FROM THE ARCHIVES; TOMORROW I WILL HAVE AN UPDATE ON OUR 100 MILE ANTIQUE HUNTING MISSION OVER THE PAST THREE DAYS. NO HOLY GRAIL BUT SOME NEAT STUFF
FOLLOW IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE GREAT BARDS? MAYBE WE SHOULD!
MUSKOKA AS WALDEN
QUITE A NUMBER OF CANADA'S BEST KNOWN BARDS…., THE POETS, PHILOSOPHERS AND ASSORTED OTHER CREATIVE MINDS, FOUND THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA A PARTICULARLY INSPIRING PLACE IN WHICH TO CREATE. IN FACT, THEY GATHERED AT THE FORMER MUSKOKA ASSEMBLY, ON TOBIN'S ISLAND, LAKE ROSSEAU, (NEAR WINDERMERE), AS PART OF THE ROAMING CANADIAN CHATAUQUA PROGRAM. ANY ONE WHO KNOWS THIS LOCATION, WOULD AGREE WITH CLAIMS, ABOUT ITS PICTURESQUE QUALITIES.
THE POOLING OF POETS AND PHILOSOPHERS, WAS AT ITS PEAK IN THE 1920'S AND 30'S, AND INCLUDED SUCH IMPORTANT CANADIAN WRITERS AS WILSON MACDONALD, BLISS CARMEN, CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, MARSHALL SAUNDERS (BOOK, BEAUTIFUL JOE) PLUS MANY OTHER LITERARY RISING STARS. MUSKOKA OFFERED A SORT OF SPIRITUAL CONNECTION, AFFORDING AN AWAKENING OF THE SENSES. I TALKED WITH A WRITER, WELL ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHATAUQUA MOVEMENT, AND ITS STAY IN MUSKOKA, AND SHE WAS VERY CLEAR ABOUT THE FACT MUSKOKA IS, AND WILL CONTINUE TO BE, A VERY "SPIRITUAL PLACE." IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN FOR ME, BUT THEN I'M NOT A GREAT BARD, OR REVERED PHILOSOPHER.
AT DAYBREAK THIS MORNING, THE MOON ON THE WESTERN HORIZON, WAS CUT BY THREE THIN, EVENLY SEPARATED LAYERS OF CLOUD. IT LOOKED MORE LIKE AN EMBLEM ON A FLAG, THAN A GENUINE NATURAL OCCURRENCE. IT HAD AN AMAZING WHITE GLOW AND PINK BACKDROP OF SKY. REFLECTING OFF THE DIAMOND-LIGHT OF THE DISTANT, UNDULATING SNOWSCAPE, AND THROUGH THE BRANCHES OF THE MAPLES IN THE YARD, IT LOOKED QUITE FASCINATING TO THE INADVERTENT VOYEUR. I'M SURE THE POET-KIND MIGHT HAVE MADE COPIOUS NOTES ABOUT THE MORNING SKY, AND TURNED IT INTO SOMETHING POETIC…..SOMETHING REFLECTIVE OF LIFE AND BEYOND, AND THE UNIVERSALITY OF IT ALL. I HAVE LONG BEEN A READER OF THEIR WORK. I HAVE FELT MANY TIMES, THAT THESE POETS, FROM OUR PAST, SAW SOMETHING IN THIS REGION THAT WE HAVE COME TO IGNORE. IN THIS DAY AND AGE, WITH TECHNOLOGY SEEMINGLY OUR NEW REASON TO WORSHIP AND HOPE, THE WORK OF THE POETS HAS BEEN RELEGATED TO DARK, DUSTY, COB-WEBBED CORNERS OF LIBRARIES. AT AN ESTATE SALE, OR AUCTION, WE MIGHT BE LUCKY ENOUGH, TO FIND A FEW COPIES OF THE BOOKS WRITTEN AND SIGNED BY WILSON MACDONALD, WHO SPENT CONSIDERABLE TIME IN OUR REGION, WELL BEYOND THE DAYS OF THE MUSKOKA ASSEMBLY. HE WOULD DO READINGS AT SCHOOL AND PUBLIC LIBRARIES, AND SELL HIS OWN BOOKS AFTER HIS PRESENTATION…..OFTEN TO VERY SUBSTANTIAL AUDIENCES. HE WOULD SIT AND AUTOGRAPH ALL THE BOOKS HE SOLD, WITH A LITTLE NOTATION ADDED AT THE TIME….OF HIS OWN CREATION, AND POTENTIALLY EVEN A LITTLE GRAPHIC INCLUSION…..IF YOU WERE TO ENGAGE HIM IN DISCUSSION, WHILE HE STILL HAD PEN IN HAND. I HAVE QUITE A NUMBER OF BOOKS HE HAND-ILLUMINATED, WHILE SITTING, AND TALKING WITH HIS READERS.
