Don't Take This The Wrong Way, But I Really Have Over Stayed My Welcome; Suzanne and I Are Planning Some Retirement Travels Right Now

November 1964 Life Magazine. See story that follows.

WELL FRIENDS, IT'S FINALLY TIME TO SAY (WRITE) GOODBYE TO YOU FINE FOLKS WHO HAVE KEPT ME COMPANY FOR GOING ON FOUR YEARS

     Let's face it! No one wants to wake up as a ghost, slouching like usual in the office chair, with the publisher hammering on your back, unresponsive, (of course you can't really hammer a ghost, but you know what I mean) about the timeliness of submitting copy prior to deadline. In later years, of course, my publisher was my wife, and she has felt it incumbent, to keep me gainfully writing, because she thinks I will curl up into a ball, never unclench, and smell up the house, without a creative outlet. I used feel this way, but I've had lots of time to warm up to the concept. You see, I want to visit the countryside pubs of England and Scotland. So does Suzanne. She likes her beer by golly. Only kidding, only kidding dear. But she has family from Scotland and we both have kinfolk who started a long way back in England. I don't know when it will happen, but not too long from now. I'm going to do nothing but drink it all in, and possibly from a nice pub stool, looking out over a cobbled lane, with of course a creaking iron sign and rusted old gate.
     In the memory of my two newspaper chums, who by the way, were as deeply committed to the task of informing the public, as any of Canada's top reporters and photo-journalists, working the dailies today, I wouldn't think of hinging my decision to retire from daily blogging because they departed too soon from this mortal coil. That would be grossly unfair. They would be mad as hell with me, because the deal always was, at least by last call at the old Albion in Bracebridge, if one or more was to fall, even off a bar stool, the survivor(s) would carry on with the old standard flying high," satisfying public interest, and informing those who have been kept in the dark, there's a good reason for carrying a strong light! Based of course, on government's opinion Canadians don't need to know everything.
     I did think that I could carry-on writing the way we used to compose our old Herald-Gazette columns, that used to get Brant Scott and I in trouble almost weekly. The more trouble we got into, the closer we got to gaining the reputation, that would pull us toward the national newspapers. We didn't have career coaches. Maybe that's what slowed us up a bit. Yet you know something, the fact that we were all thwarted in one way or another, from having certain of our ambitions fulfilled, what the side-steeps and obstacles meant, is that each of us would find significant others, and start thriving little families, in charming abodes, from Muskoka to Ottawa. In some ways, it was important that those dreams fell to what was providential instead.
     The first loss, was John Black, of Gravenhurst, who was one of the most talented, jack-of-all-trades, human beings, I have known throughout my life, and let me tell you, that is no small number, considering I used to hang around Bracebridge's Downtown Garage, watching the wizards with wrenches; and then while working at the hospital, in Bracebridge, around incredibly talented mechanics and woodworkers like Jack High, and George Jackson. John was in a league of his own, and he never got the respect as a photographer he deserved. I could not have stayed in my job as editor, without the help of both John and Brant; Brant of course, passing away last autumn season, while living with his family in Ottawa. In between these chaps, was our other stalwart reporter, who did all the jobs we hated. Judith Brocklehurst was a talented writer, and she gave the paper a flare none of us could have provided otherwise, and we knew who was keeping us boosted in news stand sales. Her column on Henry the Cat, as a sort of promotion for the first shelter of the Ontario Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, was one of the newspaper's most popular columns, and that made us a little nuts; seeing as it was written from a cat's perspective. I think it was W.C. Fields who famously said, it's a losing proposition as far as recognition for your talent, playing opposite either an animal or a kid.
     For most of the past year, the cumulative effect of losing my entire former reporting staff, and they weren't that old by the way, has impacted me on certain days, or during events, that make me think of that tireless threesome, who made me look good, when truth was, my capabilities weren't any less or greater than theirs'. I was supposed to be better. I was the editor for gosh sakes. I hope each of them had enjoyed their storied lives, and, by golly, they were storied people in all ways; because I was that close to them for most of a decade...., oh boy the stories I could tell. But I won't!
     I think what hit me the hardest, was the fact I had to find out about Brant, having passed away almost two weeks earlier, while glancing through the posted death notices in the local weekly. I sat on on the verandah, newspaper folded in my lap, benefitting from the nice weather and trace amount of sun, breaking through the railing; but the only word to have described me, that Brant would have typed onto his paper, against the roller in his old Underwood manual, would have been to advise readers, I was as most definitely, "stunned" as a Norwegian Parrot, thank you very much Monty Python. Of all the people who knew us, as being almost inseparable back then, not one would local friend would let me know my old cronnie had slipped away, after a final rattling of the drum skins the night before. I'm sure his family and close friends didn't do this intentionally, but it was kind of ironic, that as we met, the result of newspaper ink, back in the spring of 1979, I would touch the ink of his obituary as a belated tribute, and apology for not showing up at the wake at least. He knew I had a phobia of attending funerals.
     I have tried to keep the old days and old stories alive just a little while longer, because these were three folks that deserved to outlast their lifespan, in the public eye. They made me a better and more enduring writer, and I have kept their names in the public domain for this very reason. I have no credit to accept for myself. I was sculpted by others, with no regrets for how it all turned out.
     Work at the antique shop, here in Gravenhurst, has been bursting at the seams this summer, and my blog writing has been getting in the way, of my helping out Suzanne. You see, I am real good at picking for antiques, because I am extremely proficient going after what I want, especially finding historic relics, and knowing where I most likely to find them on the local hustings. I'm just not so good at store-clerking. So instead, Suzanne gives me chores to do around the shop, and it's been working pretty good this summer. I didn't think I could work that closely, because we've been at logger-heads for most of our married lives, on who is most important in our business; the antique seller or the antique hunter. I think we've come to a stalemate, on this matter, each agreeing there's no sense having one without the other, if we still plan on operating it as a business.
     I am also tiring out as a writer. Some readers will yell-out at their computer or laptop screens, "My God, I thought the man would never quit!" Even son Robert wouldn't take me seriously this afternoon, when I told him the same thing. I may surprise him afterall. Whether you know this or not, I have a seriously compromised neck and back, that has had a lot to do with too much of a good thing. I have had bad posture since the day I graduated the second level of typing class, and I've committed every violation to my body imaginable, hunched over this keyboard, dating back to the old Underwoods Brant and I used to clack, through the week, in that stuffy former Herald-Gazette newsroom.
     I have nearly made it to the 300,000 mark of views, in the 3 and 3/4 years I've been writing almost daily, cheating part of the time with previously run columns. Suzanne retired from teaching at 59 years of age. I have outlasted her as a writer, by hitting the 60 mark, plus a month. I will still contribute shorter pieces to our antique shop facebook page, and I certainly won't be leaving my editorial post at Curious; The Tourist Guide, a fascinating regional Ontario paper, that has given me large scale coverage since the early days of the new century. I love those people, and their publication is drained from our shop two days after delivery.
     Please accept the heartfelt thanks of a crusty old writer, that being in your company, to share my old adventures, and whacky opinions, have meant a lot to my well being, that's for sure. Writing has always been an excellent release valve for what ails me; what annoys me, and I'm feeling a tirade coming on about the Conservative's behemoth election campaign, and how many Canadians have to use food banks, and social assistance because it is the only way they can survive. I see this election as something Charles Dickens might have written about, highlighting as an election issue, the mountainous class divides, between the rich and powerful, and the destitute. It is at times, hard to feel good about living in this amazing country, when it is considered more imminently important to stroke egos, of the politically elite, and well appointed in this country, than to get to know those families, that are not getting enough to eat; the ugly truth, is that it is a daily occurance for families mired in a vicious cycle of poverty. You know these people exist. Politicians? They would rather sidestep the whole poverty issue, because it's not sexy for campaign strategists, running a federal election. As Charles Dickens ghost, Jacob Marley, roared at Ebeneezer Scrooge, in his Christmas Eve visit to the curmudgeon's house (which was once his own, inherited by Scrooge, "Mankind was our business. Their common welfare was our business." It is the business of our political gad-flys, to fix these problems, but how many votes do you get, ladling out soup if its' not Thanksgiving or Christmas? Best to exit here, before smoke comes out of this keyboard. I like to know I have some passion left, in case one of the dailies calls me up, to fill the shoes of former Toronto Sun columnist, Paul Rimstead, as latent as this is now. My point. No one ever filled Rimmer's shoes. No one.
     I end this final blog, with a short story, based on a 1964 Life Magazine profile, of the newest television star-character, Herman Munster, the crazy, whacky mortician man of "The Munsters" television show that I adored. Sort of appropriate. On most days, I feel like I've been on a slab, explaining my bad back, necks, hips, and chilled demeanour. See you some time down the road.
         

NOVEMBER 6TH, 1964, AND I WAS CHANGED FOREVER - I WAS INTRODUCED TO THE MUNSTERS

I WAS HOOKED ON TELEVISION SIT COMS - BUT TO MY KNOWLEDGE IT DIDN'T MAKE ME CRAZY

     I do think that my years watching television, from the late 1950's, has qualified me somewhat, to offer opinions about the shows that changed trends, and influenced the marketplace. I find very few parallels between the family shows of then and now, and honestly, there are shows today that make me blush, when Suzanne and I are sitting in the same room. I never had to worry about that with Leave It To Beaver and the Real McCoys. Sure I'm old fashioned in my likes and dislikes, about what is transmitted into my livingroom. What shows I like are usually cut within a couple of years if that long. I confess being a Seinfeld fan, because I loved the fact it was a show about "nothing - nothing at all," and it put a new spin on normal, daily living in the city. I could live in the city via the show, and never have to leave the hinterland. Michael Richards was by far the meat of that platter, and it was the reason I tuned in every week. I do like the Big Bang Theory, and I've been snared by The Simpsons since about their second year on the air. I fell hook, line and sinker, for the Family Guy, and King of the Hill, with my favorite roll model in a cartoon, Hank Hill. I've become a little convuluted over the years, and my favorite crime show is Blue Bloods, because there's so much outstanding talent on the show, and oh yes, family values. I like The Goldbergs, because I loved The Seventy's Show a decade or so earlier. It's more of a 1980's vantage point.
     We got a small quantity of vintage magazines given to us at the shop today. The re-sale on old magazines is pretty low, truth be known, unless they're back issues of "The Rolling Stone," and that issue's interviews were landmark in music history.
     The cover of the issue had the familiar gilt covered, highly naked, Shirley Eaton, in the James Bond movie of that year, "Goldfinger," captioned as being "the funniest and money makingest of the 007 movies."
     I have meant to put this magazine out in the shop for the past three months. Every time I pull it out, and think about writing up a price tag, I start re-reading it, and by time I know it, I realize there are quite a few quotes I'd like to harvest for future blogs, to highlight something specific for another feature story. I've got a lot of nostalgia to recap before the grim reaper comes whipping around the corner. The first and most significant article, published the fascinating rating updates, recorded for some of the top television sit coms, from the period. I had without a doubt, officially turned onto the command of the boob tube, circa 1964, no doubt about it, although I know I was watching television a lot sooner than this. My most interesting forays, sitting in front, were the early space launches of the 1960's, with Walter Cronkite, and the coverage surrounding the asasination of President Kennedy, right up to the day of his funeral. I saw my mother cry a lot through that week, and I never really understood why.
    I was a latch-key kid, after school, and during my youth, as I've mentioned many times in these retrospectives, I was sick a lot as a kid, and if it hadn't been for the television, I would have bored myself into good health. I realize reading this Nielson overview, that I was one of the subjects of the stats, the glassy-eyed, too-young-for-this-kind-of-madness, television fanatic, who needed my mother to switch off the power at bedtime, which until I was about ten years of age, was always before Bonanza on Sunday nights. By time I hit twelve, this had changed, and I was able to watch the Cartrights institute justice; but by then, if memory serves, Adam was gone, and Candy was the hired hand replacement. Suzanne and I bought the DVDs for the first several years of Bonanza last year, so I finally caught up to the events on the Ponderosa. Before my fifteenth birthday, I had become a bonafied television junkie. So it was interesting to find this small editorial overview of the period that changed my life. And yes, I am still very much a television nutball, but here's the truth. We only have one channel, being CTV. When the Harper government underfunded the CBC, for any number of strange reasons, we lost our signal, and no matter what devices we purchased, to capture the digital signal, it didn't work. I don't believe in pay television, period, and I refuse to buy cable or any other means of jamming my livingroom with more programming than I need, that just might push me into my own version of the Twilight Zone. We cut out cable service during the recession of the 1990's just as my favorite show, "Home Improvement" was taking off, and what really hurt, was the television broke down at the same time. We listened to the radio and records for the next two years, until we could afford a good replacement television. It isn't a hard luck story as much as a natural progression for our family in home entertainment. It hooked the boys on records instead. It was just neat to have this particular article, pinpoint the Nielson's time of my life, when I would get sucked into the vortex of television marketing, and never emerge again clean, from the need to have a television switched-on within earshot.
     "When the first A. C Nielson Co. ratings for the fall TV season came out last week, a week of shock and panic rippled through an industry suddenly turned upside down. Old favorites like Jack Benney and Perry Mason went plummeting. Even the Beverly Hillbillies, undisputed champ for the past two years, dropped from No. I to No. 22. The new No. I unlikely to be uprooted this year, is NBC's Bonanza, which the Nielson figures estimate, has 48 million Americans watching Ben Cartright and his three sons ride the Ponderosa every Sunday night. So powerful is Bonanza's pull that the rival Joey Bishop Show on CBC fell to 96th." (Life Magazine, November 6th, 1964)
     "Newcomers to the sanctified top 10 included Bewitched, a comedy about a comely housewife who uses witchcraft to clean up the kitchen; Gomer Pyle, about a nincompoop in the Marines, and The Addams Family, which is a horror show. A rival for the ghoul trade. The Munsters was rated No. I3, a figure the cast thought was an extremely lucky draw. Serious dramas dropped out of sight. Of the top 20 programs only three - The Fugitive, Combat, and Bonanza, deal with anything more urgent than getting a date for the prom, and all three are holdovers."
      The article continues, "The long smile on network row was worn by usually third-place ABC, which has five of the top 10 shows, and edges out the other networks in average ratings. ABC has an over-all nightly rating of 20 CBC has 19 and NBC has 17.7. But since Nielson reaches figures by monitoring only 1,200 sets of 63 million sets in use every night, it is considered fair game to scalp the ratings if they appear to scalp you. Already CBS is saying that this Nielson report doesn't mean anything; wait until December. NBC says ABC's programs are 'designed for an age group from about 6 to 11.' 'ABC suggested that NBC was merely spouting, 'smoke in the wind, sometimes called sour grapes."
    I was a hardcover "Munster-ite," and there was no comparison with any of the other ghoul and vampire related shows. I liked the Addams family and Bewitched but I would never rank them more entertaining than Herman and Lily Munster, and son Eddy who slept in a cabinet drawer, Grandpa, the vampire who dwelled in his spider web laden lab, entered through a creaking hatchway from the house to the basement, and of course Marilyn, who was quite normal, other than the fact she lived in a monster filled spooky mansion. Herman worked for a mortician, and his car was a customized hearse. Who could forget the intro music? I was hooked after my first show, and I could watch reruns, to within a hair's breadth of my own lifespan. It made me laugh, and hilariously so, and so few programs ever since have had that kind of impact on me. I like My Favorite Martian, because Ray Walston and Bill Bixby were such a perfect fit, for a story about alien life-forms dwelling with the rest of us. I was keen on being entertained, and even if they were re-runs, of for example Gilligan's Island, I couldn't have cared less. The shows were pure fiction, and lifestyle was dramatic enough, that we didn't need it when we were trying to unwind in the evening. It was the period I had most choice, of comedies that we genuinely funny and light hearted, beginning to end, and drama shows were for me to pick and choose. Bonanza was just an endearing show, because it emphasized family, and the "Shane" standard of good guys always finish first. Today, with what's being shoved at us, I'm not sure anymore, the difference between drama and comedy, which at times, seem so intimate to the story line, there is no real division of characteristic, a long, long way from sit coms that were actually what they were supposed to be, and we laughed out loud. I almost think it was the arrival of "All In The Family," that brought heavy drama into the fold of the situation comedy. It pushed the envelope of what the television censors would permit, and because it spearheaded a sort of liberation in new-age television, network management saw those bulging numbers as support for the new way of presenting family life, worts and all. I would never list All in the Family as one of my favorite shows, because I didn't like to be unsettled, and tested about social / cultural issues, in my own livingroom, unless I was listening from my bedroom, while my parents had yet another non-sensical argument about money, or spending to much money on booze. I'm sorry folks, but our house was a battleground a lot of the time, and booze was always involved. So I did need to escape and these situation comedies afforded me this bit of liberation from what I had always perceived as a sort of in-house oppression. A lot of kids had it worse than me. I was never beaten or denied food and lodging. I just hated the arguments and television was my way of tuning out.     Social conscience is never a bad thing, but for me, I want to be able to pick and choose when I'm going to get my dose of drama, which these days, is pretty much the new, pressing, society-altering reality. I watch the news religiously, and that's perfect for me. I watch dramas that I know are going to be dramas; not suddenly take off as comedies. I hate inconsistencies like this.
     A few times each month, I will find myself, tucked into a comfortable studio chair, looking at one of this vintage magazines that has come into the shop as part of a job-lot we've been sold, the magazines just being one small component. I really like viewing the advertisements, but I feel so incredibly dated as a result. Like finding the Chef Boy-Ar-Dee frozen pizza kits," my mother used to make us every Saturday night, to enjoy at the end of the second period of Hockey Night in Canada. Kraft had similar ones but you had to make up the dough, and provide the pan. My mother used to buy extra fixings if we had some extra cash that week.
     Ever since I turned sixty years of age, boy oh boy, here come the honking big retrospectives, flash back through the cobwebs of my mind, of what really motivated me, for all these years to take up writing for fun and not so much profit, and it wasn't the literary work of either Washington Irving or Charles Dickens. I've definitely been wrong about this in the past. I'm more likely to have been influenced by Perry Mason, Seahunt, and The Waltons than all the books I've read. What a staggering public admission, but it's true. Not that I'm not influenced in degrees by the world's great literature, just that I like watching my stories instead. I've never read Dickens "A Christmas Carol," from first page to last, but I've seen the movie a hundred times. For heaven's sake it was the writer of The Munsters leading the way to my lifelong writing jag. Imagine that! What a thunderstorm of contradiction.

Homestead Ghosts and What They've Meant to Voyeurs Like Me

"SEASONS OF THE LILAC" - PART ONE

MUSKOKA HOMESTEAD CHRONICLES AND GHOSTS MET ALONG THE WAY

     THE MOMENT I CONCLUDED THIS BLOG, LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON, MEANING THE FINAL PERIOD OF ALL THE PERIODS, WHILE WORKING ON THE VERANDAH HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, A RAIN STORM BLEW IN SO FAST, I WAS QUICKLY PINNED AGAINST THE WALL, TO KEEP THE LAPTOP FROM GETTING WATER DAMAGED. ON VERY FEW OCCASIONS, DOES THE RAIN BLOW SOUTH INTO THE VERANDAH. TODAY IT WAS A FLOOD FOR ABOUT TEN MINUTES. I DON'T KNOW, BUT THE TIMING WAS WEIRD. MAYBE THAT OLD SPIRITED FARM FAMILY, I WAS JUST WRITING ABOUT, TOOK OFFENCE AT THE WAY THEIR HOMESTEAD WAS BEING REPRESENTED. I CERTAINLY DIDN'T INTEND TO OFFEND THEM. ACTUALLY, THE EXACT OPPOSITE IS THE CASE. IT WAS A MOMENT OF ILLUMINATION, FOR WHAT HAS BECOME A LONG, LONG CAREER AS A REGIONAL HISTORIAN. I WANTED TO KNOW ALL I COULD ABOUT THE HOMESTEAD LIFE AND HARDSHIPS, AND WELL, I WAS GIVEN A LITTLE EXTRA TUTORIAL, FOR MY INVESTMENT OF TIME ON THE ABANDONED FARM PROPERTY.

