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| Two of the heritage dolls we couldn't leave behind. The doll on the right is an Ink Face Doll from about 1900. |
IT STARTS OUT WITH A FASCINATION AND BROADENS INTO SOMETHING FAR MORE COMPELLING - AND A LITTLE OBSESSIVE
A STRANGE, ALMOST EERIE FEELING OF TIME SLIPPING AWAY BEFORE YOU'VE FINISHED WITH IT!
Do you ever wake up suddenly, terribly out of sorts, from a particularly life-like dream, maybe even in color like mine, and expect to see your mother or father still sitting beside you, just like they used to, back when you were a kid? Watching Hockey Night in Canada, or the Ed Sullivan Show on Sunday nights? Maybe even Bonanza! And then feel that hurting sense of loss, all over again, when you snap-to, and recognize they are both deceased; and the time of gentle pleasure, was indeed, just a nostalgic, rekindling, unsettling short dream. Do you know, (and you probably do) there are folks, who believe in the ability of those who have passed, to send messages to the living, who would say, there is a reason you had this dream. There is something important they wish to pass along, and have found their way into your slumber-time to extend the message. But then again, it might just have been a dreamland extravagance. It's up to you, in these cases, to try and figure it out. For as long as I can remember, I've felt in the company of those who have passed, and honestly, I'm quite comfortable with their friendly intrusions. It's not likely they tell me to rob banks, or run naked through the streets. I have very conservative after-life mentors. At the most, they like to inspire good feelings, and for me, I don't have much reason to ask that they be exorcised. They don't stop me from making mistakes, but I feel they offer me reason to second guess exactly when I should, to avoid misfortune. I guess I am a believer, even when I'm not quite sure what it all means, to talk to dead people.
Have you had a dream about being within ear-shot of a friend or family member; being able to hear their voice, calling out, but only able to see their faint silhouette down a foggy corridor? Knowing exactly who it is, and what it is reminiscent of, in your own biography? You just don't seem to be able to catch up to them. Just when you get close, you wake up with regrets. Then, expecting that the newfound clarity, in the sunrise of a sunny day, will reveal this re-animation of the past? Like having a dream that puts you back at a residence, where you spent your childhood, and for a few moments in dreamland, appreciative in heart, that history is being happily relived. Clearly aware that it must have been a dream; fearing the only negative of the experience, would be waking up suddenly, diminishing what had been a pleasant visit with the past? There are bad memories, about unfortunate circumstances, and loss, that are amplified by nightmares. Not all our slumber-time dreams are pleasing or inspiring; for me, I feel fortunate, because I have always had far fewer nightmares to contend with. Most of my dreams however, are as sentimental and nostalgic as I am, in my day job. So I don't get much time off from my past life. I'm not complaining, but it does askew my perspective somewhat; and I have to forgive myself regularly, for strolling down memory lane, far too frequently, for what may be perceived "my own good."
Sometimes I get the feeling, that my preoccupation with the past, means that somewhere back there, I made a life-altering wrong turn; and my spirit guides want me to go back, to see if I can figure it out, as if a matter of intimate redemption. I keep letting them know I'm too old and set in my ways, to be thusly restored in this manner. I don't think they have too much interest in my opinion, and keep taking me back against my will. Hey, I always have a good time, but still wonder immediately after, what they want me to find, that I've missed for long and long, that will change my life. My dreams are never run of the mill. They're story-books of the mind.
I can remember, so vividly, accompanying my father, on his regular Saturday morning trip, down to the Burlington bus station, for his weekly haircut and shave. I would sit just outside the shop, watching the barber in action, and listen-in on the conversation. Everything is so clear, about those occasions, and I can still recall, as if I'm back in the shop, the sweet, wonderful smell of the hair tonic, and after-shave, the barber would briskly slap on my father's face and neck. Gosh, that was in the very early 1960's. I may have been guilty, at the time, of hurrying the process up, due to my life-long burden of impatience, because I knew he'd take me for a treat after his haircut; but I did very much enjoy being a part of his life, even if it was only visiting the barber. He worked long hours in the lumber trade, many late nights as a traveling salesman, committed six days each week; and I didn't get to see him much, as I realize all these years later. I so clearly recollect going to the Woolworths Store, with my mother, and begging for toys, and as naive as any kid, I never once thought, that the passing of time, would be so severe, that it would ever, in the most extreme foresight, seem so violently and hauntingly distant the older I got. I dream of falling further and further behind those in the tunnel ahead of me, that I would love to catch up to, but can't gain ground. It is as if I am fighting a heavy wind, or walking through waist-high water. Making me feel a deep sense of loss, that I had mistakenly allowed time to pass without catching it; much like the smelts that got through the holes in my dad's old fishing net, that escaped back to the lake, from which they had come in the first place. I know this is one of my attraction to antiques and collectables. I can catch and occupy them for as long as I live. Everything else slips by, as time stops for no man!
