YESTERDAY, TODAY, AND FOR THE REST OF TIME

This morning I stood for a moment, or possibly two, outside the post office building, gauging the mood of the day. My breath steamed into the air and my finger-tips started to tingle despite the fact I had my mitts comfortably appointed. A cold, damp start to the day but by the legends of Canadian winters, a gentle one in a more than obliging season so far.

I was pondering, for that moment or two, out there on that well known crossroads, at Bay and Muskoka Road, all the history and change that has turned this way or that, since those early days of winding cartways through the woodlands. While it is an inevitable fact of existence..... that time waits for no man, and change, often profound, is anticipated although not always welcome, we like to anchor ourselves in the common-place of the present. There’s certainly a desire, amongst some of us mortals, to find a secure place, away from the risks of fire and storm, unfortunate events and general misadventure, which have etched and shaped our town in the past, and as within the photographer’s frame, they might well choose to remain......if they could.

When I look out onto this street scene, on this beautiful winter morning, I see a bustling, thriving, ambitious community that continues to hum along despite all the dire predictions, and all the naysayers, who fear too much and live too cautiously. I can dress this same town scene in the garb and backdrops of early 1900, or a similar day in the mid 1930's, a January Tuesday from 1963, or 1972, and find the identifiers that characterize Gravenhurst in full regalia. I can take these trundling pedestrians and cloak them in period dress, from top hats to peak caps, Hudsons Bay and Bird’s Woolen Mill coats, to Victorian finery, bustles to bonnets, fur muffs to heavy woolen mitts. Of course there are still today some pretty interesting, trans-history outfits being worn. It’s a Muskoka winter and that trumps all other considerations. One must dress to survive. One must also trundle with ambition from place to place, just as it has always been, and will carry on, as if history does surely repeat.

When we must carry on our task of living, we do so with the profound knowledge of world events. Although we are quite a distance removed from the recent shooting spree in Tucson, Arizona, we are affected by its frightening reality. We don’t have memorials set up in town, to show our deepest sympathy for our American friends, yet we all realize life’s frailties and the potential for disastrous events even within our community. How did our townsfolk react when they heard about the assassination of President Kennedy? What was being talked about when citizens first laid eyes on a parade of German Prisoners of War, marching toward this same crossroads, during the early years of the Second World War? What was the banter when readers consumed the headlines that the Stockmarket had crashed, commencing the Great Depression? How did the citizens rebound from the great fire that destroyed much of the main street architecture? How have we dealt with tragic demise of friends and community leaders, accidents and terrible occurrences that have challenged the will to carry on?

Standing out on this cold but storied cross roads, you can find the answer by simply looking about, and realizing that time waits for no one, and profound change isn’t always scheduled or predicted but is always accepted, no matter how unwillingly or unhappily. What I see, as the historian, is what we all know happens day to day in this mortal coil. While from this corner the watcher has seen a lot, and looked up and down the streets over many decades, the changes seem so much more minute and tidy than they have been in fact. It’s a citizenry that has moved on and on and on, as is the expectation of daily life. It’s only when we dwell on those snapshots the photographer dutifully provided, to capture the moment, that some feel that change has been rigorous and unforgiving.......as one ponders in the mirror day after day, first as a child wishing to age, then in elder years, feeling that the aging process has gone too far and been unkind to hair and skin.

For every historian who stands at this same crossroads, in all the decades from now to then, my presumption is that they will all be able to accommodate the rebirth, aging, and renewal with a sense of progress as it has always been......and look out upon the busy citizenry as the commonplace of community, living in their own history, and the history that makes up the provenance of this crossroads;......to be an eager witness to all the change from pioneer trail to major highway link, through economic prosperity, conflict and protest, fire and storm, winter, summer, spring and fall, to do it all again.....that as we might all pause and feel regret about the misfortune being faced by other communities and countries, we have work to do......and time is ticking.

At this same crossroads, in any given day, the watcher may see a hearse pass with a motorcade of mourners, or see a group of youngsters, hand in hand, walking with a teacher on a wee school outing. There may arrive, at this corner, two contemporaries who trade political rhetoric about the upcoming provincial election....or who ask of one another how respective families are doing. There will be discussions of the weather, future travels, interesting anecdotes and good humor. Over a day, the voyeur could compose a curious little chapter of all the history made that day, on one corner in a good old town......just as it has been since those first settlers opted to make this place look, feel and function like home.

When you appreciate that in the time it has taken to read this, your own history has been notched, a tad, and that the past is only ever a tick of the second hand from being old news,.... it should then be as natural, to look upon the work of the historian as never-ending, impossible to gather entirely, and ridiculously entertaining most of the time.

As an add-on to the previous blog, written January 10th, this is just a cap on the assessment that we all need to recognize the inherent value of our mortal legacy......that defines for me that willpower and passion built our community from a far more adverse condition, than what we face today, in the bid to revitalize......and that it is all possible, when we cherish what we do possess, to make it so much better.

Believe it or not, we historians don’t dwell in the past. We are very contemporary and quite aware of our ever-changing surroundings, and the trends weighing upon it. Our greatest chagrin, if there is one thing in particular we can agree on, is being ignored, and dismissed as having nothing worthwhile to offer. I’ve never met an historian yet, who wasn’t ready to participate, when required, to educate the willing, about the precedents of the past. We can’t promise that our involvement in current affairs will make for a better or more prosperous community economy but we might be able to offer the security and insight, a foundation in fact, that we will survive against the elements, the etchings and jostling of time and aging, to remain as a community.....as a home town. This in spite of the grumbling and predictions by the naysayers that the sky is falling.