I KNOW, AHEAD OF TIME, THAT MOST PEOPLE I TALK TO THESE DAYS, ABOUT MUSKOKA HISTORY, WILL HAVE NO IDEA WHO WILSON MACDONALD WAS….OR THE OTHER POETS OF HIS DAY. YET LIKE THE ARTISTS OF THE LEGENDARY GROUP OF SEVEN, WHO GAVE US A NEW AND EXCITING WAY OF LOOKING AT OUR COUNTRY, THESE WERE THE WRITERS, GIVING THIS COUNTRY ITS LITERARY HERITAGE. MUSKOKA FACTORED HEAVILY INTO THIS LITERARY HISTORY. BUT IT'S NOT LIKELY THAT WILSON MACDONALD, OR BLISS CARMEN OR CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, WILL EVER AGAIN BE NAMES BANDIED ABOUT, OR ON THE TIP OF ANYONE'S TONGUE. SADLY, IT IS A LOSS TO OUR REGION, BECAUSE THESE POETS AND PHILOSOPHERS, AND ARTISTS WHO PAINTED AROUND OUR LAKELAND, DID RECOGNIZE THE HIDDEN SPIRITUALITY OF THE ALLURING HINTERLAND. THE ACADEMICS OF THE PAST, FOUND REASON TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT MUSKOKA WAS A NURTURING GROUND FOR PROGRESSIVE THOUGHT. I HAVE NEVER ONCE, AS A LONG TIME WRITER AND HISTORIAN, SERVING THIS REGION OF ONTARIO, FOUND ANY REASON TO DISMISS THEIR OBSERVANCES ABOUT THE SOURCES OF INSPIRATION, MUSKOKA OFFERS ITS CREATIVE RESIDENTS. ONE NEED NOT GO FURTHER THAN THE LIST OF ACTIVE MUSKOKA ARTISTS AND ARTISANS, WHO HAVE FOUND IDEAL PORTALS ONTO THE HINTERLAND, FROM WHICH TO WORK. YOU CAN FIND MANY OF THESE FOLKS, MEMBERS OF THE MUSKOKA ARTS AND CRAFTS ASSOCIATION, OF WHICH I HAVE ENORMOUS RESPECT. WE ALL HAVE OUR SPECIAL WINDOWS OVERLOOKING THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THIS DYNAMIC REGION.
THERE ARE REASONS WE TAKE THE NATURE OF MUSKOKA FOR GRANTED. IT DOESN'T SEEM AS IMPORTANT AS THE FUNCTIONING OF OUR DAY TO DAY LIVES. IT DOESN'T SEEM, AT TIMES, ANYTHING MORE THAN A FRUSTRATION TO DEVELOPERS……WHEN OPPONENTS USE ENVIRONMENTAL SENSITIVITY TO BLOCK EARTH MOVERS AND TARMAC. WE PASS BY THESE WOODLANDS BY DAY AND NIGHT, AND THINK OF THEM AS A PRETTY BACKDROP ON A SUNNY MORNING, OR MOONLIT NIGHT. WHEN WE HEAR A CHAINSAW SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE, WE ASSUME A TREE THAT IS DEAD, IS BEING FELLED FOR SAFETY REASONS. WHEN WE READ IN THE DAILY NEWS, OR ONLINE, THAT WE HAVE BEEN GIFTED WITH A SPRAWLING NEW DEVELOPMENT, A BOX STORE OR STRIP MALL, WE INITIALLY GET EXCITED THAT MORE JOB OPPORTUNITIES WILL BE CREATED. WHEN WE SEE THE DUMP TRUCKS RUMBLING BY, WITH FULL LOADS OF MOTHER EARTH, WE ASSUME OUR REGION IS FINALLY COMING OF AGE. WHEN WE FIND OUT THAT A MARINA EXPANSION WILL OCCUR, WITH MORE DOCKING SPACE FOR BOATS, IT'S USUALLY ONLY THOSE WITH A VESTED INTEREST, AS NEIGHBORS, WHO FEEL ANY SENSE OF CONCERN ABOUT FUTURE CONGESTION, AND ISSUES OF WATER QUALITY. WHEN WE GET SNOWED IN, WE COMPLAIN ABOUT HORRIBLE WINTERS. WHEN OUR EVENTS ARE RAINED OUT, IT IS NATURE'S FAULT.
