Christmas In Muskoka; Giving Credit To The Home Towners Who Influenced Us, A Storied Community

Late 1960's Early 1970's Depiction of Manitoba Street in Bracebridge looking south down the Queen's Hill. The brick building second on the left was the former Queen's Hotel, but in this vintage it was The Patterson Hotel, owned by Fenton Patterson.

Two close ups of the same Frank Johnston painting, this one showing the intersection of Manitoba Street and Dominion Street and the artist would have captured this image from the front of the former Uptown Esso Station owned by Ted Smith.

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - WE ALL HAVE TO MAKE THE PAST SIGNIFICANT TO THE YOUNGER GENERATIONS

IF WE, AS MORTALS, HAVE THE RESOURCE OF MEMORY, THEN HISTORY WAS MEANT TO BE RECALLED

     I HAVE JUST NOW, RED IN THE FACE, AND WHITE ON THE FINGER-TIPS, RETURNED TO HEARTHSIDE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. WHAT A WILD NIGHT OF WIND AND SNOW. THE WIND IS WHISTLING THROUGH THE WOODLANDS AS IF IT IS A STORM IN MID WINTER. I'M JUST HOPING THAT IT'S ALL BLUSTER WITHOUT THE SNOW OF NOVEMBER. BUT IT'S THE CHRISTMAS SEASON AND SNOW IS PART OF THE TRADITION. RIGHT? FOR A FELLOW, WHO GREW UP HAVING CHRISTMASES IN FLORIDA, I'M MUCH HAPPIER WITH A WHITE CHRISTMAS.
     EARLIER THIS YEAR, SOME RESIDENTS OF BRACEBRIDGE, WERE DISPLEASED BY WHAT THEY PERCEIVED, AS THE TOWN'S INABILITY TO CREATE THE KIND OF EXCITING, DYNAMIC COMMUNITY, THEY THOUGHT TOWN COUNCILS WERE SUPPOSED TO PROVIDE THE CITIZENRY. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE YOUTHFUL MOVERS AND SHAKERS OF THIS MISSION, TO DEMAND THE TOWN GOVERNANCE, TO GET ON THE BALL, AND GIVE THEM WHAT THEY MOST DESIRED. WHICH I THINK WAS A SORT OF LOW BUDGET UTOPIA, WHERE THE CITIZENS WERE PROSPEROUS, EACH WITH A SUITABLE AND PROFITABLE JOB OR BUSINESS, AND THAT RECREATIONAL OPPORTUNITIES WOULD SUIT THE INDIVIDUAL NEEDS, OF EVERY RESIDENT OF THE MUNICIPALITY. I THINK THEY FELL SHORT ON ASKING THAT THE STREETS BE PAVED IN GOLD. WHILE IT NEVER HURTS TO GIVE THE TOWN A LITTLE PUSH IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, NOW AND AGAIN, AND I'M ALL FOR PEACEFUL PROTEST TO FURTHER CAUSES, BUT TO BE BLUNT, "MAKING BRACEBRIDGE GREAT AGAIN," WAS A RIDICULOUS PLACE TO START SUCH A MISSION TO SAVE THE TOWN.
     FIRST OF ALL, BEFORE I GET WOUND UP HERE, BRACEBRIDGE DOESN'T NEED SAVING, AND NEITHER DOES GRAVENHURST OR ANY OF THE OTHER COMMUNITIES IN THIS BEAUTIFUL PART OF THE WORLD. THEY NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK, MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE. THEY NEED A LOT MORE SINCERE AND COMMITTED ACTIVISTS, WHO ARE PREPARED TO SHOULDER RESPONSIBILITY, NOT JUST TALK ABOUT THEIR "WANT LIST" FROM THE TOWN. ALL IMPROVEMENTS COST TAX DOLLARS, EVEN IF GRANTS ARE RECEIVED TO FUND PROJECTS, AND RENEWAL INITIATIVES. IF IT COMES FROM GOVERNMENT, AT ANY LEVEL, IN ULTIMATELY COMES FROM OUR POCKETS. AMBITION. INITIATIVE. WELL, THAT'S FREE. A LOT OF VOLUNTEER LABOUR HAS BEEN INVESTED IN THESE TOWNS, OVER THE CENTURIES, AND IT'S STILL THE WAY TO OVERCOME DEFICIENCIES. BUT TO CLAIM THAT A TOWN LOST IT "GREATNESS," IS WILDLY PRESUMPTUOUS. AS A MUSKOKA, AND BRACEBRIDGE HISTORIAN, I SAY "BALDERDASH". BRACEBRIDGE WAS NEVER GREAT. IT WAS A FINE COMMUNITY TO GROW UP IN, AND RAISE A FAMILY. MY PARENTS LOVED BRACEBRIDGE, AND I GREW UP FEELING THE SAME. BUT IT WASN'T BECAUSE OF GREATNESS, OR SUPER PROSPERITY; BUT RATHER BECAUSE IT WAS