HISTORIANS CAN BEFUDDLE THEMSELVES LOOKING TO THE PAST FOR ANSWERS

I don’t regret having had a strong background in history. I sometimes wonder however, if I’ve spent too much time mired in historical pursuits, and research, for my own good. Friends and associates of mine, get frustrated by precedent-citing and event-retelling as a matter of general conversation. As I’ve written about before, historians don’t get invited out much. My boys are hobby music historians but they’re having too much fun to think about the consequences of one-upmanship at social engagements. They have more of a gathering huddled around them, reminiscing about my era of music, than I’d have talking to the same group about attending the actual concerts being discussed. Which proves that my repertoire of stories is told with much less enthusiasm for some reason. Those concerts were just things to do......to fill the void between hockey and school. To my boys, they must have been legendary events, according to the enthusiasm they place upon them......as junior historians speaking to their contemporaries.

History is one of those areas of interest that has led, as well, to a lifetime of antique hunting, which of course has spun-off wildly, and thoroughly, totally influencing my wife and sons.....to my own likeness. Now that’s a scary assessment! Although we have different interests in old stuff generally, they have built lives that feed-off history. For Andrew and Robert it has meant a full immersion in music. The fact their great-grandfather was a violinist when not building homes, and their kin on the other side, were homestead guitarists with considerable talent, is of course part of the equation but certainly only a minor influence, on budding careers in the music industry. The fact I toured with a school band in England, back in 1974, isn’t mentioned......so don’t ask. It seems playing a (brass) baritone wasn’t cool back then or now.

The fact that our whole family lives day-in and day-out in respective museums of our desired composition, with a print archives at our beck and call, does rank us amongst the curious and otherwise strange of civilization. For the most part, we don’t really think about it.....we just live it day to day, until for some reason an issue or project pops up unexpectedly that tickles our fancy to get involved. What we get involved in usually touches, in some way, on a point(s) of heritage. We don’t jump on bandwagons as a rule, because we’ve had our share of unfortunate and unceremonious dismounts, when things didn’t work out the way we had supposed. We aren’t historical purists by any means but we are sticklers none the less!

We tend to see the patina of history even when there’s nothing tangible in sight, other than a visualization of what we might like to see. I can look down the main street of Gravenhurst and rekindle images of an entire community history, and imagine what it may look like in the future. When someone asks me what I’m daydreaming about, heck, a modest explanation simply wouldn’t do. When I hear a lot of criticism about the town, and the main street commercial artery, I can’t help wonder if there was as much negative banter in 1929-30 as there is today, or whether it was a lesser issue in 1914 to 1918, or from 1940 to 1945, during the war years. What was the talk on the main street then? How did merchants get along with each other in those years.....what about in the Victorian years when a South Muskoka village had grown into a town, showing so much promise? Whether there were as many philosophical debates about the local economy or politics back then or not, I see it all as a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme. I think this town is on the verge of a great revival, and no matter how many disagreements I might have with local policy makers, and business movers-and-shakers, I return to the reality that history has shown there has been a lot of talent and ingenuity in this town, just as there is now. And while it’s true we can trip-up on negativity, it’s not to suggest critical assessment is a wasted exercise. It’s the constructive aspect of the critical approach to anything however, that is most beneficial to the history of us all. It’s the hammering together of ideas and objectives. We have run into a strange hiatus however, that at times seems as if we are precariously balanced, on a sort of pinnacle of time, with a nervous feeling of doom that no matter which way we teeter down, toward one direction or another, it won’t be the result of us leaning to that side as a preference. I suppose it’s a case of pre-dooming us to fail. This of course is more of a twinge of expectation about the trials and tribulations of this new-reality economy, than prevailing fact. Whatever strategies allowed us to survive through many other gloomy decades of lesser economy, has a practicality to the present......and an adaptability for the future. If we survived then, we shall survive now. Prosperity is pretty much at our discretion, and of our creation, but will it ever make us the proud and fulfilled community we should be after all these trials yet successes?

Frequently, this historical comparison stuff does get our family into hot water......because we are either ridiculously optimistic, or painfully naive, that a knowledge of history and its precedents will always adjust the balance of things to come. And be gratefully received by others. We most recently had a couple of ideas we wanted to share with a local group, planning a major event. It was a well thought-out, thoroughly critiqued, and bashed about mercilessly, for hours and hours...... to rid it of anything remotely frivolous before we made a presentation. When we heard back from our friends, our idea, awkwardly stuck in the fatty tissue of tradition and history, proved our own blind faith that history should influence the present, was more of a burden and anxiety to others, than a blessing of found prosperity.

Just because we have more than a passive relationship with history, it doesn’t mean we can see through brick walls, or have modern day solutions based on problems experienced in the past. Of course, some experts do possess this capability. What we see in our hometown, is a general distancing and disinterest in the history that put us on the map in the first place. There’s a lot more to town history than architectural landmarks. There’s a social / cultural legacy that has been obscured by a fundamental and continuing failure, to ensure the continuation of local traditions, and the preservation of characteristics that made Gravenhurst different from Bracebridge, Huntsville or any other community in the whole darn world. Some traditions have received so little political interest until frankly, for some, they’re too far gone to save......and you can’t even hear an “Oops, sorry” being uttered from town hall.

