The Myriad Enchantments Of Old Ramble Creek

THE MYRIAD ENCHANTMENTS OF OLD RAMBLE CREEK -

A SANCTUARY FOR A KID, IN BURLINGTON, THAT PREPARED ME FOR MUSKOKA

      ONCE AGAIN, I AM INDEBTED TO TRACY MCKELVY, OF BURLINGTON, ONTARIO, WHO SENT ME A FEW (EXCELLENT) PHOTOGRAPHS, OF SOME OF MY OLD HAUNTS, FROM MY DAYS LIVING IN THE COMMUNITY, DATING BACK TO THE LATE 1950'S. FROM A CHANCE ENCOUNTER, WHILE SEARCHING FOR SOME NEIGHBORHOOD HISTORY, ONLINE, TRACY FOUND ME, A LINK TO THE PAST, HOLED-UP HERE IN THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. SHE WAS PARTICULARLY PLEASED TO FIND THAT I HAD WRITTEN ABOUT ANNE AND ALEC NAGY, WHO OWNED THE APARTMENT BUILDING WHERE MY FAMILY LIVED FOR A NUMBER OF YEARS, BEFORE WE MOVED NORTH TO BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO. ANNE NAGY WAS MY SECOND MOTHER BACK THEN, AND ALEC, WELL, HE WAS CERTAINLY MY BACK-UP FATHER. I MAY HAVE SPENT MORE QUALITY TIME WITH ALEC, FOLLOWING HIM AROUND THE APARTMENT PROPERTY, THAN I SPENT WITH MY OWN FATHER, ED, WHO SEEMED TO WORK ALL THE TIME, AND WHEN NOT WORKING, WAS COMMUTING TO HIS PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT. WHILE ALEC WORKED, AT INTERNATIONAL HARVESTER, I BELIEVE, HE MANAGED QUITE A BIT OF TIME AT HOME, BUT AS HE LIKED TO WORK, AND I LIKED WATCHING, WE GOT ALONG OKAY. I LEARNED ALOT AS HIS APPRENTICE. I PROBABLY DROVE HIM NUTS BUT IT NEVER SHOWED. ALEC WAS TOO POLITE TO SAY SOMETHING LIKE "GO AWAY KID, YOU BOTHER ME," TO BORROW A LINE FROM W.C. FIELDS.

     SEEING THE PHOTOGRAPHS TRACY SENT ME, BROUGHT BACK A FLOOD OF MEMORIES, AND  AFTER ALL THE WILD AND CRAZY STUFF, I HAD ENGAGED MYSELF IN, DURING THOSE HALCYON DAYS OF CHILDHOOD, I HAD ACTUALLY DONE SOMETHING PROFOUNDLY INSIGHTFUL AT THE SAME TIME. I HAD, YOU SEE, MADE A POINT OF CAPTURING THESE SCENES AND MOMENTS, AS IF I KNEW THEN, THAT ONE DAY IT WAS GOING TO BE IMPORTANT TO DELVE BACK, AND REMEMBER CLEARLY, THE WAY IT WAS. AS I'VE NOTED BEFORE, THE ODD AND CERTAINLY COINCIDENTAL ASPECT OF THIS PRESENT JAG OF REMINISCENCE, IS THAT SOMETHING ETHEREAL INFLUENCED ME, BACK THEN, TO PAY ATTENTION…..AS IF I WAS AN HISTORIAN IN TRAINING EVEN THEN. I HAD NOSTALGIC FEELINGS BY THE TIME I WAS SEVEN YEARS OF AGE. NOT THAT I WAS PARTICULARLY NOSTALGIC FOR THE SIX PREVIOUS YEARS, BUT FOR SOMETHING ELSE. THIS NEIGHBORHOOD. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT HAD A RELEVANCE, AT A TIME WHEN I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT "RELEVANCE" OR "HISTORY" MEANT; AND AS FAR AS HAVING NOSTALGIC FEELINGS, IT WAS JUST A STRANGE INTRUSION OF MELANCHOLY, WHEN AS A KID, I SHOULD HAVE BEEN BOUNCING-HAPPY ALL OVER THE PLACE. POSSIBLY I WAS REINCARNATED. MAYBE I HAD LIVED IN THIS PLACE BEFORE, AND I WAS RE-VISITING THE OLD HAUNTS. I DON'T KNOW. BUT BEING RE-INTRODUCED TO HARRIS CRESCENT AGAIN, IN THE PAST COUPLE OF WEEKS, HAS CERTAINLY REMINDED ME OF THOSE SHUFFLING, SLOW, MINDFUL WALKS, NOTICING EVERYTHING I COULD ABOUT THE PEOPLE, PLACES AND THINGS; IRRELEVANT AS A MEMORY FOR SOME, BUT OF CRITICAL IMPORTANCE TO A KID LIKE ME…..WITH AN OLD SOUL. WHEN LATER IN THIS TOME, I MEET UP WITH ANGELA, YOU WILL REMEMBER THIS REINCARNATION THING. I STILL LIVE WITH ONE FOOT IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE. I DID THEN, AS WELL!

