Christmas in Muskoka 2016 The Town We Have Known

The Town Behind The Scenes We Have Known For All These Years - At Christmas We Appreciate It The Most

     When we moved to Gravenhurst back in the late 1980's, we did so for one distinct reason. Suzanne and I wanted to purchase a newer home in a good neighborhood, with a suitable green-belt close by, in order to give our young lads a safe and inspiring place in which to grow up and thrive. Like many young working-parent families, we didn't have a lot of money to invest, but enough to newer purchase a home, ten miles south from our former abode in the Town of Bracebridge, my old hometown. Prices were substantially less to buy a three bedroom house here, and we couldn't find a nicer house in our price range anywhere else in South Muskoka, where we were both working, and running an antique business at the time.

     We had many friends who were highly critical of our move, believing that Gravenhurst wasn't a progressive community, and believe me, we heard a lot of horror stories about social problems, crime, and drug and alcohol abuse, we were going to discover in our new home town. Of course, all the folks who were making these claims were residents of Bracebridge, or for whatever reason, felt they owed Gravenhurst a kick in the shins, possibly for a long ago sports indignity, or a job lost from a local business that set tongues wagging. As a long time reporter for the local press, I had a large number of contacts in the police department, and I could find out the stats I needed to satisfy myself we weren't moving to "Pottersville," as depicted as a place of debauchery, in the classic Christmas movie, "It's a Wonderful Life." I knew the critics were way out of line with their critiques and warnings about our new place of residence. I knew Bracebridge inside and out, and its history, and honestly, the overviews were more a matter of throwing stones for the sake of breaking glass. Both towns have their challenges, and as to which one was the better place to live, at the time, we have never once felt we made a mistake in our choice. We're still here nearly thirty years later, and we also have a main street family business to show our considerable support for what is good and progressive about this town.

     Our residency in this fine little community in South Muskoka, and our business success in both vintage music and antiques, is the result of avoiding a goodly amount of political interaction, and staying true to our family values, as far as running a local business. When we experienced, early on, problems within the business community, we immediately withdrew from active participation in all related groups, letting them go about their business without our nagging objections. And it has allowed us to focus without detraction, on growing our shop and increasing our client base, both in person via the shop, and online via numerous outlets to reach a broader audience. Some folks still refer to us as the Muskoka "Waltons" a reference from the 1970's television show, and that doesn't offend us a bit. There are a lot worse references than being called "The Waltons," and our shop, "Walton's Mountain."

     At this rolling time of the year, our family very much celebrates the truly good things that have happened to us, living and working here in Gravenhurst. We have enjoyed our lives by connecting to the magnificence of the landscape, the forests and lakes, snow-adorned hills and valleys, and the fine folks who work hard behind the scenes, the unsung heroes, the store clerks, plumbers, service technicians, bakers, cooks, carpenters, butchers, janitors, salesmen and women, sewers and painters, who seldom if ever get any recognition for what they contribute daily, to the positive vibes of a population proud of its heritage; and certain it will survive against daunting odds, and increasing competition from neighbor communities, getting a greater share of investment. We must admit, however it may resonate with the progressives amongst us, that we enjoy what it doesn't have, realities of other urban centers. It's hard to explain, but true none the less, and many know exactly what I'm referring to in terms of ugly urban sprawl.

     We are thankful and appreciative of Gravenhurst for being a wonderful home community for all these years. For those who harshly critique Gravenhurst, I welcome the opportunity to offer a counter point, and share some family experiences that prove even the hardest-to-please citizen, and that would be me, can find peace, solitude and inspiration, in such vast quantity, that I have no reason to ever consider a move unless entirely necessary. I was a grumpy frustrated writer when we moved here, and after my first year, well, I was a proud homeowner.

     Of all the places I have lived and worked in my life, I have never found a place that provided such an invigorating environs from which to write, and as I am fussy to a sharp point, this must then be taken as my highest compliment. The Gravenhurst our family knows, and loves, is the one that exists beyond the propaganda and pomposity others impose upon it, rather unfairly, for their vested interests only. We pay attention to what we see as the town's strengths, and I will never tire of reading and promoting its heritage, and there is no chance that I could one day wake up, and feel the forest across our lane, is an eyesore, and beg that it be leveled and built upon.   Merry Christmas from our homestead, Birch Hollow, to yours this festive season.