I became fascinated with old stuff as a kid. I had no idea why. It didn't matter why, because I had no interest in self-examination. In this regard, I've been a kid all my life. I don't think I can explain it any other way, than having a childhood fascination that never really ended, even by the onset of adulthood. I haven't changed a bit, and I'm a hair's breadth from my golden years. My heartfelt desire to collect things, I suppose now, has always been a rather endless attempt, to stop and even reverse time. Capture time, I suppose! I never felt finished with it, when low and behold, it had passed me by, and smoothed over top, as if I was laying on a beach somewhere, with waves lapping over me; the sand starting to cover me deep into the ocean-scape. I may have seemed like every other kid on the block, in that 1950's, early 60's Burlington, Ontario neighborhood, at least to the casual observer; but I was most definitely a tad odd, even by my own honest admission. You see, I have always felt like a pre-positioned voyeur on this planet, an alien by any other title, charged with studying humankind in my respective balliwick; making copious notes, as you have been reading, for the posterity of some greater project, of which I am still a little unfamiliar. I've wondered at times, why it is, that I am so consumed by the etchings of history, when in reality, I hated it so vehemently in the classroom. Suzanne calls me "The Sentimentalist," after our favorite television show, "The Mentalist." She refers to me this way, because she knows how steadfast I am, in my mission to capture the past, the best I can, as if on an urgent mission from God.
When I reference God, no kidding, I've got good reason. As I've written about, many times on this blog, I had a rather life-altering Angel dream, during a serious illness, when I was a youngster, and it has certainly caused a tremendous amount of personal reflection over the years since. Apparently, this is quite common with those who have had such visitations from the other side. I can't really blame being touched by an Angel, as the reason I buy and sell antiques, but it was, methinks, the spark in my young life, that made me more characteristically sensitive, to certain qualities and quantities of antiquity, as it reflects on humanity. I am drawn to certain antique pieces, as if I was a witching for a water-well. I gravitate time and time again, toward those items, with that little extra attached, as both a visible provenance, (known history and previous ownership) and invisible providence, as if spiritually enhanced. Some readers might believe this is a sign, I have been in the business far too long for my own good; yet truth is, I was exactly the same as a child, but post, my brief but poignant audience with an Angel. It's almost impossible to explain, other than to suggest, I am making some spiritual connection, with antique articles, that have had a dynamic history, as someone's cherished possession. It would be logical then, if I was to find out sometime in the future, that my old toys, according to a succession of new owners, had distinct auras and will of their own. A hockey game that plays by itself! I'll give you an example of antique dolls, to introduce this attraction with both provenance and providential energies.