I MISS THE RAMBLINGS OF OLD POETS THROUGH OUR WILD PLACES. I MISS THE WAY THEY INFORMED US, THE STAKE-HOLDERS OF THIS AMAZING REGION, THAT WE SHOULD OPEN OURSELVES TO ITS INHERENT SPIRITUALITY…..LET IT SOOTHE AWAY OUR WOES…..INSPIRE OUR FUTURE EFFORTS. I MISS THE EMPHASIS THEY PLACED, ON NATURAL QUALITIES, AND REALITIES WE NEED TO BE CONCERNED. I MISS THEIR CREATIVE ENCOURAGEMENT, TO INSPIRE US TO LOOK BEYOND WHATS PRESENTS AS REAL AND PERPETUATING, TO SEE LIFE AS A GREAT WEALTH….AS AN ENDURING RESOURCE, TO BE USED AND CELEBRATED. ALAS, THE WORK OF THE GREAT BARDS, THE PHILOSOPHERS OF A YOUNG COUNTRY, ARE SELDOM, IF EVER RECALLED, EXCEPT BY SENTIMENTAL FOOLS LIKE ME…..WHO STILL DEPEND TOO MUCH, I SUPPOSE, ON THE SPIRITUALITY THEY FOUND DURING THEIR ADVENTURES. NOW IT IS A NEW SOURCE OF INSPIRATION, FOR TODAY'S INVESTORS ARRIVING IN THE LAKELAND…..TO EXPLOIT WHAT THEY SEE ONLY AS AN UNTAPPED RESOURCE…..NOT A CIRCULATORY VEIN OF ENLIGHTENMENT, SUCH THAT STEWARDSHIP SHOULD OUTWEIGH CAPITALIST FERVOR. WE ARE IN FOR A FUTURE OF EXPLOITATION, BUT NOT BASED ON THE REGION'S SPIRITUAL ESSENCE. BASED ON MARKET VALUE.
"COME NOT THE LEISURE OF THIS DRIFTING MOON, NOR BLAME THE LAZY LOITERING OF STARS, THAT PASS ABOVE THESE ISLES OF BEARDED STONE; NOR WONDER SHOULD THE SLOWLY WHEELING CARS OF ALGOL AND ARCTURUS CRAVE THE BOON, TO EVER REMAIN - AND NIGHT PAUSE LIKE A NOMAD WHO HAS FOUND, IN WOODLANDS STRUNG WITH MOONLIGHT WHOSE PALE RAIN, DESCENDS TO EARTH WITH NEITHER SCENT NOR TONE, THE HAVEN WHITHER AGELONG SHE WAS BOUND.
DARK ARE THESE GROPING WATERS, DARK AS WINE, FROM A WILD CHERRY'S HEART; A LIGHT WIND COMES, WITH SPEED OF FIRE AROUND A WOODED TURN, WITHIN WHOSE DROWSY HAUNTS A PARTRIDGE STRUMS, IN DREAMS, DISTURBING SLUMBER OF THE PINE. HERE THE WHITE POPLARS BOIL, ABOVE THE MOON-FIRES KINDLED IN A POOL, WHEREIN THE DYING HEMLOCK POURS ITS OIL, AND WHERE THE BROWN, DECAYING FRONDS OF FERN, LIE IN A DREAMLESS SLUMBER, SWEET AND COOL."
THE POEM, ENTITLED SIMPLY, "MUSKOKA" WAS WRITTEN BY MADONALD, PUBLISHED IN HIS 1926 BOOK, "OUT OF THE WILDERNESS," INSPIRED BY HIS DAYS SPENT ON TOBIN'S ISLAND, LAKE ROSSEAU.
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL - I COULDN'T FORGET
MUSKOKA AS WALDEN
IT WAS ON DAYS JUST LIKE THIS, THAT I USED TO DON THE CROSS COUNTRY SKIS, AND HEAD OFF OVER THE CONNECTED PASTURES, THROUGH THE SNOW-LADEN WOODLANDS, DOWN A NUMBER OF INTERCONNECTING FARM LANES, LONG OVER-GROWN….AND ARRIVE AT THE HILLSIDE WHERE THE ABANDONED, VICTORIAN ERA FARMHOUSE STOOD. IT WAS A HAUNTED PLACE EVEN IN THE BRIGHT SUNLIGHT OF A FEBRUARY MORNING, JUST LIKE THE BRILLIANT GLOW SHIMMERS OFF THE SNOW THIS MORNING, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW.