     I COULDN'T SEE THE CHILD'S FACE. YET IN MY MIND, I KNEW SHE HAD BLUE EYES, AND WAS NAMED CHRISTINE. SOMEONE AT THAT MOMENT WAS CALLING OUT THIS NAME, AND I REMEMBER SEEING HER LOOK BACK, WHILE STILL RUNNING ALONG. HER FACE WAS OBSCURED, BY HER HAIR, BLOWING SIDE TO SIDE IN THE WIND, AND THE SHIFTING, VIOLENT MOVEMENT OF HER BODY, AS SHE RAN DOWN THE SLOPE OF THE PASTURE TOWARD ME. I TRIED TO FOCUS, BUT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE. I COULDN'T IDENTIFY THE FACE OF THE LARGER YOUTH RUNNING DIRECTLY BEHIND. EVEN THE DOG'S FACE WAS OBSCURED BY THE WAY THE TALL, YELLOW FIELD GRASSES, WEAVED BACK AND FORTH AS THEY RAN ACROSS THE PASTURE. I COULD SEE THEIR WHITE DRESSES AS IF THEY WERE GROUNDED KITES, ROLLING AND TUMBLING THROUGH THE YELLOW FIELD, BENEATH A DEEP BLUE SEPTEMBER SKY. I COULD HEAR THEM LAUGHING AND THE DOCK BARKING, AND SOMEONE FROM THE HOUSE YELLING AFTER THEM, BUT THE CLOSER THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN, TO ME ON THAT DAY, THE FURTHER AWAY THEY'D GET, UNTIL I AWOKE, WITH HEART POUNDING, WONDERING IF I HAD JUST SEEN GHOSTS.

     THERE WAS A WELL KNOWN AMERICAN PHOTOGRAPHER, WHO ASTUTELY CAPTURED THE FINAL YEARS OF STEAM LOCOMOTION, ON THE RAIL LINES OF HIS STATE. HIS NEGATIVES ARE WORTH MANY THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS. HE WAS ABLE TO PROFILE A GREAT CHANGE IN TRANSPORTATION, OVER A NUMBER YEARS, AS DIESEL POWERED TRAIN ENGINES, GRADUALLY ANTIQUATED THE STEAM POWER OF THE OLD IRON HORSE. FOR ME, ALTHOUGH I ALSO LOVED THOSE BELCHING, PUFFING OLD STEAM ENGINES, THEY WERE LONG GONE BEFORE I WAS OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW WHAT HAD COME BEFORE DIESEL WORKHORSES. I DID HOWEVER, BY MY LATE TEENS, POSSESS A GENUINE INTEREST IN KNOWING AS MUCH ABOUT MUSKOKA'S PIONEER PERIOD AS I COULD, SOME LEARNED FROM TRADITIONAL ARCHIVES RESEARCH, THE REST FROM ON SITE VISITATIONS WHEREVER I HAPPENED UPON AN ABANDONED FARMSTEAD; DATING BACK TO THE 1860'S AND 70'S FREE LAND GRANTS. I VISITED EVERY ABANDONED FARM HOUSE AND LOG CABIN I COULD FIND ON MY TOURS AROUND RHE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA, STARTING IN THE MID 1970'S. I CONSIDER MYSELF FORTUNATE IN THIS REGARD, BECAUSE NOT LONG AFTER I BEGAN WRITING ABOUT THESE PIONEER FARMS, THE OUTREACH OF DEVELOPMENT, WAS BULLDOZING WHAT WAS LEFT OF OUR TRUE HOMESTEAD HERITAGE. BETWEEN THE MID-1970'S, AND THE LATE 1980'S, I HAD SATISFIED MYSELF, A DECENT SAMPLING HAD BEEN TAKEN, IN ORDER FOR ME TO WRITE ABOUT THE HOMESTEAD PERIOD, WITH SOME BENEFIT OF ACTUALITY; HAVING STOOD ON THOSE EARLY HAND HEWN TIMBERS, AND ROCK FOUNDATIONS, SET DEEP IN THE PASTURES AND WOODLAND FRINGES, OF WHAT WE THEN CONSIDERED, VERY RURAL MUSKOKA, EVEN BY LOCAL STANDARDS. MANY SUBDIVISIONS AND NEW HOUSES HAVE BEEN BUILT ON THESE OLD, MODEST CABINS AND FARM HOUSES, BARNS AND OUTBUILDINGS, THAT ONLY SHOW UP NOW, ON OLD SURVEYS AND MAYBE A PICTURE OR TWO, IN OBSCURE PHOTO ALBUMS THAT OCCASIONALLY COME TO LIGHT.

     WHEN I WROTE THE ROUGH DRAFT FROM MY ORIGINAL SERIES, "THE HOMESTEAD CHRONICLES," IN THE EARLY 1980'S, FOR THE MUSKOKA ADVANCE, I USED, AS A TEMPLATE, A LONG ABANDONED HOMESTEAD PROPERTY, ON GOLDEN BEACH ROAD, NEAR BANGOR LODGE. IT WAS SEVERAL HUNDRED YARDS OFF THE ROAD, AND WELL HIDDEN BY THE GROWTH OF PINES ALONG WHAT HAD BEEN THE OLD LANE TO THE FIRST LOG DWELLING. IT WAS ALSO USED AS A WORKING MODEL FOR A NUMBER OF STORIES I WROTE IN MY FIRST BOOK, "MEMORIES AND IMAGES," WITH WELL KNOWN MUSKOKA PHOTOGRAPHER, TIM DUVERNET. THOSE STORIES ABOUT MUSKOKA HISTORY, AND THIS PARTICULAR HOMESTEAD, MADE IT ALL THE WAY TO A BOOK LAUNCH, AT UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO'S HART HOUSE, WHERE TIM'S MOTHER, SYLVIA HOSTED A PARTY FOR INVITED GUESTS IN THE SPRING OF 1983 I BELIEVE. SUZANNE CAME WITH ME ON THAT OCCASION, AND IT WAS PRETTY IMPRESSIVE, FOR A COUPLE OF ROOKIES LIKE TIM AND I, TAKING A STAB AT THE PUBLISHING INDUSTRY. I REALLY CHERISHED THE FACT THAT MUSKOKA HISTORY WAS BEING HIGHLIGHTED IN TORONTO, WHERE I FELT OTHER HISTORIANS WOULD TAKE NOTICE. OTHER THAN HAVING A GREAT EVENING, THANKS TO THE DUVERNETS, THE OTHER HIGHLIGHT WAS THE FACT MY AUTHOR FRIEND, WAYLAND DREW, GAVE US BOTH A POSITIVE REVIEW, OF THE BOOK, AND I HAVE TO TELL YOU, THAT IT GAVE US A WHACK OF CONFIDENCE, WE HAD DONE SOMETHING POSITIVE WITH OUR TIME AND MONEY. IT WASN'T A LANDMARK BOOK FOR MUSKOKA HOMESTEAD PRESERVATION, OR THE PUBLICATION, THAT GAVE TIM AND I OUR STARS ON THE CANADIAN WALK OF FAME. WHAT IT DID ACCOMPLISH, AS WAYLAND POINTED OUT, WAS THAT IT BROKE THE ICE, IN A FIELD WE WANTED TO EXPLORE FURTHER. THIS WAS A PROFOUND, ALMOST PROVIDENTIAL REVIEW, AND ALTHOUGH TIM AND i DIDN'T PRODUCE ANOTHER BOOK TOGETHER, HE AND I, FROM THE OLD DAYS OF THE MUSKOKA SUN, AND THE HERALD-GAZETTE, ARE STILL REPRESENTING, AND PROFILING THE GOOD GRACES OF THIS MAGNIFICENT DISTRICT OF ONTARIO, IN 2014. TIM'S AN EXCEPTIONAL FREELANCE PHOTOGRAPHER, BEST KNOWN FOR HIS IMAGES OF VINTAGE WOODEN BOATS, BUT IN OUR BOOK, HE PROVED HIMSELF A HIGHLY SKILLED LANDSCAPE PHOTOGRAPHER AS WELL. BUT IT WAS THIS FORGOTTEN HOMESTEAD, JUST WEST OF THE UBRAN AREA ON BRACEBRIDGE, THAT STARTED IT ALL OFF, CERTAINLY FOR ME, AS A WRITER, HISTORIAN; MOST INTERESTED IN THIS PARTICULARLY DIFFICULT TIME, OPENING UP THE DISTRICT FOR SETTLEMENT. THERE WAS A LOT OF MISERY ASSOCIATED WITH THESE HOMESTEADS, AS ILL-PREPARED SETTLERS ARRIVED HERE, AS URBAN REFUGEES FROM EUROPE, BEING TOTALLY UNFAMILIAR WITH AGRICULTURAL, AS A MEANS OF SURVIVAL AND ECONOMY. MANY HOMESTEADERS LEFT MUSKOKA AS DESTITUTE AS THEY HAD ARRIVED, UNABLE TO FULFILL THEIR HOMESTEAD OBLIGATIONS; GIVING UP THEIR LAND VOLUNTARILY, OR SELLING IT OFF TO THE EARLY LAND SPECULATORS, WHO FED OFF THESE FAILURES. THERE ARE MANY SETTLER GRAVES DOTTED ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE, ONE DAY TO BE FOUND WHEN A HOMEONWER DECIDES TO INSTALL A SWIMMING POOL OR OUT-BUILDING, AS MANY DECEASED PIONEERS WERE BURIED ON THEIR OWN HOMESTEAD CLAIMS.

     I WOULD GET TO THE PROPERTIES IN THE LATE MORNING, AND WORK UNTIL THREE OR FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON, DEPENDING ON WHAT I WAS FINDING OF INTEREST; WITH OR WITHOUT A DIGGING DEVICE WHICH WAS USUALLY A SALL GARDEN IMPLEMENT, VERSUS A SHOVEL. IF I WAS JUST POKING AROUND THE RUINS AND SEARCHING THROUGH THE STILL-STANDING CABINS AND FARMHOUSES, BARNS AND SHEDS, I MIGHT STAY A LITTLE LONGER, BENEFITTING FROM THE AUTUMN LIGHT; RECOGNIZING THE SUN WOULD BE SETTING SOONER, CLOSER TO THE DINNER HOUR. AS THE AUTUMN DAYS SHORTENED IN LATE SEPTEMBER, AND INTO OCTOBER, THE MOOD OF THESE FORGOTTEN PLACES CHANGED DRAMATICALLY, AND ADMITTEDLY THEY SEEMED MUCH LESS CONTENTING AS THE LEAVES FELL FROM THE HARDWOODS, AND THE SCENT OF AUTUMN BECAME MORE INTRUSIVE, WITH FEWER FULL SUN DAYS. I LOVED BEING OUT IN THE FIELD, IN THE AUTUMN OF THE YEAR, BUT THERE WAS A GROWING SADNESS THAT I FOUND HARD TO GET PAST; AND IT INFLUENCED MY OPINION OF A LANDSCAPE THAT WAS BRIGHT AND POWERFUL IN THE MID-SUMMER, BUT DEPENDING ON THE LIGHT, BLEAK AND FAILING IN THE MIDDLE TO LATE DAYS OF OCTOBER. ALMOST TO THE POINT OF BEING OPPRESSIVE. IT WAS THE MELANCHOLY OF THE CHANGING SEASON. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL IN ITS OWN WAY, BUT THERE WAS A FORBIDDING QUALITY TO THE COUNTRYSIDE IN THE LATE AFTERNOONS, THAT MADE ME FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE; AS IF AT THE BEDSIDE OF SOMEONE ON THE VERGE OF DEMISE. IF EVER THERE WAS A TIME, AN OLD HOMESTEAD PROPERTY SEEMED HAUNTED, IT WAS AT THIS LATE SEASON OF THE ROLLING YEAR. I DID DESIRE TO LEAVE EARLIER ON THOSE DAYS, TO AVOID WHAT FELT MILDLY OPPRESSIVE, BUT I CAN NOT EXPLAIN WHY I FELT THIS WAY. I HAVE NEVER CHANGED IN THIS REGARD. IT IS THE SEASON THAT HAS ALWAYS INCREASED MY DESIRES TO WRITE, YET, AT THE SAME TIME, FEELING OVERLY EMOTIONAL; WEIGHED ON THE SENSES, AS IF WEARING A BOAT ANCHOR AS A PENDANT. I FIND IT THE MOST MYSTERIOUS SEASON, SO MUCH MORE POWERFUL THAN SPRING, SUMMER AND WINTER. IT'S THE SEASON BETWEEN LIFE, DEATH AND REBIRTH; THE RECOGNITION OF THE FINALITY, IN ONE SENSE, OF THE NATURAL CYCLE, WHILE CELEBRATING THE CLEANSING OF THE AUTUMN, DURING THE FIRST SNOWFALLS OF LATE SEASON, AND THE EARLY DAYS OF DECEMBER.

     I NEVER TRAVELLED TO THESE ABANDONED HOMESTEAD SITES, WITHOUT A NOTEBOOK. AFTER A LUNCH BREAK FROM DIGGING, IN THE PIONEER DUMP, I'D FIND A NICE SUNNY ROCK TO SIT UPON, OR A SECTION OF FALLEN TIMBER FROM A BARN OR CABIN, AND WATCH OUT OVER THE PASTURE WHERE HORSES, IF THE FARMERS HAD ONE, PULLED PLOWS, AND HEAVY IRON IMPLEMENTS, WHICH GOUGED DOWN THROUGH THE FIELD GRASSES IN STRAIGHT FURROWS. A PLACE FULL OF UNTOLD PROMISE. FULL OF ACTIVITY. I'D FIND MYSELF SLIDING HELPLESSLY INTO THE FRIENDLY ABYSS OF HISTORY, TO THE TIME WHEN THE FOUNDING FAMILY OF THIS FARMSTEAD, STOOD OUT ON THIS NEWLY CLEARED PASTURELAND, AND IMAGINED THE HARVEST A FERTILE FIELD WOULD GENERATE, WITH THEIR FAITH IN GOD. EACH SPRING THEY LOOKED OUT ON THIS SAME LANDSCAPE, AND HOPED AGAIN, FOR A BOUNTIFUL HARVEST, AND IT'S LIKELY THEY WERE CRESTFALLEN, WHEN LATE FROSTS, THE WIND AND RAIN OF SUMMER STORMS, THE PELTING DOWN OF HAIL DESTROYED THE CROPS, AND WHAT SURVIVED, WAS KILLED BY EARLY FROST. YET THEY PERSERVERE. IT WAS THE PATINA, THE SPIRIT OF PLACES LIKE THIS; HAUNTED BY THE REALITY OF SO MANY HARDSHIPS AND HEARTACHE, OF THOSE COURAGEOUS SOULS, TRYING TO EKE OUT SURVIVAL IN SUCH A HARSH ENVIRONS; SHORT GROWING SEASON, THIN SOIL, ROCKS, DEEP ROOTS, AND TREES AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. BOGS AND WATERCOURSES, DIFFICULT TO NAVIGATE, AND BRIDGE, TO PROVIDE AN ACCESS ROUTE TO TRANSPORT SUPPLIES FROM THE VILLAGE, WHERE THE GENERAL STORES WERE SITUATED. LIVING HERE WAS DAMN HARD, AND THE ONLY REPRIEVE, SADLY, WAS ABANDONING WHAT THEY HAD WORKED SO HARD TO CREATE, FOR AN EVEN GREATER SPECULATION; MOVING TO A DIFFERENT REGION, FOR A NEW BEGINNING.

     SO THERE WAS ALWAYS AN IMBEDDED AURA OF SADNESS, EVEN ON SUNNY DAYS, ON THESE DISTRICT-OPENING HOMESTEADS, LEFT TO ERODE BACK INTO THE LANDSCAPE FROM WHICH THEY HAD RISEN, WITHIN THAT DARK WREATH OF THICK PINES, BLOCKING OUT THE SUN FOR MOST OF THE DAYTIME; UNTIL THEY COULD BE CLEARED, A CABIN CONSTRUCTED FROM THE TIMBER. THOSE WHO ONCE CALLED THIS PLACE THEIR HOME, AND CELEBRATED IT AS ANY HOME, WHERE HAPPINESS WAS SHARED AT HEARTHSIDE, AS WAS THE HEARTBREAK OF SICKNESS AND LOSS, FREQUENT IN THESE BACKWOODS, ISOLATED ENCAMPMENTS; WHERE THE COMING OF THE WINTER WAS ALWAYS FEARED, HEIGHTENED BY THE SEASON'S FIRST SNOW, DUSTED OVER THE DEEP GREEN PINERY. IN THESE MOMENTS OF SOLITUDE, LISTENING, AND BEING TRANQUILIZED BY THE SOFT BRUSH OF WIND OVER THE DRY AUTUMN FIELD GRASSES, THAT SWEEP, AND ROLL, LIKE OCEAN WAVES, IN THE GENTLE AFTERNOON BREEZE, IT DOES SEEM LIKE A PARADISE, AS THOREAU MUST HAVE SEEN THE LANDSCAPE OF HIS WALDEN POND. IT IS AN ENTIRELY PAIN-FREE, SLOW FALL INTO THE SOFT GRACEFULNESS OF THIS AUTUMN REMINISCENCE; A SOLITUDE, THAT TRICKS THE VOYEUR, INTO A DENIAL OF THE SENSES. FROM A COMFORTABLE DISTANCE, THE WATCHER HAS BECOME MUCH AS THE SPIRIT-KIND, IN THE SWIRLING, DREAM-LIKE ENERGY OF TIME PAST. THE PAST HAS RETURNED. I SWEAR TO HAVE HEARD THE LAUGHTER OF CHILDREN, AT PLAY, WHERE NO CHILDREN WERE PRESENT; HEARD DOGS BARKING THAT WERE NOWHERE IN SIGHT, HEARD THE THUD OF HOOVES, FROM THE HORSEDRAWN CART, RATTLING UP THE DIRT LANE TOWARD THE HOMESTEAD. FEELING THE PRESENCE OF ENERGY, WHERE THERE WAS ONLY OPEN FIELD, A FALLEN HOMESTEAD, AND THE AROMA OF A RETIRING SEASON. ONE MOMENT, I COULD SWEAR TO HAVE SEEN THE MOVEMENT OF PEOPLE NEAR WHERE THE BARN ONCE STOOD, AND HEAR THE DISTANT SOUND OF SING-SONG BUT NO SOURCE BEING VISIBLE. IT WAS A HAUNTED VISION, INSPIRED BY MY OWN IMMERSION. MY WILLINGNESS TO SEE THE TRUE PROVENANCE OF A PIONEER ENCAMPMENT, A MUSKOKA FARMSTEAD. IF I WAS TO TELL YOU I FELT A HAND ENTER MINE, WHEN NO ONE WAS NEAR ME, WOULD YOU THINK ME MAD? IT WASN'T UNCOMMON TO FEEL THE BRUSH OF SOMEONE OR SOMETHING, WHILE SITTING ON THOSE AFTERNOONS, OR EVEN TOUCHING SHOULDERS WITH AN ENTITY, WHILE WALKING BACK UP THE LANE, TO THE DIG-SITE, WHEN MY SOJOURN HAD ENDED. THESE WERE UNSETTLING MOMENTS, YET I NEVER ONCE FELT AN URGE TO FLEE, OR REAR-UP IN FEAR, HAVING BEEN IN ANY WAY STARTLED BY WHAT MIGHT BE CONSIDERED, BY A MEDIUM, AS A FULL SPIRIT ENCOUNTER. I NEVER VISITED THESE ABANDONED FARMSTEADS, WITHOUT FEELING I WASN'T ALONE ON MY TRAVELS, OR MY RESPITES, TO ENJOY THE DAY. THEY WEREN'T THREATENING EVENTS, BUT INTERVENTIONS THAT MADE ME APPRECIATE, THAT SOME FORMER RESIDENTS, HADN'T ALOUD THEIR DEATHS, TO SEPARATE THEM FROM THE GROUND THEY ONCE TILLED, TEARING THEIR MUSCLES, AND ANGERING THEIR NERVES; FIELDS PLANTED AND HARVESTED FROM, IN THE FINAL DAYS OF THE SUMMER SEASON. HERE I WAS, A SPECTATOR TO ALL OF HISTORY, THAT HAD OCCURRED HERE; REMARKABLE EVEN IN ITS INHERENT COMMONPLACES.

THE LILACS AND THE HOMESTEAD

     Have you ever stopped, on a walk through a dark pinery, and heard the gentle windsong through the needles? Felt the presence of something mysterious, on an early evening walk by a churchyard, or along a grown-over path, by the ruins of an old mill, or barn, as if, someone was close to you, or watching from some portal nearby? Yet nothing is visible to you. You might hear someone talking, or calling out your name, or the sound of footfall following behind, when no one is present. Anywhere. You stop frequently to check. Then we are kindred spirits. I hear and see, and feel, and touch back, at mysterious interventions all the time.

     I usually found the fallen-in log homesteads, by looking for the stands of lilacs. The pioneers found this hardy species, a pleasant decoration for what was plain and colorless about the simple cabin or shanty. It was the same with grave sites. The settlers would transplant lilacs by the rough hewn crosses and slab, wood and rock monuments. There was always something significant, to the planting of lilacs, as if it was a sort of folk art statement, about who they were, and what they found pleasant amongst what could be vicious and unpleasant. In the fall, the lilac leaves would be curled and blackened by the long summer, although they would last against the frost and sometimes, continue to hang-on to the branches until after the first and second snows of the late autumn.