When Suzanne and I managed Woodchester Villa and Museum, in Bracebridge, we had knowledge, that an upstairs child's bedroom, was making our visitors uncomfortable. We understood what they meant by this, and by improving our decorating of the room, we attempted to lighten up the dark-wood Victorian setting. It was a melancholy setting, and really, no matter how we tried to change things up, the dark Victorian furnishings, wood trim in the room, wallpaper, and the old toys, especially the dolls, made it appear rather haunted, if you know what I mean. I'm not suggesting the room was haunted, although Woodchester itself was very much occupied by the spirit-kind. It was the case, everyone who visited the bedroom, would be fascinated by the old toys initially, but soon develop an opinion, and uncomfortable feeling, that there was a strong invisible entity within. What it came down to, was a matter of individual perception, for a wide variety of reasons. The dolls themselves, set an unhappy mood, because it was obvious, those children who had adored, and looked after these dolls, in a bygone era, were now all deceased. So truthfully, these were the remnants of a lost love; lost associations with children, from many intense moments in history. Think of your own relationship with a stuffed toy or doll that you had as a child. Would you be shocked to know, that new owners of the toys, felt a strange presence within, that may have had something to do with your past ownership? Your own intense moments when these toys shielded you from tough realities and sadness? If these same dolls, of which I write, had their full stories attached, they would have had multiple owners from Victorian times, to contemporary times, and while most of the relationships ended, after respective childhoods, it's understood there were no human survivors to carry on the relationships. Thus they arrived to fulfill the need for "period-dress" in a restored child's room, part of a community museum. No child to embrace them to their hearts. How sad! They gave every appearance of being sad. Even to youngsters, who were usually the first to react, when they saw what they deemed to be, unhappy babies. There was nothing we could do, to change this profile, other than to add fresh wildflowers in a couple of vases, and try to make it seem that the dolls were being played with, by a happy owner; and that proved a waste of time. The Victorian era dolls always looked eerie and possessed, and short of putting them away, with the jack-in-the-box, which was also a little frightening, we just let folks take away whatever opinion they wanted from the experience. Think about this yourselves. If you were looking into a lowly lit room, even with its window, and lamp-light, and took a few moments to study a grouping of old dolls, positioned on the bed, or sitting in a tiny high-chair, tell me honestly, that it wouldn't creep-you-out a wee bit? Just a tiny little bit? If you were to spend much more time studying the dolls in their period environs, I guarantee, most voyeurs would sense something mildly paranormal about them, even if it is a quirk of the imagination. Did a doll move? Was there a twinkle coming from a glass eye? A whisper from one doll to the other? It's not just something external, happening in that room; but as much, something ocurring in your own thought process and recall, based on past experiences you've had, and whatever belief you possess about life after death, hauntings, and the ghosts that make it all come together in the full experience of the paranormal.
Part of this, in my own mind, comes down to the way a doll is cherished by its owner, past and present. Is it possible to transfer spirit from human to an inanimate object; as say, a "haunted" doll? Some offer a resounding "yes," because they have had personal experience in this regard. Others feel it is ridiculous to think you can have a "possessed" doll, and refer to movies with doll characters like "Chucky," and suggest, it is all just the work of the fiction writer. Still others, who have a strong sense for spiritual entities, and paranormal qualities, will only be able to explain it, by perception of the moment; picking up the subject doll that seems most influential. We have doll buyers at our shop, who ask to hold dolls for awhile, before considering making the purchase. Yes, the sensation is all important. These are not doll collectors, but rather, doll admirers. We have had many people claim the doll they are buying, (or have purchased from us in the past), carried some minor enchantments, which is exactly why they decided on one, and only one, from a larger collection. As odd as this may seem, to those who have no interest in the paranormal, or the enchantment of antique toys, a segment of our customer base, weigh the associated vibes as a high priority; and some of these dolls are vey expensive; especially when profit isn't the prime consideration for making the purchase. Enchantment is! These are rational people, with great sensitivity to the doll or article in question. By holding it, they are, in essence, reading its provenance, by the sensations given off in kind! There are other antique items that possess these vibes according to those who make this kind of thing their business. "This doll speaks to me, and I like what I hear," replied one young woman, who was trying to explain why she had to have this particular doll, above a dozen of equal quality and age. We are non-judgemental in this regard. We've heard it all in our many years in the antique business, and it's part of the reason, we love this profession. It's got a lot of spirit even on a slow day.