I HAD ONLY JUST GRADUATED UNIVERSITY, AND COULDN'T BE BOTHERED HANGING MY FRAMED DIPLOMA ON THE WALL…..THE ONE THAT GAVE ME SOME FORMAL RANKING FOR HAVING SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED STUDIES IN CANADIAN HISTORY. ENGLISH AS A MINOR CONSIDERATION. THE HISTORIAN / WRITER WITHOUT PORTFOLIO. AS I WASN'T QUITE AS EMPLOYABLE, AS I ASSUMED, WHEN HANDED THE RIBBON-SECURED SCROLL, AT GRADUATION, TO A MODEST MUFFLED APPLAUSE, I FELT A FEW TREMORS OF FEAR ABOUT THE FUTURE. I DIDN'T HAVE MANY CHEERLEADERS THAT SPRING DAY AT YORK UNIVERSITY'S OUTDOOR VENUE. FRANKLY, WHILE MY MOTHER AND FATHER APPEARED MODERATELY PLEASED, BY THE OUTCOME OF THEIR FINANCIAL INVESTMENT IN MY EDUCATION, MY GIRLFRIEND SEEMED QUITE PENSIVE, ABOUT WHAT A DEGREE IN HISTORY WAS GOING TO MEAN IN A FISCAL REALITY. AS EMPLOYERS WEREN'T EXACTLY POUNDING THE DOOR DOWN, TO SECURE MY EMPLOYMENT TO THEIR FIRM. GAIL, AT THE TIME, WAS IN A COURSE AS A COMPUTER PROGRAMMING SPECIALIST. EVEN BEFORE GRADUATION, SHE HAD BEEN RECRUITED BY NUMEROUS CORPORATIONS IN ONTARIO. SHE HAD EVERY REASON TO BE CONCERNED ABOUT HER MATE; AS HAVING A DEGREE IN HISTORY WAS NICE BUT NOT PROFITABLE. WITHOUT OF COURSE, STAYING IN SCHOOL A LITTLE LONGER, TO SECURE AN ADDITIONAL DEGREE; SUCH AS IF I HAD DECIDED TO ENTER THE TEACHING PROFESSION. I'M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN A WRONG TURN WITHOUT QUESTION.
IN MY MIND, ALL I WANTED TO DO, WAS EXPLORE THE PLACE I HAD CHOSEN TO LIVE, AND LET THE PIECES FALL INTO PLACE OVER THE COMING YEAR. AND THEY DID. GAIL DIDN'T PREFER THE COMPANY OF A HINTERLAND POET, PHILOSOPHER, WRITER-KIND, DESTINED TO A LIFE OF SACRIFICE AND POVERTY, AS IF A RELIGIOUS CHOICE. I'VE NEVER HAD A SINGLE REGRET ABOUT MY CHOICES. I WOULD HAVE PERISHED, IF I'D DECIDED TO LIVE AND WORK IN THE CITY. I NEEDED THIS LAKELAND. OF THAT THERE IS NO QUESTION. AND IT'S THE COLLECTION OF MEMORIES, ABOUT THOSE EARLY OUTDOOR EXPLORATIONS, FRESH OUT OF SCHOOL, THAT CONTINUES TO REMIND ME I MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE OF DIRECTION AT THAT PERSONAL CROSSROADS.