     I AM NOT THE ONLY PERSON TO HAVE GROWN UP WITH A KEEN INTEREST IN HIS OR HER SURROUNDINGS. THERE ARE READERS RIGHT NOW, WHO RECOGNIZE OUR KINDRED SPIRITS, AND CAN REMEMBER MUCH FROM THEIR YOUTH, BECAUSE THEY KNEW THAT SOME DAY, IT WOULD BE AN IMPORTANT ASPECT OF INTERNAL FORTITUDE, TO BE ABLE TO RECALL EVEN  MINOR EVENTS, SOME GOOD, SOME BAD, FRIENDS AND STUDENT CHUMS, AND WHAT MADE IT ALL SO INTERESTING. AT TIMES, SO PERPLEXING. I HAVE TALKED TO QUITE A FEW FOLKS, WHO HAD ENTERTAINED WRITING A PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY, BUT HAD VERY FEW MEMORIES OF THEIR CHILDHOOD. ONCE I GET THEM PERFORMING A FEW MIND-LIBERATING EXERCISES, THEY DO EVENTUALLY RECOVER MORE MEMORIES, AND QUITE A FEW HIDDEN FEELINGS ABOUT WHAT IT WAS LIKE AT THE HOME, IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD AND IN THE COMMUNITY. THE MORE THEY WRITE, THE MORE COMES BACK. SOME TIMES IT SNAPS BACK WITH A STING. SOME TIME'S IT'S LIKE SITTING IN YOUR MOTHER'S, OR GRANDMOTHER'S KITCHEN, SNIFFING A FRESHLY BAKED PIE, AND IT FEELS LIKE A DRYER-WARM TOWEL AGAINST YOUR BODY. THIS IS WHAT WRITING A BIOGRAPHY TURNS UP, WHEN YOU'RE HAVING A GOOD DAY.

     WHAT MAY BE MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL, FOR ME, IS THE VERY REAL ENCHANTMENTS I FOUND, IN THOSE CHILD-WILD DAYS, IN BURLINGTON, WANDERING THE GREENBELT IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD, WHICH WE CALLED WITH GREAT AFFECTION "THE RAVINE." RAMBLE CREEK (OR AT LEAST THIS IS WHAT WE ALWAYS CALLED IT, IN MY DAY) WOUND ITS WAY THROUGH THE OVERGROWN OPEN SPACE, TOWARD THE LAKE. THE RAMBLING, SHADOWY CREEK WAS PROBABLY LESS THAN A QUARTER KILOMETER FROM LAKE ONTARIO, IN GEOGRAPHIC TERMS, AND IT CAME FROM QUITE A DISTANCE UP BRANT STREET AND BEYOND. I KNOW IT CROSSED OVER THE ROADWAY TO LIONS CLUB PARK, WHERE IT RAMBLED AWAY THROUGH THE BEAUTIFUL LIGHT AND SHADOW, TREE-LINED LANDSCAPE OF THE MID-TOWN PARK. BUT THE SECTION CLOSEST TO THE LAKE, WAS MY SANCTUARY, AND I WANTED TO SPEND ALL MY WAKING HOURS, PLAYING IN AND AROUND THE RAVINE THAT ENCHANTED THE SUNLIT, FROTHING LITTLE CREEK, FLOWING TO THE LAKE. WHILE IT MAY HAVE BEEN A SMALL, SOMEWHAT INSIGNIFICANT GREEN BELT, TO THE ADULTS OF OUR COMMUNITY, TO ME, AND CHUMS, IT WAS OUR "NARNIA." IT WAS A MAGICAL PLACE, THROUGHOUT THE FOUR SEASONS. IT WAS A PLACE THAT NURTURED AND ENCOURAGED IMAGINATION. EVERY KID SHOULD HAVE A RAVINE AND A RAMBLING CREEK, TO IMMERSE IN NATURE. IT WAS, OF COURSE, THE PLANTED SEED FOR MY OWN LONG-STANDING WRITING EFFORT, TO HELP PROMOTE CONSERVATION IN OUR DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA, AND TO SPARE THE LAKELAND FROM URBAN SPRAWL. I CAN TRACE IT ALL BACK, TO SITTING ALONG THAT CREEK BANK, LISTENING TO THE GENTLE, SOOTHING WASH OF WATER, SMOOTHING LIKE SYRUP, OVER THE FLAT ROCKS ON THE BOTTOM, AND RUSHING THROUGH THE CONFLUENCES, OF STONES BUILT-UP AS BRIDGES, SO WE COULD PASS FROM ONE MARVELOUS PLACE TO ANOTHER. IT WAS A POET'S SANCTUARY. A WRITER'S PORTAL. I WROTE ABOUT IT ALL, IN THOUGHT.