A CLOSE-KNIT TOWN, THAT KNEW HOW TO PULL TOGETHER IN TIMES OF CRISIS, AND AT TIMES OF CELEBRATION. IT ALWAYS CAME DOWN TO THE RESILIENCE OF THE CITIZENRY. NOT THE FOLKS AT TOWN HALL. THERE IS WAY TOO MUCH DEPENDENCE ON OUR TOWN COUNCILS IN MUSKOKA, TO MAKE THE COMMUNITIES BETTER. THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS. CONSTITUENTS LEAD THE CHARGE, AND TOWN COUNCIL MANAGES THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE. IF WE DON'T LIKE THE WAY THEY'RE FUNCTIONING AS A LOCAL GOVERNMENT, WE CAN GET RID OF THEM. YOU'D BE SURPRISED WHAT KIND OF PRESSURE CAN BE EXERTED ON TOWN HALL, IF IT IS WARRANTED BY PUBLIC OPINION. I'VE SEEN COUNCIL CHAMBERS FULL TO OVERFLOWING WITH VERY ANGRY PEOPLE, AND I'VE WATCHED COUNCILS BACK OFF PROJECTS THE PUBLIC DIDN'T APPROVE. POINT IS, OUR TOWNS OF SOUTH MUSKOKA, ARE AS SUCCESSFUL AS THE CITIZENS ARE AMBITIOUS. TOWN HALL IS THE ADMINISTRATION WE REQUIRE, NOT THE END ALL OF WHAT IT MEANS TO HAVE A PROSPEROUS HOME TOWN.
     I CAME TO BRACEBRIDGE AT A YOUNG AGE. I WAS AN URBAN REFUGEE. I USED TO WALK TO SCHOOL VIA A POWER LINE EASEMENT, WITH MASSIVE TOWERS STRETCHING HORIZON TO HORIZON, IN BURLINGTON, AND I EVEN PLAYED THERE BECAUSE IT WAS OPEN SPACE, AND WE COULD RUN FOR A HALF HOUR WITHOUT MAKING A TURN. I PLAYED IN A RAVINE IN A HEAVILY POPULATED NEIGHBORHOOD, AND BELIEVE ME, THE WATER OF RAMBLE CREEK WAS POLLUTED. YOU COULD SMELL THE DEAD FISH IN THE LAKE, LONG BEFORE YOU SAW THE LAKESHORE. THE CREEK WATER SMELLED BAD AS WELL, BUT I GOT USED TO IT. I LOVED BURLINGTON, MAKE NO MISTAKE ABOUT THIS. OUR FAMILY LIVED IN A WONDERFUL THREE FLOOR APARTMENT OWNED BY THE NAGY FAMILY, AND THEY EVEN LOOKED AFTER ME WHEN MY PARENTS WERE AT WORK. BUT IT WAS AN URBAN ENVIRONMENT, AND UNTIL I GOT TO MUSKOKA, I HAD NO WAY TO COMPARE HOME NEIGHBORHOODS. I'D ONLY LIVED IN TWO DIFFERENT LOCATIONS, BOTH IN BURLINGTON, AND THEY WERE NICELY APPOINTED BUT UNMISTAKENLY CITY-LIKE. WHEN WE ARRIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE, I WAS ABSOLUTELY SPELLBOUND, BY THE FACT, I WAS SURROUNDED BY HINTERLAND, YET WE LIVED IN AN URBAN NEIGHBORHOOD BY DEFINITION. JUST NOT A BIG, AND HEAVILY POPULATED NEIGHBORHOOD. IT WOULD TAKE VERY FEW MINUTES, ON FOOT, OR BY BICYCLE, TO ARRIVE IN SOME WOODED ALCOVE, OR WILD RIVERSIDE BUSH LOT, WHERE NATURE WAS KING. AT BASS ROCK, ON THE MUSKOKA RIVER, I COULD ONLY FAINTLY HEAR THE TOWN CLOCK ON THE OLD FEDERAL BUILDING, WHEN IT CHIMED ON THE HOUR. THE URBAN SOUNDS WERE MUFFLED BY THE PLEASANT WASH OF THE RAPIDS, JUST BEFORE PASSING THROUGH THE NARROWS, WHERE WE USED TO SWIM ON STEAMY JULY AFTERNOONS.
     IN THE MID TO LATE 1960'S, WE DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF RECREATIONAL PROGRAMS, OFFERED BY THE TOWN, AT ANY TIME OF THE YEAR. THERE WERE SWIMMING CLASSES AT KIRBY'S BEACH IN THE SUMMER, MINOR BASEBALL AT JUBILEE PARK, SCOUTS, CUBS, GIRL GUIDES, 4-H CLUB ACTIVITIES, (FOR THOSE IN THE RURAL CLIMES), CHURCH RELATED ACTIVITIES, SCHOOL RELATED PROGRAMS, MINOR HOCKEY AND FIGURE SKATING IN THE WINTER SEASON. I SUPPOSE THERE WAS A YOUNG CURLER'S DIVISION AT THE OLD CURLING CLUB ON JAMES STREET, OPPOSITE THE COMMUNITY CENTRE, BUT I'M NOT SURE. WE MADE OUR OWN ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE MOST PART, AND IT WASN'T MUCH OF A HARDSHIP. EVEN IN BURLINGTON, THERE WERE THE SAME NUMBER OF PROGRAMS BACK THEN, AND SEEING AS MY FAMILY DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF DISPOSABLE INCOME, I JUST MADE DO WITH THE RAVINE OF RAMBLE CREEK AND A SAFE NEIGHBORHOOD. I NEVER ONCE FELT DISADVANTAGED, HAVING NATURE AS A CHUM.