WHILE I WAS BURDENED SOMEWHAT BY THE CONCERN, I HAD SPENT A LOT OF MONEY TO SECURE A DEGREE, THAT DIDN'T GUARANTEE ME A JOB, I WASN'T GOING TO WASTE MY TIME FEELING BYPASSED BY OPPORTUNITY. I HAD, AFTER ALL, OPENED AN ANTIQUE SHOP PARTNERSHIP WITH MY PARENTS, AND ALTHOUGH IT DIDN'T OCCUPY ALL OF MY TIME, AND WASN'T ENOUGH TO EARN A LIVING, I KNEW THAT I NEEDED TO IMMERSE MYSELF IN THE REGION I PLANNED TO REMAIN. EVEN IN MY EARLY TWENTIES, I KNEW I WAS GOING TO LIVE AND WORK IN MUSKOKA. IT DIDN'T MATTER THAT THIS WOULD MEAN SETTLING FOR LESS INCOME. MY INTEREST WAS IN A FULFILLING LIFE, NOT JUST THE PURSUIT OF MONEY AT THE RISK OF EVERYTHING ELSE, I FOUND INHERENTLY IMPORTANT IN LIFE. I LOST A GIRLFRIEND AT THE SAME TIME, BECAUSE I REFUSED TO LIVE IN THE CITY. I HAD REGRETS AT THE TIME, BUT NOT BECAUSE I'D MADE THE DECISION TO REMAIN IN MUSKOKA. I FELT ALONE, THAT'S FOR SURE, CONSIDERING OUR FRIENDS SIDED WITH HER, LEAVING ME TO MY TYPEWRITER AND THE SKIS……AND THIS NON-JUDGMENTAL PLACE DEEP IN THE MUSKOKA FOREST.
THE FACT THAT MY WIFE TODAY, WILL HAVE TO COME AND FIND ME, WHEN I STAY TOO LONG OVER AT THE BOG, IS JUST A CARRY-OVER FROM THE WAY I'VE BEEN SINCE THOSE DAYS, RETREATING INTO THE SEMI-WILDS, TO ENJOY THE GENTLE SOLITUDE OF THE ENVIRONMENT. WHEN I'D STRAP THE SKIS ON, AND TAKE THOSE FIRST FEW SLIDES ON THE ICED-OVER TRAILS, IN THE WARM SUNGLOW OUT IN THE OPEN FIELD, IT WAS A TRULY LIBERATING EXPERIENCE…..QUITE INTOXICATING IN FACT. I'D SKI FOR ABOUT FORTY MINUTES, THROUGH ALL KINDS OF INTERESTING FROZEN TERRAIN……DOWN OVERGROWN FARM LANES, OUT INTO THE EXPANSE OF FORMER PASTURELAND, ADJACENT TO HUGE ROCK CLIFFS COVERED IN HANGING ICE, ALONG HEAVILY FORESTED PATHS, TAKING ENCHANTED SHORTCUTS THROUGH THE PINE FORESTS. WHEN I'D POP OUT OF THE THICK EMBRACE OF EVERGREEN, AND ARRIVE AT THE BASE OF THE LANE, HEADING UP TO THE OLD HOUSE ON THE HILL, IT WAS VERY MUCH THE SENSORY PERCEPTION, I HAD JUST THEN, STEPPED THROUGH SOME PORTAL BETWEEN THE PAST AND PRESENT. IT WAS A HAUNTINGLY STRANGE MOMENT, WHEN I'D TAKE MY SKIS OFF AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LANE, AND INITIATE THOSE FIRST STEPS UP THE HILLSIDE. OTHERS HAD BEEN HERE BEFORE ME, AND THERE WAS A WELL-WORN PATH IN THE HARDENED SNOW. IF I HAD WONDERED ABOUT THE REASONS I'D TAKEN HISTORY AS A MAJOR, IN UNIVERSITY STUDIES, IT WAS TO PUT ME ON A LEVEL WITH WHAT I SAW AND FELT EXPLORING THIS HILLSIDE. JUST SEEING THE RAMSHACKLE CONDITION, OF AN OTHERWISE BEAUTIFUL FARMHOUSE, EVOKED FEELINGS OF SADNESS. INSPIRED QUESTIONS THAT HAD NO DEFINABLE ANSWERS. THERE WAS NO NEED FOR EXPLANATION. IT WAS A SENSORY EXPERIENCE. I OBTAINED MY OWN ANSWERS BY IMMERSION ALONE. THERE, POSITIONED ABOVE THE FARMLAND IT DEFINED, THE HOUSE HAD SIMPLY, ROUTINELY ANCHORED A LIFESTYLE. IT HAD SHELTERED A FAMILY FOR A CENTURY, PERCHED LIKE A BEACON, HIGH ON A HILL, OVERLOOKING A HUGE AND IMPRESSIVE VALLEY, BORDERED BY A ROCK BLUFF ON THE SOUTH SIDE. IT MUST HAVE BEEN A BREATH-TAKING VIEW, WHEN THE WREATHING OF EVERGREENS HADN'T BEEN QUITE AS IMPOSING, AND OVERGROWN, AS THEY APPEARED ON MY WALKS. WHY HAD IT BEEN ABANDONED?
