HIGHLY PRINCIPLED MAN, AND REFUSED THE OFFER, AND AS IT CREATED GREAT HARDSHIP FOR HIS OWN FAMILY, HE VOWED NEVER TO SET FOOT INSIDE A CHURCH AGAIN. HE WAS GOOD TO HIS WORD EXCEPT AT THE END OF HIS LIFE. AFTER HIS WIFE BLANCHE DIED IN THE EARLY 1960'S, HE DID EVENTUALLY REMARRY, A WOMAN NAMED EDNA, WHO RESIDED IN FLORIDA. MY GRANDFATHER HAD A HEART ATTACK, COMING OUT OF CHURCH IN FLORIDA, AND DIED IN HER ARMS ON THE CHURCH STEPS. IT WAS A SORT OF TRAGIC COMING TOGETHER AT THE END, BUT WE KNOW HE HAD SUFFERED NUMEROUS SMALL ATTACKS OVER ABOUT FIVE YEARS, SO HIS DEATH BY HEART ATTACK WASN'T A SURPRISE. PASSING AWAY ON THE CHURCH STEPS DID SEEM RATHER IRONIC, BUT SO WAS MY GRANDFATHER.
THIS BLOW-UP PHOTOGRAPH HAS BEEN CAPTIONED FOR MY FUTURE GREAT GRANDCHILDREN I WON'T LIKELY MEET.
STORY BELOW TAKEN FROM AN 1871 ISSUE OF THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE - EXPOSING SOME SOCIAL FESTIVITY IN THE MUSKOKA WILDS
I WANTED TO SHARE THIS WEE TALE TAKEN FROM THE NORTH ADVOCATE OF 1871, ADDITIONALLY PUBLISHED IN THOMAS MCMURRAY'S SETTLERS' GUIDEBOOK, ENTITLED "MUSKOKA AND PARRY SOUND," ALSO PUBLISHED IN 1871. IT DOES NOT REFERENCE WHERE THE "WOOL PICKING BEE" WAS HELD, BUT IT WAS MOST LIKELY BETWEEN GRAVENHURST AND BRACEBRIDGE, IN THE MOST HUMBLE OF PIONEER ACCOMMODATIONS. IT DOESN'T REFERENCE IT AS BEING AT CHRISTMAS TIME, BUT IT WAS IN THE WINTER SEASON. IT SHOWS THAT WE MUSKOKANS, EVEN BACK THEN, COULD MAKE FUN OUT OF JUST ABOUT ANYTHING. THIS IS A NICE PIECE OF CANADIANA.
"Understanding one of the objects of your columns being to convey abroad information concerning our great country, as well as to supply means of edification to our own people - the settlers. It may, I think, be fairly regarded as a needful part of your work to give the outsiders some idea of bush life, as well as land. One of the questions, no doubt, arising in the minds of those moving in, would very likely be: how do the poor folks make out to pass their evenings, or, have they anything corresponding to missionary breakfasts, complimentary dinners, or oyster suppers? Some sketches of real life in the bush might serve the purpose of answering such questions.
"A 'wool-picking-bee' (let me guard against being misunderstood), does not mean an insect of the bee kind peculiar to this region, and noted for for picking the wool of the sheep, but is the name for a kind of affair which will be best understood by a brief description of a single 'bee'. The one I had the privilege of attending, was got up by a lady inviting her friends and neighbors on a given evening. A goodly number accepting, they assembled and commenced operations around a large home-made table, by teasing the tufts of wood, preparatory, to further manufacture; meanwhile some of the young people were good naturally at teasing one another. Amongst the company present might be noticed the various functionaries of the locality, as trappers, postmaster, path-masters, school teachers, miscellaneous traders, etc., and in most cases, several offices meeting in the same individual, and all claiming the addition of B.W. (Bush Whacker), and not in the least, the correspondent of the Northern Advocate (Thomas McMurray himself). But now the work and amusement proceed in unison, which is more than can always be accomplished. Interspersed, more-over, with something of edification, and not altogether with a religious bearing, hymn singing, and a trifle of political and theological discussion."
A verse was read as such; "Here in bush, life is found, work and play abound, and yet strangely agree, here extremes we'd unite, here the sombre and the bright, mixed together you see; unrestrained seem to run, both the serious and fun, in the 'wool picking bee.'
