Woodchester Villa On Canada Day Part 2

WOODCHESTER VILLA HAD AN INCREDIBLE AURA ABOUT IT - AND IT'S STILL AS CLEAR TODAY AS IT WAS THEN

SITTING ATOP THE WIDOW'S WALK, WRITING IN HENRY'S OFFICE, OR MAKING CLOVE POMANDERS IN THE BASEMENT KITCHEN AT CHRISTMAS

     If I was to be invited to sit down with the big mucky-mucks, of the Town of Bracebridge, to discuss the past and future of Woodchester Villa Museum, circa 2015, (a personal-to-me meeting, which is pretty darn unlikely), my nostalgic-take on the place, wouldn't likely be appreciated by elected officials, looking primarily at financial risks ahead, for whatever property use is decided upon.  Why wouldn't it be, come to think of it?
     But you know, besides the business side of things, of which I understand pretty clearly, after managing the historic, river's edge property, in the late 1980's, most of my good feelings about the place, and its future, are of a sentimental, nostalgic essence, no matter how I look at my relationship with the museum I helped found. Maybe that's why they prefer to have, at the very least, a barge pole's distance between myself and the "deciders," of what might become a major shift in operation, from the site's former function, as a community museum. After a costly restoration over the past year, having addressed multiple overlapping structural problems, identified since a temporary closure in 2009, there is some indecision at present, (which seems odd to say the least, at this stage), about what the future will hold for the house on the hill. Apparently there is some doubt about it being returned to full operation as a community museum. It's a shame but at the same time, I understand from past immersion, how difficult it was to operate a tourist attraction on that steep hillside, especially on hot summer days, when visitors unfortunately decided to walk up the challenging sun-baked pathway. And then had to call a taxi to get back down. Those who helped develop, and then open the museum site, paid much less attention to accessibility than was necessary, even when it came to parking allocation, which has, from the beginning, been much less than required.
     My recollections about the former home, of Bracebridge Industrialist, Henry Bird, of the Bird's Woollen Mill, perched just above the cataract of the main falls, on the North Branch of the Muskoka River, are weighted upon the sentimental, because it's what I experienced, almost daily, that sold me on the place. It had a resident enchantment that may have had something or other to do with its design, taken from a plan created by American phrenologist, Orsen Squires Fowler. The octagonal design, according to Fowler, was supposed to promote a healthy indoor environment, and home efficiencies for modern living. It was also supposed, that it had an undetermined ability to enhance spiritual well being, sort of like the contemporary belief in pyramid-power, and over my years of service in a variety of capacities, at the site, boy oh boy, was it ever a spiritually active place. That's a story for another time.
     From the early 1980's, until the fall of 1989, my partner Suzanne and I, and later, sons Andrew and Robert, spent a lot of time at Woodchester, as some of this week's editorial material will explain. I was frequently called to the museum late at night, as a key holder, to do a walk-about with a local constable, of the Ontario Provincial Police, due to a malfunctioning burglar alarm. We found out after dozens of trips, always at around the same time after midnight, that it was the work of squirrels, who apparently enjoyed snacking on the coating on the expansive wiring of the alarm system, which according to experts, tasted like licorice to squirrels. How do we know this? All I know is that after replacing the wire with cable less attractive to the squirrels, the false alarms ended. But the alarms did put me in the house, late at night, and bear in mind, this was a curiously haunted place in the day-time, with many reports coming from visitors, about having strange things happen during tours. After midnight, one sort of anticipated, the paranormal stuff to be turned up a couple of notches. Funny thing however, was that, on all these trips, and the fact I had to stay behind to turn all the lights off, and lock up, I never once had an encounter with anything even mildly paranormal. Nothing. No strange footfall on the staircase, unknown voice from a darkened room, movement of rocking horse, or sound of barking dogs, where none were to be found. These events were witnessed by visitors and staff during the day. I suppose, if there were spirit-kind moving about, they were doing it for show, during the day, and were kicking back, half slumbering (if that's how spirits relax), waiting for another business day to roll around. They certainly didn't find me worth haunting, while rummaging around in the middle of the night, in the place they called home.