When Andrew and Robert opened-up their music business, in the former digs of the Muskoka Theatre, in Gravenhurst, they immediately began researching its history.......providing guests with running commentaries on its former use and the celebrities that used to visit......such as Stomping Tom Connors, who actually played the stage during a former Winter Carnival event. They delight meeting former patrons who used to attend the Theatre and they have enjoyed the parallels of the entertainment / music business with their own eclectic surroundings. The only thing better than running a music shop in an old theatre would be to re-open the Muskoka Theatre, as it was, because we need it! We all need to take a look at those musty old postcards and photographs of the main street from years past, and recognize clearly that if it could flourish over so many decades of world turmoil, war and Depression, it can revive with the same fortitude today.......that any historian knows existed in the citizenry, of once, as it still does today....despite the nagging feeling nothing will ever bring back the glory years. Strangely, one can surmise these same predictions were bandied about in coffee and barber shops, on the post office steps, in the corridors of town hall, and on the mainstreet a century ago, with the same concern about economic survival in the future......if things were to continue this way.

As history enthusiasts one has to be a realist first. It is of course an occupational hazard, to be overly enthusiastic about the possibilities of finding future town builders, who will revitalize and recondition, according to the will of the historical dreamer......possibly even looking at those old time archive photographs and souvenir postcards, in expectation that the past might again collide with the future, in the time-honored pursuit of winning economics.

Whenever we talk about the promotion and re-animation of old traditions in this town, we offer an opening apology.....that as historians generally, we always possess the kind of respect, whether in music or decor, neighborliness or event, business or politics, that neatly maintains one foot in yesteryear, one foot in the present. It is a profoundly silly walk into the future but we’re stalwart believers that some things never change, despite the will of the modernists......who by the way wouldn’t exist in philosophy without a history to feed from.

Some of our friends, it’s true and understandable, find us a tad obsessed. They have become unsure and somewhat afraid of our intrusion, that might set their rigid protocols awry. When we look forward to all the traditions we’d like to renew in this town, well, we recognize mistrust and suspicion might prevail. Afterall, we were originally from Bracebridge. But we also know when to walk away from projects and objectives when we sense a tricky negotiation, and simply try a different approach sometime later. Never though, at the expense of dropping a good idea, simply because a temporary obstacle presents.

For the many good musical mates, the boys have made in this town, we have dozens of future plans and aspirations, we’re itching to launch.......admittedly our failing may be, we’re faithfully committed to that old way of doing things......when a good idea had a head of steam, like an old and trustworthy locomotive that just wouldn’t quit. And there was a cow catcher on the engine for the obstacle in front.

WINTER CARNIVAL REVIVAL IN GRAVENHURST A GOOD EVENT FOR US!

First of all, I want to begin this blog by somewhat contradicting just about everything written below. While it is true I have a jaded opinion of some winter carnivals of the past, this was largely the result of being forced to work the venues as a reporter, not attending as a fun-seeking patron. As a job, during that traditionally “bitter-weather-week,” I did indeed wish away time. Of our group, despite the shots of whisky to keep us warm, we all hoped for that final Skokie buzzer to sound. Then we’d have to face the publisher’s cronies, demanding to see all the great promotional flicks that were going to sell papers. “Get lots of group shots,” they’d bark, believing with their misguided business-minds that a good paper depends on sucking-up, shameless pandering to advertisers, promotion and nothing else. I never had upper management congratulate me on a great fire photograph but by golly, they’d have given me the president’s cup for getting a front-pager of business glad-handers, with a sundry host of media darlings, politicians and service club executives, who would huskily jockey for photo prominence.

Burdened under the weight of a mountain of camera gear, for inside and outside assignments, and fettered by the work expectation from management, that we would kiss the arse of every business that threw in a couple of bucks.....showing lots of grip and grin photos by the end of the week-long freeze-fest, it was unfortunate that most of us media types wanted to book vacation time well away from Skokie. But I have been closely watching the organizers of the latest revival of the Winter Carnival, in Gravenhurst (in February this year), and I find myself feeling good about this positive turn. This despite my trepidation for orange and brown critters, nuzzling up to me and mates in the winter clime of South Muskoka. Our boys are eager to assist as music venue volunteers, as they did for last year’s carnival revival. What I like about it most of all, is that it seems to be targeting hometown folks first.....an event by hometowners for hometowners yet all are welcome to attend. This wasn’t always the core feeling of the larger carnivals, so our family is very much in support of these kind folks who have decided to revitalize a long-standing tradition that isn’t shy about having a modest economy and limited venues. But here’s a little clip about how a few of us reporter-kind got off on the wrong foot, with Skokie and promoters, back in the events golden years.

As for Gravenhurst, by golly, Skokie has never looked more trim and determined!

When I became a reporter for the Muskoka Lakes / Georgian Bay Beacon, based in MacTier, back in the late 1970's, early 80's, and then writer / editor of The Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge, a few years later, I dreaded the Winter Carnival and the arrival of its mascot, which the reporting staff referred to as Skokie, that “Damn Winter Weasel.” Of course we knew it was supposed to be an otter but it was a weasel to us. Here’s why.

It was a week long period of grip and grin photographs. Standing out in the cold for hours on end to cover a plethora of events. Thrust into the midst of beerfests, log sawing, arm wrestling donut eating venues that meant all reporting staff had to be raring to go. We weren’t excited to go. We just had to go. Advertising management at the papers wanted all the happy-go-lucky photographs to replace the editorial copy for two weeks. A lot of the events were sponsored by businesses that also advertised in our publications. For weeks ahead of time, we would be writing promotional material by the bucket-load, and for this entire period Skokie and worker bees drove us nuts. It wasn’t that the Winter Carnival was a bad thing, or uninteresting to attend, except for the fact reporters, used to covering accidents, fires, court cases and the police beat, didn’t find the coverage all that exciting. We dreaded the outdoor venues because it was always the time of the coldest weather of the year, and standing out on that bit of ice, awaiting the polar bear dip contestants to mount the courage to enter the open water, was enough to dull Skokie’s trademark orange to a winter bland. The only respite was when some kind soul would buy us a beer at one of the local watering holes.....which we weren’t supposed to accept, but didn’t have the willpower to say no.