    GROWING UP IN BRACEBRIDGE WAS ENHANCED BECAUSE OF ITS RURAL SITUATION. IT STILL DEMANDED ITS YOUNG CITIZENS BE CREATIVE, AND MAKE FUN WHEREVER AND HOWEVER POSSIBLE. SURE IT GOT US INTO CRAP AT TIMES, BUT NOTHING TOO SERIOUS. WHAT WE HAD IN MY ERA, WERE PARENTS AND NEIGHBORHOOD RESIDENTS WHO HELPED US HAVE MEMORABLE CHILDHOODS. I MAY HAVE ONLY HAD TWO PARENTS LISTED IN THE CENSUS, BUT TRUTHFULLY, I HAD DOZENS LOOKING OUT FOR ME, AND THANK GOD FOR THAT. IT'S STILL WHAT MOTIVATES ME TO WRITE BLOGS LIKE THIS. WE HAD SO MANY THOUGHTFUL AND CARING CITIZENS, WHO TIME AND AGAIN, IN ALL KINDS OF SOCIAL - CULTURAL RECREATIONS, PUT THEMSELVES IN THE MIDDLE, TO PULL THEM TOGETHER. THEY WEREN'T GREAT PEOPLE, AND THEY HAD NO INTEREST IN ACHIEVING GREATNESS, AT LEAST THE ONES I KNEW. YET THEY WORKED TOWARD A SAFE AND AMBITIOUS COMMUNITY, THROUGH SWEAT EQUITY. A LOT OF TIMES, THEY CHIPPED IN THEIR OWN MONEY TO GET PROJECTS OFF THE GROUND. IF WORD GOT OUT, YOU COULDN'T REGISTER YOUR KIDS FOR HOCKEY, PRETTY SOON SOME BENEVOLENT SOUL WOULD MAKE AN ANONYMOUS PAYMENT TO MINOR HOCKEY, OR THE SKATING CLUB. THERE WAS NO FUSS, NO GREATNESS, JUST CITIZENS HELPING CITIZENS.
     I HAVE WITNESSED THIS FIRST HAND IN BOTH BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST, AND NOTHING I CARE ABOUT, HAD, OR HAS A SINGLE MOLECULE OF WHAT MIGHT BE CONSIDERED "THE POLITICAL." HUNDREDS OF CITIZENS VOLUNTEERED THEIR TIME, TO GIVE US A GOOD HOMETOWN EXPERIENCE. OUR HOCKEY COACHES AND THOSE FINE FOLKS WHO GOT UP AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, TO WATER THE OUTDOOR RINK OVER AT BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL, FOR OUR WINTER RECREATION.  WHEN THE CITIZENS GOT INVOLVED, IN MAKING OPPORTUNITIES, IT WAS ALL PART OF A FUNDAMENTAL, NO FRILLS BUILDING PROCESS, TO SATISFY OUR NEEDS AND INTERESTS. IT WAS CITIZEN DRIVEN, NOT JUST THE TASK OF A TOWN COUNCIL TO MAKE GREATNESS A REALITY. COUNCILLORS IN MY ERA, WERE AMONGST THOSE VOLUNTEER CONTRIBUTORS, BUT NOT AS TOWN REPRESENTATIVES. AS ORDINARY FOLK, JUST WANTING TO PITCH-IN, TO SAVE SOME BUCKS, AND BRING FORWARD THE BEST INITIATIVES THEY COULD MUSTER. TAKE THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE CENTENNIAL CENTRE. A HUGE AMOUNT OF WORK TO FINISH THE BUILDING, SITUATED ON A CORNER PORTION OF JUBILEE PARK, WAS HANDLED BY VOLUNTEER LABOR AND DONATED MATERIALS. THE CITIZENS WANTED A NEW TOWN RECREATION CENTRE AND POOL, AND WORKED ABOVE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY TO EARN WHAT THEY WANTED FOR THE TOWN. NOW THAT'S GUMPTION.     TODAY, THERE JUST SEEMS TO BE A RIDICULOUS PRE-OCCUPATION WITH THE MOOD OF TOWN HALL. TOWN COUNCILS DO NOT CREATE THE DYNAMIC OF A COMMUNITY. THEY ARE A MIRROR, AND ADMINISTRATE ACCORDING TO THE BEST INTERESTS OF THE TOWN AS A WHOLE. THEY ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR MAKING THEIR RESPECTIVE COMMUNITY A UTOPIA. THE CHARACTER OF OUR COMMUNITIES IS DEEPLY IMBEDDED, IN OUR CHRONICLE OF HISTORY MAKERS, DATING FROM THE BEGINNING OF RESPECTIVE SETTLEMENTS. I'M PRETTY SURE, NARY A ONE OF OUR MOVERS AND SHAKERS, FROM ANTIQUITY, WOULD HAVE EVER FELT OUR COMMUNITY WAS GREAT, EXCEPT AS A SPECIFIC REFERENCE, TO A CHAMPIONSHIP LACROSS, BASEBALL, CURLING, OR HOCKEY TEAM. COMMUNITIES WEREN'T MEASURED ON THE "GREATNESS" SCALE. BUT RATHER, WERE RESIDENTS PROUD TO CALL IT A HOMETOWN?

