FOLLOWING THOSE FAINT FOOTSTEPS OF LONG, LONG AGO - TO WHERE WE ONCE HUNG OUR HATS
I THINK I MAY HAVE LEFT PART OF MY SPIRIT IN THE PAST
"TO KNOW WHAT YOU PREFER, INSTEAD OF HUMBLY SAYING AMEN TO WHAT THE WORLD TELLS YOU, YOU OUGHT TO PREFER, IS TO HAVE KEPT YOUR SOUL ALIVE." ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
MY MOTHER, MERLE, THOUGHT I WAS A CHILD WITH AN OLD SOUL. WHEN SHE'D SAY THIS, IT WAS NEVER WITHOUT WHAT I PERCEIVED, AN INTENSE LOOK, AS IF TRYING TO SEARCH IN ORDER TO FIND OUT HOW MUCH WAS ACTUALLY MISSING. IF I WASN'T A FULL SOUL, HOW MUCH WAS LEFT? WAS I LEFT WITH THREE OF FOUR PIECES OF THE PIE, OR LESS THAN THIS? HOW MUCH COULD I AFFORD LOSING? I NEVER KNEW WHAT SHE MEANT UNTIL I STARTED THINKING BACK, A FEW YEARS AGO, TO WHEN WE LIVED IN BURLINGTON, ONTARIO, AND SHE'D INTERRUPT A STORY I WAS SPINNING, TO TELL ME WITH A WINK, "TEDDY, SOMETIMES I THINK YOU ARE A VERY OLD SOUL IN THAT LITTLE BODY." I WAS MORE CONCERNED, I SEEM TO REMEMBER, ABOUT BEING CALLED "LITTLE," BECAUSE NO PUBLIC SCHOOL LAD WANTS TO BE REFERRED TO IN THIS WAY. I ALWAYS CONSIDERED MYSELF SIX FEET TALL, EVEN FROM THE SECOND GRADE AT LAKESHORE PUBLIC SCHOOL. I NEVER REACHED OVER FIVE FOOT, EIGHT INCHES, BUT IT FELT LIKE SIX FEET WITH SHOES ON.
WHILE I BELIEVE SHE WAS REFERRING TO MY PENCHANT FOR HUNTING AND GATHERING, ABOUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD, WHICH I USED TO DO, EVERY SATURDAY AND SUNDAY, DOWN IN THE RAMBLE CREEK RAVINE, POSSIBLY IT WAS MY FASCINATION WITH OLD STUFF IN THE MOST GENERAL SENSE. REALLY OLD AND UNUSUAL THINGS, THAT I'D OBSERVE AND TELL HER ABOUT, OR EVEN HAUL HOME, WHEN AN ABUTTING PROPERTY OWNER MIGHT TOSS A CHAIR OR TABLE OVER THE HILLSIDE, TO TUMBLE DOWN INTO THE RAVINE. THIS WAS MY PICKING GROUND, AND I FOUND A LOT OF NEAT ITEMS, IN DAMAGED CONDITION, BUT ALL QUITE SALVAGEABLE. I WASN'T ASHAMED TO PICK THROUGH SOMEONE ELSE'S REFUSE, ESPECIALLY FREE RANGE ARTICLES FOUND IN THE WILDS OF THE CREEK-SIDE. POSSIBLY, SHE SAW MY INTEREST IN THESE DISCARDS OF HOUSEHOLD FURNISHINGS, AS BEING BEYOND THE TYPICAL INTERESTS OF A RAMBLING CHILD. I WOULD DISAGREE ON THIS POINT, BECAUSE SOME OF MY CHUMS FROM THAT ERA, WERE JUST LIKE ME, FOREVER BRINGING HOME THE "CATCH OF THE DAY," WHICH COULD HAVE BEEN A NIFTY END TABLE, OLD KITCHEN CHAIRS, A PINE SHELF, WAGON WHEEL, BABY BUGGY, OR ANY NUMBER OF VINTAGE TOYS, WHICH SOMEHOW GOT KNOCKED DOWN THE HILLSIDE, AND INTO OUR DOMAIN OF "FINDERS KEEPERS." I LIVED BY THIS RULE FOR MY ENTIRE CHILDHOOD, WHERE THIS ANTIQUE HUNTING THING WAS FIRMLY AND DEEPLY ROOTED.