     I was always told I had an over-active imagination. It was said to me, by overseers, who often felt I was embellishing what I saw, or experienced. If a teacher, friend or family member, had said this to my mother Merle, about the eccentricity of her only son, she would have tightened her jaw, rolled back her eyes, stiffened her stance, and let loose with a tirade of reasons, to allow the creative mind its flowery pastures to roam…..its forest adventures to seek, and passage on the high seas to embark. It was like Joseph Conrad's novel, "Typhoon," when she finally finished. Every one was windblown with adjectives. Merle was a passionate defender of what others thought were mere extravagances, of an undisciplined mind. I see so much of this today, it's alarming…..young kids, who should be playing in the same woodlands, as I did; getting soakers and bumps and bruises by interacting with the natural environs. I get frustrated watching kids walk up our street to school, texting on their phones. They have had to walk a whole stretch of neighborhood, where a beautiful forest and lowland occupies the north side. If a deer was standing close enough to lick their faces, these youngsters would be so consumed by communication via expensive technology, they'd never feel its hot breath on their necks; and how sad, that they are missing these amazing intricacies, and displays of nature. This will have a tragic consequence over time. We can't possibly be stewards of nature, by the indifference that is being demonstrated these days.

     Long before I ever read anything Washington Irving had written, there was a passage he wrote that explained, with uncanny accuracy, my own intimate opinion of nature, and my outright refusal, to place science above creative enterprise. I held them as equals. Obviously, even the scientist needs to employ creativity to find solutions, and uncover natural truths, unseen by the naked eye, and even left undetected by the wandering poet. For those who have been reading my blog, for some time, they will recognize this particular reference, to the differences between science and the mysteries of life, science can't entirely explain. I never walk in the woods without thinking of this paragraph, written in and around the early 1820's, published in the book "Bracebridge Hall." (Bracebridge, Ontario, (Muskoka) was named after this book, by Irving).

     "I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a threadbare subject; yet it brings up with it a thousand delicious recollections of those happy days of childhood, when the imperfect knowledge I have since obtained had not yet dawned upon my mind, and when a fairy tale was true history to me. I have often been so transported by the pleasure of these recollections, as almost to wish that I had been born in the days when the fictions of poetry were believed. Even now I cannot look upon those fanciful creations of ignorance and credulity, without a lurking regret that they have all passed away. The experience of my early days, tells me, that they were sources of exquisite delight; and I sometimes question whether the naturalist who can dissect the flowers of the field, receives half the pleasure from contemplating them, that he did who considered them the abode of elves and fairies. I feel convinced that the true interests and solid happiness of man are promoted by the advancement of truth; yet I cannot but mourn over the pleasant errors which it has trampled down in its progress. The fauns and sylphs, the household sprite, the moonlight revel, Oberon, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy land, all vanish before the light of true philosophy; but who does not sometimes turn with distaste from the cold realities of morning, and seek to recall the sweet visions of the night."

     So what would the average public school student, today, say about a circle of padded-down grass, and bent-over vegetation, found in a secluded, shady woodlot? A place where a bear might have rolled around? Two Tom cats wrestling in the night? Something round having fallen from outer space, that was able to walk away from the landing spot? Or could it have been caused by something weather related? Out of ten kids, or a hundred, or a thousand, how many do you think would say, "That's a fairy ring, from a moonlight dance." My boys would have, offered this anecdotally, as they were children of the wilds, who had a mother who read them stories about the "fantastic."  I would have answered this the same, even at a very young age, because Merle always read me fairy tales, and the great children's fiction of the world. I knew, as did my wife, and sons, the differences between the actualities, and science of nature, and the intricacies of fantasy. The distance between the two, is what we all called, "the enchantment." Before I moved away from Harris Crescent, and that amazing little ravine, and Ramble Creek, I knew the science of that place. I knew how the seasons affected the habitat, for a million interesting creatures that lived there, and how the water flow was affected in the spring by the melting snow, and how it would be limited to a trickle in the last days of July. I knew the heart beat and pulse that was strong in this shadowy place, and despite the science and botany I enjoyed as much, there was never a time, when I entered the hollow of the ravine, when I didn't expect to find magic unfurled…..whether the glistening art of a spider's web with dew, or the strange designs a spawning Sucker had made in the sand of the shallow pools, between the smooth flat rocks of the creek. I amalgamated it all, into one impression, and it was that this was a place of endless possibility and great expectation. Within only several minutes, of my arrival, any day, any hour of the week, I got a "soaker." It was my initiation, you see, to this perpetually unfolding, natural world, of which I was a humble, inquisitive guest.

     It was the background, I called upon, when we were forced to fight the sale plans, the Town of Gravenhurst initiated, several years ago, targeting the marvelous little acreage I call The Bog, across from our home. They were prepared to sell it off for residential lots, without any consideration whatsoever, of the lowland eco-system they would be destroying…..that would affect the water quality of Muskoka Bay, of the broader Lake Muskoka. Many times during the rigorous battle, to preserve the open space, I thought about that little ravine, where Ramble Creek tumbled along, in its tiny natural paradise. I thought a lot about Washington Irving. And the happy ending, is that the people won, and The Bog was preserved……and all the bandy legged wee beasties that dwell there, have their home intact.