THE BEDFORD FALLS PARALLEL

     Wherever it was, in this big old planet earth, that you called home, for the first years of your life, you will have that mortal-experience mix, of pleasant and unpleasant memories. Recollections of happy times, and unhappy, ranging from family celebrations that inspire good memories, and then, on the other side, being chased from school by the bullies looking to sharpen their skills on you. You will recall acts of kindness, and unanticipated benevolence, that made up for the actions of adversaries. People who came into your life rather unexpectedly, and provided some inspiration that changed perspective about social standing, recreational prowess, or even academics. There are negative influences of course, and some folks had the disadvantage of having more adversarial relationships than others. Yet, as I am a stalwart believer in the old adage, "what doesn't kill you, will make you stronger," I think most of us, can look back and reckon that positive experiences always outweighed the negative. As poet William Henry Smith wrote, in his book "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil," one must experience "good" to know what "bad" represents, as the polar opposite. Misfortune and fortune? How do you know the meaning of fortune, if there is nothing to compare it to? Angry or calm? (Gravenhurst, Ontario, was named after Smith's philosophical essay, still being used in university studies today). I had a lot of adversity in my youth, from illness, to doing the after-school race home, to get away from bullies in hot pursuit. I enjoyed the love of a significant other, and felt the depression of being dumped. Maybe I did blame my circumstance on my home town unfairly, at the time, for my personal chagrin. Yet it was the same town, that facilitated my re-introduction to my wife Suzanne.     It's just like that, where the good and bad wrestle around, and hopefully, what comes out of the mortal struggle, is a sort of Bedford Falls realization, that any community, proud of itself, will eventually find ways to survive and carry on traditions. Those folks you may have thought about, just now, as having been important to your early life, and having influenced your present character, should re-enforce the premise of Frank Capra's classic Christmas film, "It's a Wonderful Life." And the message, that we all contribute to the flow of tides, that bring about change in our most intimate neighborhoods. We may not give it much thought in our busy modern lives, but I can tell you, that I don't have to reflect too far back, to appreciate that my life would have been so hugely different without Suzanne. For one thing, our boys wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be sitting, writing this blog, from this comfortable studio chair, in their music and antique shop, in uptown Gravenhurst. I take history very seriously, and I can tell you with confidence, I was on the way to killing myself with booze, before Suzanne helped me shape-up. I was surrounded, in my bachelor lifestyle, with "enablers," who had convinced me that social drinking was both fun, and socially beneficial. They informed me, after ordering another jug of beer, that I would likely find the girl of my dreams, one day soon, in one of these dank, dens of iniquity. It didn't happen this way at all. Yes, I think they figured I would hook-up with one of the thousand strippers, who performed on the stage beside the designated "Press Club," table where I drank.
     I think about those citizens, of the business community in Bracebridge, who had such high thresholds of patience, for the curious Teddy Currie, and his Hunt's Hill mates. At Christmas, I spent a lot of quality time (at least in my opinion), helping Bill Elliot, of "Eliot's Five Cents to a Dollar Store", on Manitoba Street, watch his inventory, as the self appointed "Store Dick," to borrow the reference off the W.C. Fields movie of the same name. My point about Bill, as I have tried to make over the years of mention in this blog, is that he could have hoofed-us out, for loitering, but he didn't. I'm told by an insider, that Bill demanded patience from his clerks, when it came to the local youth, who loved the store's candy counter most of all. They weren't to ask us to leave, unless we were acting badly. We thought too much of Bill and his staff, to misbehave. It was, for years and years, known as the most child friendly store in town. Every Saturday morning, I showed up early, except on hair cutting days, at artist Bill Anderson's barber shop, in the Patterson Hotel, less than a hundred yards to the north. My first mission was to check out the hamsters and guinea pigs, the budgies, a few canaries, and lots of fish in the giant aquarium Bill kept-up through all the years of his ownership. That's presumptuous of course, considering the shop was operating a long time before we arrived on the scene.