     There were lots of occasions, when I'd be walking back along the far fence line, and swear someone was walking right behind me. I'd stop, look back quickly to see if there was anyone following. Sometimes, I'd just stop in my tracks, and listen first, before turning around, much as if I knew it was a ghost, that would disappear as soon as I was able to turn. Maybe it would continue walking past me, if I just stood still. I could feel a little chill, when this happened, because what I was hearing was the full footsteps, in boots, of a substantial human close behind. I'd suddenly think of Washington Irving's famous "Headless Horseman," from his book, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and feel, momentarily, as if I should flee, in order to keep my head where it belonged; up there on my shoulders.

     It was often the case, walking around the long abandoned homesteads, that I'd hear someone call out my name, and it did send a chill, because there was no mistaking who I was. I'd turn a corner, near the fallen drive shed, and catch the scent of sweet grass, one moment, and baking bread the next. There was the aroma of preserves, such as chili sauces steaming on a woodstove, near the house, with no visible source. No fireplace, woodstove, or a room that was still standing, to support any cookery activities. I can remember smelling burning coal oil in many places, around the old farmstead, as if I was in vicinity of numerous illuminated lamps. There were none. Why would there have been an ignited oil lamp? But it was exactly what burning coal oil smelled like, because I had, at the time, over fifty vintage lamps myself.

     In those years, I was more interested in the heritage of these places, and a determination to highlight the pioneer period in Muskoka, that I felt had been seriously neglected, and terribly misunderstood. The possibility these historic places, dotting the landscape, might have carried paranormal energy, of those first families, never really entered my mind. After bottle digging, I'd be absolutely exhausted, so even if I had run into a ghost, face to face, I likely wouldn't have had any energy left to run away, and I'm not the kind to scream. I like ghosts. Most of the time.

     It was the afternoon I sat on a sun-baked hillside, before the long walk home, with a loaded packsack of old glass vessels, that I felt the first significant presence of something I truly didn't understand. I can only parallel it to a half-slumber, where if I'd been in full recline on the matted field grass, sleep would have overcome me quickly. It was so warm and peaceful in that soft patch of former pasture, and I was tired after a long dig, and longer walk. I began to dream about this place, as if I was seeing it as it was, in earlier years of occupation. Like an abstract painting, but one that was moving like a film projector, I could see the the clothes on an outside drying line, fluttering in the wind (but there was no wind on this afternoon). I could see blankets on the line. Red ones, and white gowns side by side. I could hear the laughter of children running in the tall grasses of the pasture, and occasionally see their bobbing heads with golden hair, rising above the sweeping, weaving motions of all the plants that grew in this field. I could see smoke coming from the cabin chimney, and I remember twigging all of a sudden, to the reality I was visualizing the farmstead itself, as I had been imagining it looked. Or did I have any hand in it's determination at all? It was a light slumber dream, with a permeating reality of pasture aromas, but not the ones I recalled from the field on that day. There was the distinct aroma of manure, where there wasn't a single beast to be held accountable. I saw a person waving from the doorway of the farm house, and smoke coming from the chimney, and someone yelling near the log barn to my right. I heard the rustling of the field grasses, as if multiple runners were coming toward me. There was laughter, and in the background, the sound of an axe hitting wood presumably, and then the hooves of horses on the dusty dirt lane twenty yards in front of me. I began to appreciate that I was having a sort of prolonged, deep daydream, and it was becoming a little too real. I could feel my heart racing, as if I had figured out, there was something wrong with my sensory perception; much as if my dream had been hijacked by the imbedded energy of this old family farm.

     I think back, and recall that I was getting bitten by insects, possibly because of where I had been sitting, and suddenly coming back to reality, and knocking away the critters that had snuck up my pant legs. My heart was still racing, as if I had just escaped a nightmare, yet there was nothing whatsoever, nightmarish about anything I had been daydreaming about. I did wonder, if I had some how been infiltrated on that occasion, by the still strong aura of this place, as it once existed. I probably had spent more time on the property than anyone else in decades, and possibly, I was scene as a sympathetic voyeur, who would understand the message if it was given. When you think about the length and breadth of the humanity, and its spiritual ingraining, that etched down hard here over the centuries, where I have been walking for these many hours, probably raised the dead so to speak. Was I their kindred spirit? Was I being allowed, through my brief daydream, to see what this place looked life, when it was full of life and enterprise? Had the spirits that hopelessly wandered these former pasture trails, looking for their former way of life, given me a gift of experience. Or was it just a daydream, without a crumb of what could be considered of "the paranormal"? But I knew things about this homestead, that I don't think came from just poking around, and digging in the old dumpsite. I don't know how I would have imagined all that I experienced in that several minute half-slumber, and from that point, on all my visits that fall, and for two years following, I never lost what that daydream had provided me, during the momentary hiatus, on a warm hillside, in the September sun. It wasn't a sad or mournful vision. It was quite the opposite. As if I was being afforded, because of my own compassion, a look back on what these warm spirits had been engaged, when the homestead was new, and their hopes were high.

     On the way out the old gate, heading home that afternoon, I couldn't help but take a look back, to see, if perchance, my vision would return, and I would see the painting of a new homestead, as the former residents, the family, had known it in those first years of residence, on that hilly terrain, several hours ride by wagon to Bracebridge for supplies. I was a little bewildered because I wasn't tuned to the ways and means of the spirit-kind making contact with the living. I might have been able to explain the daydream, but the voices, footsteps, the wafting scent of oil lamps, fresh bread and lilacs, was beyond what I could easily figure out; but then it wasn't particularly important. It became less important each time I visited, to dig at the dump-site, because it became a sort of normal fare, to hear my name being called out, and feel as if someone was standing at my back, when I had my head down, looking into the excavation, where there were old medicine bottles, seal jars and crockery jugs. I put it down to an over-active imagination. But regardless of how unsettling the interventions were becoming, I never felt scared in any way; but I confess to having my curiosity peaked many times, especially when I would feel a hand slip into mine, as if a child wanted to lead me somewhere on the property I needed to visit. On these occasions, which happened dozens of times, I'd just stop in my tracks, and try to figure out if my mind was playing tricks, or I was having some kind of muscle spasm, considering the shoveling I had been working at for several hours. Each time, it felt as if it was a warm, soft little hand, and of this, there was not confusion. I remember once, that I actually stopped breathing, as if I expected, at any time, to be pulled to the ground by a greater power; a force from beyond, that did not appreciate my snooping about the homestead. After awhile, I would think of the sensation of the hand, in mine, as a sort of friendly gesture, of one spirit to another, and squeeze what wasn't there. It never squeezed back. I'm not sure what I would have done, if this had happened. I did feel a strange comfort at this homestead, that was different than the others I visited, over the coming decade of local excavations, on abandoned farm properties. If I had indeed, been exposed to a paranormal experience, on all those occasions, then honestly, I would feel quite privileged, that I had been invited to share their existence; the net result, inspiring me to more thoroughly research and write about the pioneer settlement period, of the history of Muskoka.

Three Cemeteries and Pioneer Superstitions

"THE SEASONS OF THE LILAC," PART 17 - VISITING UFFORD CEMETERIES IN THE RAIN - WITH LEAF SHOWERS

THAT HAUNTING FEELING, YOU'RE BEING WATCHED

     OUT MUSIC OBSESSED LADS, ANDREW AND ROBERT, WITH THEIR GOOD FRIEND, AND TALENTED SINGER, BETTY SMITH, WERE IN TORONTO TODAY, TO TOUR A WELL KNOWN MUSIC STUDIO, FOR THE INSIDE SCOOP, ON THE RECORDING INDUSTRY, AND TO TAKE IN A SPECIAL "TRAGICALLY HIP" OUTDOOR PERFORMANCE, AS PART OF THE PRE-GAME RALLY, FOR "LEAF NATION," PRIOR TO THE SEASON OPENING, TORONTO-MONTREAL HOCKEY GAME, THIS EVENING. THEY HAVE A HUNCH A BANDMATE FRIEND, WILL BE ABLE TO GET THEM BACK-STAGE. WITH THEM IN TORONTO, WE CLOSED OUR GRAVENHURST SHOP TODAY, BECAUSE WE KNOW NEXT TO NOTHING ABOUT VINTAGE GUITARS AND SOUND EQUIPMENT. IN ORDER TO OPEN OUR ANTIQUE SHOP, WE'D HAVE TO OPEN THE MUSIC COMPONENT AS WELL, AND ALTHOUGH SUZANNE AND I MAY, OR MAY NOT HAVE, BEEN AT WOODSTOCK (IT WAS A PRETTY CRAZY GIG), WE NEVER GOT INTO THE FINER DETAILS, OF WHAT MUSICIANS ACTUALLY USE TO MAKE THEIR MUSIC. WE JUST LIKED WHAT WE HEARD. SO PLEASE, DON'T ASK US THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GIBSONS AND FENDERS, UNLESS YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT OUR NEIGHBORS ON SEGWUN BOULEVARD. I HOPE THEY HAD A GOOD DAY, AND ARRIVE BACK EARLY TOMORROW SO WE CAN GET BACK TO WORK. OH WELL, YOU'VE GOT TO HAVE THE OCCASIONAL DAY OFF, TO FOOL AROUND. OF COURSE, OUR IDEA OF FOOLING AROUND, THESE DAYS, IS TO BURY OURSELVES IN HISTORY; AND VISIT THOSE WHO HAVE ACTUALLY BEEN BURIED. HERE'S WHAT WE DID FOR OUR DAY'S SOCIAL / CULTURAL RECREATION.

POKING AROUND IN GRAVEYARDS

     "THEY WASHED THEIR BODIES SO WHITE AND CLEAN, THOSE MEN OF THE PIONEER DAYS, THEIR BLOOD THEY LEFT TO SET IN THEIR VEINS, IT WAS THEIRS, AND IT IS THERE TO STAY." THESE WORDS WERE WRITTEN BY MUSKOKA LAKES FAMILY HISTORIAN BERT SHEA, IN AUGUST 1962. THE REFERENCE TO BLOOD LEFT IN THEIR VEINS, MEANS FIRST OF ALL, THAT THE BODY PREPARATION AND BURIALS WERE CONDUCTED WITHOUT THE PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANCE OF AN UNDERTAKER, AND THE CORPSES WERE NOT EMBALMED, WHICH WOULD HAVE NECESSITATED THE BLOOD BEING REMOVED FIRST. MANY UNDERTAKERS IN THE EARLY YEARS, DIDN'T OFFER EMBALMING, AND EVEN WHEN THEY DID, SOME FAMILIES REFUSED THE PRESERVING PROCESS, PREFERRING THE BLOOD REMAIN WITH THEIR KIN AT THE TIME OF BURIAL.

     "THEY COMBED THEIR HAIR AND FOLDED THEIR HANDS, THEIR EYES THEY CLOSED WITH CARE, AND A CLEAN PRESSED VEST THEY GIRDED ON, AND COMBED OVER THEIR WHISKERS THERE. IN THE CASKET MADE FROM CLEAN WHITE PINE, THE CHOICE FROM THE FOREST GROVE, WITH PINS OF OAK TO JOIN IT TIGHT, BY STROKES OF THE HAMMER DROVE. SO THEY LAID HIM THERE, TO REST IN PEACE, WHILE THE YEARS IN HURRY FLY, TILL THE DAY WHERE EARTH AND TIME SHALL CEASE, TO WAKE AT THE TRUMPET'S CRY. AND THERE HE IS RESTING IN SILENCE LONG, HIS SLUMBER UNMARRED BY THE CLAY, THE STORMS PASS ON, THE SEASONS CHANGE, AND THE WILDFLOWERS SPRING WITH MAY. BUT STILL THERE IS A MURMUR AT EVENTIDE, AS THE BREEZES WHISPER LOW, AND MEMORY STEALS O'ER THE GRASSY SPOT, AS SOFTLY AS THE FALL OF SNOW. THEY HAVE LAID HIM THERE WITH LOVING CARE, AND THEIR TEAR DROPS, DAMPENED THE SOD, AS THE GOOD MAN COMMENDED HIS BODY TO EARTH, BUT HIS SOUL, IS AT REST WITH HIS GOD."

     ON OUR APPROACH OF THE UFFORD CEMETERY, NORTH ON THE DOHERTY ROAD, WE RAN INTO WHAT I CAN ONLY DESCRIBE AS A MINI CYCLONE, THAT WAS ENERGIZED BY A WICKED WIND COMING FROM THE WEST (NO WITCH ATTACHED TO THIS), AND WITH THE TORRENTIAL RAIN AND THE TWISTING, SPIRALLING-DOWN OF HARDWOOD LEAVES, AND HORIZONTALLY DRIVED PINE NEEDLES, SLAPPING FLAST AGAINST THE WINDSHIELD, IT BECAME SUDDENLY DARK, AND BLINDING FOR SEVERAL MINUTES, WITH THE WIPERS GETTING CLOGGED, WHILE THE WEATHER CELL MOVED QUICKLY OVERHEAD. I HAD TO STOP AT THE SIDE OF THE ROAD FOR SAFETY REASONS, BECAUSE IT WAS HARD TO SEE THE ROADWAY, AND VISIBILITY DOWN THE LANE WAS ONLY A FEW METRES AHEAD.

    THE CLOUDSCAPE, WHEN WE COULD SEE IT THROUGH THE WIND-DRIVEN LEAVES, WAS BLACK, AND WE WONDERED IF THERE WAS A TORNADO BREWING WITHIN. AS QUICKLY AS IT SWEPT OVER US, IT SOON VANISHED, AND THE SUN POPPED OUT FOR SEVERAL MOMENTS. IN THE CEMETERY, HAVING A WALK-ABOUT, IT HIT AGAIN BUT MUCH LESS AGGRESSION, AND BEFORE WE GOT BACK TO GRAVENHURST, THERE WERE AT LEAST THREE MORE OF THESE WEATHER EVENTS, THAT FORCED US TO STOP AT ROADSIDE UNTIL IT CLEARED. EVEN NOW, WORKING OUT ON THE VERANDAH OF BIRCH HOLLOW, WE HAVE JUST HAD FIFTEEN MINUTES OF BRUTAL GALE FORCE WIND, SENDING LEAVES ONTO MY LAP, AND ALL OVER MY CANINE COMPANION, BOSKO, WHO IS SNORING AWAY, AT MY FEET, CONTENTLY OBLIVIOUS TO NOW BEING COVERED WITH WET YELLOW, RED AND ORANGE LEAVES; AND DOZENS OF PINE NEEDLES BLOWN HERE FROM WOODLANDS JUST ABOVE THE BOG. NOW FOR GOSH SAKES, IN MERE MINUTES AFTER THE GALE HAS SLAMMED OUR HOUSE, IT'S BEAUTIFULLY SUNNY AND MUCH WARMER THAN EVEN A FEW MINUTES AGO. A TOUCH OF NOVEMBER IN OCTOBER. THE WIND HAS REALLY STRIPPED A LOT OF THE TREES, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN OUTSTANDING THIS COMING WEEKEND, WHICH OF COURSE, IS THANKSGIVING. LOTS OF FOREST WATCHERS AROUND HERE. OH WELL, THAT'S HOW IT GOES IN MUSKOKA, ONCE YOU GET WITHIN A WHISKER OF THE WINTER SEASON; AND I'M TOLD BY THE OLD TIMERS, TO GET MY SHOVELS AND RELATED SNOW REMOVAL GEAR READY TO GO....VERY SOON. THEY EXPECT ANOTHER BRUTAL ASSAULT BY MOTHER NATURE. WITH WHAT WE SAW TODAY, BY GOLLY, IT'S GOING TO BE A WILD RIDE. I'M STILL CATCHING UP WITH HYDRO PAYMENTS FROM LAST YEAR'S DEEP FREEZE.

     WE TOOK A LONG RIDE THROUGH THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES AND BRACEBRIDGE TODAY, AND DESPITE THE SUDDEN DOWNPOURS AND HIGH WINDS, THERE WAS ENOUGH SUNSHINE POKING THROUGH, TO THOROUGHLY PAINT THE AMAZING LANDSCAPE, IN THIS PART OF THE DISTRICT. SUZANNE AND FAMILY ARE FROM THE UFFORD AREA OF THE TOWNSHIP, AND SHE WAS RAISED A LTTLE FURTHER WEST, IN THE CHARMING VILLAGE OF WINDERMERE, ON LAKE ROSSEAU. SO WE DID THE LOOP, AND WE WERE BOTH SURPRISED BY THE CHANGES TO THE LANDSCAPE. LOTS OF NEW HOUSE BUILDING GOING ON OUT THERE IN THE RURAL CLIME. GOOD TO SEE. WE USED TO DRIVE THOSE ROADS DAILY, WHEN WE LIVED AT THE FAMILY COTTAGE ON LAKE ROSSEAU, AND CONSIDERING WE VERY NEARLY BOUGHT THE PROPERTY BACK THEN, TO USE AS A PERMANENT RESIDENT, WE WOULD HAVE HAD TO BE VERY RICH NOW, TO AFFORD THE TAXES, FIRST OF ALL, AND THEN GAS TO GET TO OUR RESPECTIVE PLACES OF BUSINESS; SO WE COULD THEN PAY OUR TAXES. WHEN WE LIVED THERE IN THE LATE 1980'S, SUZANNE WAS WORKING AT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL, AND SHE SPENT CLOSE TO AN HOUR AND A HALF DRIVING EVERY DAY. I HAD A SECOND CAR THAT USED LESS GAS, BECAUSE IT FREQUENTLY STALLED AND LEFT ME STRANDED. THAT DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A HEAVY BURDEN OF INCONVENIENCE, DOES IT? TODAY IT WOULD BE TWENTY TO THIRTY BUCKS IN GAS TO COVER BOTH WAYS, FOR EACH VEHICLE, (BECAUSE WE HAD DIFFERENT TIMES TO GET TO WORK, AND I WORKED EVENINGS, AND HAD TWO TODDLERS) DEPENDING ON THE VEHICLE. WE CAN WALK TO WORK NOW, SO I'M NOT INTERESTED AT PRESENT, IN MOVING TO THE OUT-BACK, ALTHOUGH I LOVE IT WITH ALL OF MY HEART. I RESPECT ANYONE WHO LIVES RURALLY, PAST AND PRESENT. A GREAT WAY OF LIFE THAT'S FOR SURE. I'M JUST TOO OLD AND GNARLY TO BE STRANDED IN THE WOODS WITH A FLAT TIRE, OR A FALLEN-OUT TRANSMISSION; AND SUZANNE HAS LOST SOME OF HER VIGOR AS AN OUTDOORS PERSON. AT LEAST FROM THE DAYS WHEN WE USED TO PADDLE MUSKOKA AND ALGONQUIN LAKES EVERY OTHER WEEKEND, JUST TO STAY IN SHAPE. I TRIED TO CLIMB INTO THE OLD RETIRED PORTAGE STORE, "IRON WATER HORSE," (ALUMINUM CANOE) THE OTHER DAY FOR FUN, SAFELY POSITIONED ON DRY LAND, (JUST TO SAY I COULD GET INSIDE) AND SUZANNE THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO CALL FOR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT, TO BRING THE JAWS OF LIFE, TO EXTRACT ME FROM WHAT I ONCE FIT INTO, LIKE A GREASED PALM IN A FINE LEATHER GLOVE. SHE HAD TO ROLL ME OUT OF THE CANOE, AND THANK GOD THE NEIGHBORS WERE AT WORK. "TED, WITH YOUR WONKY HIP, CANOEING IS A THING OF THE PAST. YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO SETTLE FOR YOUR BILL MASON VIDEO, 'WATERWALKER,' WHENEVER YOU GET THE URGE TO PADDLE SOMETHING. YOU CAN HOLD ONTO THE PADDLE IN YOUR CHAIR, AND PRETEND YOUR GOING THROUGH RAPIDS." WELL THIS MADE ME FEEL MORE LIKE A TOOL THAN USUAL. BUT LIKE MOST UPSETS THESE DAYS, WHEN I FIND MYSELF TOO MUSCLE-WEAK TO DO WHAT I USED TO, IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS, SUZANNE HANDS ME A PIECE OF PIE. I LIKE THAT. IT MAKES ME FORGET MY MORE RUGGED FORMER SELF, RATHER WELL.