The reason I bring this up, time and again, is that it was the reason I began collecting stuff as a kid. There were neat found treasures, that I hauled home, for no other reason than personal want, and the rule of "finder's keepers." But there was still something in my demeanour, that drew me to the kind of artifact, which had an unknown, imbedded aura, appealing to my kind of raging sentimentality. I not only wanted the human memories, mortals have the capacity to maintain as normal retention, but I especially craved those things that reminded me of a particular personal connection, beyond just the status of "keepsake," and momento. I worry a lot about time passing me by, ever so quickly. For example, as a lifetime collector, I have surprising little, almost next to nothing, of childhood and family relics, that take me back to our years living in Burlington. My Burlington years represented an early zenith as far as collecting, and most definitely, excellerated after my Angel encounter. I think the divine experience, and I do believe it was providential to the rest of my life, made me appreciate just how thin the divide is, between life and after-life; such that during this illness I may have had one toe over the line, which I suppose, necessitated a visit by my Guardian Angel (no, it wasn't Clarence, from "It's a Wonderful Life), to assure me that my time had not yet arrived. In other words, I had a near death experience, and it made me appreciate how precious time is, in this mortal coil; and how we must make the most of our human adventure. I think this was the point I became markedly time-sensitive, and could be consumed by feelings of sentimentality and nostalgia, to the point of heartache, at the strangest and most inconvenient times. Yet it has never been predictable to me, when, for example, I hustle about antique venues these days, to entirely expect some article is going to seem so much more remarkable than others; because of some manifestation of the paranormal. I can look at a thousand dolls, (Suzanne collects them, so we always make a point to check for them, in antique shops and malls we come upon) and maybe only find one or two that seem, and feel markedly different to the point of exceptional. It has nothing whatsoever to do with estimated value, or the way it is dressed. Suzanne will offer the same opinion. It may be a doll in poor condition, with a cracked face and body damage, that demands we pick it up, and chances are, it will be coming home with us if it gets to this stage of contact. The funny thing is, when folks come into our shop, and sense exactly the same thing about the doll, that caught our attention; and it becomes the identical motivation, for making the purchase then, from us, for this next leg of the adventure.
Many, I dare say, the majority, in the antique profession, couldn't care less about the ethereal aspects of the business of hunting and gathering, and are most interested in a profitable relationship, with whatever they cart home at the end of the day. There is a small percentage of us, who are sensory perceptive, beyond what we can rationally explain, who are very much compelled by the vibes certain antiques, and collectables, give off as part of their characteristic essence. We don't sit around with Ouija Boards the night before we go antique hunting, and ask for spiritual guidance to profitability. We don't consult mediums, clairvoyants, soothsayers, or witch doctors to make us prosperous in the art of antique buying. But at the same time, we also don't dismiss anything either, much as if we have a minor fear of insulting the spirit-kind, that may or may not be the reason we have made good finds in the past. Hey, before you think us all mad, for believing in such things, consider the ball player who, while at the plate, has to perform a routine, out of superstition, before taking the first pitch from the mound? Tapping his shoes, twice on each heal, and touching the tip of his ball cap. What about the hockey goaltender, who has to hit the goal posts three times on each side, and the cross bar over the shoulder, before each face-off? When we head out on a typical antique hunt, we surrender ourselves to all the possibilities of sensory stimulation. We allow ourselves the freedom to be influenced by whatever comes our way, or we happen to uncover by happenstance. If it's a doll, or a jack-in-the-box, a child's cradle, a rocking chair, an old quilt, or a Victorian gown, the aura they give off, if detectable, will influence whether we buy it or not; and facing the realities of our industry, we don't always buy for a quick turn-around. We want what we want! Nuff said.
I can wrap this up, with one anecdote, about the woman who felt it was necessary to have her son visit a psychiatrist, because of his delusion. When a friend inquired about this "delusion," the woman responded, that her son thought he was chicken. When the friend concurred that the woman should indeed get her son assistance, for his mental affliction, she piped-up, that if her son's malady was corrected, she would surely miss the eggs. Point is, much of our business is based on experience and instinct, but like the successful veteran angler, much is still attributed to "hunch," as to the best place to drop a line. Like the goaltender and the baseball batter, I have my own superstitions about antique hunting. I always have a short conversation with my departed collector friend, Dave Brown, and I remind him I need his help, and should he sense a "holy grail," in the place in which I am hunting, to please give me a sign to look a little harder. It will be the subject of a book one day, because it works; and like the mother who needed the eggs her son was laying, I don't plan on changing my perspective on spirit-guidance any time soon. I just won't get my unearthly messages from a medium at a seance, or from Tarot Cards laid out in front of me.
I've been trusting my sensory perception in this regard, for most of my prosperously haunted life; it's a little weird being me, but what the heck. I'm the genuine article. Take it or leave it! I'm a time collector content with his misadventures.
ANTIQUE HUNTING IN MUSKOKA - SO WHAT'S OUT THERE - ANY HOLY GRAILS OR - ANY MONEY TO BE MADE?