I THINK WHAT HAS ALWAYS ENTRANCED ME, ABOUT VISITING PLACES LIKE THIS, AS ONE MIGHT EXPERIENCE IN THE WALK UP TO AN ALLEGEDLY HAUNTED ENGLISH CASTLE, WAS THAT IT SERVED AS SUCH AN ENDLESS SOURCE OF INSPIRATION…..DESPITE ITS MELANCHOLY AT FIRST GLANCE. EVERY TIME I CREEPED UP THAT ICY HILLSIDE, BELIEVE ME, I EXPECTED SOME APPARITION TO EITHER PASS BY ME, OR THROUGH ME, ON ITS TYPICAL SPIRITUAL WALK-ABOUT; OR FIND SOME GHOSTLY FACE, LOOKING OUT FROM THE LAST REMAINING PANE OF GLASS, IN AN UPSTAIRS WINDOW. AS SOMEONE WHO HAS HAD MANY SPIRITUAL ENCOUNTERS OVER A LIFETIME, THIS WAS A WILDLY HAUNTED PLACE, YET IT WAS THE SAME SENSATION, ANYONE WOULD HAVE FELT, IN MY FOOTSTEPS. OF BEING ALONE, WITH THE SAD REMAINS OF A FAMILY HOME, THAT ONCE HAD A FLICKERING FIRELIGHT COMING FROM THE KITCHEN STOVE, AND A ORANGE FLAME IN AN OIL LAMP, PLACED AS A GUIDE, IN THE FRONT WINDOW AT DUSK.
I THINK ABOUT ALL THE LIVES THAT HOUSE, ON THE HILL, PROTECTED FOR MANY YEARS, AGAINST STORM AND COLD, WIND AND RAIN. ALL THE CELEBRATIONS, MILESTONES, FAMILY HISTORY MADE WITHIN THESE STILL UPRIGHT WALLS OF THE MAIN HOUSE. I DEFINITELY KNEW I HAD PICKED THE RIGHT COURSE OF STUDY AT UNIVERSITY. I UNDERSTOOD THIS PLACE BECAUSE OF IT…..APPRECIATED ITS DECLINE, AS A MATTER OF FAILED ECONOMY, AND THE INHERENT RISKS OF FARMING IN A HARSH ENVIRONMENT, WITH THE THIN ARABLE SOIL, ON ROCK, MUSKOKA IS FAMOUS FOR. I UNDERSTOOD ITS SUCCESSES HERE, AND COULD ALMOST SEE IT AGAIN, PAINTED AND NEATLY LANDSCAPED AT THE TOP OF THE HILL, WITH LILACS PLANTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE WINDING LANE. I COULD SEE THE SNAKING OF THE RAIL FENCES, AND HEAR THE CLOMP OF HOOVES, AS THE HORSES PULL THE FARM WAGON THROUGH MEADOW CART-WAY. I COULD EVEN HEAR THE VOICES OF THE FAMILY FROM AROUND THE HOUSES, WHEN IN FACT, THERE WAS A MOST UNUSUAL, PREVAILING SILENCE…..AS IF AT THAT MOMENT OF MY VISIT, EVERYTHING HAD COME TO A STOP….THE BIRDS AND SQUIRRELS THAT HAD BEEN CHATTERING ONLY SECONDS BEFORE, HAD CALMED INTO A UNHERALDED SOLITUDE. AS IF THE HOUSE WAS SPEAKING TO ME, BY MOOD ALONE, THERE WAS NO DENYING THAT THERE WAS A PREVAILING SADNESS HERE. THERE WAS THE OBVIOUS DESTRUCTION TO A BEAUTIFUL OLD FARM HOUSE. IT PREVAILED UPON VOYEURS TO WITNESS THIS OBVIOUS LOSS OF DISTINCTION, FOR ITS FORMER PLACE IN HISTORY. BUT IT WAS THE SPIRIT THAT MOVED ABOUT THIS PROPERTY, THAT INSPIRED A SORT OF ETHEREAL ATMOSPHERE OF RESOLVE, THAT PROVIDED ME WITH SO MUCH ENTHUSIASM, TO THEN WRITE ABOUT MY SOJOURNS WITHIN ITS PROVOCATIVE, GENTLE EMBRACE.