     WE TREATED OURSELVES. STOPPED FIRST AT THE BRACEBRIDGE SALVATION ARMY, AND PURCHASED SOME NEAT VINTAGE BOOKS. HAD A NICE VISIT WITH STAFF, TALKED ABOUT LOCAL HISTORY, AND THEN HEADED, WITH BELLS ON, TO MARJ'S RESTAURANT IN BALL'S FLATS, FOR BREAKFAST. PICKED UP A NOTEBOOK FROM THE DOLLAR STORE, (BECAUSE SUZANNE FORGOT TO BRING ONE TO MAKE COPIOUS NOTES), AND TOOK THE BACKROADS OFF SOUTH MONCK DRIVE, TO FALKENBURG, OVER THE OLD PIONEER ROAD, AND THEN ONTO BARDSVILLE, UPTOWN AND DOWNTOWN, CONNECTING WITH THE DOHERTY ROAD, AND STOPPING FOR A VISIT AT THE UFFORD COMMUNITY CEMETERY. WE WERE DELIGHTED TO SEE THE NEW WHITE PICKET FENCE AROUND THE ROADSIDE CEMETERY, FOR THE LOST MEMBERS OF THE PIONEER DOHERTY FAMILY, WHICH IS LOCATED A SHORT DISTANCE FROM THE UFFORD GRAVEYARD, WITH AN ATTRACTIVE NEW SIGN ANNOUNCING IT AS "THE DOHERTY CEMETERY." WHAT'S SIGNIFICANT ABOUT THIS, IS THAT SUZANNE'S GRANDFATHER, JOHN SHEA, A FORMER MUNICIPAL CLERK WITH WATT TOWNSHIP, FELT THE FAMILY PLOT, LOCATED ON A SLIGHT ELEVATION OF LAND, THIRTY TO FORTY YARDS OFF THE TRAVELLED PORTION OF THE DOHERTY ROAD, DESERVED TO HAVE A FENCE ERECTED AROUND THE OTHERWISE UNMARKED PLOTS. HE DID THIS MANY YEARS AGO, (1950'S) AND WHEN SUZANNE AND I VISITED THE SMALL GRAVEYARD IN THE MID 1980'S, THE FENCE HAD FALLEN OVER AND MOST OF IT WAS BEYOND SAVING, ON ACCOUNT OF ROT. THE WAY WE FINALLY LOCATED THE OBSCURED, OVERGROWN PLOTS, WAS BY FOLLOWING EXACTLY, HOW SUZANNE'S MOTHER, HARRIET, HAD IDENTIFIED IT BEFORE-HAND, AS BEING WHERE THERE WAS AN OLD STAND OF LILACS. THE LILACS WERE IN PRETTY BAD SHAPE BY THIS POINT, BECAUSE THE MUCH LARGER EVERGREENS, IN THE VICINITY, HAD BEEN BLOCKING OUT THE SUNLIGHT. THE LILACS HAD BEEN PLANTED AT GRAVESIDE, SHORTLY AFTER MULTIPLE MEMBERS OF THE DOUERTY FAMILY DIED, AS A DIRECT RESULT OF EITHER A DIPTHERIA OR INFLUENZA OUTBREAK IN THE AREA. THE WELL KNOWN TRAVELING ANGLICAN MISSIONARY, GOWNAN GILMORE, WHO ASSISTED MANY OF THESE STRICKEN FAMILIES, DURING THE HEIGHT OF ILLNESSES, KNEW OF CASES WHERE WHOLE HOUSEHOLDS DIED AS A DIRECT RESULT.

     AT THE TIME OF THEIR DEATHS, EITHER THREE OR FOUR IN ONE NIGHT HAVING SUCCUMBED, THE UNDERTAKER'S CREW, TWO MEN WITH A TEAM OF HORSES AND WAGON, CAME AFTER THE DEATHS, TO REMOVED AND THEN BURY THE BODIES AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. THEY DID NOT WANT ANY MOURNERS OR NEIGHBORS TO BE AT THE GRAVESITE, DUE TO CONCERNS ABOUT POTENTIAL CONTAMINATION; AS THE ILLNESS COULD SPREAD QUICKLY, AND IT WAS EXPECTED, IT WOULD DO SO WITH EVEN MINOR CONTACT. THE UNDERTAKERS, USUALLY CONTRACTORS EMPLOYED BY ANOTHER FUNERAL DIRECTOR, WORKED OFTEN LATE AT NIGHT, PICKING UP THE DECEASED, AND THEN CARTING THEM AWAY FOR IMMEDIATE BURIAL. IN THE CASE OF THE DOHERTY CLAN, IT EXPLAINS WHY THEY WERE BURIED CLOSE TO THEIR HOMESTEAD, ADJACENT TO THE ROAD, AND NOT AT THE UFFORD UNITED CHURCH CEMETERY, THAT WAS OPENED IN THE EARLY 1870'S, A SHORT DISTANCE AWAY. THE UFFORD COMMUNITY CEMETERY, ACTUALLY ON DOHERTY ROAD, WAS OPENED IN THE EARLY YEARS OF THE 1900'S. WE HAVE BEEN RESEARCHING THE ACTUAL DATES OF THEIR DEATHS, THROUGH THE ONLINE RECORDS WE CAN ACCESS THROUGH ANCESTRY.CA, OF WHICH SUZANNE IS A SUBSCRIBER. SHE'S GOING TO BE CHECKING OUT CENSUS RECORDS IN THE NEAR FUTURE, TO UPDATE INFORMATION ON THE DOHERTY FAMILY SITUATION, AND IF THERE WERE ANY SURVIVING MEMBERS THAT FATEFUL NIGHT. IT'S NICE TO SEE THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES, LOOKING AFTER THIS SPECIAL PROPERTY, THAT HAD BEEN LEFT OBSCURED AND OVERGROWN FOR DECADES, SINCE JOHN SHEA'S PICKET FENCE ROTTED AWAY, AND THE BURIAL GROUND SEEMED TO BE LOST IN TIME.

     BY THE WAY, IT WAS OFTEN THE FRIGHT OF FOLK TALES, TO REMINISCE ABOUT THE SOUND OF THE HORSE PULLED CART, WITH THE UNDERTAKERS, TRAVELING THE DIRT LANEWAYS THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE, FOR THOSE LATE-NIGHT APPOINTMENTS.

     SUZANNE AND I THEN MOTORED THE SHORT DISTANCE DOWN TO THE UFFORD COMMUNITY CEMETERY, WHERE OUR FAMILY IS WELL REPRESENTED, INCLUDING HER MOTHER AND FATHER, HARRIET AND NORM STRIPP, FORMERLY OF WINDERMERE. HARRIET WAS A MEMBER OF THE SHEA FAMILY, HER FATHER BEING JOHN SHEA, THE ABOVE-MENTIONED BUILDER OF THE FENCE. SUZANNE WAS ABLE TO FIND THE MARKER FOR JOHN LILY SHEA, WHO YOU MIGHT REMEMBER FROM THE PREVIOUS BLOGS THIS WEEK, INVOLVING THE RESCUE OF THE NEAR-FROZEN ENGLISHMAN, MR. GILL, ON LAKE ROSSEAU'S TOBIN'S ISLAND, AND THEN YESTERDAY, WHEN I WAS WRITING ABOUT THE FIRST (SQUARED LOG) CHURCH IN UFFORD, CIRCA 1869, ON LAND HE DONATED TO THE METHODISTS. THIS INFORMATION CAME FROM BERT SHEA'S WELL KNOWN BOOK, "HISTORY OF THE SHEAS - BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP." IT WAS A PROFOUND EXPERIENCE FOR ME, STANDING ON HIS PLOT FOR THOSE FEW MOMENTS. I HAD JUST READ ANOTHER HANDWRITTEN NOTE ABOUT JOHN LILY SHEA, THE EVENING BEFORE, REGARDING THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE PORT CARLING LOCKS. WHEN THE FIRST HAND HEWN TIMBERS WERE USED TO WALL THE NEWLY CONSTRUCTED LOCKS, IN THE 1860'S, CONNECTING LAKES MUSKOKA AND ROSSEAU, FOR THE ADVANTAGE OF STEAM NAVIGATION FOR MR. COCKBURN'S BOATS, THE INITIAL JOB FAILED DUE TO LEAKS THROUGH THE JOINED TIMBERS. JOHN LILY SHEA, ONE OF THE BEST HEWERS IN THE DISTRICT, WAS CALLED IN TO REMEDY THE SITUATION; AND HE DID, AND THE LOGS LASTED, ACCORDING TO THE HANDWRITTEN RECORD, UNTIL A LOCK RESTORATION IN THE 1950'S. IT WAS JOHN LILY WHO DID THE DOVE-TAIL CORNERS, AND SQUARED THE LOGS FOR THE PIONEER METHODIST CHURCH. SO YES, I WAS VERY HONORED TO FINALLY MEET UP WITH A MAN I HAD READ SO MUCH ABOUT, IN BERT SHEA'S FAMILY HISTORY. JOHN LILY SHEA WAS SUZANNE'S GREAT-GREAT UNCLE. WE ALSO VISITED ALL THE OTHER SHEA AND VEITCH FAMILY GRAVESITES, BECAUSE THE FAMILIES INTER-MARRIED OVER THE GENERATIONS

     FOLLOWING A WET AND STORMY HIATUS AT THE UFFORD CEMETERY, WE TRAVELLED-ON TO SEE THE UNITED CHURCH CEMETERY, THE ONE MENTIONED ABOVE, AND HIGHLIGHTED IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG, (YOU CAN ARCHIVE BACK TO READ IT). THE ORIGINAL LOG CHURCH WAS CONSTRUCTED ON THE EAST SIDE OF THE PROPERTY, AND THE CEMETERY ON THE WEST. THERE ARE ONLY SEVERAL GRAVESTONES VISIBLE TODAY, INCLUDING THE LITTLE LAMB-TOPPED TOMBSTONE FOR MARIA MACINTOSH, FOUR YEAR OLD DAUGHTER OF DONALD AND SUSANNA (NEE SHEA) MACINTOSH. SEEING AS I WROTE ABOUT HER IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG, I COULDN'T RESIST PUTTING MY HAND ON THE CARVED LAMB ON TOP OF THE MARKER, AND INTRODUCING MYSELF AND SUZANNE, AS HER DISTANT FAMILY. THERE WERE ALSO MARKERS TO ONE OF THE CHURCH FOUNDERS, JOHN LACY OLDHAM AND HIS WIFE (WHO HAD PASSED AWAY WHILE IN MICHIGAN), AND OTHER OLDHAM KIN. THE GRAVESTONES WERE BADLY ERODED AND DIFFICULT TO READ. THE CEMETERY WAS DEDICATED TO JAMES SHEA, JOHN LILY SHEA'S FATHER. SUZANNE FOUND A PROBLEM WITH THE ANCESTRY AFFORDED HER GREAT,GREAT, GREAT GRANDFATHER, (ON A BIG BRASS PLATE AT THE CEMETERY) AND HAS SET TO WORK TO MAKE THE CORRECTION. SHE A STICKLER FOR DETAIL, AND THAT'S A GOOD QUALITY WHEN YOU'RE A FAMILY HISTORIAN. I'LL GIVE YOU UPDATES ON WHAT HAD TO BE REVISED; A LITTLE TOUGH WHEN IT'S WRITTEN ON A BRASS PLAQUE, BOLTED TO A ROCK. SO SHE HAS TO BE CAREFUL WITH HOW SHE HANDLES THE NEW INFORMATION, WHICH DEBUNKS SOME OF THE FAMILY LINEAGE CLAIMS. IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME, THAT WHAT WAS ACCEPTED AS FACT, IN FAMILY HISTORIES, IS DERAILED BY ADDITIONAL ARCHIVES MATERIAL, WHICH BECOMES AVAILABLE THROUGH OTHER, DISTANT FAMILY MEMBERS, WORKING BY COINCIDENCE ON THEIR OWN ANCESTRAL RESEARCH. SO YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED, AS A FAMILY HISTORIAN, FOR TRUTHS THAT MAY MAKE OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS ANGRY. THE TRUTH IS WHAT IT IS!

EARLY SETTLERS AND THEIR SUPERSTITIONS - WHAT WAS FEARED ON THE MUSKOKA HOMESTEAD?

A BELIEF IN WITCHES? YOU BET!

     I HAVE BEEN SITTING OUT ON OUR VERANDAH, FOR THE PAST HOUR,  ENJOYING ANOTHER AMAZING FALL DAY, HERE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA. EARLIER, SUZANNE AND I STOPPED BY MUSKOKA BEACH, OVERLOOKING LAKE MUSKOKA, AND IT WAS A BREATHTAKING SUNSET......ONE OF THE MOST DAZZLING I'VE SEEN.

     AS I WROTE ABOUT SEVERAL DAYS AGO, I WAS ABLE TO SECURE A FASCINATING NATIONAL MUSEUM OF CANADA BOOKLET, ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1850, ENTITLED "FOLK-LORE OF WATERLOO COUNTY, ONTARIO," AS ORIGINALLY PREPARED BY W. J. WINTEMBERG, WHO DIED BEFORE THIS FINAL MANUSCRIPT WAS PREPARED. BUT THE RESEARCH WORK HE INTIATED, PROVIDED EXCEPTIONAL FINDINGS, AND THE NATIONAL MUSEUM DECIDED TO PUT IT INTO BULLETIN 116, OF THEIR ANTHROPOLOGICAL SERIES, LISTED AS NUMBER 28, IN CASE YOU WOULD ALSO LIKE TO HAVE ACCESS TO THIS MATERIAL.

     THE BOOK DEALS WITH AN EARLIER PERIOD IN THE HISTORY OF SETTLEMENT IN UPPER CANADA, AND THOSE HAVING IMMIGRATED TO NORTH AMERICA FROM GERMANY AS WELL AS BORDER AREAS. ALTHOUGH MUSKOKA DIDN'T HAVE A LARGE GERMAN INFLUX, DURING THE FREE LAND GRANT AND HOMESTEADS ACT PERIOD, FROM THE LATE 1860'S, THESE SETTLERS DID ARRIVE IN GROWING NUMBERS AS SETTLEMENTS GREW. AS THIS SERIES OF BLOGS IS LOOKING AT THE FOLK-LORE OF THE REGION, WHICH HAS BEEN LARGELY NEGLECTED BY HISTORIANS, SOME MATERIAL IN THIS PUBLICATON WILL RELATE TO BELIEFS HELD BY CERTAIN RESIDENTS, NEWLY ARRIVING IN THE HAMLETS AND FARMSTEADS, DOTTING THE MUSKOKA COUNTRYSIDE IN THE LATE 1800'S. THERE WERE A WIDE RANGE OF SUPERSTITIONS AND BELIEFS IN THE PARANORMAL, THAT THESE SETTLERS BROUGHT TO THE CANADIAN WILDS, AND MUCH EVOLVED WITH THESE STRANGE FICTIONS, WHEN CULTURES INTER-MARRIED, AND EVOLVED THESE SUPERSTITIIONS INTO MULTI-CULTURAL BELIEFS. I HAVE INCLUDED PORTIONS OF A CHAPTER ON "WITCHES AND WITCHCRAFT" FROM THE WORK OF W.J. WINTERMBERG, THAT MAY HAVE HAD A PLACE, IN THE SUPERSTITIONS OF THOSE HOMESTEADERS OF GERMANIC ORIGIN. THE STORIES ARE FROM EARLIER IN THE 1800'S, BUT IT IS LIKELY THEY WERE STILL AROUND BY THE TIME MUSKOKA WAS BEING SETTLED, LATER IN THE CENTURY. NOW IN THE WORDS OF THE STUDY'S AUTHOR:

     "BELIEF IN WITCHES AND WITCHCRAFT WAS QUITE COMMON IN THE RURAL PARTS OF ONTARIO IN THE EARLY DAYS, AND ESPECIALLY SO AMONG THE GERMAN SETTLERS IN WATERLOO COUNTY. THE NUMBER '99' IS CALLED 'HEXE-G'WICHT,' MEANING 'WITCHES' WEIGHT."

     THE AUTHOR REPORTS THAT, "A SHARP SHOOTING PAIN IN THE SIDE, BACK, OR SHOULDERS IS CALLED A 'HEXE-SCHTICK,' I.E. 'WITCHES' STAB. THE MILK OF A BEWITCHED COW SHOULD BE PUT ON THE HINGE OF A DOOR SO THAT EVERY TIME THE DOOR IS OPENED AND CLOSED, THE WITCH WILL BE TORTURED. TO KEEP THE WITCHES OUT OF THE STABLE, A SPRIG OF CEDAR BLESSED BY THE PRIEST WAS PLACED ABOVE THE STABLE DOOR ON PALM SUNDAY. PUSSY WILLOW SPRAYS WERE USED FOR LIKE PURPOSE.

     "ON THE LAST DAY OF APRIL, A CROSS WITH THE NAMES OR INITIALS (USUALLY THE LATTER) OF THE THREE WISE MEN OF THE EAST, - CASPAR, MELCHIOR, AND BALTHAZAR - WAS MADE ON THE DOORS OF THE HOUSES TO KEEP WITCHES OUT. THE BELIEF THAT BLACK CATS ARE THE ASSOCIATES OF WITCHES WAS AT ONE TIME WIDESPREAD. A YOUNG MAN (THE SON OF A GERMAN CONJURE DOCTOR) OFTEN TOLD HIS FRIENDS THAT WHEN HE PASSED BY AN OLD WITCH'S HOUSE, AT NIGHT, HIS PROGRESS WAS IMPEDED BY A HOST OF BLACK CATS, AND HE WAS SOMETIMES FORCED TOTAKE TO THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD TO REACH HIS HOME. THIS OCCURRED IN THE VILLAGE OF NEW HAMBURG NOT MANY YEARS AGO."

     W. J. WINTEMBERG WRITES, "IT WAS FORMERLY BELIEVED THAT A HORSE THAT APPEARED TIRED OR RESTLESS IN THE MORNING HAD BEEN RIDDEN HARD BY WITCHES. IT WAS ALSO BELIEVED THAT THESE WITCHES SOMETIMES ENTANGLED THE HAIR OF A HORSE'S MAIN IN SO INTRICATE A MANNER THAT IT COULD NOT BE DISENTANGLED. SOME BELIEVED THAT WITCHES HELD A MIDNIGHT ORGY OR FESTIVAL EACH MONTH, AND THAT DRINKING VESSELS USED AT THESE FESTIVALS WERE COW-HOOF CUPS AND BOWLS MADE OF HORSE'S HOOFS. ABOUT 1880 THERE LIVED AN OLD WOMAN NOT FAR FROM THE VILLAGE OF NEW DUNDEE WHO WAS SAID TO HAVE BEEN A WITCH. SHE IS SAID TO HAVE POSSESSED THE 'SIXTH AND SEVENTH BOOKS OF MOSES,' AND IT WAS BELIEVED THAT SHE COULD TRANSFORM HERSELF INTO ANY ANIMAL SHE CHOSE. SHE SOMETIMES TRANSFORMED HERSELF INTO A CAT AND PROWLED AROUND HER NEIGHBORS' PREMISES.

     "ONE DAY A SOW, AND HER LITTER OF TEN LITTLE PIGS, BELONGING TO A WILMOT TOWNSHIP FARMER, STARTED TO RUN A CIRCLE AROUND THE BARNYARD; THE PIGS FOLLOWING CLOSE ON HER HEELS. EVERY FEW MINUTES ONE OF THE PIGS FELL OVER AND DIED. THIS CONTINUED UNTIL ONLY A FEW PIGS WERE LEFT. THE FARMER THEN CONSULTED AN AMISH WITCH-DOCTOR NAMED LUGOBULL. THE DOCTOR BROKE THE SPELL THAT THE WITCH HAD CAST OVER THE PIGS, AND TOLD THE FARMER THAT THE WITCH WOULD SOON CALL TO BORROW SOMETHING, BUT HE WAS NOT TO LET HER HAVE IT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, FOR THUS SHE WOULD REGAIN HER POWER OVER THE PIGS. THE WITCH-DOCTOR'S WORDS PROVED TO BE TRUE, FOR BEFORE LONG A WOMAN CAME TO BORROW SOMETHING AND HE REFUSED TO LET HER HAVE IT. SHE CALLED SEVERAL TIMES BUT WAS ALWAYS REFUSED AND HER PLANS WERE THWARTED.

     "ONE DAY AN OLD WOMAN CAME TO A FARMHOUSE IN WILMOT TOWNSHIP AND ASKED FOR SOME FOOD, WHICH WAS REFUSED HER. SHE LEFT, MUCH INCENSED AT THIS REFUSAL, AND AS SHE WAS GOING DOWN THE LANE SHE CALED THE COWS, MEANWHILE HOLDING UP THREE OF HER FINGERS. THE FARMER DID NOT THINK MUCH ABOUT THE MATTER AT THE TIME, BUT WHEN THE WOMEN BEGAN TO MILK THEY FOUND THAT ON EVERY COW ONLY ONE TEAT PRODUCED MILK, THE OTHER THREE BLOOD. THE FOLLOWING MORNING THE SAME THING HAPPENED AGAIN AND THE FARMER, BECOMING ALARMED, CONSULTED AN AMISH WITCH-DOCTOR WHO CURED THE COWS BY A PROCESS OF CHARMING."