     There was, despite a strong paranormal presence, during the days, a good, homey feel to the former residence. I loved to spend time each day up on the Widow's Walk, at the peak of the roof, where there was a platform, railing, and seat around the central chimney. It offered a most amazing view down onto the elbow, of the North Branch of the Muskoka River, as it straightens just above the rapids, and the main town falls, thundering down into Bracebridge Bay Park. I used to haul-up a cup of coffee with me, and sit for a half hour or so, on the widow's walk bench, looking down on the south end of Manitoba Street, listening to the water from the cataract, and watching the traffic going up and down the main drag. The taller pines restricted the view over this part of the town, from the days of the late 1800's, when the view would have afforded Mr. Bird, a clear overview of his woollen mill, at the intersection of Entrance Drive and Manitoba Street. He had a similiar view, with less height of course, when he worked from his home office, where it is said he could catch any mill workers shirking responsibility, smoking at the side of the mill buildings.
     It was above all else, a peaceful place, where solitude was easily had, and fully enjoyed. Even with a goodly sized crowd, attending the museum property, for a special event, there were quiet places to retreat in the house and outside, that so appropriately represented the Muskoka hinterland experience. Suzanne and I loved preparing the site for special events, Christmas specifically, where we made use of the downstairs kitchen, to make apple cider drinks for guests, (we had a press to crush the apples) and pomander apples and oranges, with clove spikes and cinnamon coating, working at the large harvest table in the cozy alcove below the dining room. There was a dumbwaiter that could be employed by the servants, of that time in history, to raise the hot food to the main floor, or to the second floor bedrooms. It did go as high up as to an opening at the base of the stairs, leading up to the widow's walk observation platform.
     I really didn't mind spending time at Woodchester, even if I wasn't getting paid, or even booked that day as a volunteer. I spent a lot of extra time there, because it was inspirational in almost every way imaginable. It was a lovely property to wander, and we used to get artists setting up their work stations all the time, especially on the embankment overlooking the river, and who could blame them? I still own an original Norm Golledge watercolor, he painted of the annual Strawberry Social, held on the sprawling museum grounds, showing many patrons enjoying their bowls of freshly picked berries and home-made cakes. It was a hugely popular event in June each year, but it was ghastly for museum volunteers, who began working earlier in the week, preparing the berries and cakes; a portion of the berries having been hand-picked. These were the occasions when all of us, who had backed the museum proposal from the beginning, felt we had made the right decision, and would agree, the future prosperity for the site, was almost guaranteed. But then the work load got even greater, and the events more expensive to operate, and eventually, the all-work-and-no-play reality of the museum, cost us more and more volunteer helpers every year. It wasn't long before we simply couldn't run the same type of events, as once, and as a result, the museum lost its appeal to locals and visitors at roughly the same time.
    The property and house were still tantalizing in so many ways, but as a community museum, it was becoming difficult to justify. For artists and musicians, who used to camp there during the days, to play or paint, the property was a cultural beacon, and it's what I think it could become as a full-time operation, more so, than being returned to the mainstage as a museum, that for one reason or another, just never reached its full potential, from the early 1980's to 2009, when it was closed due to architectural concerns for public safety. A history of almost thirty years, that always, even during its heyday, always fell short of being a true financial success. Even when numbers of visitors were scrutinized, from that first decade, they were way below what founding directors had anticipated. It never really improved, in terms of increased traffic, to what the original forecast had predicted, for the newly opened museum. The launch of the Chapel Gallery however, in the late 1980's, in the former museum annex, (former pioneer church on site), did bring much greater focus to the property, and many more visitors came to enjoy both venues. It did buy the museum property additional time, than if the building had remained for artifact displays only, as was originally intended. I have always felt good about the success of the Muskoka Arts and Crafts Association, the sponsoring group, that operates the Chapel Gallery, because I was a founder of the idea to diversify the property, at a time when we were literally running on a zero-increase, tiny budget, looking ahead to more of the same, and big expenses coming down the pike. It gave the museum the proverbial leg to stand on...at least for awhile.