     After thoroughly inspecting the livestock, at the main street department store, we would head as a group, down to see the toys brought in for the Christmas season. I never got past the Dinky Toy, Corgi, Lesney, and Matchbox car and truck display cabinets, that were always so appealing to us young lads. Then there were the table top hockey games, electric race car sets and hundreds of games we wanted to own. We had to ask Santa to bring them instead. We were broke. Call me freakish, but I loved to study the stationary department, where I used to pick-out pen and pencil sets, first choice to third, that I wanted for Christmas; and even staplers with the capacity of penetrating a hundred pages of text. Not that I had a hundred pages of text, but I was thinking that I'd buy the stapler and paper first, and then come up with the idea for a book. I'd stop at the comic book rack at the front of the store, where my good friend, artist, Ross Smith, used to stand for long periods of time, picking out his favorite titles for the week's reading. Then there were the K-Tel record compilations at the front, at the heads of both sales wickets, that I always asked my parents to buy me as stocking stuffers.
     The point I want to make, above and beyond the fact, Bill used to have a great little country shop, and the kind of inventory that appealed to our childhood interests, was that he allowed us to dawdle in his store; when he knew we didn't have but a faint Christmas wish, that our parents would have the money to buy what we had picked out. Bill treated us as shareholders, more so than customers. He allowed us to be stewards of his collection. Possibly he thought we made the budgies and canaries happy; the hamsters and guinea pigs contented to have us talking to them, as if they were our own pets. Maybe he thought we were a calming influence for the gold fish, such that they wouldn't mind being adopted-out as Christmas presents, because of our keeping them company in the shop. Whatever it was, there wasn't one of us penniless kids, at that time in Bracebridge history, who wouldn't have thought of Bill, his family, and staff, as being our retail guardian angels. If we had spent those same hours, that we invested in Bill's store, in other pursuits, we might have burned the town down, or at least part of it. A stop-in at his store was a respite, that made us think of a more orderly way of living, and by immersion, how economics works at the retail level. Son of a gun. It's what Suzanne and I are doing today (as well as the boys), and the greatest honor, would be for a customer, who had no idea of my background, to make the comment, "Gosh, does this store ever remind me of Bill Elliott's store on Manitoba Street." Bill influenced me about the friendly character I wanted to imbed in our shop that's for sure; and we have lots of young people visit us here. It takes me back in a most pleasant way.
       Often, in our haste, we under recognize, just how important people, like Bill, and hundreds of thousands of citizens, in all walks of life, and just as caring, have contributed to our own sense and proportion of goodwill. As "It's a Wonderful Life," illustrates what Bedford Falls would have been like, without the humanity of George Bailey, of the "Savings and Loan," we could all find someone from our past, who played a similar pivotal role; such that if they had never been born, how seriously we would have been disadvantaged in our development.     One might then suggest, there would have been a deviation toward some other positive role model as a replacement. In the movie, Old Man Potter, is the adversarial side of the equation, who would have modeled the town in his own image without George Bailey. The absence of fine citizens like Bill Elliot, would have had a huge impact on me, that I know for sure. Maybe for you it was acts of kindness from the landlord of your apartment, a teacher or two at public school, the town librarian, a figure skating coach, the mailman, a butcher, or the local baker. Over the course of my childhood, I had all kinds of positive influences from the people I knew, their youngsters, and the places we used to go together. My own example, was Ross Hillman, elder brother of my chums Al and Rick Hillman, who used to load us into the truck, to take us out to the Fraserburg Hunt Camp, to keep us from getting into trouble in the neighborhood. Ross passed away several weeks ago, and I couldn't help but to think back to the times he chipped in, to help his mother Stella, keep peace on Hunt's Hill; by having him take us wired-kids to some safe haven, when we were getting, as my mother would say, on the wrong side of the law. I always thought Ross was kind to give up his time to give us kids a little break in country spaces. It always seemed to work for us. But here was a guy, who probably never gave it another thought, or would have imagined that I would have remembered these adventures; or felt he was some kind of hero for doing this. This is a small corner of a much, much bigger picture, of how we all got from there to here. While we might try to impress ourselves, when looking in the mirror, feeling we are self-made, strong, forward minded individuals, there should be that humble gene, that forces us to acknowledge, that we have picked up traits we've admired, from those who have inspired us through the days of our lives. I can never forget either Bill or Ross for the way they treated us kids, as important people; when many of our elders just wished we'd disappear off the radar.