     THE FOLK HISTORIAN WRITES, "ANOTHER FARMER'S COW WAS BEWITCHED, THE MILK BEING THICK EVERY TIME THE COW WAS MILKED. A WITCH-DOCTOR WAS CONSULTED AND HE ADVISED THEM TO PUT THE MILK INTO A PAN AND SET IT ON THE STOVE TO BOIL, AND THEN THEY WERE TO GIVE THE MILK A THOROUGH WHIPPING WHILE IT BOILED. THIS WAS DONE, THE COW WAS CURED, AND THE WITCH'S POWER WAS DISPELLED. ONE DAY TWO YOUNG MEN WERE LOADING HAY IN A FIELD WHEN A WOMAN CAME WALKING ALONG THE ROAD THAT PASSED NEAR THE FIELD. THE WOMAN WAS A WITCH AND SHE BEWITCHED THE TWO YOUNG MEN AND THEY COULD NOT PROCEED WITH THEIR WORK. ONE OF THE YOUTHS THEN THREE HIS FORK IN THE AIR AND IT STUCK THERE, BUT WHEN HE PULLED IT DOWN AGAIN THE WITCH RAN AWAY. (TOLD BY A YOUNG AMISHMAN)

     "THE MANGERS IN THE SETTLER'S BARNS WERE MADE FROM HALF A HOLLOW BASSWOOD LOG, WITH BOARDS NAILED ACROSS THE ENDS, AND HOLES WERE BORED THROUGH THE SIDES, JUST AS THEY ARE NOWADAYS FOR FASTENING THE ANIMALS. OLD KUTLER HAD A NUMBER OF CALVES FASTENED IN HIS STABLE IN THIS WAY. THE CHAINS AROUND THE CALVES' NECKS WERE QUITE LOOSE, BUT NOT SUFFICIENTLY SO AS TO ALLOW THE ANIMALS TO GET FREE. ONE MORNING WHEN HE WENT OUT TO THE STABLE HE FOUND THE TWO CALVES FASTENED TOGETHER WITH ONE CHAIN; THAT IS, IT LOOKED AS IF ONE CALF HAD SLIPPED ITS HEAD INSIDE THE CHAIN OF ANOTHER CALF, AND THUS BECOME SECURELY FASTENED. THE CHAIN WAS SO TIGHT THAT IT COULD NOT BE REMOVED, AND SO THEY HAD TO CHOP OUT THE END OF THE CHAIN WHERE IT WAS FASTENED TO THE MANGER AND THEN FILE APART ONE OF THE LINKS. KUTLER CLAIMED THE CALVES HAD BEEN PUT IN THIS POSITION BY A WITCH, BECAUSE THE UNITED STRENGTH OF TWO MEN PULLING ON THE CHAIN COULD NOT RELEASE THE CALVES. HE SHOWED MY FATHER THE NOTCH IN THE MANGER WHERE THE CHAIN HAD TO BE CUT LOOSE. THIS HAPPENED ABOUT 60 YEARS AGO. KUTLER WAS AN ALSATIAN SETTLER IN WILMOT TOWNSHIP.

     "OLD MAN MERKLINGER, WHO FORMERLY LIVED NEAR STE. AGATHA, WAS A HEXE-MEESHTER OR 'WTICH DOCTOR,' AND WAS LOCALLY KNOWN AS HELL-DEIFEL, I.E. 'HELL DEVIL.' IN ONE FAMILY OF ALSATIAN SETTLERS IN WILMOT, OF WHOM I HEARD SOME YEARS AGO, THE FATHER WAS SHUNNED BY HIS OWN DAUGHTER BECAUSE SHE BELIEVED HE WAS A WIZARD. HIS SISTER HAD THE REPUTATION OF BEING A WITCH, ALTHOUGH THERE WAS NOT A MORE KIND-HEARTED WOMAN IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. THE WRITER'S MOTHER ONCE HAD THE QUINSY AND THIS WAS SAID BY HER EMPLOYER TO HAVE BEEN DUE TO THE MALICE OF TWO OLD WITCHES WHO LIVED BY. AFTER SHE HAD RECOVERED, SHE RETURNED TO HER EMPLOYER'S PLACE, BUT ON THE VERY DAY OF HER RETURN, THE TWO OLD WOMEN HAPPENED TO BE THERE AND ONE OF THE SAID, 'YOUR THROAT WILL BE AS SORE AS EVER TOMORROW,' AND SURE ENOUGH IN THE MORNING THIS WAS SO. IT WAS BELIEVED THAT THE WITCHES HAD BEWITCHED HER AGAIN, AT LEAST THAT IS WHAT HER EMPLOYERS BELIEVED; AND THESE PEOPLE ACTUALLY MOVED FROM THE NEIGHBORHOOD TO GET AWAY FROM THE BANEFUL INFLUENCE OF THOSE TWO OLD WOMEN. CHILDREN COULD NOT BE INDUCED TO EAT EVEN AN APPLE GIVEN TO THEM BY EITHER ONE OF THE SUPPOSED WITCHES."

     THE AUTHOR CONTINUES, BY NOTING THAT, "THE WRITER'S MATERNAL UNCLE WAS SAID TO HAVE BEEN BEWITCHED BY AN OLD WOMAN WHEN HE WAS A BABY. ONE DAY WHILE HE WAS LYING IN HIS CRADLE A TALL, GAUNT-LOOKING WOMAN, A PERFECT STRANGER, CALLED AT THE HOUSE AND WENT TO THE CRADLE AND THE CHILD BEGAN TO CRY AND DID NOT STOP UNTIL THE NEXT MORNING WHEN THE STRANGE WOMAN LEFT. ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A SHOEMAKER IN ALSACE, WHO EMPLOYED SEVERAL ASSISTANTS, AND THESE HAD TO WORK AT NIGHT. HE SOMETIMES WAS ABSENT FROM HOME, SO HIS WIFE, WHO WAS A WITCH, TRANSFORMED HERSELF INTO A CAT AND WENT INTO THE SHOP TO WATCH THE MEN. THEIR DOINGS ALWAYS BEING REPORTED TO THEIR MASTER, THEY BEGAN TO SUSPECT THAT THE CAT WAS THE MASTER'S WIFE, AND SO ONE NIGHT ONE OF THEM CUT ONE OF THE CAT'S PAWS WITH A KNIFE. THE NEXT MORNING THE WIFE HAD ONE OF HER HANDS BOUND UP.

     "THE WITCHES HELD MONTHLY ORGIES OR FESTIVALS. IN ALSACE THE CHIMNEYS OF HOUSES ARE VERY WIDE, AND IT WAS THROUGH THESE THE LEFT THE HOUSE WITH OUT BEING SEEN. AT A CERTAIN FARMHOUSE THERE WERE TWO WOMEN - MOTHER AND DAUGHTER - WHO WERE WITCHES. WITH THEM LIVED AN INQUISITIVE YOUNG FARM-HAND. HE HAD NOTICED SOMETHING UNUSUAL WAS TAKING PLACE IN THE HOUSE EVERY MONTH, SO ONE NIGHT HE HID IN THE KITCHEN AND WATCHED. ABOUT MIDNIGHT THE WOMEN CAME AND STOOD NAKED BEFORE THE FIREPLACE, BENEATH THE CHIMNEY, AND AFTER ANOINTING THEMSELVES WITH AN OIL THAT THE GERMANS CALL HEXENFETT, (I.E. WITCH'S FAT), UTTERED SOME MAGIC WORDS, AND UP THEY WENT THROUGH THE CHIMNEY. THE YOUNG MAN THEN EMERGED FROM HIS HIDING PLACE AND SEEING THE VESSEL CONTAINING THE OIL, HE ANOINTED HIMSELF TO SEE WHAT EFFECT IT WOULD HAVE ON HIM. HE HAD SCARCELY PRONOUNCED THE MYSTIC WORDS WHEN HE WENT UP THE CHIMNEY WITH A SUDDENNESS THAT WAS SURPRISING, AND WHEN HE REACHED THE GROUND HE FOUND HIMSELF ASTRIDE A LARGE BLACK SOW, WHICH CARRIED HIM WITH GREAT SPEED ACROSS THE COUNTRY. THEY SOON ARRIVED AT A BROAD AND SWIFT-FLOWING RIVER, BUT THIS DID NOT HINDER THE ONWARD ADVANCE OF THE SOW, FOR IT CLEARED THE BROAD EXPANSE OF WATER AT A SINGLE BOUND. THE YOUNG MAN LOOKED BACK, AND, ADMIRING ITS LEAPING POWERS, HE SAID TO THE SOW, 'THAT WAS A LONG LEAP YOU MADE,' BUT AS HE SPOKE, THE SPELL WAS BROKEN, AND THE SOW DISAPPEARED, AND HE FOUND HIMSELF IN A STRANGE COUNTRY MANY MILES FROM HOME."

   ONCE AGAIN, THE INCLUSION OF THIS MATERIAL, GATHERED ORIGINALLY FROM THE WATERLOO AREA, OF THE PROVINCE, DOES NOT APPLY STRICTLY TO OUR AREA, BUT HAS BEEN USED AS A MODEL FOR COMPARISON, AGAINST FOLK-TALES TOLD IN THE FARMSTEADS AND HAMLET RESIDENCES OF PIONEER MUSKOKA. THERE ARE MANY PARALLELS TO THE STORIES ABOVE, AND SOME FAMILIES HAVE TAKEN THE TIME TO RECORD THEM, IN PERSONAL JOURNALS, AND SOME ON TAPE WHICH IS OF HUGE SIGNIFICANCE.....BEING ABLE TO HEAR THE VOICES OF THE STORY TELLERS FIRST HAND....AS RECALLED FROM THEIR ANCESTRAL CHRONICLE. THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF SIMILAR STORIES THAT SHOULD BE CONSERVED AS PART OF OUR CULTURAL HERITAGE. MAYBE YOU KNOW SOME FROM YOUR OWN UPBRINGING, AND CULTURAL HERITAGE. PLEASE WRITE THEM DOWN, AND IF YOU EVER WISH TO SHARE THEM, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A NOTE. I'D LOVE TO INCLUDE THEM IN THIS BLOG.

     WHEN FOLK HISTORIAN BERT SHEA, RE-TOLD THE STORY OF "BLACK" BILLY CROWDER, DURING THE SPRING LOG DRIVE (CIRCA 1890'S), ON THE DEE RIVER (DOWN FROM THREE MILE LAKE) THE REVELATION THAT HE HAD SHOWN SUPERNATURAL CAPABILITY, WHEN SHUTTING THE WATER DOWN, RAGING OVER THE DAM, DEMONSTRATED A GENERAL BELIEF OF WITNESSES,  IN THE PARANORMAL. DESPITE THEIR RELIGIOUS CONVICTIONS, THEY SAW SOMETHING BEYOND COMPREHENSION, TAKE PLACE ON THAT NARROW DAM OVER THE FALLS. CROWDER HAD EXHIBITED SUPER HUMAN STRENGTH AND AGILITY, IN ORDER TO RESCUE HIS NEPHEW, WHO HAD FALLEN INTO THE CHURNING WATER AND RUNNING LOGS BELOW. WHILE HE WASN'T SUCCESSFUL IN SAVING HIS LIVE, MANY OF THAT LOGGING CREW, SAW THE MAN PERFORM THIS FEAT OF STRENGTH AND ENDURANCE.....EVEN IF IT WAS ONLY TO RECOVER HIS SISTER'S SON, WEDGED BETWEEN THE ROCKS BELOW. DID IT HAPPEN EXACTLY AS BERT SHEA WROTE THE STORY? I EXPECT IT WAS EMBELLISHED OVER TIME, AS MOST FOLK TALES WERE. THAT'S WHAT MAKES THEM INTERESTING. NOT THE HISTORICAL ACCURACY, BUT THE HUMAN, CULTURAL CHARACTER WITHIN. THE SAME AGAIN, WITH THE STORY OF PAT LOVELY, AND HIS ARRIVAL IN THE HAMLET OF UFFORD, TO TAKE UP A FARMSTEAD IN AMONGST A CLUSTER OF IRISH PROTESTANTS; THE SHEAS, KNOWN AS THE LEGENDARY "THREE MILE LAKE WOLVES." THE LOVELYS WERE AN IRISH CATHOLIC FAMILY. WHILE THEY APPARENTLY GOT ALONG, IT WAS SAID PAT LOVELY COULD BEWITCH A NEIGHBOR'S LIVESTOCK IF HE WAS SO INCLINED. HE CONVINCED THE LOCAL YOUTH, VISITING HIS FARM, THAT HE COULD MAGICALLY SHRINK DOWN SMALL ENOUGH, TO ENTER A WOODEN BARREL, FROM WHICH HE USED TO TALK TO THEM. PAT LOVELY COULD OBVIOUSLY THROW HIS VOICE, AND THAT WASN'T REALLY MAGIC AT ALL. BUT THE STORY ITSELF IS MAJGICAL. THESE ARE THE STORIES WE NEED TO BE AWARE OF, NOT BECAUSE THEY'RE PIVOTAL IN THE APPRECIATION OF LOCAL HISTORICAL ACCOMPLISHMENT......BUT BECAUSE THEY REPRESENT, LIKE RELIGIOUS BELIEFS, HOW OUR FOUNDERS NAVIGATED EACH DAY ON THOSE LONELY, ISOLATED FARMSTEADS; AND DEALT WITH THE RIGORS AND HARDSHIPS OF MAKING A FARM-LIFE IN A HOSTILE ENVIRONS. THESE ARE FASCINATING STORIES AND WHAT THEY LACK IN FACT, THEY MORE THAN MAKE UP WITH CHARACTER......THAT MOST OF US DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT.

     THE RECOLLECTIONS OF THESE FOLK-TALES ABOUT WITCHES, FROM OUR PIONEER HISTORY, DOES NOT MEAN TO BE CRITICAL OF THOSE WHO CHOOSE TODAY TO PRACTICE THEIR BELIEFS IN THIS REGARD. THIS SERIES, IS NOT DEALING WITH CONTEMPORARY BELIEFS OR CHOICE OF RELIGIONS, FAITH, OR LINGERING LOYALTY TO SUPERSTIONS AND ANCIENT LORE. IT IS AN ATTEMPT TO UNDERSTAND, BEYOND RELIGION, WHAT THESE EARLY SETTLERS BELIEVED, HUDDLED AROUND THOSE CABIN HEARTHS, AND TOLD AND RE-TOLD ON COLD WINTER NIGHTS, ISOLATED ON THEIR MUSKOKA ACREAGE. JUST LIKE US, THEY HELD FIRMLY TO THEIR LIFE-LONG BELIEFS AND VALUES......AND THAT INCLUDED WITCHES.....AS DID MOST CULTURES AT THAT TIME.

The Wild Wood As An Adversary To The Pioneer Character

SEASONS OF THE LILAC 

THE WILD WOODS AS MAGNIFICENT - THE WILD WOODS AS AN ADVERSARY

     "I SLEPT AND DREAMED THAT LIFE WAS BEAUTY; I AWOKE AND FOUND THAT LIFE WAS DUTY."

     THE PASSAGE ABOVE, WAS WRITTEN BY AMERICAN WRITER, ELLEN STURGIS HOOPER.

     A NEIGHBOR OPENED HER DOOR, AT SUNRISE, WALKED OVER THE BACK VERANDAH, DOWN ALONG THE PATIO STONES AGAINST THE GARAGE, STEPPED OUT THROUGH THE FENCE-GATE IN HER HOUSECOAT, AND DECLARED, IN A CLEAR, AND SOMEWHAT LOUD VOICE, "WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY!" IT WASN'T A QUESTION. IT WAS A CLEAR ENDORSEMENT OF WHAT NATURE WAS PROVIDING HER, IN ACCEPTABLE CLIMATE, FOR WHATEVER PLANS SHE HAD FOR THE DAY. RATHER, THIS IS WHAT I ASSUMED, BASED ON THE LAW OF AVERAGES, OF PEOPLE MAKING COMMENTS ABOUT THE PREVAILING WEATHER SITUATION. I CONCURRED WITH HER APPROVAL, ALTHOUGH, I'M SURE OUT THERE, SOMEONE WAS HOPING FOR A RAIN SHOWER INSTEAD. WE ALL HAVE OUR PASSIONS, AND OUR DEFINITION OF WHAT MAKES A PERFECT DAY, FOR THE ENTERPRISE, OR LACK OF ONE, WE HAVE PLANNED.

     THIS MORNING THERE WAS A THICK MIST OVER THE MOOR, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. I WAS OVER ON THE EMBANKMENT OF THE BOG, WHEN THE SUN FIRST BEGAN BLEEDING THROUGH THE QUICKLY RISING AND DISIPATING MORNING FOG. IT WAS A STRIKINGLY BEAUTIFUL SCENE, AND THE SOUND OF THE BABBLING CREEKS, AND TINY CATARACTS SITUATED THROUGHOUT THE LOWLAND, MADE THIS URBAN OASIS, VERY MUCH A THOREAUESQUE WALDEN; WHERE FOR A MOMENT OF PRECIOUS SOLITUDE, THERE WAS NO MAN-MADE INTRUSION. NO RIP-SNORT OF CHAIN SAW, BACK-FIRING LAWNMOWER ENGINE, LEAF BLOWER, DUMP TRUCK, OR EVEN LOUD COFFEE-TIME CONVERSATION. SON ROBERT SHOWED UP WITH HIS CAMERA, TO CAPTURE THE SCENE; THE WAY THE MIST WAS RISING FROM THE GROUND, UP THROUGH THE CAT-TAILS AND TALL FIELD GRASSES, TURNED GOLDEN AS THE BIRCH LEAVES ON THE FAR RIDGE.      IT REMINDED ME OF MY YOUNGER DAYS, SITTING ON A FALLEN LOG, OR DISPLACED CABIN TIMBER, UNFOLDING MY PARCEL WITH A NOTEPAD AND PEN WRAPPED TIGHTLY WITHIN, AND MAKING MY COPIOUS NOTES ABOUT THE AMAZING INTRICACIES OF THESE RURAL PLACES. THE OLD HOMESTEADS, WHERE EMIGRANTS ARRIVED, TO TAME THE PRIMAL FORESTS, FOR THEIR AGRICULTURAL FUTURES. LOOKING OUT OVER THE BOG, THIS MORNING, I GET THE SAME FEELING, AS I DID THEN, THAT WHAT WAS VISIBLE AS THE HOMESTEAD ACREAGE, WAS THIS SIMILAR MIX OF ADVERSE LAND CONDITIONS. BOGS, LOWLANDS AND SWAMPS WERE NOT UNCOMMON ON THESE HOMESTEAD PARCELS, AND VALUABLE, ARABLE FARMLAND, IN MUCH LESS ABUNDANCE, THAN IN MORE SOUTHERLY PARTS OF THE PROVINCE. THIS IS NOT TO SUGGEST, THERE WASN'T DECENT AGRICULTURAL LAND TO BE FOUND IN MUSKOKA, BUT NOT AS IT WOULD BE, IN WHAT WE KNOW TODAY, FOR EXAMPLE, AS THE VAST FERTILE HOLLOW OF THE HOLLAND MARSH. MUSKOKA HAD A NEAR FAIRYLAND SCENERY, AND REPUTATION, THAT GRACED THE PAGES OF MAGAZINES LIKE "PICTURESQUE CANADA," WITH HIGHLY EXAGGERATED ENTRIES INTO BOOKS LIKE "SPORTSMEN'S PARADISE," AND MANY HUNDREDS OF SIMILAR, LATE 1800'S PUBLICATIONS, WITH MASSIVE CIRCULATION TO THOSE EAGER TO EXPERIENCE THE CANADIAN WILDERNESS. BUT WHAT MADE THE REGION SPECTACULAR, AND A HEALTHY RETREAT, FOR THE URBAN WEARY, ADVENTURERS, AND KEEN HUNTERS AND ANGLERS, DID NOT MIRROR, EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITIES FOR HOMESTEADING, IN THE AGRICULTURAL SENSE. WHAT LOOKED "PRETTY AS A PICTURE," WAS A RUGGED, HILLY, CONTOURED, TREED, ISOLATED LAKELAND, WITH MANY INHERENT DANGERS, THAT DID HAVE MINOR POTENTIAL FOR AGRICULTURE, IN TERMS OF LIVESTOCK ACCOMMODATION. IT ALSO HAD BEAR AND RATTLESNAKES TO MAKE LIFE INTERESTING.