     Here now, is part two of a lengthy series of articles, I wrote, after the 2009 closure order was issued by the town, due to safety concerns. I wanted to make sure, before my memory started to fail me, that all these recollections of the Bird House, as it was from the early 1980's, to the beginning of the 1990's, were captured for posterity. I had a feeling there would be future changes to property-use, to be instituted by the town, if and when the building was refurbished at considerable cost. I was determined to tell as much of the story, of those early and hopeful museum years, just in case the revisionists decided to bypass this side of the Woodchester legacy. I decided to write these stories down, as a sort of personal-experience archives, expecting its new management body wouldn't have much interest in the sentimental, nostalgic reminiscences, of a former director / manager, and his family, who spent enough time on-site, qualify it as a second home, in those days. It was a lot of work keeping those museum doors open, the grass cut, gardens maintained, house-cleaning chores up to snuff, and tours properly attended to, whether it meant Suzanne as a guide, carrying son Robert in a snuggly on her chest; or me carting around son Andrew, who liked to provide his commentary about the childs' bedroom on the second floor. He knew all about the Victorian toys strewn about in the top-of-the-stairs room.
     It's not that I can't provide a business overview of the site, and future projections, and a well tutored opinion about what is in the best interests for its future, but none of it comes emotion free. There's a lot more to the Woodchester property, than pencil pushers and bean counters, are going to find, on cursory examination, let alone, know how to exploit what for all intents and purposes is ethereal. Yet, artists know what I'm talking about! They don't need me telling them about the thriving spirt of the place.
     I don't expect, at this time, to be invited to play a roll, (or even provide the rolls for a luncheon) in the determination of the museum's future. It is one of those awkward, silly cases of shunning, I have come to expect from the political side of my former hometown. Suffice then, that I have these intimate observations, to offer you independently, which, as one of the founders of the original idea to create a museum, I feel I have a right to make public in this fashion. There are town hall officials, as there have been for long and long, who do not desire adverse opinion on projects up for consideration. As I believe the critical approach is never wrong, to sculpting the best case scenarios, I can not foresee a time, when, in a free country, I will surrender my opinion to saddle-up to status quo, in the cause of moving a project forward that is undeserving, or ill-conceived. Call me an old fuddy-duddy, but I will never agree, or vote in favor, just because its assumed, and wrongly so, as the only positive thing left to do! The public consultation about the future of Woodchester Villa, should not be time-restricted, seeing as it could have started in earnest, from the date it was officially closed due to safety concerns in 2009. I haven't been dragging my feet, even as an outsider, considering I offered the town my opinion on the site, a short while after closure was announced; and frankly, it wasn't to re-open the property as a community museum. They know my opinion as a founding director, and former operations manager. It's the best I can do! But I shall never cease to represent our family's association, with Woodchester Villa, as having been a truly fascinating period in all our lives.

LIFE AT WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM - A TEST OF LOVE AND ORDEAL

A LOT OF ORDEAL

I got the bright idea, sometime in the late 1980's, to host a Canada Day Open House at Woodchester. The plan was to tap into the Canada Day fireworks at Bracebridge Bay Park, an easy walking distance to and from the museum. If we opened well before the fireworks began, we might be able to get two or three hundred visitors, at least, to climb the hillside above the falls. As I had before, and I do feel like a cad for asking, Suzanne agreed to make a huge cake out of four regular size pans, to offer our guests on their visit. We had lemonade and coffee to go with the cake, and of course a free admission to the museum.