     It's at this time of the rolling year, that I might just take a wander through the streets I used to haunt as a wee lad, as if hopeful, I will run into some kind of portal experience, and be able to climb through to those days of the late 1960's and early 70's, to revisit those mates who made social / recreational intercourse so darn much fun. I will at points, stop in the snowfall of an early evening, near Christmas, and swear that I can hear the high voice of Randy Carswell, slapping his hockey stick on the hard-packed snow of upper Alice Street, requesting that we line-up in our proper positions, to get the game underway. At the point, when I actually think I can see his silhouette in the lamplight, and the light snowfall, stick handling up the street, I am reminded what a fool I am for the sentimental side of life. Randy passed away many years ago, from complications associated with diabetes, but I have never forgotten how much joy he brought into our lives back then, as the larger than life character, who always called the play by play of our little road hockey matches. He was the first one of us kids, to get a hot chocolate moustache, when my mother Merle called us up to the apartment, on cold nights, for a hot beverage to warm us up. I don't want history to cover-over effervescent blokes like Randy, who was the unofficial town greeter for most of his adult life - going from calling the play by play, to holding court at the post office, where he relayed information about the latest hockey scores, and news of standing changes in junior play. He knew all about local hockey scores, and was a goal judge at the arena for many years. Above all else, he was a boy, a man, of constant good cheer, and that mattered to me a lot. Randy could make me laugh, even if I had just learned, for example, my girlfriend had given me the proverbial heave-ho. Instead of crying, Randy would make light of the break-up, and pretty soon, we'd be kicking ice chunks up the street, and killing ourselves laughing, about the follies of life and relationships. Indeed, my life would have been a lot different without Randy, to constantly cheer me up; but I don't know that I cheered him up to the same degree.
     There are times, when, without really knowing it, we become Scrooges, by roughly the same measure, as Charles Dickens created the main character of his "Christmas Carol". By the rigors of our professional and personal lives, we can lose our sensitivity and possibly, if one could measure such things, our spirituality. We don't always recognize what has happened, until we have inflicted unkind acts upon our friends and family. At Christmas, of course, we are more likely to see this as something to re-visit and correct, even though, for many, it all snaps back immediately following the holidays, and we resort to the same old, same old. There is something very important in the study of Bedford Falls, and the issue of George Bailey's existence, that should remind us, that we are also of comparable impact on others; such that we should ask ourselves in front of that mirror, what our contribution has been to our community during our lives. Such that if we had never been born, how would everything have turned out. If your honest appraisal, is that you haven't done enough to impact much of anything, then you are either naive about the people you've touched, or need to play a greater role in the humanity of the hamlet, village, town or city you call home. It's never too late, for the living, to change their ways.
     I have very much benefitted in my life, from the kindnesses of friends and strangers. My opinion of living in Muskoka, and having homes in Bracebridge and Gravenhurst, has been positively re-enforced by benevolent experiences. It's at Christmas-time, that I offer my annual thanks, to both home towns, and to all the people I've known through the decades, who have shared, with me, some of their life lessons and wisdom; and made the whole darn enterprise, so darn much fun.
     Please take the time this holiday season, to think about the good folks who made our communities what they are; special places we will never, ever forget.