THIS WINTER SEASON, I WILL BE PREPARING SOME NEW COLUMNS FOR "CURIOUS; THE TOURIST GUIDE," ON ANTIQUE HUNTING….GENERALLY. I WILL BE DOING SOMETHING SIMILAR FOR THIS BLOG-SITE, SO THE TWO WILL FEED EACH OTHER. IN A THIRD EDITORIAL SITUATION, I AM CURRENTLY INTO MY THIRD FEATURE COLUMN, FOR WHAT THE PUBLISHER OF THE GREAT NORTH ARROW (DUNCHURCH, ONTARIO) HAS ENTITLED, WITH SOME AFFECTION I ASSUME, "CURRIE'S CORNER," ON THE PARANORMAL. ONE THEME THAT WILL BE PRESENT THROUGHOUT THE SERIES, IS THE STRANGE CONNECTION BETWEEN ANTIQUES (AS IN OLD STUFF, BEING OVER 100 YEARS OF AGE) AND ANTIQUES WITH HITCH-HIKERS (UNDESIRED PASSENGERS). THAT'S RIGHT. SOME ANTIQUE PIECES, AND THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE ANTIQUES AS SUCH, CAN COME WITH A LITTLE EXTRA THE BUYER MAY NOT BE AWARE OF, AT TIME OF PURCHASE. I AM KEENLY AWARE OF THESE THINGS. (I WILL EXPLAIN IN MORE DETAIL LATER IN THIS COLLECTION) I WOULD BUY SUCH A PIECE, BASED ON SUCH PROVENANCE. WITHOUT QUESTION. YOU CAN READ BACK A FEW BLOGS, ON THIS SITE, AND FIND THE PIECE I WROTE (DECEMBER), ABOUT PURCHASING A "DEATH BED," FOR MY WIFE, SEVERAL YEARS AGO. A BEAUTIFUL LATE 1800'S SPINDLE BED THAT WAS ONCE USED AS A FUNERAL PLATFORM, IN A FORMER MINISTER'S HOME, IN TORONTO. NOT ONLY WAS IT A BEAUTIFUL BED, BUT WITH A STORY LIKE THIS ATTACHED, GEEZ, IT HAD TO COME HOME. IN ADDITION, I ALSO HAVE A MUSKOKA AND ALGONQUIN GHOST BLOG-SITE, THAT IS GOING TO GET A WORK-OUT THIS SPRING SEASON. BUT AS FOR THIS SITE, I'M GETTING READY FOR A COLUMN SERIES ABOUT ANTIQUING ADVENTURES, CRAZY SITUATIONS WE'VE FOUND OURSELVES IN; STORIES ABOUT OUR TRAVELS, PAST AND PRESENT, AND THE INTERESTING SITUATIONS WE'VE GOTTEN OURSELVES IN OVER THE DECADES. AND I WANT TO OFFER SOME ASSISTANCE TO ROOKIE COLLECTORS AS WELL, AND SOME ADVICE FOR HOME DECORATORS. IF YOUR HOUSE NEEDS A GHOST, I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP THERE AS WELL, BUT I WON'T ACTUALLY SELL YOU A HAUNTED PIECE. I WOULDN'T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT. THEY CAN BE A MUCH HIGHER MAINTENANCE CONCERN THAN PETS……LET ME TELL YOU.