On the way up the hill, on a windy July evening, the wax paper covering the huge cake (which had impressed somewhat in the icing on the drive from home) was picked up by a gust, twisted around (icing facing out), and blown onto my face on the way up the incline to the back door. I couldn’t get it off my face, with my arms outstretched with the cake. Andrew was killing himself laughing, and Suzanne had already gone into the building. The wind kept pushing it tighter around my head, by this point, and you know.....for a moment, I really thought a resident ghost of Woodchester, was letting me know it had a sense of humor. For about five minutes I couldn’t get up over the grade because I couldn’t see. I was covered in icing and wax paper, and the only hope I had, was Andrew relaying a message to Suzanne about my chagrin. It was one of those images, one of those strange special events as Woodchester manager I will never be able to forget.

On another occasion, staff and I came up with a plan for a Christmas in July celebration, in an attempt to bring in a little extra revenue. Back then, admittedly, I used my position as editor of The Herald-Gazette, and assistant to The Muskoka Sun, to promote Woodchester events. On this occasion it worked better than I could have imagined. Long past the days of the elaborate Strawberry Socials, on the lawns of Woodchester, we went for a seven day program instead, which would wrap-up with a large Salvation Army Band concert on the front lawn. All that week we had large and enthusiastic crowds. One day in particular stands out. We were offering a “Teddy Bear Picnic,” and some culinary demonstrations for youngsters. I thought it would be neat (as I did with the Canada Day cake) if Suzanne would assist staff to make butter as a demonstration of pioneer crafts. What I hadn’t expected was that my publicity for the event would attract several hundred screaming, running and leaping kids......many without parents in attendance. I watched a couple of parents, I’m assuming, stop their cars at the driveway, to let out a mob of kiddies........and I knew we were in deep trouble. It was a day to remember. Suzanne was supposed to be an advisor for staff, to make butter, not the actual butter-lady.

We had to abandon doubling-up for crafts to fan out amongst the children and teddy bears, and my mother Merle shut down the museum to keep the house ice cream and lemonade free. Suzanne, with Robert (now about six feet tall) in a snuggly on her shoulders, had to demonstrate butter making, on her own. I had to look after Andrew and keep the kids out of the trees. Robert would fuss up and flail his arms, knocking butter off Suzanne’s spoon.....and onto some kid’s nice white shirt. I got the dirtiest looks that day, let me tell you. There were no words, at the end of this day, covered in ice cream, butter, butter-milk and sweat, that could possibly have pacified her......other than possibly, “dear, I’ve run you a hot bath,” and “I’ll look after the kids this evening.....so you go ahead and lay down.”

Some times I’m delusional enough to believe that my involvements with community projects over the years, has given our family an exceptional, dimensional, experienced, positive sense of hometown pride. “What other dad would let you join in his great adventures.” If Suzanne even reads this, I’m a gonner. There hasn’t been a single major project, from the operation of the Sports Hall of Fame, in Bracebridge, the Crozier Foundation summer skating and hockey camp (we were the volunteer kitchen staff for five days of food preparation), the Muskoka Lakes Museum (when I was a director there) and Woodchester Villa, that hasn’t swallowed our family alive. When I told her last night that I had volunteered my years of experience, to help Woodchester at its time of need, she just stared through me.....very much looking for a fibre of soul to grab and wrench from my mortal coil. Yet she recognizes that I had given her ample warning before we got married, that getting hitched to a writer / historian / antique obsessive-compulsive, was going to be an odyssey of poverty, wealth, poverty again, and many, many excesses. I’ve delivered on my promises. Not just run of the mill adventure either. We’d be like Hope and Crosby, always “on the road again.” To say she’s been a good sport is of course demeaning, and I won’t do that.....even though it’s true in the sporting sense. Life with me is sort of sport, you know. I just finished Paul Rimstead’s book, ( I just bought an autographed copy for my collection), and the good news.......I’ve never been quite as adventure-laden as the Rimmer. Suzanne still lives here, at least.