"About noon of night, there might, perhaps, be noticed a shade of falling off in the spirit of wool-picking, when a sound is heard indicating a change of scene and a variety in the exercises to be introduced, of which one might for an hour or two previously, have smelled the approach. Preparations are ordered, the wool is speedily removed, and picking of another kind introduced. It might do in the city to say 'the delicacies of the season,' but here the dishes, or what was on them, would require somewhat varied terms to describe. It was in fact a great meal, of which the items would be more tedious to describe than they were to discuss practically. A roast beaver might, perhaps, be the most notable deviation from the ordinary fare, but breakfast, dinner, and supper were so amply represented, that a good old-style brother declared, ' If this be wickedness, I hope to be always a sinner.'
"It is not too much to say that full justice was done in relieving the rude table from its cause of groaning; so, having picked the wool, and the bones of the beaver, and chickens, and singing the doxology, each seemed disposed to pick a partner, and the 'bee' stood adjourned sine die. This I must say in conclusion, for the relief of some of your uninitiated readers, who may feel a kind of commiseration for the sadness of poor bush life, and would start with alarm to hear of a wool picking bee; had they only the chance of taking part in the affair, they might be more disposed to envy than pity; and I seriously advise them, if ever they get an invitation to a wool-picking bee - to go." (The editorial piece was actually written by McMurray on October 26th, 1868, when he resided in Draper Township.)
An original copy of this rare Muskoka history, was given to me as a gift, when I married into the Stripp family of Windermere. Suzanne's mother, Harriett, was from one of the pioneer families, who settled in the Three Mile Lake, Ufford area, of the present Township of Muskoka Lakes, and the book had belonged to her father, John Shea, a farmer in the area and former municipal clerk. As an historian, I was honored by the gift, and it has been used many hundreds of times, to assist in research projects. There is a pencilled line above a verse written by McMurray, that John Shea found interesting. It reads as follows:
"Now in the primal woods, the axe resounds, and the tall pine receives its mortal wounds, as stroke on stroke disturbs the silent snow, the wound enlarges by each well aimed blow. The forest giant shakes in all his might, and crashing falls neath his disposed weight, and quickly carries to the branches bent, that strive in vain to stop his sure descent. A swift and certain ruin with rebound, and echoing woods repeat the thundering sound, stripped of his limbs, and squared, and hewn he lies, to human kind a good but hard won prize. It soon is made to raise the sheltering house, Or o'er the seas afar is doomed to roam, to build the bark, or adorn the hall, raised from the ruins of a forest fall. His roots remain to meet a slow decay, and mend the soil when sown some future day."
The Shea family was well connected in the logging industry of the pioneering period in Muskoka, so the fact this was marked, was quite relevant.
THE SLEIGH RIDE, OF THE 1870'S IN MUSKOKA
IN RESPECT TO THIS CHRISTMAS SEASON, OF 2012, HERE IN MUSKOKA, I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE THIS POEM PUBLISHED IN MCMURRAY'S BOOK, THAT JOHN SHEA OR A FAMILY MEMBER, AT THE UFFORD FARM, HAD MARKED AS WELL…..AS BEING A POEM TO REMEMBER. YOU WON'T SEE MANY, (MORE LIKELY NONE) TO THIS IMPORTANT LOCAL PIECE, THAT IS PART OF OUR FOLK LORE AND CULTURE. IT IS A GEM OF OUR HERITAGE, THAT HAS BEEN LARGELY FORGOTTEN; BEING CONSIDERED TOO OLD TO MATTER ANY LONGER. AS A LONG SERVING SOCIAL / CULTURAL HISTORIAN, THIS KIND OF LOCAL WRITING, ESPECIALLY FROM THE HOMESTEAD PERIOD, IS DEFINITELY AN IMPORTANT PART OF OUR HERITAGE, THAT IS JUST AS RELEVANT TODAY AS IT WAS AS THE INK DRIED IN THIS FIRST MUSKOKA BOOK. YOU WILL FIND MANY OF THESE CULTURALLY SIGNIFICANT TEXTS, STILL REGALED IN STATES LIKE VERMONT AND CONNECTICUT, AND IN THE HINTERLAND OF QUEBEC, AND THEY SHOULD BE SIMILARLY CELEBRATED AND USED AND RE-USED FOR WHAT THEY REPRESENT OF THE PAST…..AS APPROPRIATE TO OUR BEAUTIFUL WINTER LANDSCAPE OF THE MODERN ERA.
HERE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PIONEER JOURNAL EDITORIALS - IN THE FORM OF A POEM.
THE SLEIGH RIDE
"Calm is the night, and clear and bright; the silver moon is shedding, a flood of light o'er the snow so white, and an icy glory spreading. In misty light the moon does lend her, and the starry vault of blue above, is sparkling bright with a frost splendor.