What I didn’t like about the Winter Carnival was, the fact that my employment depended on sucking up to the big wheels and corporate / business sponsors, and in our eyes, this wasn’t the cause of journalism we signed up for by joining the local press. I liked the fact there was a Carnival but I didn’t have the opportunity, in those days, to enjoy it as a civilian. It wasn’t easy to manage reporters and photographers during this period, who would do anything, and I mean anything to dodge covering an outdoor event particularly. Instead of pulling rank, which frankly wouldn’t have worked anyway, we had a sort of lottery to match event and lucky or unlucky staffer. If I got to cover an indoors event, sponsored by one of the service clubs, I was quite pleased. On the other hand, getting the events for kids always got us front page photographs, and most of us were, without shame, photo-credit hogs. The mainstreet events had a Rockwellian quality to them, and we took enough flicks to last over about three or four editions for white-space fill-ins. Those who got the short straws found themselves at log sawing, snowmobile runs, the polar bear dip or the bed race. While the bed race was one of the more exciting events of the entire carnival, because there were many spills to capture on film, the time between races was a killer to the camera equipment and the photographer’s feet. One of the real problems was that our management wanted trophy presentations, to show the sponsors we cared about their involvement, and they also believed that the more named faces in a photo, meant more papers sold. So we would have to stand around for hours at some events.....and our upper management used to test us regularly, by making spot checks, and then going over the hundreds of negatives later on. If we didn’t have their “money” photos, we were screwed. It was more of a pandering exercise to the advertisers, than truly covering the fun aspects of the Winter Carnival and Skokie.

My other dislike for the earlier years of the Muskoka Winter Carnival, was that it was primarily aimed at visitors.....the tourists, and marketing had more of a regional / provincial scope than a local, hometown emphasis. It was part of this region’s necessary obsession with the promotion of tourism, which actually began, curiously enough, in the 1850's, when the earliest sportsmen began to arrive (tourists), at around the same time as the first settlers commenced erecting their homestead shanties throughout the Muskoka wilds. I always thought that the failure of the Winter Carnival, had more to do with this determination to make it a winter attraction for the rest of the world, and that volunteers got sick and tired of all the fuss to please the business community, at the expense of the folks who call Muskoka home. I have watched how other small winter carnivals have thrived because they have always been for the people, by the people, as a source of community entertainment and recreation. While open to all comers, from points all over God’s snowy and green earth, the events that have been most enduring and successful, have been clearly “hometown” venues, that show pride for the accomplishments of the locale. They’re not simply money-making events and promotional opportunities for the business community. And while it is understood by everyone involved, and armchair critics like me, that most of these events could not operate without business and corporate sponsorships, they don’t overshadow the fact that it is a community conceived and operated event. A “mom and pop” winter carnival, where hometowners can get together and celebrate the whole history of the town or village, the present and future, without tripping over advertising protocols and media aspirations to sell papers or electronic spots. It’s about that homegrown Skokie feeling and well-being, a true reflection of all the good and hard working folks who, with no other gain than personal enjoyment, volunteer their time to instill celebration and recognition into their ballywick.

Despite my years of Skokie dislike, and disapproval for my media role in the Winter Carnival, I am very pleased to offer my, and our family’s support, to the newly minted, much improved, Gravenhurst Winter Carnival......which will be a homegrown success if it’s anything at all. It will take time to convince many hometowners to come back out, and support Skokie and friends.... but it will happen if the core values remain as they are now. A wonderful and warm rekindling of old time values in an icy environs.

Watch this blog for more on the upcoming February Winter Carnival.

THE BOG IN WINTER, WHAT A JOY TO WAKE UP TO.........

This Christmas Day blog is dedicated to Hanne, Mike and Carrie Smith from our bogland neighborhood, here in Gravenhurst, who were amongst the pioneers of the Calydor Subdivision back in the 1970's, and who insisted on re-building their homestead, after it was destroyed by a fire several years ago......because being associated with this beautiful Muskoka neighborhood was life enhancing, as it had been for so many years of their residency here. And when we very nearly lost it, a number of years back, when Gravenhurst Council starting selling off the properties of which we entrusted to their stewardship, there were a number of folks, even in our neighborhood, that couldn’t have cared-less if it had been compromised. These are folks who head to work in the morning, come home for dinner, go out in the evening, come home again, and seldom if ever notice the deer huddled within a canopy of snow-laden evergreen, or wish to waste time looking at the owl perched on a pine bough, the woodpecker tapping for dinner on an old pine trunk, or give a second notice to the moose poop on the path to the communal mail box. Well, the Smith’s would have missed this place greatly, as would have many other families, who have lodged contently next to The Bog for decades, like the Burns family, who also worked with us to save the property, from indiscriminate urban sprawl, and steaming tarmac proposed upon a small but significant wetland.

When we arrived home on Christmas Eve, and found a note from the Smith family, with pictures of the wonderful wildlife that has, most recently, visited their Parkette, at their beautifully replicated home, Suzanne and I were overwhelmed by the kind words extended us, regarding the preservation of The Bog. On that fight we were also joined by members of many other concerned town neighborhoods, as chagrined about the loss of open space, a filtering wetland, and the many species of wildlife which have called this place home for generations, as we were, and it showed beyond doubt, that the apparent failed stewardship, by the town, was not going the distance without a tooth and nail fight from the rank and file citizenry. What’s so darn pleasing, is that it is still talked about, not just amongst neighbors on Segwun Boulevard, but throughout town, when I meet up with folks in local grocery stores and while mainstreeting. I also close our conversations with the advisory that sooner or later they’ll try it again......or to compromise some other natural place that serves us well, to suit their fiscal objectives. I’m sorry to say this, but after The Bog debacle I could never fully trust a council again, to be the stewards they should be......and I remind them, that the shock and awe they felt before, when they stomped on citizen rights, can and will return when required, to defend our resources from compromise and the covetous grasps of profit taking.