From the Archives at Birch Hollow, Gravenhurst

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - A NICE PLACE TO VIST, A GREAT PLACE TO LIVE, A BEAUTIFUL PLACE TO WAKE UP TO EACH MORNING

RAIN OR SNOW, WIND OR CALM, SUN OR CLOUD THERE'S SOMETHING SPECIAL BEING MUSKOKAN - ESPECIALLY SWELL ON CHRISTMAS DAY

     It is a scene this morning, here at Birch Hollow, that you won't see featured in the traditional Christmas pictorials, showing the festive season in Canada. It is more likely, a vista from a coastal area of Canada, or of the British countryside, after receiving a small quantity of snow, followed by days of rain and fog. In Southern Ontario, where I spent the first years of my life, I would have heard the fog horns of passing lake freighters. I grew up with many Christmases just like this, when our family lived in Burlington, where winters were cold, with a sharply bitter wind coming off Lake Ontario, but seldom had much in the way of snow. I used to play down along the banks of Ramble Creek, and it was great fun when we could put on our bobb skates, to criss-cross the frozen shallows of the sandy bottom water course. You might remember, from a previous blog, that I fell through the ice on this same snaking little creek, and nearly drowned. There were a few deep pools with swirling water that never froze over solid. My mother issued orders to stay away from these pockets of open water, or I'd be in "so much trouble." That's something I knew a lot about. My chum Ray Green and I, were a sort of Dennis the Menaces back in those days, when we both resided up on Harris Crescent. I can still see that day before Christmas, when so many of the brightly clothed and tocqued youngsters, were skating on the silver ice in the ravine, surrounded by the vintage architecture, of the three multi-story apartment buildings in the neighborhood, and the decorated houses around us, and along the embankment on the other side of the creek. It was the first time I had ever used bobb skates, fastened to my snow boots, and well, it was a disaster. I couldn't do anything more athletic than stand on the two bladed skates, but that was okay, because there was a lot to see, and kids my age to laugh with, through the afternoon snow flurries; generated from the earlier rain that day. The ice got better through the rest of that day, and was perfect throughout the holiday as I recall. I liked Burlington back then because it was either a big town or a small city, but our neighborhood had a perfect post war patina, and rural character, partly because it was bordered by a large farm field owned by the Ratkowskis I believe, and the ravine and woodland of the Ramble Creek basin. When we moved to Muskoka, I got a lot more hinterland to enjoy that's for sure.

     The rain was much heavier when I got up this morning, and looked out over The Bog, as I do every morning, even before brushing my teeth; and having the first of many coffees to get myself in gear. I have seen a few Christmases like this before, and as I am very fond of traditional English holiday celebrations, and the dining fare of our ancestors, this scene in the hollow, is just as remarkable, as if it was a recollected vision of my past; playing down in the ravine of Ramble Creek, or wandering through the haunted woods of Nottingham Forest, in England, where Robin Hood is said to have robbed from the rich to give to the poor. I have enjoyed many Christmases, where the weather could be described as inclement, according to what we generally hope will amount to a white Christmas; to go with the song of the same title. But it is no less a charming, and picturesque scene, because there is green ground cover showing up in The Bog, the result of previous days of sun, and rain, washing the snow away into the myriad little creeks, that eventually drain into Muskoka Bay, of the greater Lake Muskoka. I can remember Christmas Days in the past, here at Birch Hollow, when our family could walk across the snow crust, deep into the woodlands, across the basin; and others, where I used snowshoes to access the same region, of the tiny acreage of urban wetland. And there have been Christmas Eves just like this, and although not quite a parallel to poet Robert Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening," is just as enchanting and invigorating for the hiker passing along the barely visible pathways. Looking out upon the woods, has been my passion here, since we arrived in the fall of 1989, and I can't imagine what it would be like now, to not awake and see it sprawling so beautifully to the horizon; its inhabitant foxes, deer, squirrels, rabbits, moles and mice, keeping the birds company; that thrive in the tall pines, and venerable old oaks, which have yet to shed their leaves. I really don't care whether it is raining or snowing, on Christmas Eve, because the wilds of Muskoka are special places no matter what time of year, or what the prevailing weather. The Hawks and Owls, and noisy Crows, mix with the huge Blue Jays in the mix of thick evergreens and hardwoods that provide roosts and safe haven through the rolling year. To some citizens, who pay it little, if any attention, it is just a wasteland, that would be put to better use, affording more urban residences and apartments. It is the danger of the modern era, that we truly don't appreciate what we have, until it no longer exists in its natural splendour.