LAST EVENING, IN GRAVENHURST, I TOOK THE LONG WAY HOME, AFTER PICKING UP OUR BOYS FROM WORK. JUST TO DRIVE AROUND TOWN, ADMIRING THE BRILLIANT MOONSCAPE, ESPECIALLY AS IT PRESENTED OVER THE HOLLOW OF GULL LAKE. IT REMINDED ME OF THE COLD WINTER EVENINGS, WHEN I'D FIND MYSELF STILL AT THIS OLD FARMSTEAD, JUST BEGINNING MY RETURN SKI BACK HOME. I ADORED THESE MOONLIT CROSS COUNTRY SKI ADVENTURES. FUNNY THING ABOUT THIS HALF-FALLEN HOUSE, ALMOST INVISIBLE AMONGST THE OVERGROWN TREES…..THAT IT ALWAYS SEEMED MUCH LESS HAUNTED, ON THESE SAME WINTER NIGHTS, ILLUMINATED BY THE FULL MOON OF FEBRUARY……WHEN THE VOYEUR MIGHT EXPECT THE OPPOSITE. IT WAS PERCEPTION. MY PERCEPTION AS A NEW HISTORIAN, WITH A DESIRE TO WRITE ABOUT MY ADVENTURES IN THE MUSKOKA LAKELAND. AND ALTHOUGH IT'S BEEN MANY YEARS SINCE I LAST VISITED THIS LONG FORGOTTEN FARMSTEAD, I CAN CONJURE IT UP, IN IMAGINATION, ANY TIME I WISH. JUST AS THIS MORNING, SITTING HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, LISTENING TO THE SQUIRRELS BOUNCING OFF THE OVERHANGING BOUGHS, ONTO THE ROOF, ABOVE MY WINDOW, THE CAT PURRING ON MY LEG, AND THE DOG BITING AT A ROGUE FLEA ON ITS BEHIND. I SUPPOSE I WAS HAUNTED BY THAT PLACE, IN A MOST ACCEPTABLE WAY. IT IS WHAT I WISHED TO HAPPEN. THOSE MEMORIES AND SENSATIONS OF NEARLY THIRTY FIVE YEARS AGO, SERVE ME AS WELL TODAY, AS WHEN I RETURNED HOME, EXHAUSTED, WITH A FROST BITTEN NOSE…..AND A WILD DESIRE TO SIT AT MY TYPEWRITER, TO REPRESENT THE HISTORY OF A MUSKOKA FARMSTEAD.
IN THE EARLY 1980'S, I CO-PRODUCED A BOOK OF SHORT STORIES AND POEMS, WITH ONE OF MUSKOKA'S WELL KNOWN PHOTOGRAPHERS, TIM DuVERNET, ENTITLED, "MEMORIES AND IMAGES," AND HAD OUR CELEBRATED BOOK LAUNCH AT UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO'S HART HOUSE. FOR BOTH OF US THEN, IT WAS A LEARNING EXPERIENCE, AND BOTH OF US HAVE GONE ON INDIVIDUALLY, TO PRODUCE MANY OTHER PUBLISHED EDITORIAL AND PHOTOGRAPHIC WORKS. FOR ME, THIS SMALL, UNASSUMING LITTLE BOOK, WAS DEDICATED TO THE OLD HOUSE ON THE HILL……AS IT WAS FULL OF REFERENCES TO THE MANY HOURS I SPENT STUDYING ITS SOCIAL, CULTURAL HERITAGE. BUT IT WAS AFTER ALL, JUST AN OLD HOUSE, LONG PAST ITS PERIOD OF USEFULNESS. SEEDING INTO THE LANDSCAPE FROM WHICH IT WAS INSPIRED. ONE DAY THERE WILL NOT BE A SINGLE TRACE OF THAT FARMHOUSE OF ONCE. NOT EVEN A BRICK WILL REMAIN, TO REMIND THE TRAVELLER IT EXISTED AT ALL. IT WILL HOWEVER, ALWAYS SURVIVE FOR ME, IN THAT PLAY OF MIND AND REMINISCENCE, AND BE INCLUDED AS A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION, IN MOST OF WHAT I WRITE, LEADING I SUPPOSE, TO MY OWN DESTINY OF IRRELEVANCE, AND PLANTING INTO THE GROUND…..AS A WRITER / HISTORIAN ONCE UPON A TIME.
I SHALL BE HAPPY TO HAUNT YOUR RECOLLECTIONS, OF A WRITER YOU USED TO KNOW.
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