When I write about Burlington, my first hometown, or Bracebridge, my second, it is always with the fondest recollections, even though there were unhappy moments (occasions) in both. It has all blended together in a most positive mental scrapbook, of great friends and neighbors, even the oddest ones, and all the recreations we got up to, spread over quite a few years. I was so compelled to re-visit my hometowns, even if only in memory, that one day, in my early twenties, I began penning stories about particular days and events that I felt were special and in important for undetermined reasons. It's somewhat strange to say the least, that nearly forty years later, I'm still getting comfort, writing about those same communities and neighborhoods, that I felt, had given us all a good and solid home situation. I suppose it's the case, I have some regrets, that I didn't pay more attention to my friends, the real characters of my stories today, and invested way too much contemplation about my surroundings, which standout so clearly now for me, much as if I'm standing in either the Ramble Creek ravine, with soaking feet, right at this moment; or in the sunny spring afternoon, in the midst of Bracebridge's Bamford's Woods, way up on Alice Street. I have vivid recall about my days wandering the mainstreet in Bracebridge, and even the barbershop where I used to get my ears lowered. I can so clearly recall the scent of the tonic, Bill Anderson used to slap onto the back of my neck, after using the razor. Sting? Very much! I just don't remember as much about my mates, who ambled side by side, for a lot of hometown miles, in that rag-tag troop of rapscallions, who used to get up to so much trouble, but all in good cheer.
I was thinking about this the other day, taking a little motor trip around the old neighborhood, on Bracebridge's Hunt's Hill, to the east of Manitoba Street. I saw my own ghost in a couple of places I used to haunt; but I must admit having a rather sunken sensation, an uneasy void, as to why I couldn't see the ghosts of my childhood chums, in these nostalgic places with the same ease. My memories of them are getting very thin and opaque these days, and I'm so glad that I wrote about them so many times in the past; sensing that one day I would start forgetting all the details, of what, I have always felt, was an amazing youth....old soul or not, I didn't hold anything back when it came to celebrating being young. I just didn't say thanks to these friends of mine, when I had the chance; and it explains why, ever since, I've been trying to thank them in print in these many retrospectives. But I'm beginning to think it only satisfies me, because they obviously haven't been following along. Well, a few have. Like I say, it would have been a lot better if I'd slapped Al Hillman or Don Clement on the back, when I left the neighborhood, thanking them for all the good times we'd spent together, hovering around the bee hive that was "The Little Rascals" clubhouse, in the backyard of the Clement family's Toronto Street residence. I really should have let Ray Green and his sister Holly, Bobby Crews and Dick and Henry Boosevelt, of Burlington, know how they kept me gainfully occupied back in Burlington for all those years. I know I should look them all up, and renew our friendships. But then that would be intrusive, right? They probably wouldn't remember me anyway, or if they did, it might be the case, they recalled me only, "as that odd kid with the wet shoes, who was old before his time;" the Currie kid, who always had soakers from Ramble Creek, and had auto parts and stuff hanging out of his trouser pockets.
It is in so many ways, the reason I enjoy playing around with antiques and collectables, or better stated, "nostalgia to me!"
I can collect items that remind me of that old gang of mine. I can't collect my friends, that wouldn't be right, but I can sure find things that take me happily back to those neighborhood days of childhood, when we hung out on the front stoop of Lil & Cec's Variety Store, on Toronto Street, in Bracebridge, sucking back cold pop from glass bottles, and looking for the prizes in the Cracker Jack boxes; trying to look older than we were, but feeling quite content to be kids as long as possible; letting everyone else do the work of the day for us. There are times, when I swear I can hear footsteps behind me, when I'm walking the length of Alice Street, or re-tracing the steps I used to take with former girlfriends, on those slow, romantic walks, to nowhere in particular; but knowing it wasn't their footfall in reminiscence, I was hearing. More like the gentle steps of that portion of my missing soul, trying desperately to rejoin the rest of my biography, before the final edition goes to press.
From The Archives
Vintage cookbooks offer a taste of history
In the old book and antique profession, I have made a career out of challenging myself. I create projects and missions, purposely trying to place obstacles in the way. I've always used this as a means of making myself more competitive, and in my field, there's no shortage of dealers trying to best the competition. When i got married, well sir, I challenged us both to be better and more aggressive collectors. She had no idea what she was getting into, marrying an antique dealer. She was more concerned about marrying a hard living, out-all-night reporter, for the local press.