The Smith’s reminded me of a little story I have, of my friend David Brown, who was one of the finest outdoor education teachers in Canada......a man I was privileged to know so well, and trusted, that he asked me to pen his biography. What he didn’t tell be was that he was suffering a fatal illness at the time, and I was going to have to finish the book alone. I did. But I never doubted he was watching over my shoulder all the while. It’s not a long story but an important reminder of apathy we suffer from in this world, this country, and particularly in the school system, where there is not enough emphasis placed on outdoor education with on-site instruction about the relevance of conservation...... as a foundation of life, not just as a pleasant backdrop for the wedding photographer and landscape artist.

When I began searching for good graphics to accompany Dave’s biography, a book largely for the Hamilton area where his outdoor education centre was legendary for former students, there was one image I had to use that had been taken by a photographer with the Hamilton Spectator some years earlier. It was a picture of Dave walking down a hillside, near the Botanical Gardens property in Hamilton, with a troop of youngsters following behind. I enlisted the help of artist /colleague Jim Thompson, (who retired to a cottage in Bracebridge) to create a painting of Dave from the essence of the Spectator photograph. It was perfect for the back cover, an inspiring way to remember Dave after reading the text.

Dave was a big man but he was a soft touch let me tell you. He had a compelling method of teaching, that involved every kid all of the time. There was no such thing as a standoffish kid on his watch. He was patient and adjusted so well to each youngster, whether they were scholars or daydreamers....Dave had a story for each one that put them on a personal relationship with their surroundings.

Andrew and I went with Dave to a special arts program, for the Hamilton students, at Skeleton Lake’s Camp Kwasind, and travelled with him and his entourage, through the woodlands of the property. At intervals, he would ask the students to stop and sit on a rock or fallen log for a few moments, to enjoy the surroundings. He’d ask them to listen to the environment around them, and try to identify the sounds and what was making them. For the first half hour, the observations were pretty vague and they couldn’t really get much past waves hitting the rock shore or the sound of a motor boat, a canoe paddle or the wind rustling the leaves overhead. Good but still muted! It got a little better before we got back to the camp but still they were identifying larger and more intrusive noise-makers ranging from planes to cars bumping down a nearby dirt road.

I was writing an article for the local press, on the nature / arts camp, and I had a good interview with Dave about the students somewhat dulled senses. He said that all the students would be more comfortable, and more alert to the sounds of the forest over the next several days of the camp experience, as the walks would continue twice daily. What he pointed out to us, was that it always takes this long for inner-city kids, particularly, to sensitize to the new reality. Instead of dealing with the daily din of jack-hammers, construction, destruction, four lane traffic, horns, jets and sirens, having to identify that a chickadee was singing, or a squirrel chattering, wasn’t quite in their range. They were instead looking for the hefty noise contributors that they were familiar with at home. By the end of their stay, they were able to identify the sounds of bugs, some rustling under the ferns and old leaf cover. They could identify a squirrel’s scolding from a chipmunk’s plaintive call to a partner. They heard the woodpecker, and could identify when a fish jumped from the water even if they couldn’t see the spot it had occurred. They could see and experience the minute aspects of nature they couldn’t on the first few outings. When they arrived at camp, it’s not that they didn’t understand nature, or know its place in the grand scheme, because of what they had learned in the classroom. Yet many hadn’t enjoyed the immersion with this wild place that is the cradle of all life. They were desensitized and programmed to an urban way of living their lives.....without having the freedom my sons have enjoyed throughout their lives living across from our wetland. Dave by the way, had been doing this same thing with summer camps near Dorset for decades, as an outdoor instructor by land and canoe. Thousands upon thousands of youngsters became enlightened, and familiar with Dave Brown, as the painting reveals.....following the leader down the forest paths of Ontario.

Dave’s outdoor education classroom was one of the finest anywhere in the world, largely made up of articles and creatures he had rescued, found preserved in many other forms, and natural species for show and tell that to many kids were nothing short of magic and enchanting.....and yet it was nature that amazed them. Dave was the conduit. The guide. The teacher. Nature did the rest.

When the clowns who thought they could govern us, at Queen’s Park, back in the former Tory government, of the 90's, decided to make some education cutbacks, Dave’s outdoor education days were over. He was sent back to a run of the mill classroom and it wasn’t long before nature came calling. While the cause of Dave’s failing was a disorder of the blood, I never believed for a moment, it had been the true cause of death. Any one who knew Dave from this finale recognized how devastated he was, to have been pulled out of that wonderful classroom he had taken decades to outfit. It broke his heart not to be able to take those kids on the nature hikes through the woodlands. While he volunteered when and how he could, even after taking his retirement well ahead of schedule, and guided hikes as before, it just wasn’t the same, and I felt very much as if he had given up on a life’s work of enrichment.