CHRISTMAS IN BRACEBRIDGE -

WASHINGTON IRVING - A FEW WORDS OF RECOGNITION - A LITERARY HERITAGE WE KNOW LITTLE ABOUT

IF, THEREFORE, I SHOULD SOMETIMES BE FOUND DWELLING WITH FONDNESS TO SUBJECTS THAT ARE TRITE AND COMMON-PLACED WITH THE READER, I BEG THE CIRCUMSTANCES UNDER WHICH I WRITE MAY BE KEPT IN RECOLLECTION." NOTES GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT., THE CHARACTER-TRAVELLER, WASHINGTON IRVING USED IN "THE SKETCH BOOK," AND THE LATER "BRACEBRIDGE HALL," OF WHICH BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO IS NAMED.

"BUT, IN FACT, TO BE EVERYTHING WAS FULL OF MATTER; THE FOOTSTEPS OF HISTORY WERE EVERY WHERE TO BE TRACED; AND POETRY HAD BREATHED OVER AND SANCTIFIED THE LAND. I EXPERIENCED THE DELIGHTFUL FRESHNESS OF FEELING OF A CHILD, TO WHO EVERY THING IS NEW. I PICTURED TO MYSELF A SET OF INHABITANTS AND A MODE OF LIFE FOR EVERY HABITATION THAT I SAW, FROM THE ARISTOCRATICAL MANSION, AMIDST THE LORDLY REPOSE OF STATELY GROVES AND SOLITARY PARKS, TO THE STRAW-THATCHED COTTAGE, WITH ITS SCANTY GARDENS AND ITS CHERISHED WOODBINE. I THOUGHT I NEVER COULD BE SATED WITH THE SWEETNESS AND FRESHNESS OF A COUNTRY SO COMPLETELY CARPETED WITH VERDUE; WHERE EVERY AIR BREATHED OF THE BALMY PASTURE, AND THE HONEYSUCKLED HEDGE. I WAS CONTINUALLY COMING UP WITH SOME DOCUMENTS OF POETRY IN THE BLOSSOMED HAWTHORN, THE DAISY, THE COWSLIP, THE PRIMROSE, OR SOME OTHER SIMPLE OBJECT THAT HAS RECEIVED A SUPERNATURAL VALUE FROM THE MUSE. THE FIRST TIME THAT I HEARD THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE, I WAS INTOXICATED MORE BY THE DELICIOUS CROWD OF REMEMBERED ASSOCIATIONS THAN BY THE MELODY OF ITS NOTES; AND I SHALL NEVER FORGET THE THRILL OF ECSTASY WITH WHICH I FIRST SAW THE LARK RISE, ALMOST FROM BENEATH MY FEET, AND WING ITS MUSICAL FLIGHT UP INTO THE MORNING SKY."

CRAYON, THROUGH THE CREATIVE MEASURES OF THE GOOD MR. IRVING, WROTE, "THESE STORIES (FOLK TALES), HOWEVER, AS I BEFORE OBSERVED, ARE FAST FADING AWAY, AND IN ANOTHER GENERATION OR TWO WILL PROBABLY BE COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN. THERE IS SOMETHING, HOWEVER, ABOUT THESE RURAL SUPERSTITIONS THAT IS EXTREMELY PLEASING TO THE IMAGINATION, PARTICULARLY THOSE WHICH RELATE TO THE GOOD HUMOURED RACE OF HOUSEHOLD DEMONS, AND INDEED TO THE WHOLE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. THE ENGLISH HAVE GIVEN AN INEXPRESSIBLE CHARM TO THESE SUPERSTITIONS, BY THE MANNER IN WHICH THEY HAVE ASSOCIATED THEM WITH WHATEVER IS MOST HOME-FELT AND DELIGHTFUL IN RUSTIC LIFE, OR REFRESHING AND BEAUTIFUL IN NATURE."

I can remember, on a Christmas morning just as this, sitting in the attic of the former home and office of Dr. Peter McGibbon, on upper Manitoba Street, opposite Memorial Park, and watching out of the large window that afforded a wonderful panorama of the park and mainstreat. It was an amazing old structure, pleasantly haunted, and a comfortable place to set up my first writing studio. It was in the fall of 1977 that we arrived, as a family, to lodge at the McGibbon House, which had only recently been turned into several apartment units, with retail space below. It's where we opened Birch Hollow Antiques. I took over the huge attic, and set my desk as close to the window as I could, so that there would be as little compromise to the view as possible. I loved that attic. I had no difficulty whatsoever, finding things to write about.