One year ago, and feeling it was going to be an epic journey, my wife and business partner, Suzanne, and I (the silent one), began our quest to collect rare, antiquarian and out-of-print cookbooks; dating back to King Tut, (if he had happened to inscribe one onto a stone slab). Of course he didn't, but wouldn't that have been neat if he had; and we needed to hire a crane to drop it into our newly expanded cookery archives.
In only a year's time, we have built a small but significant cookery reference collection, housed now at our antique shop, in Gravenhurst, comprising of books dating back into the mid 1800's, including a large selection of handwritten recipes we've been collecting, and hoarding for a quarter of a century. In the early years of our business, we'd buy boxes loaded full of cookbooks and loose handwritten recipes, from farm and estate auctions. As old book dealers, we would fix-up and sell the vintage cookbooks, but for some reason, we're not really sure about, decided to hold-back anything that had been penned onto a wide variety of paper products. I think we both had plans for the loose recipes, but it was only recently, that our respective ideas merged, at about the same time. Believing the best use was 'archival', conserving them in acid free packaging, for reference-use by our customers.
What we have established, over the year, today includes a diversified collection for home cooks, chefs, foodies and researchers. We have a selection of older and out of print cookbooks for sale, and a reference collection of vintage Canadian cookbooks, and reprints, as a reference archives, to assist our patrons find elusive recipes, they may have enjoyed at their grandmother's house as children. The binders of handwritten recipes are also used as reference material. So far, it's been a lot of fun, especially when we get a challenging request from a customer, or cook, that seems an impossible task, but ends up with the successful discovery of an historic recipe, out of the kitchen rotation, for a century or more.
It has been quite an adventure, collecting these historic cookery books, and quite educational, researching the peculiarities and specialties of each one. We recently secured an 1897's book, entitled "Stepping Stones to Happiness," by Harriet Prescott Spofford, full of late Victorian values and trends, with of course, a strong Christian foundation. I thought you might like to know how the author felt about the subject of "Old Cookery Books." if you're a tad squeamish about eels, maybe you should skip a paragraph or two.
"But if the mistress sets out to study the subject and art of cookery itself, in all its bearings, she will find some interesting reading on her way. From any great library she can secure a collection of old fashioned cookery books, that will afford her amusement if not instruction." She writes that, "These books are not merely those full of 'Mrs. A's this,' or 'Madame B's that,' but such as the entertaining Dr. Kitchener's, the wise and witty Brillat Savarin's, and the work of the famous Mrs. Glasse, with her descriptions of a 'curious way,' to concoct a dish, 'a pretty way of stewing chicken,' or others where you come across such phrases as, 'mellow as marrow,' or where directions to 'pickle a buttocky beef,' to make a 'Carolina rice pudding,' and 'an approved method practiced by Mrs. Dukeley, the Queen tyre-woman, to preserve hair and make it grow thick,' are all huddled on the same page, and where the spelling is 'salamongundy,' 'asturtion,' and 'camphire'."
Mrs. Spofford adds, that, "One of the most amusing of all the old cooks, who called themselves 'artists,' is M. Ude. 'Take,' he says, 'one or two live eels; throw them into the fire; as they are twisting about on all sides, lay hold of them with a towel in your hand, and skin them from head to foot. This is the only means of drawing out all the oil, which is unpalatable and indigestible. Several reviews,' he exclaims, indignantly, in a later edition, 'have accused me of cruelty because I recommend in this work that eels should be burned alive. As my knowledge in cookery is entirely devoted to the gratification of taste, and the preservation of health, I consider it my duty to attend to what is essential in both'."