     I have re-located just now, to work for the afternoon, in the studio of our Uptown Gravenhurst shop, where the door has been opening and closing like mad, with last minute shoppers buzzing through the building, looking for last minute gift ideas. In only a few minutes, I've already had my quota of chocolates for the day, and Robert came into the studio, to drop off yet another box just given to us, by a parent of one of his guitar students. Talk about perks of the job. The nicest part, is hearing all the Christmas greetings being extended to us, by our regular customers, and half listening to the conversations breaking out between those folks meeting up with friends, in our cozy digs; and honestly, it would be quite impossible to remain unmoved by the seasonal goodwill, up and down the street. Despite the fact it has again begun raining heavily, with a pronounced mist moving across the region. It's always so remarkable to me, to find so many citizens who still honor those old and tired traditions, at this time of the year, of going shop to shop, wishing the proprietors the best of the holiday season. I know of one kindly chap, who wears a full Santa outfit, and wanders about the town, wishing "Merry Christmas," with a hale and hardy laugh, just because he insists on keeping tradition alive, as he has celebrated it, for long and long; as his own initiative to bring the neighborhoods and citizens together in the light-heartedness of Christmas and New Years. He may never be rewarded with a "Citizen of the Year," citation, but in our eyes, people like this are our greatest human resources.

     I have enjoyed many wonderful Christmas seasons in Muskoka, from a young age, and whether it was playing road hockey, in the light snow flurries, on a small patch of illuminated roadway, on Bracebridge's Alice Street, or sitting in the attic of Dr. Peter McGibbon's former home, on upper Manitoba Street, looking down from the attic window, watching the kids running along the path, or even in the wet conditions, making snow angels in Memorial Park; or in the modest early 1900's Ontario Street house, where Suzanne and I moved shortly after we were married, and where Andrew arrived home as a newborn; all of the special occasions, were celebrated equally with anticipation, yet peaceful acceptance, that the place where we were celebrating the holiday, was a darn fine homestead in which to host Christmas revelry; as high or low key as the mood dictated.

     Suzanne is always very low key, about her own family celebrations, recalled from when she was growing up in the Village of Windermere, on Lake Rosseau, but fondly recalling activities at the Windermere United Church, where her mother Harriet was a frequent organist, and general community activities, that were about as Muskokan in tradition as you could get. For quite a few years, every Christmas Eve, Suzanne and I would take Andrew and Robert, to her aunt Ada and Jack's (Gillis family) house in Ufford, which was actually her grandfather's John Shea's original farmstead, in Watt Township, where Ada would fuss for no less than three hours, to make up a dinner spread for us, that was a most incredible country dinner, with the most amazing pickles and preserves, a rich treat for the senses. Ada and Jack never had children of their own, but enjoyed their nieces and nephews when they came for visits. Jack insisted on lemon pie for his special dinner treat. Me too. I'm glad our boys had this opportunity to visit with these two fine members of the family, who gave us some spectacular Christmas Eve dinners, and an old fashioned country social, in keeping with the way the Shea kin had been celebrating the holidays for generations.

     Maybe it's true that the historian-me, has more interest in the details of Christmas past, than most others, and to some readers this may seem more of an impediment than a blessing of recollection. There are of course sad memories, that take their toll on us especially at this time of the year; yet I find them now to be of the bitter-sweet variety, and tolerable, full of kinder nostalgia, despite the reality there is much of Christmas past that can, no matter what traditions are employed, never be relived as one might like.