"Swiftly we bound o'er the frozen ground, gaily, joyously, cheerily; and our thoughts to keep time to the musical chime, of the sleigh bells tinkling merrily. For our hearts are attuned to the pleasing strains, of gladness, glee and innocent mirth; and we feel the sin has made dark stains, yet happiness lingers still on earth.
"In wrap and rug, right warm and snug, all care to the winds we fling; and laugh and song, as we speed along, make the silent forest ring. The distant owl our voices hears, and screams from the dark and lonely dell, in answer to our joyous cheers, a discordant, wild, unearthly yell.
"Faster we go - the frozen snow, from our horses feet is flying; the echoes long repeat our song, far in the distance dying. Our joyous brass exulting bound, and utterance find in gleeful voice, till rocks and hills, and dales resound, and even the gloomy woods rejoice.
"Our sleigh now glides where the river hides, under the ice bridges strong, where deep and low the waters flow, so silently along. And now it is past, and on we roam, by the frozen lake - snowy plain, past the gleaming lights of the settler's home, and away through the lonely wood again.
"The fall, it is they; we can see the spray, that the seething waters toss, like a glittering cloud, o'er that foaming flood; and now, as the bridge we cross, its echoing thunders louder grow, Check'd is our noisy mirth and song, and we stop and gaze where far below, the rolling torrent roars along.
"The trees that stand on either hand, are hung with icedrops fair - with gems of light and jewels so bright, and dazzling crystals rare - reflecting back each twinkling star, with a sparkling beauty, rich and grand, a glittering scene, surpassing far, our wildest dreams of fairy land.
"When swiftly past, in the roaring blast, the frost king sweeps his pride, his icy form the raging storm, and the mantling snow wreath hide. And unseen spirits the way prepare, wherever his royal feet would go, with dazzling carpets white and fair, and the crystal bridge where waters flow.
"I love the clink, on the frozen rink, of the skater's iron heel; The merry huzza of the boys at play, with their sleds, on the slippery hill; the long, long nights, by the bright fireside, in the joyous home where happiness dwells; and best of all, the merry sleigh-ride, and the musical chime of the tinkling bells."
This is the Muskoka heritage scene I love to recall. When we ponder our identity these days, I draw back to the old books, to see if I can find something remarkable to show the public…….that believe it or not, Muskoka was more than a pretty face….way back when. This is our cultural identity. And there's a lot more to explore. I will be presenting some of these social / cultural anchors and traditions, in the coming week of Christmas season blogs.
I hope each and every one had a restful and peaceful Christmas Day. Everyone here at Birch Hollow is pleasantly stuffed with treats of all sorts, and yet, will hungering anticipation, for the presentation later this evening, of the roast beast and all the festive trimmings. Suzanne has cut-off all treats from this point on, so we will be tantalized for the next several hours, by the heavenly aroma, of a turkey in the oven. At dinner, we will say a little prayer of remembrance, to those who used to gather around this pine harvest table on Christmas day. Suzanne's father, Norm Stripp (her mother Harriet passed away shortly after we were married), my parents, Merle and Ed, who always made the most out of our family holidays. Also in fond remembrance, are our dear friends, Dave Brown, our teacher friend from Hamilton, Suzanne's aunt and uncle, Ada and Jack Gillis, of Ufford, (where we used to spend our Christmas Eves, for so many years), and Alec Nagy, of Burlington, husband of Ann, who both looked after me as a wee lad, when my parents were at work. Alec died this past year. He was a kindly chap, who let me follow him during yard work and lawn mowing, and of this, I was the content voyeur child.
Other friends not with us this year, are my antique and collectible buddy, Jack Kiernan, formerly of Baysville, Charlie Wilson, my historical colleague, of Delaware, Roger Crozier, the subject N.H.L. goaltender, who gave me my start as a biographer….working on his story. They've all made an impact on this writer, including writing colleague, Wayland Drew, who is on my mind every time I sit as this desk…….as I stare at the collection of books he wrote, stored on my office shelf for easy reference, when admittedly, at times, I'm feeling uninspired. "Superior; The Haunted Shore," and "Brown's Weir," are my favorites, and you can tell by the signs of wear. There can be no greater compliment, I think, than having loyal readers.
What a beautiful day it has been in Muskoka…..especially here in Gravenhurst, where the sun has been shining most of the day. The fire has gone cold this afternoon, but I can hear Suzanne poking at the embers, to get up a fire for the early evening, and the celebration of our Christmas dinner. Thank you all, for joining me this Christmas season……and I remain, your humble servant. Please visit me again. There is always room for another guest.
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