Dave Brown used to take our family on hikes through The Bog, when he lodged with us on hiatus weekends, when he was returning from canoeing adventures in Algonquin and Haliburton. He meant a lot to my boys, Andrew and Robert, who had enjoyed intensive outdoor education from this talented, insightful man, who knew the species responsible for every poop in the forest, bear, deer, moose, wolf, coyote, racoon or pooch.....each paw print, hole whacked in a dead tree, and as for flora and fauna, he was an expert.....who lived to share his knowledge. Yet for all Dave’s passion for nature, he was by all means an historian and realist about the environment. He knew development would have to claim land, and some of it wetlands like ours. He loved trees but he felled them as part time income in Hamilton. He wasn’t an environmental zealot but he knew all about good planning and sensible proportion. He was afterall, a gent who had spent most of his life in the city, except for teaching jags in the north each summer. Dave wasn’t at all against progress but rather against poor planning and damaging sprawl that was threatening us all, in the long run.

Dave and I talked well into the nights, here at Birch Hollow, sitting out on the verandah, sipping wine, and celebrating the day’s project.....from hunting old books in local antique shops or meeting up with his outdoor cronies for more story swapping. It was this scene, looking out over The Bog, and watching the deer amble by, the occasional bear popping-up through the evergreens, and the owls hooting from the shadows, that reminded all of us about the real life values that enhance each day, if we truly, without reservation, allow them to influence us.......just as it influenced those city kids at Camp Kwasind, who eventually found a myriad of life forms where, days earlier, to them, there had been nothing but city echoes......and Thoreau, that famous writer / camper at Walden Pond, who found nature so enthralling and important, that his literary compositions and observations continue to inspire after hundreds of years.

Shortly after Dave’s death, I was invited to speak at a resort planning seminar, for a new Muskoka development. While I was asked to speak on matters of local history, I was never very good at following instructions. For Christ’s sake, I got kicked out of Cubs, because I challenged the pack leader on several points of protocol. No kidding. I was shown the door. My parents weren’t surprised. I was a born agitator and political pain in the arse! So when I found my talk had made it in, under the budget of time I was allowed, I told them the “Dave Brown Story,” I’ve just now presented to you. And I wondered if these corporate executives, planners, engineers, investors, and bean counters etc., would like to come on a nature hike with me, some time, through the property they were planning to obliterate for profit. I wondered aloud to them, if they, under the same constraints as the urban-desensitized students of Hamilton, would be able to hear the wee sounds of life within, and clearly identify a scraping sound of beetle inching through the leaf cover, from the foraging of a rustling mouse or chipmunk.....the sound of a tiny cataract of a nearby stream from the gentle brushing together of cat-tails along the lakeshore. I suppose I did add the editorial, regardless of their answer, that possibly this desensitized way of living, is why we have so much careless destruction of nature these days......the people so willing to sacrifice our resources never took that all important walk in the woods, with an instructor like the good Mr. Brown,...... because if they had, well, stewardship would always trump profit, as being in the best interest of all our lives on this planet.....not just those who measure the successes of life by profit and the luxuries it affords.

I won’t say I was given the bum’s rush but I never got invited to speak to the group again. They didn’t seem eager to take those expensive shoes down a dirt trail, or be pestered by the kind of bandy-legged wee beasties that call our forests home. Did they pay any attention? Did Gravenhurst Council get the message about The Bog? We hope so but only time will tell.

The great shortfall in the education system of this region, this province, and nation, is the outdoor education deficiency in time and money invested. Not enough! We have urban stressed and desensitized kids in our rural communities.....youngsters who have never had the opportunities to amble along country paths, through bog and woodland, as I did growing up in the same town(s). A lot of those accessible open spaces are gone now, (even in small communities) and most have to be accessed by car and responsive parental interest. So here we have it, that not only is there a problem getting city kids to appreciate the intricacies of nature.....we’ve got country kids in the same circumstances, and this is troubling. It was long appreciated that country kids were wiser because of their immersion in ruraldom. That has been a dramatic change as urban stresses are reaching further and further into the hinterland each decade.

When these desensitized students become the planners, developers, architects and teachers in the future, will that shortfall affect their ability to protect and conserve our natural resources? I fear this shortfall of education and insight more than anything else.

Thanks again to the Smith family, for reminding me about those friends of nature, who still abound in this grand world of ours, and appreciate nature as an integral part of our lives, not a casual, fleeting consideration, like when forced to stop a car for a passing moose, or a family of ducks inconveniencing your schedule.

Thanks Dave for helping the Curries experience our surroundings, and love our place within!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Years.

IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE! AND IT’S NOT JUST A MOVIE

(A personal Christmas-time message about being home for the holidays, and all other days in between)

Have you ever had a curious moment, when you felt as if someone had lightly touched or brushed your shoulder or back.....maybe the everso slight feeling a hand was slipping into yours without any one being there? Or have you sworn that someone had called out to you when in fact, you were quite alone? Maybe it was an old familiar scent or an out-of-place reminiscence, an aura that subtly reminded you of another time, another place, possibly the dearly departed. Well, there are times in my life, when all of the above feel at liberty to express themselves in a variety of forms, and most frequently when the last thing I’m contemplating frankly, is whether there is life after death,...... or paranormal anything, beyond the wacky stuff that happens on a daily basis to a family with seven cats. All rescued you see from abandonment in our neighborhood.

But as someone who writes frequently about those who have crossed over, and paranormal activities our family has experienced for many years, I can understand how the belief in ghosts can sway a realist into believing the Currie clan is rather “mad.” Delusional! Crazy people! Wouldn’t blame anybody for thinking this way! Still, I will ask those who refuse to have anything to do with spirit-kind, if they have ever had experiences they couldn’t explain. Those interesting little intrusions upon day to day living that seem to defy the protocol of whatever you’re doing and why, at that precise moment. When all of a sudden you can smell the aroma of a cologne, or freshly baked bread that makes you think of your grandmother’s kitchen, or your father’s after shave lotion. Little signs from somewhere that make us rekindle a memory but we don’t always know why. We settle for a moment with a wee smile and wish only we could relive those cherished affections of former hearth and home. I have always felt it was the spirit-world’s way of occasionally reminding us of our own history, our legacy, as being important at the time for whatever purpose or reason. Maybe to answer some doubt or reinforce an opinion or mood. Not to evoke sadness but to seek a validation; of sorts, that one still remembers affections of the old days.