"Another cook of a less original cast of mind, is old Robert May, of the seventeenth century, a man who used musk for one of his flavorings, and all of whose recipes, of an era before any of the French refinements, were on such a gigantic scale that one might think of him cooking for the lower gods, or the least, for an army of Goths feasting after battle. For the curiosity of it, the reader should glance over his way of preparing what he calls an 'Olio Podrida.' 'Take,' he directs, 'Pipkin or pot, some three gallons, fill it with fair water, and set it over a fire of charcoals, and put in first your hardest meats, a rump of beef, bolonia sausages, neats' tongues, two dry and two green, about two hours after the pot is boiled and scummed; but put in more presently, after your beef is scummed, mutton, venison, pork, bacon, all the foresaid in, gubbins as big as a duck's egg, in equal pieces; put in also carrots, turnips, onions, cabbage in good big pieces, as big as your meat, a bundle of sweet herbs well bound up, and some while spinage, sorrel, burrage, endive, marigold, and other good potherbs a little chopped; and sometimes French barley, or lupins, green or dry'."
The cook adds, "Then a little before you dish out your olio, put to your pot cloves, mace, and saffron." Well, you get the idea. It's pretty neat, reading through these vintage books, and thinking about the primitive cooking equipment they were working on, and with, at their time in history, to make food delicious. It was delicious wasn't it? According to all the history we've uncovered so far, this rested in the opinions of those who cleaned their plates of these traditional culinary arts.
THE HUNT AND GATHER OF OLD COOKBOOKS
This year marks the 96th anniversary of the death of Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, back in July 1917, on Algonquin Park's Canoe Lake, I wanted to share a tiny story about the painter, many wouldn't know about.
There was an occasion, while Thomson was on a painting excursion, on Smoke Lake, that he had an interesting encounter with a park ranger. The ranger had witnessed a spiral of smoke above the evergreens, on a point of land, and felt it necessary to investigate the source. As he climbed the hillside, to where the smoke was rising, he noticed a canoe pulled up from shore, and some camping gear. When he finally got the camper in view, he noticed it was Thomson, sitting adjacent to a fire in a small pit, with an oven-like device over top. He was depicting the scene, as he saw it, on his paint board, of the Smoke Lake environs. When the ranger got close, so that Thomson could hear his footfall, the artist welcomed him to the site, and the park official immediately commented on how much the art work looked like the scene below. I'm not sure about this, but I believe Thomson, as he did many times in his life, was so appreciative of the comment, he offered the ranger the sketch when he was finished. Best of all, he handed the ranger a piece of his freshly baked, still hot blueberry pie, from his handmade reflector oven positioned beside the wood fire. The ranger that day, got a painting and a delicious slice of Thomson's famous fireside cooking. It is said that while Thomson was an outstanding artist, he was also highly skilled as a campsite chef. This is my offering on this, the 96th anniversary, of the alleged drowning, of artist Tom Thomson.
In the antique and collectible trade, you live by the saying, “never say never!” There are windfalls and droughts in the collecting enterprise. Since beginning the mission to collect old cookbooks and handwritten recipes, about twenty-five years ago, it has been one of those hit and miss realities dealers and collectors dread but anticipate getting in the way.
Without warning, you will frequently run into dry-spells that can last a week, or several years between big finds. As an avid art collector, who sells numerous art pieces annually, I can usually find ten or more good quality paintings every month, out on the normal day to day hustings. Nothing requiring several hundred miles of motoring or extreme exertion on our part, to make quality finds. Just passive, enjoyable travel between source businesses and yard sales. And as pickers, it doesn't necessitate us going to art auctions, or even art gallery exhibitions. I can’t afford their prices but I can usually find some high quality pieces in second hand shops, flea markets, yard sales and a few moderately priced antique shops. It’s the same now as cookbooks and handwritten recipes. I expect to find some each month. At the very least, a couple of old cookbooks done by church groups as fundraisers. Here’s what happens.
Take for example, Martha Stewart's popular books. As they relate to home entertaining, and an interesting array of seasonal recipes, my wife likes to collect, I started a mission to acquire all of her books, and I didn’t mind duplicates. The holy grail would be a signed and personally inscribed first edition of “Entertaining,” from the early 1980's, which can sell for around $200 and up. I’ve sold a couple of unsigned first editions, before I got this idea to collect all her work. When I began this Martha campaign, I could find her books all over the place. I was finding one or two a week. I was even turning down those in less than pristine condition, because I assumed with the abundant supply, I could afford to be picky about things like condition.