    THE EMIGRANTS UNFORTUNATELY, DIDN'T HAVE THE ADVANTAGE OF KNOWING THIS TOO FAR IN ADVANCE, OF ACCEPTING THE CLAIMS OF CANADIAN LAND AGENTS WORKING ABROAD, AND AFFORDING THEIR FAMILY'S PASSAGE TO THE LAND OF WIDE-SPREAD OPPORTUNITY. AND MANY ARRIVED IN MUSKOKA, AND RECEIVED A HOMESTEAD ALLOTMENT, THAT IN MANY TOPOGRAPHICAL WAYS, LOOKED LIKE THIS MORNING'S BOG-SCAPE, NOW VISIBLE AS THE FOG LIFTS. IF THIS HAD BEEN A HOMESTEAD, THE FOREST WOULD HAVE BEEN CUT DOWN, THE ROOTS EXCAVATED, AND BURNED AWAY, THE LAND CLEARED OF ROCK AND NATURAL WASTE, AND THEN CULTIVATED FOR THE FIRST YEAR'S CROP. THE CABIN WOULD HAVE BEEN CONSTRUCTED ON THE BANK OF THE BOG, AS WOULD THE OUT-BUILDINGS. THE HOMESTEAD, IF NICK THE GREEK HAD BEEN CALLING THE ODDS, WOULD HAVE RANKED ITS POTENTIAL FOR SUCCESS, AT ONE OUT OF A HUNDRED (OR GREATER), AND PROSPER ONLY ENOUGH, TO PROVIDE THE FAMILY WITH MEAGRE PROVISIONS; THE MALES OF THE FAMILY HAVING TO WORK IN THE LUMBER CAMPS, IN THE WINTER, TO UNDER-PIN THE FAILURES OF THE HOMESTEAD ECONOMY. THE ODDS, AS THEY SAY, WERE STACKED FROM THE BEGINNING; BUT WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT FROM A FREE GRANT SETTLEMENT PROGRAM, BASED ON LIES, AND MISREPRESENTATION, AS ITS STANDARD FARE. BUT THEN, HAVING BEEN A FOLLOWER OF THIS BLOG, FOR SOME TIME, YOU ARE AWARE OF MY BIAS, ABOUT THE WAY NUMEROUS LEVELS OF GOVERNMENT, AND EVEN STEAMSHIP LINE AGENTS, OVER-SOLD THE BENEFITS OF GETTING A HUNDRED ACRES OF FREE LAND. WHAT REMAINS, TODAY, IS THAT THIS LARGELY MISUNDERSTOOD, UNDER-RECOGNIZED SETTLEMENT DEBACLE, IN MUSKOKA, REMAINS A HIDDEN, PRECARIOUSLY BALANCED, POLITICAL DISASTER IN WAITING. AN ANALOGY I OFFER, AS A BOOK COLLECTOR, I SEE THE BURIED "URBAN VERSUS RURAL" ISSUE, PERCHED ON A THINLY ANCHORED FOUNDATION. IT WOULD BE LIKE HAVING THREE OF THE BOTTOM BOOKS, OF A FLOOR TO CHEST-HIGH, PILE OF BOOKS, PLACED IN A SERIOUSLY ASKEW FASHION. WEAKENING IT AS THE PILE GETS HIGHER. THE SIDES ARE STRESSED, AND THE BOTTOM WILL PROVE UNRELIABLE. THE FOUNDATION PLATFORM OF THE LARGE STACK, OFFERS THE ILLUSION, THE BOOKS ARE SECURE. THEY MAY APPEAR, AT FIRST GLANCE, TO BE SAFELY STANDING, AND INDEPENDENT, AND LOOK GOOD ENOUGH AT THE TOP, TO MAKE IT SEEM, ALL IS WELL; YET IT IS A DANGEROUS MISCONCEPTION. THESE BOOKS WON'T TOPPLE-OVER! UNLESS OF COURSE, THE FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY, OF APPEARANCE, DULLS THE SENSE OF PROPORTION, AND EVEN MORE BOOKS ARE RECKLESSLY PILED ON TOP. OVER TIME, THE ASKEW BOOKS ON THE BOTTOM, BECOME PRECARIOUS TO THE FUTURE BALANCE, AND EVEN A JOG ACROSS THE FLOOR, BY THE FAMILY PET, COULD SEND THE TOWER OF TEXTS, CAREENING INTO OTHER STACKED BOOKS; AND THE BOOK COLLECTOR IS THUSLY RE-INTRODUCED TO THE DOMINO INFLUENCE HE OR SHE LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN PLAYTIME. A LOT OF BOOKS GET SCATTERED ON THE FLOOR, AND SOME HAVE THEIR COVERS DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR.

     IN TERMS OF HOW OUR MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENTS SEE THEIR BUSINESS OF THE DAY, THE PRIORITY CONCERN IS THAT THEY HAVE MONEY AVAILABLE TO COVER PROMISED, ESSENTIAL SERVICES TO CONSTITUENTS. THEY KNOW THAT, OF ALL THE TAX PAYING CONSTITUENTS, THE COTTAGE COMMUNITY IS PROBABLY PAYING THE MOST FOR THE PRIVILEGE, OF OWNING WATERFRONT PROPERTY, IN THIS INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN VACATION LAND. I HATE THIS DESCRIPTION, BUT IT'S A FACT OF LIFE HERE. BUSINESS AND INDUSTRIAL TAXATION IS A BIG DEAL, AS IS URBAN AREA TAX REVENUE. IN TERMS OF TAXES TO BE HARVESTED, THE RURAL REGION OF OUR MUNICIPALITIES, IS A LESSER RESOURCE, (THEY MIGHT NOT THINK THIS IS A BARGAIN) BECAUSE OF THE SMALLER POPULATION. THESE RURAL RESIDENTS AREN'T ON SEWER AND WATER, AND THEREFORE, CAN'T BE TAXED FOR HAVING "SERVICED" RESIDENTIAL AND COMMERCIAL LOTS. THERE ARE RUMBLINGS NOW AND AGAIN, ABOUT HAVING THE RURAL RESIDENTS SHOULDER SOME OF THESE SERVICE EXPENSE BURDENS, ESPECIALLY AS URBAN NEEDS GROW, BUT EACH TIME THE ISSUE EVEN SLIGHTLY THE RIPPLES THIS WAY, IT ATTRACTS AN ALMOST INSTANT, AGGRESSIVE RESPONSE BACK. NO WAY, SO GO AWAY!

     GETTING BACK TO THE ASKEW BOOKS, ON THE BOTTOM OF MY STACK OF READING MATERIAL. I MIGHT PRESENTLY HAVE, ONE OR TWO STACKS NEAR MY LIVING ROOM CHAIR, WHICH MAKES MY WIFE VERY ANGRY. THE ASTUTE BOOK SCULPTOR, TO PROTECT HIS COLLECTION FROM TOPPLING, WOULD FIRST, CORRECT THE POORLY PILED BOOKS ON THE BOTTOM. IT WOULDN'T MATTER THAT THEY WERE ADEQUATELY SUPPORTING THE PILE, EVEN HOLDING FIRM, MANY, MANY TEXTS. IT WOULD JUST SEEM, THE RIGHT THING TO DO, IN ORDER TO MAKE SURE, ANTIQUE BOOKS WERE BEING STORED IN A SAFE MANNER. (MOST BOOK COLLECTORS WILL DO THIS, BUT NEVER OFFER THIS AS A CONFESSIONAL OF PAST BAD BEHAVIOUR). CALL IT PREVENTATIVE MAINTENANCE. YET, FROM FIRST HAND EXPERIENCE, I HAVE NEGLECTED THESE SITUATIONS MANY TIMES, AND HAVE LIVED WITH THE FALL-OUT, OF HAVING MY PRIZED BOOKS DAMAGED FROM IMPACT OF A CONSIDERABLE FALL, AND SUBSEQUENT CRUNCH, WITH OTHER BOOKS. FIRST, AS SUZANNE POINTS OUT TO ME, THAT'S WHY BOOK SHELVES WERE CREATED. AND SECONDLY, WHY, IF WE HAVE TO LIVE WITH BOOKS, OR ANYTHING ELSE SMALL, AND OF VOLUME, THAT REQUIRES A SOLID PLATFORM TO BUILD "UP", THAT THOSE ASKEW BOOKS I MENTIONED, SHOULD, AT ALL EXPENSE OF TIME AND EFFORT, BE CORRECTED. TO BE AT THE SAME ANGLE OF PLACEMENT, AS ALL THE OTHERS. STILL, THERE IS A HEIGHT LIMIT, WHICH I HAVE EXCEEDED MANY TIMES. BUT THERE IS ALWAYS CONSEQUENCE.

     THE NAGGING PROBLEM IN MUSKOKA, AS I'M SURE WITH MANY OTHER NORTHERN AREAS, SETTLED WITH A SIMILAR FREE LAND GRANT OFFERING, IN THE MID 1800'S, IS THAT THE PROBLEMS ASSOCIATED WITH RURAL OCCUPATION, AND RESIDENCY, CORRESPOND TO THE ANALOGY SITUATION, OF MY ASKEW BOOK PILES. I'M WILLING TO BET, THAT A MAJORITY OF MUNICIPAL COUNCIL HOPEFULS, RUNNING FOR ELECTION, OR RE-ELECTION, WITH THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA, LATER IN OCTOBER, OF THIS YEAR, WOULD FIND WHAT I HAVE JUST WRITTEN, QUITE OUT OF ORDER, AND RIDICULOUS. HOW COULD AN 1850'S, TO 1870'S (EVEN TO THE 1880'S), INEFFICIENCY, AND GENUINELY BAD START IN THE HOME DISTRICT, INFLUENCE THE POLITICS OF CONTEMPORARY TIMES? THE CROP OF HOMESTEADERS, BEING GENERALLY POOR SOULS, BROUGHT AS URBAN REFUGEES, FROM THE URBAN AREAS OF COUNTRIES OVERSEAS, TO SETTLE THE OPEN LAND OF CANADA, (PARTLY TO STOP THE AMERICAN AGGRESSION FOR BROADER BORDERS), HOW SHOULD THEY HAVE FARED? THE SOCIAL / CULTURAL INFLUENCES OVER MANY GENERATIONS, HAVE CREATED, WHAT I BELIEVE, IS A CLEARLY "ASKEW" WAY OF DEALING WITH RURAL CONSTITUENTS GENERALLY. WHILE COUNCILLORS MAY POINT TO PLANNING DOCUMENTS AND POLICY DECISIONS, THEY'VE HAMMERED OUT, AS MITIGATION ATTEMPTS TO DEAL WITH INEQUALITIES, AIMED AT IMPROVING LIFE FOR RURAL DWELLERS, IT'S STILL NOT BASED ON THE GENUINE INTEREST, IN HOW THE PILED UP POLICIES AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS, FOR ALL OF THESE YEARS, HAVE CREATED AN UNSTABLE PLATFORM, ON WHICH TO BUILD ANYTHING. THIS WILL GENERATE PROBLEMS SOONER OR LATER, AND THE FIRST AND MAJOR ISSUE, IS GOING TO BE FUTURE TAXATION INCREASES, BECAUSE THE MUNICIPALITIES WILL NEED MORE REVENUE. AND WELL, THE RURAL RESIDENTS ARE THE LOW HANGING FRUIT.

     THERE IS NO WAY OF GIVING RESTITUTION NOW, FOR ALL THE WRONGS THAT WERE COMMITTED BY THE OFFICIALS OF THIS HOMESTEAD PERIOD. THERE IS NO WAY OF MAKING IT UP TO SURVIVING FAMILIES, OF THESE COURAGEOUS HOMESTEADERS, WHO SUFFERED GREATLY, BECAUSE OF GOVERNMENT MISTRUTHS, THAT LED THEM TO A REGION GENERALLY UNSUITED FOR FARMING. MANY FOUND THIS OUT, TOO LATE, AND EITHER PERISHED THE RESULT OF STARVATION, FROZE TO DEATH, DIED OR WERE INJURED IN LOGGING CAMP, AND RIVER DRIVE ACCIDENTS, OR PERISHED WELL BEFORE THEIR TIME, DUE TO EXHAUSTION. URBAN REFUGEES, YOU SEE, WERE AN AFFORDABLE MEANS TO AN END. THE LAND WAS SETTLED. HOMESTEAD GARDENS, WHILE SMALL, DID PRODUCE A HARVEST. PIONEERS, THROUGH GREAT AMBITION AND FAITH, MADE THE BEST OF THEIR CIRCUMSTANCES. THEY FOUND WAYS TO EARN MONEY, AND TRADE FOR PROVISIONS, FOR SERVICES RENDERED. THEY WENT OFF TO THE LOGGING CAMPS TO EARN EXTRA FUNDS, FOR HOMESTEAD SURVIVAL. THEY CATERED TO THE BUDDING TOURIST ECONOMY, PROVIDING WOOD FOR BUILDING RESORTS AND COTTAGES, AND FRESH PRODUCE, WHEN IT WAS AVAILABLE, AND IN ABUNDANCE, TO THIS SAME EXPANDING INDUSTRY. THEY EVEN CAME TO WORK FOR HOTELIERS, AS GROUNDSKEEPERS, AND COOKS. THE HOMESTEADERS HAD A HELL OF A BIG ROLE TO PLAY IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE TOURIST INDUSTRY IN MUSKOKA, BUT YOU WILL HAVE A HARD TIME FINDING THIS INFORMATION OUT, READING THROUGH LOCAL HISTORIES. I KNOW, BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN STUDYING THE HOMESTEAD PERIOD OF MUSKOKA HISTORY FOR A LONG TIME, AND SPENT AN EQUAL PROPORTION OF RESEARCH TIME, WANDERING AROUND THE ABANDONED PIONEER ENCAMPMENTS OF THIS DISTRICT, INVESTIGATING THE TRUTHFUL PROFILE, OF WHAT IT REALLY MEANT TO BE A PIONEER. WITHOUT THE SENTIMENTAL, NOSTALGIA CRAP ATTACHED. IT SURE WASN'T GLAMOROUS. BUT IT WAS FULL OF HARDSHIP AND SUFFERING.

     THIS TRUTHFULNESS, OF HOW WE GOT TO THIS LEVEL IN OUR HISTORY, REPRESENTS THE ASKEW BOOKS, MENTIONED EARLIER. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THERE IS STILL CONSIDERABLE MISTRUST, BETWEEN URBAN AND RURAL RESIDENTS, AND POLITICAL BIAS, AS RELATES TO TAX DOLLAR COLLECTING, AND ALLOCATION TO FINANCE IMPROVEMENTS, BASED ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE URBAN AND RURAL ECONOMIC CLIMATE. I HAVE BEEN AT THE CENTRE OF THESE DISCUSSIONS, MANY TIMES, WHEN I WAS COVERING LOCAL MUNICIPAL COUNCILS. NOT ONCE, DID ANY COUNCILLOR, OR PLANNING STAFF, MEMBER, THINK IT WORTHWHILE, TO CONSULT WITH A REGIONAL HISTORIAN; WHO JUST MIGHT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO SHED SOME LIGHT, ON WHY, HUNDREDS OF YEARS LATER, THERE IS STILL A DEEP RIFT BETWEEN RURAL AND URBAN DWELLERS. ASKEW BOOKS, REALLY DOESN'T PROPERLY ADDRESS, HOW SERIOUS THIS ISSUE WILL BECOME, TWENTY YEARS FROM NOW, WHEN WHAT IS NOW HINTERLAND, AND WHAT MAKES MUSKOKA ATTRACTIVE TO OUR VISITORS, BECOMES MORE HEAVILY DEVELOPED, AND INITIATES CHANGES IN LAND USE POLICIES. CAN IT ALL COME DOWN TO THE WRONGS OF THE GOVERNMENT OF CANADA, AND THE PROVINCE OF ONTARIO, FOR LIEING TO EMIGRANTS, ABOUT THE GREAT LAND OPPORTUNITIES IN THE COLONY? IN MY MIND, WITH WHAT I KNOW, YES INDEED. IT GOES ALL THE WAY BACK, AND THE ONLY REAL REGRET, IS THAT HISTORIANS OF THIS REGION, HAVEN'T BANDED TOGETHER LONG BEFORE NOW, TO FORCE MUNICIPAL REPRESENTATIVES TO FACE HISTORICAL REALITIES; INSTEAD OF FOBBING-THEM-OFF, AS OLD NEWS WITHOUT ANY HINGE TO THE FUTURE. I SHOULD HAVE EMBARKED ON THIS PROJECT A LOT SOONER, BECAUSE TODAY, IT IS A FAR MORE BURDENSOME, COMPLICATED PATH BACK, TO FIX EVERYTHING THAT IS ASKEW. YET EVERYTHING THAT IS MISUNDERSTOOD, AND OR, TAKEN FOR GRANTED, CAN BECOME THE DIRE CIRCUMSTANCES OF IMBALANCE, AND "THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE."

     THE FIRST STEP AT RECONCILIATION, IS TO FORM COMMITTEES, WITH CONSTITUENT PARTICIPATION, TO ADDRESS RURAL ISSUES, PAST AND PRESENT. IT WOULDN'T FIX EVERYTHING UP, BUT I THINK IT WOULD BE NICE TO KNOW, THAT STATUS QUO IN THIS REGARD, WAS THE FIRST ASKEW SITUATION TO BE RECTIFIED. GIVING THE RURAL RESIDENTS A VOICE, BEYOND THEIR COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE, IS GOOD FOR THE WHOLE MUNICIPALITY. TRYING TO CONVINCE COUNCILS TO TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY? NICK THE GREEK MIGHT HAVE PUT "MILLION TO ONE ODDS" ON THIS KIND OF SUMMIT EVER HAPPENING. SUFFICE THAT STUBBORN HISTORICAL-TYPES, LIKE ME, ARE WILLING TO PUT IT ON PUBLIC RECORD, AS BEING A WRONG OF HISTORY, THAT CONTINUES TO CORRUPT RELATIONS TO THIS DAY. ME THINKS, SOME BELIEVE IT IS JUST AS EASY, IN TERMS OF A RESOLUTION, TO JUST KEEP ON PICKING-UP WHAT TOPPLES OVER, AND STARTING THE SAME WAY, WITH THE VERY NEXT REALIGNMENT. LIKE PUTTING SHINGLES ON A ROTTEN ROOF STRUCTURE. IT HAPPENS, AND LIVING CONSEQUENCE FREE, JUST ISN'T POSSIBLE, FOREVER.

     THIS BRINGS ME TO THE POINT OF THE PAST FIVE BLOGS, AND THE TWO PREAMBLES BEFORE THEM. STUDYING MUSKOKA HOMESTEADS AND THE PIONEER PERIOD IN MUSKOKA, HAS BEEN MY CHOICE OF HERITAGE PROJECTS, DATING BACK TO THE MID 1970'S. IT HAS INFLUENCED MY WORK AND COLLECTING INTERESTS IN THE ANTIQUE PROFESSION, AND VERY MUCH THE SAME, IN MY CHOICE OF WRITING ASSIGNMENTS. IT IS ALWAYS MY BACKGR0UND STIMULUS, FOR NEW RESEARCH PROJECTS WITH A VERY OLD THEME. I LOVE IT. I THRIVE ON THE STUDY OF THIS PERIOD IN OUR HISTORY. AND NOT JUST IN MUSKOKA. EACH FORAY TURNS UP NEW INFORMATION, AND EACH NEW RESOURCE, LIKE AN ORIGINAL PIONEER JOURNAL OR DIARY, SHEDS A GLOW OF ILLUMINATION, LIKE MY OLD OIL LAMPS FROM THE SAME PERIOD, ON OTHER AREAS OF STUDY I'VE NEGLECTED OR MISSED ALTOGETHER. I HAVE TIME, IN MOST OF THESE CASES, TO MAKE AMENDS, AND INFILL WHERE IT IS NEEDED. THE REWARD FOR PURSUING THIS, IS THAT ONE DAY, PUBLIC RECORD OF THIS PART OF HISTORY, WILL BETTER ASSIST FUTURE HISTORIANS, AND MAYBE EVEN MUNICIPAL POLITICIANS.

     I AM SO SMITTEN BY THE STUDY OF THE HOMESTEAD PERIOD, THAT IT DOES, SUBLTY, AND AT TIMES PROFOUNDLY, AFFECT MOST OTHER WRITING I ENGAGE IN, INCLUDING MANY OF THE LANDSCAPE PIECES I ENJOY PENNING FOR SHEER RECREATION. READERS WILL ALWAYS BE ABLE TO DETECT THIS SENSITIVITY, WHEN GOING THROUGH THESE EDITORIAL PIECES. IT MAY BE UNDERSTOOD, THEN, THAT IT HAS BEEN A CAREER INFILTRATION, AND NOT JUST A PASSING FANCY OF A GOOD STORY-LEAD, THAT KEEPS ME ON, WHAT FOR SOME, MAY APPEAR, THE SAME DOG-EARRED PAGE; A SORT OF STALEMATE OF CREATIVITY. I NEVER SEE IT THIS WAY, BUT POSSIBLY IT'S TRUE. I BELIEVE THERE IS A LOT MORE TO THE HOMESTEAD CHRONICLE TO GARNER, THAT WILL BENEFIT FUTURE GROWTH, AND STRENGTHEN REGIONAL IDENTITY; THAT FRANKLY, IS BEING EASILY MANIPULATED BY THE NEW VESTED INTEREST, MAKING RIDICULOUS CUT-OUTS OF THE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE, TO SUPPORT THEIR INDUSTRY OBJECTIVES. PROFIT. THIS IS WHAT IT COMES DOWN TO, ONCE AGAIN! I HATE WHEN THESE LIBERTIES ARE TAKEN, AND I DON'T CARE WHETHER THE PROPONENTS OF THIS BULL-CRAP APPRECIATE MY INTERVENTIONS OR NOT. THERE HAS ALREADY BEEN DAMAGE CAUSED BY UNTRUTHS AND MISREPRESENTATIONS, SUCH THAT THEY HAVE ACTUALLY BECOME DEEPLY IMBEDDED IN OUR SOCIAL / CULTURAL IDENTITY. I'M REFERRING TO THE WHOLE HOMESTEAD DEBACLE. I SIMPLY CAN'T REMAIN QUIET, OR PRINT-RESTRICTED, WHEN THESE FOR-PROFIT BASTARDIZATIONS OF OUR HERITAGE, ARE MADE ON THE BACKS, OF ALL THOSE WHO WERE THE TRUE PROGRESSIVES, OF THE BACKWOODS MUSKOKA EXPERIENCE. YUP, IT'S THAT IMPORTANT.