Even those who staunchly adhere to the finality of life at that final breath, with nothing beyond, must surely admit to having experienced something or other in their lives that defied simple, or any explanation. If I hear a book fall to the floor, here at Birch Hollow, if it wasn’t the work of cat or dog, or earthquake, I acknowledge my book-collector mate, Dave Brown, who passed in the late 1990's. When all of a sudden I start getting some Civil War inkling, referencing Gettysburg, I say hello to my old research partner Charlie Wilson, who was, in life, an avid Civil War historian. If on the other hand Suzanne catches a whiff of something baking, and the kitchen is baking-free, she is sure her mother Harriet or aunt Ada are trying to make a point. We’re not always speedy on the uptake, and probably miss a lot of connecting calls but we certainly validate that those who have crossed can interact with reality.......in the way they feel most comfortable. Most of the time it’s a feeling of contentment. While some would be unsettled by such spirited company, we look forward to our next invitation to experience trans-dimension communication. Heck I’ve gone as far as asking Dave Brown to help me find an evasive book, and while it might take a week, it usually pops out of the strangest place in my archives.....much as if pulled out from a stack to catch my attention. The very moment I turned to put my rough work, written for Dave’s biography (done in 2000), back on the shelf, after the book was successfully off to the publisher, I felt a hand on my shoulder......as if the subject himself let me know he was pleased with content. It was the one fear I admitted to Suzanne throughout the book project. “What if Dave doesn’t like it.” Suzanne would answer, “You know Dave. He will let you know what he thinks, no fear of that!” While it might be hard to believe, it was the exact pat on the back he gave me many times when we were together in life. I knew at once who it was. And there wasn’t any one in that office but me. Or so I thought. But this isn’t to validate whether there are paranormal qualities and quantities, as much as offering an explanation about how and why we moved to this town, and the many pats on the back that encouraged us to sign the offer to purchase......which divine intervention or not, we have never regretted.

I have been a keen student of Charles Dickens and Washington Irving for many years now, and the spirits and hauntings they write about, despite the fiction in which they freely ramble, have always been my adopted philosophy....... those things we can’t fob-off on science alone to explain are dear to me as a writer. For example, the good Mr. Irving, wrote in the text of “Bracebridge Hall,” in his character, the visiting Mr. Crayon, that while science reveals the structure and functioning of life to the minute detail of cell structure and beyond, it can not, for him, remove all the mysteries of existence.......the phantoms, wee beasties of the moor, fairies and their Queen Mab, and the dance circles tucked in amidst the forest fauna, from that past midnight’s revellry beneath the star-light. It was Irving’s fear that the botanist might, if allowed, drain all expectation out of our lives, and make this quite a dull old world without the magic of expectation and imagination.

Dickens three spirits are as real to me as if science laid them out for summary dissection. I could no sooner sit by this brick hearthside, on a Christmas Eve, and not think of the busy work of spirits, than walk in this forest across the road, and not expect to see dear wee creatures of mythical proportion, darting from portal to safe haven. As a writer for these many years, I have enjoyed all these possibilities and expectations, and have practiced, as if religion, an openness to discovery. As a voyeur of curious events, I have enjoyed many moments of inspiration that have come gently, quietly, without fear or trembling, but with an insightful, strange quality which prevails upon me a newfound ambition.....feeling as if I should sit at this keyboard for hours, if even just a modest composition results.

While it can be difficult to explain to naysayers, critics and their cronies, why I have been open to such alleged fictional influences, other than the tried and true, “hard core” of reality, and its economy, I can only answer that a writer takes what is offered as a sign of generosity, regardless of the vehicle or dimension in which it arrived. While I’m ever wary of making deals at crossroads, at least ones involving my soul, just in case, there are times when a forensic accounting just isn’t necessary. A gift is a gift.

What fulfillment are you looking for, and where have you always found it? In my case, it has always been a welling-up of strong feeling, and a good, or bad sensation with a situation. Some of it is indeed untraceable, and unexplained, yet we all at one time or another, get this unanticipated inkling about an event, a move, an adventure that we have to separate from the science of life.....even if we don’t know why!