It was from that attic, overlooking the good old town, that I began organizing for the creation of the Bracebridge Historical Society, which would become a reality a year later; Bracebridge's first public museum in less than three years. It was when I first began reading about Washington Irving, as a biography, knowing the provenance then, of how Bracebridge received its name……an event that dated back to the year 1864.

While it wasn't until the late 1990's that I got around to doing a lengthy text on the subject, which was published in book form in the year 2000, I was enthralled by the author's work even then……and read many times "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." When we first arrived in Bracebridge, as a family, back in the winter of 1966, the moment we drove over the famous silver bridge, and the historic main street became visible, my mother said, quite innocently, we've moved to "Sleepy Hollow." It wasn't a derogatory statement…..as she adored the work of Mr. Irving, as I did……having grown up with this stories as a child. I realized that William Dawson LeSueur, in 1864, not long after the death of Irving and the release of a new collection of his stories, decided as a postal authority, responsible for naming new Canadian post offices, to pay tribute to the late author, his work, and a fledgling town in the District of Muskoka. LeSueur was also a noted historian, literary critic, and philosopher himself, and he would not have granted this name, if he hadn't respected the work of the American author. He did roughly the same in Gravenhurst, but instead named the town after a book by William Henry Smith, a poet philosopher, after the title of his book, "Gravenhurst, or Thoughts on Good and Evil." In this case, it was also an honor and provenance awarded to author and town, but it wasn't embraced as such……and still isn't. Actually, the same can be said for both towns.

I have hopes that one day, some decade in the future, the citizens of Bracebridge, will come to fully appreciate their connection to the historical legend of Washington Irving, as the town has a perfect right to boast this connection from the highest roof-top. It is significant. Being part of the literary heritage of an international author, of his accomplishment, is of particular honor…..that has never fully been explored. The connections to the literary heritage of the Irving name, could fan-out across North America, as there are many other regions, towns and cities, that have such a connection.

If ever there was an under-utilized resource, in this community, it is the link created by Dr. LeSueur in the year 1864, to a literary giant. Some day, this may become significant……but it won't be politically driven. It must come from those who appreciate the provenance, and the stewardship of the namesake, and be prepared to develop it to a full potential……and of course, that can include a boost to the tourism sector……of folks who wouldn't mind visiting a community named after the author of Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

"I AM DWELLING TOO LONG, PERHAPS, UPON A THREADBARE SUBJECT, YET IT BRINGS UP WITH IT A THOUSAND DELICIOUS RECOLLECTIONS OF THOSE HAPPY DAYS OF CHILDHOOD, WHEN THE IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE I HAVE SINCE OBTAINED HAD NOT YET DAWNED UPON MY MIND, AND WHEN A FAIRY TALE WAS TRUE HISTORY TO ME. I HAVE OFTEN BEEN SO TRANSPORTED BY THE PLEASURE OF THESE RECOLLECTIONS, AS ALMOST TO WISH THAT I HAD BEEN BORN IN THE DAYS WHEN THE FICTIONS OF POETRY WERE BELIEVED. EVEN NOW I CANNOT LOOK UPON THOSE FANCIFUL CREATIONS OF IGNORANCE AND CREDULITY WITHOUT A LURKING REGRET THAT THEY HAVE ALL PASSED AWAY. THE EXPERIENCE OF MY EARLY DAYS TELLS ME, THAT THEY WERE SOURCES OF EXQUISITE DELIGHT; AND I SOMETIMES QUESTION WHETHER THE NATURALIST WHO CAN DISSECT THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD, RECEIVES HALF THE PLEASURE FROM CONTEMPLATING THEM, THAT HE DID WHO CONSIDERED THEM THE ABODE OF ELVES AND FAIRIES." MR. CRAYON. (WASHINGTON IRVING)

I had a copy of The Sketch Book on my shelf, up in that first office, above Memorial Park, and I consulted it frequently. I concur with what Irving writes, and can parallel my own beliefs, with his life-long fascination by the unknowns of the world……left to flourish in their own mysterious circumstance. How interesting it is, to think then, that famous author Charles Dickens, once confessed, that he always retired "to bedlam" with a copy of Irving's stories tucked under his arm. This is a special literary link, that Bracebridge will one day, more fully appreciate; the international connectedness, that can be cultivated into a truly prosperous future harvest.

Merry Christmas.