A DISCUSSION WITH AN AUTHOR ABOUT THE DARK - LIGHT SIDES OF NATURAL EXPERIENCE

     Muskoka author Robert Rea, although he would find this hard to believe, brought me around to a new way of thinking about nature. Seeing as my preoccupation with the settlement years of district history, intimately involved nature for nature's sake, I never worried too much about the durability of my knowledge of both homestead realities, and the dynamic of the four seasons, on the settlers' ability to survive. I didn't expect to be challenged, to re-think my understanding of pioneer emotions, as related to how nature was interpreted by these brave souls. The chosen land, for their prosperity. The evil terrain of constant misfortune. I knew the basics. I was writing about it frequently, for publications, and it was up for debate with my colleagues. And then, by happenstance, Robert Rea asked if I could edit through his novel, "View to the North," and beyond making corrections where required, offering some advice on the publishing game, and how he might be able to market the text if he followed the course of self-publication. I'm not going to analyze the story that unfolds, in a rural / cottage setting near Bracebridge, other than to highlight the undertow of these perceptions of nature; which as the story reveals, affects the way some of the characters respond, individually, and in a neighborhood, family collective. I began asking about this under-current, that virtually creates a buried character, of nature itself, brandishing what nature can, on the environs. We got into a minor squabble about this, because I felt it incumbent to defend what I had been promoting for decades, about the man versus nature conflict in those homestead survival scenarios.

    Robert, the son of Phyllis Rea, a former guidance department secretary, at Bracebridge High School (circa early 1970's) who helped in so many ways, get me through my courses of study, and into university, was challenging some of my most accepted, anchored opinions, about what role nature was playing, beyond its obvious trump cards; of harsh, long winters, late frosts, early frosts, beating-down storms, floods, lightning ignited fires, deep snow, deep frost in the soil, until late in the spring, and oh so much more, beyond the pretty face of days like the one we're having today in Muskoka. He, in several profound ways, in what was actually a very short conversation, gave nature a much more definable identity, that I had never thought about in those terms. Much as the devil within a dramatic scenario. A soft, gentle nature, with the evil horns and hell fire of the devil. The homesteaders, would have been most vulnerable in this way; taking the gentleness as a sign, a gift from God, to advance their homestead; the wicked storm, that ripped the roof off their cabins, and destroyed their crops, the strong hand of evil unfettered.

     What he brought into his story, was the conflicted situation, that, to his characters in the novel, nature was both the hero and the villain, but never truly benign; a friend as an enemy. Interwoven, and dependent on the confluences with humankind. As a sunny day might make most of us feel contented, and positive, there are others who feel it is the exact opposite, in sensory perception, at the parallel peak of experience. The same, as on a day of inclement weather, one voyeur feels upbeat at the dull, darkened environs, while the other, who had felt giddy in the sunshine, comes to be depressed by the grip of bad weather. This isn't new by any means, and philosophers a thousand years ago, had figured out the way weather and nature affected human emotions. I had just never applied this, to the study of the homesteaders of the late 1850's onward, and how depression and positivism collided constantly, like logs in a river jam. First of all, the emigrants were not aware of just how intimate they would have to become with the nature as it presented on the North American continent. The settlers were not farmers in Britain and Europe, yet they were recruited to be farmers, in a hostile environment; and largely because they weren't aware what obstacles stood in the way, of actually succeeding on the frontier, as new farmers. Instead of looking out their windows at an urban landscape, they looked out from their cabin doorway, and saw a wild and isolated environment, with many inherent dangers. What was the mental health profile, of these ill-prepared, city weary, poor emigrants, when handed the rights to a property that grew trees, rock and water, but would never attain much else as a farmstead, other than to extend basic provisions of fruit, vegetables, and hay for assorted livestock. How did they battle the depression of being isolated, and being so far removed from their former lifestyle and family? One family member may have been keen to emigrate, but not all were convinced. How did these reluctant homesteaders, cope with the burdens of isolation and hardship, which was day to day, without much in the way of reprieve. Many never benefitted from improvement of circumstances. They either died, or abandoned their farmsteads.

     Robert Rea fascinated me, because beyond the normal, expected connections, and relations between characters, in his novel, nature would become a key player, however invisible, in the actions and reactions of good neighbors and old friends. It might be said, that this is an obvious situation. I would agree. But how easily it is forgotten, in this context. We say, when asked about the weather, "It's raining outside." Or, "It's damn hot," or "Damn cold!" "Yup, it's nice and sunny," and within a second or two, "Oh look, it's started to rain again." All very rudimentary and anticipated of the human interaction with weather; with nature. But framing it, as a homesteader, some much more reluctant to be on the Muskoka frontier, could well have experienced nature as both friend and adversary in a far more intimate manner. In other words, it was an entity. Not just the seasons of the year, and hours of the day. Nature had a definable character, if not an imagined face, like story book artists portray the strained face of the "North Wind," and the growl of "Winter."

     I don't think that Robert Rea believed me, when I told him much later, that I had benefitted a great deal, from our impasse about nature, and its influences, and that in re-thinking the situation, had changed what I believed was, for me anyway, etched in stone. Not that we were far apart, from the beginning, but just in the way I looked at the environment / nature, as a more abstract influence; without ever considering it whittled down to what someone else, might interpret its interventions, as being positive or entirely negative. How could I understand the pioneers, if I didn't respect their interpretations of nature; their leaning on the Bible to give them strength to endure what they believed, were life and death battles with the elements. Good nature, bad nature.

     He might suggest, after reading this explanation, that I took it way beyond what he was trying to achieve for his story. But that's the way philosophies broaden and deepen, based on interpretation, and usefulness to explain what to that point, seemed to hard to satisfy in mind. Nature can make people crazy. Nature can make people happy. Nature can grow things, and kill things, without warning, and delight us with its warmth, one minute, and sweep us away in its bluster, seconds later. We are invigorated and inspired by nature, and sent scurrying for cover, when its wrath is unclenched. We are of nature's ilk. We are as much the undertow, as we are the offspring, and the harvest. It's all in the interpretation. It is all in the philosophy. It is all around us.

     "Though love repine, and reason chafe, There came a voice without reply - 'Tis man's perdition to be safe. When for the truth he ought to die." (Emerson, in New England)

     Thank you so much for visiting with me today. It's always a pleasure. I mean this sincerely.

THE HOMESTEAD KITCHEN, THE COOK - AND SOME 1897 COOKERY WISDOM YOU MAY NOT HAVE KNOWN

SURVIVAL DEPENDED ON THE CAPABILITIES OF THE HOME COOK TO STRETCH PROVISIONS

     "EMIGRATION TO THE PROVINCE OF ONTARIO - (BRITISH PUBLICATION AIMED AT POTENTIAL SETTLERS) - OUR BRITISH AND OLD COUNTRY READERS, NO DOUBT, ARE AWARE THAT THERE IS SUCH A COUNTRY AS CANADA, ALTHOUGH WHERE IT IS, AND WHAT IT IS LIKE,  MANY OF THEM DO NOT KNOW, EXCEPT BY LOOKING AT A MAP OF THE AMERICAN CONTINENT. TO ALL SUCH WHO MAY DESIRE TO MEND THEIR PRESENT POSITION, TO BECOME FREEHOLDERS, INSTEAD OF LEASEHOLDERS, OR ANNUAL TENANTS, TO OWN A FARM OF THEIR OWN, INSTEAD OF SITTING UNDER THE SHADOW OF WILL OF A LANDLORD, TO THOSE WHO CANNOT GET LEASES WHATEVER THEIR IMPROVEMENTS MAY BE, AND WHO, IN SHORT, FEEL TOO INDEPENDENT FOR THEIR PRESENT POSITION, WE SAY UNHESITATINGLY, 'COME TO CANADA,' AND COME TO THE PROVINCE OF ONTARIO, CANADA. TAKE SHIPPING TO QUEBEC OR MONTREAL, THEN TAKE THE GRAND TRUNK RAILROAD FOR TORONTO, AND FROM TORONTO SET OUT ON THE IMMEDIATE EXPLORATION FOR A NEW HOME." KEEP IN MIND, A LARGE PERCENTAGE OF SETTLERS COULD NOT READ, LET ALONE UNDERSTAND DETAILS OF MAP READING. AND YES INDEED, IT IS TRUE, THAT BOTH ILLITERACY AND LANGUAGE BARRIERS (EG. ICELANDERS) CREATED HUGE OPPORTUNITIES, FOR THESE IMMIGRANTS TO BE TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF....FROM BEGINNING OF THEIR OVERSEAS JOURNEY, TO CANADA, AND INTO THE HEART OF MUSKOKA. RIPPED OFF FOR AN ENTIRE JOURNEY.

    AND HOW COULD ANY POOR SOUL RESIST A LINE LIKE THIS: "ONTARIO HAS ALL SOILS, AND ALL SORTS OF SITUATIONS AVAILABLE. TO THE POOR MAN THE FREE GRANTS ARE OPEN, AND ALTHOUGH THE FOREST IS HARD TO CLEAR, YET WHEN THE SETTLER FEELS THAT EVERY STROKE OF HIS AXE IS A BLOW TOWARD INDEPENDENCE, THE LABOUR BECOMES LIGHT AND PLEASANT." THIS WAS PUBLISHED IN THE LATE 1860'S, IN ENGLAND, AND IT WAS THE PLAN, AS ENCOURAGED BY THE GOVERNMENTS OF CANADA AND ONTARIO, TO GET AS MANY IMMIGRANTS TO THE OPEN LANDS OF THE COUNTRY AS POSSIBLE.  THERE WAS A TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAY TO JUSTIFY, TO FINANCE AND TO BUILD, AND A NEWLY POPULATED LANDSCAPE, SEA TO SEA, WAS JUSTIFICATION FOR ALL KINDS OF CAPITAL SPECULATION......(JUST IN CASE THE AMERICANS WERE PLANNING ANOTHER ATTACK, LIKE THE WAR OF 1812, THERE WOULD BE SETTLERS TO JOIN MILITIAS, TO HOLD BACK THE FOE....WITH PITCHFORKS AND AXES)  THOSE GETTING MONEY FROM PUSHING THE IMMIGRATION PROJECT, INCLUDING THE STEAMSHIP AND RAIL LINES, ALL BENEFITTING FROM THE TRANSPORTATION BOOM, ATTACHED TO THE GOVERNMENT INITIATIVES,  HAD NO REAL INTEREST IN WHETHER OR NOT THE PROGRAM WAS ATTRACTING THE RIGHT OR WRONG KIND OF PEOPLE, TO HOMESTEAD AN UNCOMPROMISING, WILD FRONTIER.

      IT WAS ONE HELL OF AN EXPERIMENT, AND MANY LIVES WERE LOST AS A RESULT. THERE WERE TENS OF THOUSANDS OF SETTLERS, WHO SHOULD NEVER HAVE LEFT EUROPE, ARRIVING IN CANADA HAVING ABSOLUTELY NO EXPERIENCE FELLING GIANT PINE, OR RUNNING FARMSTEADS. THE GOVERNMENT OF ONTARIO, BELIEVED (AND IT IS STATED INA LATER AGRICULTURAL COMMISSION REPORT, RELEASED IN THE 1880'S) THAT BY THE 1880'S, THE HOMESTEAD GRANT EXPERIMENT HAD SUCCEEDED.....AND IT WAS ACKNOWLEDGED, LIKE SOLDIERS LOST IN WAR,  THERE WOULD BE CASUALTIES OF THE EFFORT......AND BY THEIR OWN SURVEY, TWO DECADES LATER,  DISCOVERED THAT THERE HAD BEEN WHAT CAN ONLY BE CONSIDERED,  A FIGURE NOT EXCEEDING WHAT HAD BEEN ANTICIPATED, AS "ACCEPTABLE LOSS." THERE WERE BOUND TO BE FAILURES AND LOSS OF LIFE, AS A RESULT, OF SUCH A MASSIVE PROGRAM OF SETTLING, WHAT SOME IMMIGRANTS SAW AS A LITERAL, HJOPELESS BARRENS.  OF COURSE THEY DON'T WORD IT PRECISELY THIS WAY, BUT WHAT DOES THAT MATTER. THEY WANTED TO PROVE THAT SETTLERS WOULD MAKE DO WITH WHAT POOR LAND THEY WERE AWARDED, AND IF THEY COULD ACHIEVE EVEN MODEST HOMESTEAD SUCCESS, IT WAS A WORTHY TEMPLATE, FOR THE OPENING UP OF EVEN MORE COMPROMISED TOPOGRAPHY, FURTHER NORTH AND WEST.

     THERE IS NO SENSITIVITY OR INTEREST IN ANY CALCULATION OF PERCENTAGES, DOCUMENTING THOSE SETTLERS WHO REMAINED ON THEIR FREE GRANT LAND, AS COMPARED TO THOSE WHO WERE FORCED TO ABANDON THEIR PROPERTIES OR STARVE TO DEATH. HOW MANY DIED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF COMING TO CANADA, AND MUSKOKA SPECIFICALLY. SOME NEVER MADE IT OFF THE BOATS ALIVE, TRUTH BE KNOWN. HONESTLY, IT'S WHY WE HAVE SUCH A POOR UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT THE PIONEERING PERIOD MEANT IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF A TRUE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE, FROM THE BEGINNING. IT WAS BRUTAL. THIS MUST BE UNDERSTOOD. SO WHEN I PAY MY SINCERE RESPECT, AS AN HISTORIAN, TO THOSE BRAVE SOULS, WHO STUCK IT OUT, AND LIVED TO RAISE FAMILIES ON THE SAME PROPERTY, OVER MANY GENERATIONS, I DO SO AS ONE WHO IS COMMITTED TO NEVER, EVER  ALLOW THEIR STORY TO BE MINIMIZED OR OBSCURED, BY OTHER MORE POPULAR, TRENDY HISTORIES, TAKING CENTRE STAGE THESE DAYS, IN OUR REGION.

     FOR ONE THING, I HAVE A GREAT AND UNFALTERING RESPECT FOR THE HOMESTEAD COOKS, WHO KEPT THEIR FAMILY MEMBERS FED.....THE BEST THEY COULD, WITH THE FEW FINANCIAL RESOURCES THEY WERE ABLE TO MUSTER. POOR IN EUROPE, POOR AND DESTITUTE IN MUSKOKA. MY IDEA OF A MUSKOKA THANKSGIVING, IS TO HONOR THESE STALWART PIONEERS WITH A WEE PRAYER OF THANKS, FOR GIVING US THE MUSKOKA WE CELEBRATE TODAY.

     I DEDICATE THIS BLOG, AND THE REST OF THE THANKSGIVING-WEEK COLUMNS, IN TRIBUTE OF OUR TRUE FOUNDING MOTHERS AND FATHERS...WHO KEPT THE HOME FIRES BURNING....AND A POT OF STEW SIMMERING THROUGH THE HOMESTEAD CHRONICLE. OUR PICTURESQUE, QUAINT LITTLE CEMETERIES, AT CROSSROAD  CHURCHYARDS, AND TUCKED BENEATH MAPLE AND PINE CANOPIES,  CONTAIN THE TOMBSTONES OF OUR BUILDERS...OUR UNSUNG LEADERS.....COMPRISING THE TRUE SPIRIT OF CANADA. THE NATION BUILDERS WE HAVE NEGLECTED FOR LONG AND LONG.

     THERE ARE ENOUGH STORIES, TALES AND LORE, OF PIONEER HARDSHIP, TO FILL A SUBSTANTIAL AND RATHER INTERESTING VOLUME OF LOCAL HISTORY. I'M THINKING ABOUT IT FOR A PROJECT SOME TIME DOWN THE ROAD. ONE AREA OF SUFFERING AND CORRESPONDING RESOURCEFULNESS (JUST TO SURVIVE ANOTHER DAY), OF WHICH I AM ESPECIALLY INTERESTED, IS OUR REGIONAL COOKERY HERITAGE; PARTICULARLY AS REGARDS THE PIONEER AND MOST ACTIVE FARMING PERIOD IN MUSKOKA.....EVEN STRETCHING INTO THE MODERN ERA. I AM A FRUSTRATED WANT-TO-BE FARMER, SO I LOOK FORWARD TO ANY OPPORTUNITY TO DELVE INTO FARM HISTORIES IN ONTARIO AND CANADA.       THE UNSUNG HEROES OF HISTORY, (IN MUSKOKA, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY) WERE THE HOMESTEAD, FARM AND CAMP COOKS, WHO OFTEN HAD TO WORK, AND MAKE DO, WITH VERY POOR AND MEAGER RESOURCES, INADEQUATE EQUIPMENT AND PROVISIONS, IN ORDER TO KEEP THEIR FAMILIES FROM STARVING TO DEATH. AND MAKE NO MISTAKE, THERE WERE SETTLERS WHO DIED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF BEING MALNOURISHED, AND SUSCEPTIBLE TO RELATED ILLNESSES. EQUALLY, ALTHOUGH YOU'D BE HARD PRESSED TO GET STATISTICS TO PROVE IT, FOOD POISONING TOOK ITS SHARE OF LIVES AS WELL. KEEPING FOOD FROM SPOILING, WAS A MAJOR DILEMMA IN THE EARLY DAYS, BEFORE ICE STORAGE WAS IMPROVED AND MADE MORE CONVENIENT FOR HOME USE.

    SETTLERS BY PRECARIOUS TRIAL AND ERROR, HAD TO LEARN THROUGH BASIC IMMERSION AND EXPERIENCE, IN THE WOODLANDS, WHAT NATURAL FLORA AND FAUNA WAS EDIBLE, AND WHAT, FOR EXAMPLE, COULD PROVE TO BE FATAL IF CONSUMED. FOR EXAMPLE, WHAT TYPE OF MUSHROOM WAS EDIBLE, AND WHAT WAS POISONOUS TO HUMANS. WHICH AMOUNTED TO A "DEATH-WISH," IF ONE MADE THE MISTAKE OF MISIDENTIFICATION. I HAVE READ PIONEER ACCOUNTS OF THOSE WHO BECAME MORTALLY ILL, AFTER CONSUMING POISONOUS MUSHROOMS, OUT OF IGNORANCE AND HUNGER, AND THE DEATH WAS A LONG, PAINFULL, GUT-WRENCHING DEMISE. DESPARATION OFTEN LED TO EXPERIMENTATION, AND SICKNESS WAS THE RESULT OF NOT LISTENING, TO THE SAGE ADVICE OF OTHER NEIGHBOR SETTLERS....WHO MAY HAVE MADE THE SAME MISTAKES, AND SURVIVED, WHEN THEY FIRST ARRIVED IN THE VAST PRIMAL FORESTS OF MUSKOKA.

     I'VE READ JOURNAL ACCOUNTS, REPORTING THAT EVEN BY LATE NOVEMBER, PROVISIONS WHICH WERE SUPPOSED TO LAST UNTIL SPRING, HAD DIMINISHED TO ONLY A SMALL QUANTITY OF VEGETABLES, ESPECIALLY VERSATILE POTATOES; AND I THINK IT WAS IN THE JOURNAL PENNED BY HARRIET KING, IN THE "DIARY OF AN IMMIGRANT WOMAN," THAT SHE DESCRIBES HER CONSTERNATION, WHEN AT CHRISTMAS, DURING A BRUTAL SNOWSTORM, AN ACQUAINTANCE ARRIVED AT THEIR CABIN DURING DINNER, AND THE SMALL, SIMPLE SUPPER, HAD TO BE DIVIDED TO FEED EVERYONE AROUND THE HARVEST TABLE. THERE ARE STORIES TOLD OF SETTLERS MAKING TEA, AND COFFEE FACSIMILES, FROM TREE BARK AND GRASSES. WHAT WE DON'T ALWAYS RECOGNIZE, IS THAT MUSKOKA, WHILE RICH IN WILDLIFE, COULD NOT PROVIDE ENOUGH WILD GAME TO FEED ALL THE SETTLERS, ALL OF THE TIME. I'VE TALKED TO MANY MUSEUM GROUPS, DURING HERITAGE LECTURES, ABOUT THIS FOOD SHORTAGE, AND MANY JUST CAN'T ACCEPT THAT THERE COULD HAVE BEEN ANY REASON TO DIE OF STARVATION, WHEN THERE WERE FISH TO CATCH, DEER TO SHOOT, AND BEAR, MOOSE AND BEAVER WAITING THEIR TURN FOR HARVEST. THERE IS A STORY CONTAINED IN THOMAS MCMURRAY'S 1870'S BOOK, "MUSKOKA AND PARRY SOUND," THAT REFERS TO "ROAST BEAVER," BEING SERVED AT THE END OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD "WOOL PICKING BEE."