I wrote a number of columns, some years back, about my interest in Martha Stewart first editions, for several feature publications, and online blogs. As a result, I got many kind comments and praise for this tribute to Martha Stewart, and her contribution to home entertaining, food preparation, decorating and the antique business particularly. Her creativity expressed in these books, has certainly helped businesses like ours, selling vintage decorator pieces, antiques and collectibles, ranging from kitchen-ware to vintage glass and pottery. And what happens when the writer / antique hunter gets too liberal with enthusiasm for a subject, usually ends the same.
Shortly after the articles ran, the shortage of Martha Stewart books became quite noticeable, missing from the shelves of the same places I acquire most of my vintage wares. Being excited about what you collect, and publishing this, often leads to copy-cat purchasing. I’m delighted to promote her work but disappointed I’ve created a new interest in her earlier first editions. Such that there are now many more hands reaching for those few remaining editions. Vendors are putting up the prices, and even old book shops are keeping Martha’s books in stock, because of growing demand for her earlier works. Even the unauthorized biographies, while annoying to her, have done quite the reverse for cookbook collectors. Those who find her a fascinating study and amazing personality, despite the “tell-alls,” her own books get even more attention. With more interest of course, the more you expect price increases, especially for first editions in pristine condition.
“Entertaining,” is a sweetheart of a book, because it was landmark in the creation of new interest in an old theme; the large dinner party, with a new and exciting emphasis. It wasn’t just for the wealthy. It was for any one with a devotion to good food, elegant presentation and a genuine interest in sharing with others. It has gone into reprint many times, but this milestone book, as a first edition, becomes more valuable over time. Obviously there are many folks turned-on by her myriad of books that have been on the market since “Entertaining” was first released. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve showed up at the check-out counter, at some regional second hand shop, with a Martha Stewart cookbook in tow, and been asked by someone else line; ‘Where did you find that book. I’ve been looking everywhere for that one. You’re lucky. Say, you don’t want to sell it, do you?” I might agree, at this point, to sell one from our home collection, if it’s the lesser of the two in terms of condition. My mission is to have a pristine copy of each of her books, and a signed “Entertaining,” which I’m presently in hot pursuit of one on the market. The others I will sell off eventually through our on-line old book enterprise. Or in Suzanne's new "Cookery Nookery," located in our Gravenhurst antique shop, on Muskoka Road, opposite the Opera House.
As I have made a sweeping editorial move, to promote handwritten recipes as paper heritage / heirlooms, suddenly there is an extreme shortage of material out on the hustings. While I’m not so vain as to believe it was my writing prowess and popularity that did this, I do believe that many shopkeeps, of businesses I check frequently, have probably re-considered how they sell-off these usual bundles of recipes, pulled from old cookbooks and auction job-lots of vintage paper. I’ve educated more than a few of these folks, in other collectible areas, and it should have been obvious to me, when I wrote the blog-site and published the short series of articles, that I would suffer some after-shock. Particularly the increase in prices for such random bundles, that used to cost well under ten dollars for several hundred, to twenty and thirty dollars for about fifty beaten-up pieces of paper now. Some are even framing them as I suggested. While I’m always chagrined by these turns of capitalism, I’m delighted by the fact more and more people, are conserving this historic paper that might have been discarded. The fact I’ve interested some folks to take better care of these handwritten gems, does make me feel better, even though I’ve had this hiatus thrown my way.
In the off season, when highway travel is often precarious, here in the snowbelt, Suzanne and I huddle about the kitchen, where something, is always in some state of creation; and it is all very intoxicating to a man supposedly on a life-preserving diet. Suzanne has none the less, been whipping up some wonderful, low calorie meals and desserts, and I really haven’t suffered much at all, over the past two months of caloric reduction. And she very much relies on her grandmother’s handwritten recipe collection to get us from here to there, and for me, a lesser belt-size. Good old hardy food didn’t have to be crazy with calories. Suzanne has stuck with Canada’s Food Guide nutrition information for years. The only reason I have gained weight, is our weekly treat of going out to dinner. Treating myself got me to the point of being fifty pounds over my ideal weight. Suzanne’s kitchen moxie has brought me down twenty of those excess pounds in less than two months. I’ve been re-introduced to spinach which I gave up when my mother stopped lecturing me about “Popeye.” “If it’s good enough to help Popeye fight the bad guys, it’s good enough for you to get good marks at school." I never understood the parallel between fighting bad guys and getting good marks, but then my mother didn't feel it was necessary to offer sidebars to her advisories.
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