There have been many stories about pieces that were considered possessed; evil enhanced. A somewhat devilish situation, with a more threatening patina, than what I'm writing about from my own experiences, with both antique hunting and the paranormal hitch-hikers that attach to significant pieces. Legendary events known amongst collectors, like what the news stories, of the day, revealed about curses on those who stole artifacts from Egyptian tombs, and then paid with their lives. I don't advocate tomb raiding that's for sure. Some of my stories will reveal more soft-core ghostly situations, like grandmother's rocker being used by a reclining specter. One story, for example, was of an antique doll cradle that a Canadian dealer had in his shop. The story is, the cradle belonged to a little girl, who perished in a fire, as a direct result of trying to save the doll she kept inside. When the father of the family, tried to exit mother and children from the burning house, a daughter ran back into the fire, without being noticed, to fetch her favorite dolly from the wooden cradle. Her body was found beside the cradle, when the fire was extinguished, apparently having perished due to smoke inhalation. The cradle and the doll were slightly damaged by the fire, which largely destroyed another part of the house. When someone connected to the house retrieved the cradle and doll, the haunting started soon after. The cradle would begin rocking on its own without anyone setting it in motion. Believing it was somehow possessed by the little girl, after life, relatives didn't want to own the piece. It made the rounds of many families and antique dealers, so the urban legend goes, and those who thought it was a very neat provenance to have, with the pine antique, soon found it sad and disturbing, and couldn't adjust to the spirit within. The story doesn't have an end here, but there are many other parallel stories about rockers that rock without anyone sitting on them, organs that play on their own, keys of pianos tinkling in the darkness of Victorian parlors, and printing presses running on their own. In the paranormal field, it's not odd at all, to read about this kind of per-item haunting. While it's most often the case, a story-line will deal with the ghost or ghosts of a structure, if you read ghost stories carefully, with an interest in the furnishings attached, you might also read about the spirits having a favorite chair, or bed to hover over, on their regular visitations. I like both stories, but seeing as I'm a dealer of antiques etc., my interest is certainly peaked by a piece of furniture with a little extra patina.
So there will be some stories about the paranormal, tucked into blogs about collecting, and traveling from shop to shop, in the quest for the big finds. We've made a few in our day. It's worth our effort, let me say that.
One aspect of collecting, that I would like to highlight in these blogs, in the immediate future, are Muskoka collectibles, of which I'm often asked to offer appraisals. Back in the late 1980's, and particularly in the period of 1990-95, our little antique shop in Bracebridge was doing a booming business in Muskoka heirloom pieces, particularly those connected to the navigation industry here in, and on the Muskoka Lakes……from the magnificent wooden boats to the steamships that plied these beautiful lakes. We were responsible for building four large personal libraries, for local historians, of out of print and rare Muskoka themed books, dating back to the 1870's. It was an amazingly competitive period, and about five local dealers were in on the Muskoka craze, and there were thousands upon thousands of dollars being spent for the best of the best……which could range from books to paper nostalgia, brochures and navigational maps from the Navigation Company, to hotel-ware plates with the Navigation Company logo printed on the rim. The first Muskoka Navigation Company plate I sold, was at a yard sale, for fifty dollars. We didn't really want to sell it, but put it out anyway, with a highly inflated price. A Muskoka collector, we have known for more than 25 years, picked it up, and considered it a bargain. Since then we have sold an amazing array of Muskoka heirloom pieces, the most prestigious being a bench from the Sagamo, which lasted about four days in our shop, before one of our collector friends added it to her collection. I most recently sold a mint condition Brown's Beverage's seltzer bottle, from Gravenhurst, for about eighty dollars, and that was a good buy for the collector…….as they have sold in the past for well more than this.
When you are collectible shopping in Gravenhurst, you never let a pile of white and green-bordered hotelware plates go, without pawing through each and every one, because this is how we find the Navigation Company gems. This was a big industry in this town, for a lot of years, so it's to be expected these pieces will turn up at all kinds of sales, from church fundraisers to estate sales and at auctions. The same holds true for memorabilia from the boat building industry, here in Gravenhurst, where finding a Ditchburn relic, from paper items to boat pieces, is at least one handle off the grail….…..and the news, for those who don't believe it, there's lots more out there to be found. In fact, Gravenhurst and Muskoka Lakes generally, are hotbeds for these kind of finds, but Gravenhurst is our preference for hunting…..as it is also home base. The biggest of big finds, for the highest valued Muskoka collectibles, short of getting a Group of Seven painting, with local provenance, is in this field of antique boats…..mostly Ditchburn, and Greavette, but also steamship relics. There are Sanatorium relics which have some value, but Camp Calydor, German Prisoner of War Camp, woodwork, is particularly valuable on a global scale. The local market is still soft, because, many folks don't know anything about the prison camp, despite the fact there is a book on the subject. Some of the soldiers at the camp, carved amazing art pieces (boats etc.) on site, during the camp years of 1939-46 approx., and they often traded or presented pieces to local citizens, and members of the Veterans' Guard. I purchased a carved battleship, made of Muskoka pine, that had been traded to a citizen for a bottle of liquor…….through the fencing of the Lorne Street property. I sold it many years ago to a wealthy American family, that collected prisoner of war art. I most recently sold a carved pine picture frame, done at Calydor. Very coveted art pieces if you can get them.