     EVEN THE ALGONQUINS, ONLY USED THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA, AS A SUMMER HUNTING GROUND AND ENCAMPMENT, BUT COULD NOT SUSTAIN THEMSELVES YEAR ROUND, TO MAKE THE REGION A PERMANENT LOCATION; MUCH AS THE HURONS DID TO THE SOUTH. THE PROBLEM MORE SO, WAS THAT MANY OF THE SETTLERS WHO ARRIVED HERE, FROM THE LATE 1850'S, AND THROUGH THE FREE LAND GRANT AND HOMESTEAD ACT PERIOD, WERE FROM URBAN AREAS OF EUROPE, AND HAD VERY LITTLE EXPERIENCE IN WILDERNESS SURVIVAL. AS WELL, THEY WEREN'T FARMERS IN EUROPE, AND NOT FAMILIAR WITH LOG HOUSE CONSTRUCTION, CUTTING TREES, MILLING THEM FOR HOME USE AND FURNITURE MAKING, LET ALONE PULLING UP STUMPS BY HAND (BY HORSE OR OXEN LATER ON) TO CREATE THE FARM PLOTS THAT WOULD PRODUCE ANY KIND OF TANGIBLE HARVEST, AT THE END OF THE SHORT GROWING SEASON. SO THEY HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO COUNT ON THE KINDNESS OF MORE ESTABLISHED NEIGHBORS, THE GENEROSITY OF CHURCH CONGREGATIONS, EARLY FRATERNAL ORGANIZATIONS, AND KIN FOLK, DOING BETTER THAN THEY WERE, AT THAT TIME. OF COURSE THIS COMMUNITY SHARING WAS LIMITED AS WELL, BECAUSE, SO MANY OF THIS CLASS OF HOMESTEAD SETTLER, IN THOSE FRONTIER-OPENING DAYS, FACED THE SAME DAY TO DAY DRUDGERY, AND HEARTACHE, OF BATTLING THE ELEMENTS AND THEIR OWN FETTERING TITHE OF POVERTY.

     IN THE 1897 BOOK, "STEPPING STONES TO HAPPINESS," BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, WHICH BY THE WAY, WAS PURCHASED FROM AN ESTATE OF AN ORIGINAL PIONEER FAMILY, THERE IS A WELL WORN CHAPTER OF THE VICTORIAN SELF-HELP BOOK, REGARDING COOKERY INSTRUCTION. IT DOES HAVE A MORE URBAN FLAVOR TO IT, THAN IF A SIMILAR SECTION HAD BEEN INCLUDED IN THOMAS MCMURRAY'S BOOK, FOR EXAMPLE; WHICH IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN, TO TRULY BE OF ASSISTANCE TO THE SETTLER CLASS. IN 1897 THE MARKET FOR MRS SPOFFORD'S BOOK WAS OBVIOUSLY THE URBAN HOUSE-WIFE, ALTHOUGH ITS INCLUSION OF HOME ECONOMY, UNDER DIFFICULT CIRCUMSTANCES, DID APPEAL TO THE HOMESTEAD COOKS AS WELL. THE ONLY THING STANDING IN THE WAY, WAS HAVING ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY THE BOOK IN THE FIRST PLACE. DUE TO ITS CHRISTIAN THEME, OF LIVING HEALTHY AND CONTENTED, IN GOD'S GARDEN, SOME FAMILIES DECIDED IT WAS MORE IMPORTANT TO HAVE THE TEXT, THAN FACE THE BLEAK FUTURE WITHOUT. I EXPECT THIS COOKERY CHAPTER WAS VERY WELL USED BY THE HOMESTEAD COOK. I DETECT SOME SMUDGES OF GREASE AND JUICES, FROM VENISON OR RABBIT; BASS OR TROUT; FRESHLY MADE BUTTER FROM THE SINGLE COW, GRAZING IN A MODEST PASTURE.

     "BUT THERE ARE VARIOUS OTHER WAYS IN WHICH THE ENGLISHWOMAN CAN GIVE US LESSONS IN ECONOMY. IT IS SAFE TO SAY THAT NOTHING IS WASTED UNDER HER CARE. EVEN HER STALE BEER IS SAVED TO RINSE HER BRONZES IN, TO BOIL WITH OTHER MATERIAL AND MAKE HER OLD PLATE LOOK LIKE NEW, AND TO CLEAN HER SOILED BLACK SILKS; AND THE LEMONS WHOSE OUTER SKIN HAS BEEN GRATED OFF, AND WHOSE JUICE HAS BEEN SQUEEZED OUT, IF THEY ARE NOT LAID ASIDE TO BOIL IN ANY COMPOUND, ARE GIVEN TO THE COOK TO CLEAN HER SAUCEPAN. IF SHE KEEPS FOWL, EVERY EGG BROUGHT IN IS DATED WITH A PENCIL, AND THOSE OF THE EARLIER DATE ARE USED FIRST; IF THERE ARE ANY TO BE SPARED, SHE LAYS THEM BY FOR WINTER PROVISION, USUALLY BY PASSING OVER THEM A CAMEL'S HAIR PENCIL, DIPPED IN OIL, WHICH HERMETICALLY SEALS AND PRESERVES THEIR CONTENTS; AND WHERE SHE USES ONLY THE WHITES IN ONE DISH, SHE CONTRIVES ANOTHER IN WHICH SHE SHALL USE THE YOLKS. IF THE BREAD HAS BECOME DRY, SHE DOES NOT IMMEDIATELY THROW IT TO THE HENS OR DEDICATE IT TO A PUDDING; SHE DIPS THE LOAF IN HOT WATER, AND SETS IT IN THE OVEN, AND FINDS IT SUFFICIENTLY FRESH FOR FAMILY USE. NOR DOES SHE OFTEN INDULGE IN THE DOUBTFUL LUXURY OF BAKER'S BREAD, SINCE SHE HAS LEARNED THAT SHE THEREBY LOSES IN BREAD, JUST THE WEIGHT OF THE WATER USED IN COMPOUNDING IT, BESIDES RUNNING THE RISK OF DELETERIOUS INGREDIENTS. AND WHEN THE BREAD IS REALLY DRIED PAST FRESHENING, THEN IT ANSWERS FOR STUFFING, IS GRATED FOR CRUMBS, OR IS SOAKED WITH MILK AND BEATEN EGGS FOR PUDDINGS; NONE OF IT IS THROWN AWAY.

     "SHE IS EQUALLY ECONOMICAL CONCERNING THE HAM; WHEN NO MORE SLICES CAN BE CUT FROM THE BONE, THERE IS YET A SMALL QUANTITY OF DRY MEAT UPON IT THAT WOULD SEEM TO MOST OF OUR HOUSEKEEPERS AS SOMETHING RATHER WORTHLESS. NOT SO TO THIS GOOD WOMEN; IT IS DRIED A LITTLE FURTHER, AND THEN GRATED FROM THE BONE, AND PUT AWAY IN JARS, TO BE TAKEN OUT AND SEASONED ON REQUIREMENT FOR ENRICHMENT OF OMELETS, FOR SPREADING UPON SAVORY DISHES OF TOAST WHICH MAKE A NICE ADDITION TO BREAKFAST OR LUNCH; FOR STUFFING OLIVES AND MAKING SANDWICHES, AFTER WHICH GRATING THE BONE SERVES TO FLAVOR SOUP. IN THE SAME WAY SHE GRATES HER CHEESE THAT IS TOO DRY OR NEAR THE RIND, USING IT AFTERWARD AS A RELISH, OR AS A DRESSING TO MACARONI OR OTHER SUBSTANCE. ALL BONES, MEANWHILE, AS WELL AS THE HAM BONE, ARE OBJECTS OF CARE WITH HER, OR WITH THE SERVANTS, WHOM SHE HAS TRAINED TO HER WILL, AND ARE REGULARLY BOILED DOWN TO ADD THE RESULT TO THE STOCK POT FOR GRAVIES AND SOUPS, BY WHICH MEANS SHE PROCURES THE LATTER, AT ALMOST NO COST AT ALL. WHENEVER SHE HAS A FEW SLICES OF HETEROGENOUS COLD MEATS, SHE HAS COUNTLESS PALATABLE WAYS OF USING THEM; DEVILED, BROILED IN BATTER, SCALLOPED, MINCED INTO CROQUETTES OR MAYONNAISE."

    MRS SPOFFORD WRITES, IN HER ADVISORY TO COOKS IN TRAINING, "AS A GENERAL, ALTHOUGH NOT UNIVERSAL THING, AMONG OURSELVES, WHEN THESE STRAY BITS OF BONES ARE NOT THROWN AWAY, THEY ARE GIVEN AWAY; BUT THE LATTER IS NOT THE ENGLISH WOMAN'S IDEA OF CHARITY; SHE HOLDS THAT THE POOR, UNACCUSTOMED TO DAINTY FOOD, FIND A COARSER KIND QUITE AS AGREEABLE AS THE LEAVINGS OF HER TABLE; SHE PREPARES ESPECIALLY FOR THEM, SAVING ALL LIQUORS (LIQUID) IN WHICH THE MEATS HAVE BEEN BOILED, AS A BASE FOR BROTHS OF BARLEY AND PEAS, THAT ARE REGULARLY DISPENSED, WITH TEA LEAVES AND COFFEE GROUNDS DRIVED OVER, AND FROM WHICH A SECOND DRAUGHT CAN BE MADE, WITH OATMEAL, VEGETABLES AND DRIPPING. DRIPPING, BY THE WAY, FORMS NO INCONSIDERABLE ITEM IN THIS SORT OF ECONOMY; IT IS SKIMMED FROM EVERY POT AND SAVED FROM EVERY PAN, AND WHEN A SUFFICIENT QUANTITY ACCUMULATES IT IS CLARIFIED BY POURING BOILING WATER UPON IT, MIXING IT WELL, AND PUTTING IT BY TO 'SET'THE SEDIMENT, GOING TO THE BOTTOM WHEN COLD, LEAVING A HARD CLEAN CAKE, WHICH IS USEFUL ON DOMESTIC OCCASIONS, WHERE BUTTER OR LARD WOULD BE USED, AS THE 'SHORTENING' OF MEAT PIE CRUSTS AND GINGERBREAD, AND FOR COMMON BASTING AND FRYING."

     "SOME HOUSEKEEPERS, TO BE SURE, WHO ARE ABLE TO LIVE MORE SUMPTUOUSLY, ABANDON THIS TO THE COOK, BY WHOM IT IS CLAIMED AS A PREQUISITE, AND VALUED AS AN EQUIVALENT OF LARGE EXTRA WAGES. BEYOND THIS SYSTEM OF SAVING ON A SMALL SCALE AND DOING IT SO REGULARLY, AND SO PRECISELY THAT IT BECOMES SECOND NATURE; AND IS DONE WITH AS LITTLE EXTRA THOUGHT, AS THERE IS GIVEN TO THE PARING OF THE POTATOES. THE ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER GOES FURTHER, IN DEALING OUT TO HER SERVANTS THE WEEK'S ALLOWANCE OF SUGAR, RICE, FLOUR, COFFEE, AND OTHER OTHER HOUSEHOLD PROVISION, THAT IS KEPT IN QUANTITY, AND REQUIRING AN ACCOUNT OF IT ALL TO BE RENDERED, THE THING HAVING BEN BROUGHT TO SUCH A FINE POINT, THAT SHE KNOWS THE EXACT AMOUNT OF EACH ARTICLE REQUISITE FOR HER FAMILY, ALLOWING SO MUCH TO EACH INDIVIDUAL, AND THAT QUANTITY BEING SUFFICIENT, AS SHE KNOWS BY EXPERIENCE; TWO OUNCES FOR TEA, FOR INSTANCE, BEING REGARDED AS A WEEK'S SUPPLY FOR EACH SINGLE INDIVIDUAL, ONE HALF POUND OF SUGAR, THREE AND ONE HALF POUNDS OF MEAT FOR A WOMAN, AND FIVE AND A QUARTER FOR A MAN - FACTS WHICH THE HOUSEKEEPER PROBABLY LEARNED FROM HER MOTHER, AND FROM HER MOTHER BEFORE HER - KNOWING MOREOVER, THAT THE GREATER VARIETY OF FOOD OFFERED, DIMINISHES THE QUANTITY OF THE SIMPLER KINDS REQUIRED. ALL OF THESE STORES SHE SETS DOWN IN HER HOUSEKEEPING BOOK AS SHE GIVES THEM OUT, AND SHE DOES NOT FAIL ON THE NEXT DISPENSING DAY TO CONSULT HER DATES, AND IF ANYTHING BE LEFT OVER IN THE COOK'S HANDS, NOT ACCOUNTED FOR, TO SUBTRACT THAT FROM THE AMOUNT TO BE NEWLY ISSUED. AND IN ENGLAND SERVANTS EXPECT THIS, SO FAR FROM BEING INDIGNANT WITH IT, THEY WOULD FEEL AS IF THERE WERE NO GUIDING HAND BEHIND THEM, WERE IT LEFT UNDONE, AND THEY GIVEN THEIR HEAD IN AN OVERFLOWING STORE-ROOM, AS SERVANTS ARE WITH US. IN FACT, THERE IS NO SAVING WHICH THE HOUSEWIFE ACROSS THE WATER, CONSIDERS TOO SMALL TO PRACTICE, OR AS BENEATH HER DIGNITY; AND WHEN WE SHALL HAVE FOLLOWED HER EXAMPLE IN HER PET ECONOMIES, MORE GENERALLY THAN WE FOLLOW IT AT PRESENT, WE SHALL HAVE MORE RIGHT AND MORE ABILITY TO INDULGE OURSELVES IN OUR PET EXTRAVAGANCES OTHERWISE."

     AS FOR THE HOMEMAKER, "THE CHIEF OF THE HOUSEHOLD CARES, IS ALWAYS THE COOK. SHE IS VERY SELDOM IN THE ORDINARY FAMILY, OR IN THAT OF NARROW MEANS, WHAT SHE SHOULD BE, AND HER SHORTCOMINGS DO A GREAT DEAL TO BRING ABOUT THE CHANGES FROM THE BLACK BIRD TO THE GRAY. THERE IS NO ONE WAY TO OVERCOME INCOMPETENCY THAT I HAVE OFTEN WONDERED WAS NOT MORE GENERALLY PURSUED. THERE EXISTS NOW IN MOST OF OUR LARGE CITIES GOOD AND EFFECTIVE TRAINING SCHOOLS FOR SERVANTS OF ALL CLASSES AND CAPACITIES, AND, BESIDES THESE, VARIOUS PERSONS OF SKILL AND RENOWN IN CULINARY MATTERS ADVERTISE LESSONS IN COOKERY; STANDING READY, ON CERTAIN AFTERNOONS OF THE WEEK, TO IMPART TO THE CLASS OF THE HOUR ALL THAT THEY KNOW ON THE SUBJECT, EVEN ANNOUNCING IN THEIR ADVERTISEMENTS THE DISHES TO BE PREPARED THAT DAY - FIFTY CENTS ADMISSION, AND SOMETIMES NOT SO MUCH."

     ALTHOUGH THIS PIECE, BY THE CLEVER MRS. SPOFFORD, WAS WRITTEN MUCH LATER THAN THE ACTUAL HOMESTEAD GRANT PERIOD, OF SETTLEMENT IN MUSKOKA, IT STILL WOUND UP IN THE LATER FARMSTEADS OF THIS PART OF ONTARIO. AS FOR GETTING COOKING INSTRUCTIONS, I WOULD IMAGINE THAT THE OPPORTUNITIES IN THIS AREA, IN 1897 WERE SLIM TO NONE....AND IT WAS THE GOOD GRACES OF KIND NEIGHBORS AND FAMILY, WHO EDUCATED ONE ANOTHER ABOUT COOKERY QUANTITIES AND QUALITIES....HANDED-DOWN ADVICE ON HOW TO MAKE THE MOST OF MODEST PROVISIONS.

     WHEN I USED TO WANDER THROUGH THE REGION, LOOKING FOR HOMESTEAD SITES TO EXPLORE, I ALWAYS GOT A LITTLE HEARTSICK, WHEN I'D FIND MYSELF STANDING IN THE PATHETIC, LATE-LIFE REMAINS, OF THE FARMSTEAD KITCHEN; LOOKING SO EMPTY AND UNSTORIED, WHEN QUITE THE OPPOSITE HELD TRUE. I OFTEN GOT MY BEST FEATURE STORY IDEAS, HOVERING IN THE RUINS, EXAMINING THE REMAINS OF OLD CUPBOARDS, AND CABINETS, BROKEN DISHES AND THREE LEGGED HARVEST TABLES, THEN TOPPLED OVER; THE OLD NEWSPAPERS UNDER THE FLOOR SURFACING, DATING THE TIME PERIOD OF THAT PARTICULAR HOME IMPROVEMENT. THERE WOULD BE TYPICAL SIGNS OF WILDLIFE HABITATION, POSSIBLY A PORCUPINE THAT HAD BEEN GNAWING AT THE CHAIR LEGS, SQUIRRELS AND CHIPMUNKS NOW CALLING THE RUINS HOME. YET I COULD VISUALIZE THE HOMEMAKER WORKING AWAY IN THIS KITCHEN, WITH THE LARGE, NOW-GLASSLESS WINDOW, LOOKING OUT ONTO THE GROWN-OVER GARDEN AND PASTURE; WITH THE REMAINS OF FARM BUILDINGS NO LONGER UPRIGHT. DESPITE WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE, AND WHAT CARNAGE HAD OCCURRED, SINCE ITS ABANDONMENT, SO MANY OF THESE OLD RUINS HELD CLOSE TO THE REMAINING HEARTH, THAT STRANGELY FAMILIAR AURA, AND HOLLOW ECHO, OF FAMILY HISTORY, FROM ALL THOSE WHO ONCE DWELLED WITHIN;....THOSE WHO JOYFULLY, IN GOOD CHEER, CELEBRATED SPECIAL OCCASIONS AND HOLIDAYS TOGETHER; WHO HELD ONTO EACH OTHER DURING PERIODS OF ILLNESS AND SUDDEN DEATH; PEOPLE WHO LOVED AND

WERE LOVED, AMALGAMATED WITH SO MANY HOPES, ASPIRATIONS, AND SUCCESSES; THE SORROW OF FAILURE AND LOSS, MIXED WITH THE HAPPINESS AND CONTENTMENT, DURING A FINE MEAL WITH FAMILY AND NEIGHBORS, WHERE THIS OLD PINE TABLE WAS "GROANING" FROM THE WEIGHT OF EDIBLE BOUNTY. A GOOD HARVEST. OF ALL THE ROOMS IN THE OLD FARMSTEAD, IT IS THE KITCHEN THAT I AM COMPELLED TO DAWDLE. THE ROOM I FIND MOST HAUNTED; THE PART OF THE HOUSE THE RESIDENT SPIRITS WANT THIS INTRUDER TO KNOW MORE ABOUT, AS IF IT, OR THEY, KNOW MY INTENTION IS TO WRITE ABOUT IT.....GIVING IT, AT LONG LAST, AN HISTORICAL RELEVANCE; SO FAR DENIED, EXCEPT IN LIVES LIVED; THE CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN RAISED FROM THESE HUMBLE QUARTERS, HERE IN THE MUSKOKA HEARTLAND. IT IS THE ROOM I LOOK BACK INTO, ON THE WAY OUT, SWEARING SOMEONE WAS WATCHING ME FROM WITHIN....BUT NEVER CAUSING AN AIR OF ILL EASE FOR THE INTRUDER. I MIGHT STOP FOR A MOMENT, ONCE OUTSIDE, AND LOOK BACK, EXPECTING TO SEE A FACE IN THE WINDOW, WHERE THE KITCHEN WAS, BUT ALAS, THERE IS ONLY THE DARK VOID OF AN HISTORIAN'S WISHFUL THINKING.