Andrew used to come home from school nearly in tears because his teacher challenged some story or other that he had presented to the class. It wasn’t unusual at all, for a teacher to suggest he must surely be fibbing, to claim, for example, he owned a hundred model planes. I can remember taking one of these teachers to task, asking whether or not she would like to come and visit our home, to count for herself. I said, actually, “he’s got 125 models in his collection, so he underestimated.” We weren’t bragging although he may have been. That’s a kid for you. But he wasn’t fibbing. He didn’t have any reason to. At one sale I probably bought him thirty unfinished model planes still in their 1960's packaging. You see, the teachers didn’t have much idea what Andrew’s parents did besides writing for the local press and teaching at the school down the road. So I decided that we should have a little preamble meeting, with any new teacher in advance of the school term. The advisory was that if either boy, Robert or Andrew, claims to have a thousand vinyl records in their collections, they weren’t being boastful or inaccurate. We saw a lot of chins on chests in those days. But it was hard for our boys to represent their childhoods, as did their contemporaries, because their parents happened to be eccentric antique dealers, who started building their kids’ future professions early in life. Visit their music shop on Muskoka Road, and then tell me I’m fibbing.

Maybe it was their early immersion at Woodchester, surrounded by a wonderful array of antiques, from stuffed birds to vintage toys. Consider this the privilege of being a museum manager. Andrew was allowed to sit and play with the toys in the children’s room, at the top of the stairs, at the Villa. I was always in the vicinity, at the time. Robert was too young then to play without potentially damaging the Victorian era play-things, so he stayed with me. The funny thing about this, is that Andrew just loved to sit on the wood floor, and play quietly for hours with toys you’d expect would be half as interesting, as the Dinky Toys and Hot Wheels he had at home. These were neat items that deserved to be played with. I agreed. Any kid who wanted to touch or play with these toys, was welcome to, if I happened to be the tour guide. There is a famous full length color photograph, on the front page of a Herald-Gazette Christmas edition, featuring Andrew on the Woodchester Villa rocking horse, with a young girl at his side. It was in the pre-online period of newspaper circulation, so less than 6,000 papers made it to print. I think Suzanne hung onto about 1,000. The point is, we immersed our lads in many of our adventures in history.......even with my research work on the Tom Thomson murder mystery, up on Canoe Lake. Andrew and I paddled to Mowat on a number of occasions, visiting the many points on the lake Thomson fished, painted, and traversed. From the mid-1990's we all became Thomson and Algonquin Park zealots, and we mixed research and discovery with some great camping adventures we still hold near and dear as memories.

Woodchester was kind of a turning point for us as a family. It was the beginning, in many ways, of an immersion style of involvement we’ve practiced ever-since, whether it’s Andrew and Robert designing an Irvin “Ace” Bailey, or Roger Crozier showcase exhibit, at the Bracebridge Arena, or working with many of the music world’s performing legends.....as they have been here in Gravenhurst and Bracebridge. They still have folks who disbelieve them.....(judging them by age not experience) when they say they’ve worked with particular music stars, or sold them guitars, drums, accessories, or vintage vinyl from their store. We don’t worry too much these days whether they believe our stories or not. We really don’t use any of our experiences or connections as a bragging right........but forgive us if we’re just really proud of having participated in life, as relatively poor sods, in the many adventures that have.....for whatever reason, come our way. Maybe, if you ask, they’ll tell you about handing out the first issues of “Muskoka Today,” during a Christmas Parade in Bracebridge, while Hugh Clairmont and Wayne Hill (plus Mark I believe) played trumpet and drum in back of a pick-up truck. Then there was the time Roger Crozier (my boss at the time) asked both lads to join a summer-time parade in Bracebridge, to give out candies. The candy was loaded into Guy Waite’s vintage car, and the boys were in and out of it for candy refills for about three kilometres of parade route. You could see in Guy’s eyes, “watch the paint boys, watch the paint.” Guy is always quick to volunteer a ride for a good cause.

It’s also true we never forced them into any summer job.....and offered them good remuneration for helping us sell antiques at a wide variety of venues, or assisting us otherwise with many projects from parades to exhibitions, butter making to cake eating.

We’re not special people, and we’re not rich. We are folks who give our word, and stick to it. And now when we work to help out the local Salvation Army Food Bank with fundraising, by golly, it sure feels GOOD to immerse in a GOOD cause for a GOOD hometown.