Another particularly valuable piece, amongst local collectors and logging industry specialists, can be Muskoka logging stamps, the iron hammers that imprinted the company logos, that owned the particular log(s). They are in short supply. Did you know that A.J. Casson, of the Canadian Group of Seven Artists, sketched a local school building in Gravenhurst, that recently sold at auction. I won't give the name of the school building, so that the owners don't wake up to a sea of photographers. But it's true. There are lots of great art works out there as well, and many opportunities each year to find one or more for yourself. My biggest find of the year was an exceptional depiction of a pasture, in a large format watercolor, by Thomas Mower Martin, who some art historians, call the dean of Canadian art……one of the painters who, followed the rail lines across Canada, in the late 1800's, painting the exciting vistas. South Muskoka provides a bountiful hunting ground for the collector, in many different fields, from transportation collectibles, navigation heirlooms, Muskoka paper nostalgia (hotel and resort advertising), to art and vintage photographs. I will give more details, and images detailing some of our finds in a later blog.
I have been an "on and off again" antique dealer since the year I graduated University, in the spring of 1977……a degree in Canadian history under my arm, and a minor in English in mind. But I began collecting as a child, without question, and it started at the Burlington Arena, when I first became a recognized "rink rat." Which meant, anything that flew over the boards, was in my domain…..whether it was a stick or a puck, or a broken bit of hockey equipment. My mother Merle, God rest her soul, had to contend with a hoarder as a child. Now's there's a story. So while I didn't open my first business until the late 1970's, I'd been collecting interesting bits and bobbs since the early 1960's. My first antique column was published in 1978, I believe, in the newly opened Bracebridge Examiner. I had a number of those columns in the past 30 years, including my favorite which was called "The Auction Roll," which I used, without shame, to push my weight around, on the very active auction circuit of the late 1980's, and early 90's. The auctioneers hated me, as much as local politicians want me tarred and feathered today I gave away some inside secrets of auctioneering, and the use of invisible bidders to put up the selling price. I saw it all. But that didn't mean that the auctioneers were dishonest…….because only a few relied on this method, to improve their take. But I was intent on helping buyers and it became a useful guide……I used to get asked for auction tips all the time. There were some consequences attached, and I'd get into scraps with a few of the more established auctioneers, on some matters of protocol, but it was a time when going to an auction in Muskoka was a hell of a pass-time…..even if you didn't buy anything. They were socials. Fetes, with companion sales attached. Folks just loved to go to an old fashioned country auction. Now there are very few in our region annually, and that's been a real downer for us in the antique trade.
This is a big month for me, to research and write my newspaper columns in advance, (as Suzanne and I are on the prowl all summer season, and on every weekend of the year). So it's going to be a pretty tough assignment…..but as far as interesting stories…..you just watch. From old pine, and primitives, to paintings and sculptures, and well, you never know what you're going to find at the next yard sale, or fundraiser down the road. Hitch-hikers. I'll tell you about our own haunted portrait…..of a Victorian lass named Katherine.
Please join me, for a number of strange but true odysseys in the antique trade…..with a touch of the paranormal to make things interesting.
Also, if you're interested in kitchen heirlooms, I have a blog on handwritten recipes and journals, and certain regional cookbooks dating back to the 1800's, that is continually added to, when we make interesting finds out on the antique hustings. You can go back to the beginning of the blog, to learn more about the historic importance of these old handwritten recipes, which were priceless to homestead cooks in their day. Let us know about your cookery heritage interests, by contacting us through the blog site http://muskokavintagerecipes.blogspot.com/
If you like the peace and quiet of Muskoka, and would take solitude over the din of urbanity, check out my "Muskoka as Walden" blogsite http://muskokaaswaldenpond.blogspot.com/ , which is my favorite landscape outlet. I would have loved to be able to paint competently…..alas, I have to do so with words alone. This is the site I like to write-on, when things get a little wild at Birch Hollow…..and like Thoreau, I kind of disappear into the woods for a little respite. The blogs are the result of my hiatus periods. I also love to write during the seasonal storms. Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, was always enthralled to watch stormfronts move over the Algonquin and Georgian Bay lakeland, and as I have always admired his work, I've taken to words instead
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