     A few minutes at the studio, and I had already experienced one of those wild and crazy impulses, in the most conservative sense, of course, to let the boys run the shop for the afternoon, so I could take Suzanne on a trip up to the very hamlet I was writing about earlier in this blog; to Lake Rosseau and Windermere, through her ancestral grounds of Ufford, with a stop by the Ufford Cemetery, for seasonal visit to Jack and Ada Gillis, and Norm and Harriet Stripp, and all the Sheas (including John Lily Shea) and the Veitches, of which my dear wife is related. We armed ourselves with a couple of mugs, some nicely chilled egg nog, and a couple of seasonal treats, and hit the misty road. It was a great outing, and as I noted above, Muskoka looks amazing no matter what the weather, and today it was veiled by the rolling fog over the hills of Ufford; and out over Lake Rosseau at the Windermere waterfront. There was very little traffic on the road, and it was a charming motor-trip through a lovely hinterland solitude. But it was nice to see the lights of a Christmas tree, through the farmstead front windows, and watched some neighborhood kids sledding down the hillsides, despite the drizzle. I was thinking back, to what it looked like, driving through Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and Vermont where I once used to travel frequently, in the winter months, on the way to, and from Florida. I think we under-rate Muskoka, for its countryside qualities, and rural living generally. This trip today, was as romantic, nostalgic as it was contemporary to the Christmas of 2014, while we listened to Christmas Carols all the while.

     Suzanne visited her own family home in Windermere, that has been nicely restored to its former Victorian era elegance, and it was the first time back, since it was sold as part of her father's estate. I thought she would begin to cry, but I knew she had to make this visitation regardless; and she seemed quite pleased that it was looking much as it had been during her childhood. So it brought back good memories instead of adverse. We had discussed buying the house from the estate, but we knew it would take fifty thousand dollars more, on top of the purchase price, to make the necessary upgrades. It got a little tearful on the day we drove away for the last time, but I was delighted she had a good feeling about what she saw this afternoon. We have long considered buying a small house in Windermere, but Suzanne has preferred to spend more money instead, to upgrade Birch Hollow. We still have a few years left to decide on stuff like that, although we're both pretty happy with how Gravenhurst turned out as a hometown; something we weren't sure about in 1989, when we had our first Christmas at Birch Hollow.

     When we arrived back at the store, to help the boys close up, Andrew was pleased to report that his brother Robert, had sold quite a few pieces from our part of the business, and well, it paid for gas and lunch, for our pleasant little journey through Muskoka. We also visited some of our old residences, from Ontario Street, Quebec Street, Manitoba Street, and Alice Street in Bracebridge, and had a momentary stop at the former Black's Variety and Bamford's Store on Toronto Street, where I would have been browsing for last minute gifts, in the era of the late 1960's, on a Christmas Eve just like this. I even enjoyed being part of the hustle and bustle today, in a number of local shops, and we had a nice time meeting up with some old friends, also scrambling for last minute gifts.

     I hope all readers of this humble, overly nostalgic blog, will enjoy the best of the season, a Merry Christmas, and have a safe and pleasing holiday with kith and kin; a good book, favorite pets, and those old songs and carols we remember from childhood. It is okay to wax poetic at Christmas, and think fondly back to the places in your former hometowns, where you invested so much heart and soul, waiting for Santa Claus to come down the chimney. I used to live in apartments, so this part of Christmas used to freak me out a bit. We didn't have chimneys. My mother told me he could basically vaporize to get under the door, and then re-materialize with his sack full of toys, by our Christmas tree. I was good with that explanation. It is part of the tradition that I harp about, which probably adds to my irrelevance, but rest assured, it is my sincere belief, that we all need the strong roots of times past, our past, to secure ourselves for the future.

     I shall once again, expect the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, to visit me, to undoubtedly point out, that I have not been the kind of human being I am supposed to be; and once again, I shall make every effort to repent, and restore myself, to a more faithful, moral existence for the coming year. Now, as Santa nears, I would like to wish you all, a sincere Merry Christmas from all of the Curries of Birch Hollow, whether you're living in Muskoka, or anywhere else in the world, and have found this blog somewhat seasonally and geographically entertaining.

     The last portion of today's blog has been written with the background glow from two Victorian era oil lamps, that are as bright as they are warming, and it reminds me so much, of the way I used to compose my stories, when I composed on a manual Underwood typewriter, that I had used at the Bracebridge Herald-Gazette back in the early 1980's. Now I'm just basking here, catching the wonderful scent of Suzanne preparing our Christmas breakfast in advance; a homestead menu that might have been served up by Granny Shea in her log cabin on the hillside of the family's Ufford farm.