I wrote the short piece below, earlier today, in an attempt to explain how our family decided to make the move to Gravenhurst back in the late 1980's, when in all honesty, it was not even on the radar when we began shopping for a new residence. I had moved to Bracebridge in the winter of 1966, when my father re-located our family from Burlington, Ontario, to work at a local lumber company. With exception of a short time living in Toronto, during my years at university, I made the decision to come home to Bracebridge after graduating. It even cost me a girlfriend, because I refused to live in the city. I worked to establish a museum in town, and became editor of the former Herald-Gazette, and assistant editor of The Muskoka Sun, and was fully involved with local hockey, baseball and football. I met a girl I had known back at Bracebridge High School, and we discovered the spark was still there after all the years that had passed. We decided to hook-up permanently and make Bracebridge our home address. It all seemed perfect. Almost scripted. Maybe it was but I had wrongly assumed my contentment was defined by our home town. That we would be happy ever after as a family, living in the town I adored since childhood. I was way wrong. Suzanne and I found a growing discontent instead but it had nothing to do with our life together. It was about raising our boys, and where they would thrive. It was the seed of much contemplation but for a long while, we only thought about neighborhoods within Bracebridge, not about re-locating hometowns. But that is exactly what fate laid out for us, and as soon as we saw our future abode in Gravenhurst, we knew at once our kids were going to grow up here. How did we know? What signs? What inspiration? Was there a hand on our back pushing up up the driveway, or spiritually moving the pen on the “offer to purchase?” No, there was just a feeling. A good feeling, as if at that moment, Suzanne and I could both see at once, as Dickens empowered Ebeneezer Scrooge through time, by the hand of a spirit, to witness Christmases yet to be. Could this have been a supernatural experience? Was this the work of playful sprites, influencing poor mortals to do things against their will? While we have disagreed many times, why we re-located to Gravenhurst to raise our family, we knew, standing there at that moment, looking at this humble residence, that it was as much in need of a confused, nervous family to cradle, as we were in need of a forgiving, adaptable nest in which to thrive. And on each occasion, even today, when we roam about the countryside in the pursuit of musical instruments and antiques, as we have for so long, we will round this corner of the neighborhood, and be so delighted to be home once again.

The piece written below is an honest look back at how our family made it to the open arms of Gravenhurst. It isn’t intended to be a sloppy, heart rendering, syrupy re-telling of family history, or for that matter a slur or an insult to Bracebridge, because it will also be my cherished hometown in memoirs of my parents and their dwelling up on Alice Street. But it will explain, to some who think they know us, just how important and providential it has all been, when we report proudly, to anyone who cares to listen.....that Gravenhurst is home.....and it’s good to be here, amongst friends at this wonderful time of the year. And folks, has this town ever influenced us!

A MOVE TO THE FUTURE.......THE WINTER OF 1989

There was a shadow of doubt about a planned move. It wasn’t done without serious contemplation. We had to consider the impact on our family, Suzanne’s father and my parents, adding distance between them and their grandsons. Quirky as I am, I remember thinking about the history and fate we were tampering with, in a big way, by considering a re-location even if it was only a few miles south. What imbalance might we be creating in our universe? I guess it’s true that we were asking the heaven’s above, inadvertently, whether we should just stay put, instead of adding a bunch of unknowns to life’s adventure. I suppose in the process, we opened the door for the spirit-kind to intervene with their two cents’ worth. I found it all a little precarious but I knew we could not thrive in the situation we found ourselves. In retrospect, yes, I’m a little weirded-out by the reality we weren’t more decisive, and that it was possible we could have remained in the wilds of rural Bracebridge. Thinking about the boys work now, I can’t help but have that Jimmy Stewart moment, and recognize that we must have had our own Guardian Angel that led us, gently, to anticipate the future correctly.

In the late 1980's, early 1990's, I was unhappy with my employers, disenchanted with the way Bracebridge was sprawling into the countryside......in the pastures where I used to play pond-hockey, and my Manitoba Street antique business was a hair’s breadth from financial implosion. Suzanne had a slim to none chance of transferring from Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School, but we both realized a change was necessary in all areas. We had two wee lads, we were living on Golden Beach Road, in Bracebridge, with one car and it was a long hike to town if the battery quit.....which it did frequently. And the waterline would freeze at the same time as the septic tank. And when the wind blew, I swear the walls moved. It wasn’t our most prudent real estate acquisition.

Our change began in stages, not by choice but by circumstance. We sold our cottage-abode and moved to a family cottage on Lake Rosseau, at Windermere, and for months commuted to Bracebridge for our store and Suzanne’s teaching gig. We couldn’t find a house in our price range anywhere in Bracebridge. As Suzanne was getting anxious about having to stay in a poorly insulated cottage over the winter, I knew we had to find a place before the first major snow flurries of 1989. We did!

As if a providential development, we found a rather plain but nicely situated bungalow in Gravenhurst, across from a beautiful little lowland, we now call The Bog. We have always called our home “Birch Hollow,” after our business of the same name. While it was a considerable struggle those first few years, especially heading right into a recession, and property de-valuation, Suzanne jumped at the opportunity to transfer when a position opened at Gravenhurst High School. We were able to transfer the boys to Gravenhurst Public School, and after accepting a part-time job with former National Hockey League goaltender, Roger Crozier, to help with his fledgling Youth Foundation in Muskoka, we brought our antique business home, and after five years of re-organization of business and personal affairs, we were all settling finally, happily into our new home town.

While we both missed aspects of our lives and residency in Bracebridge, we wanted a smaller community for our boys to experience. And while some folks here didn’t like to be told their town was smaller, and less stressed by expansionary influences than their more northerly neighbor, they eventually recognized that what we really meant, was that Gravenhurst had avoided the kind of urban sprawl that both Bracebridge and Huntsville seemed to be welcoming far too rigorously....and measuring quality of life balances, solely by the number of new commercial establishments constructed in any given year. We wanted a community that handled development sensibly and proportionally to what citizens and their historic values had built in character. What made Gravenhurst different from the other towns? And while some former councils, in this town, were scorned for protectionism and excessive rigidity, resistant to accepting development without full scrutiny, what they did possess was a reverence to old standards of operation that were still reliable cornerstones amidst the orgy of new investment hitting Muskoka. They were keenly aware of precedents and protocols, when some councils in other municipalities couldn’t have cared less, other than to report a binge of economic development, and employment opportunities for all. Funny how we’re still staring at high unemployment none the less in this new century!

Some out-of-towners say Gravenhurst was stuck in the 1950's, for a half century, when they should have been cruising into the future with the rest of the pie-in-the-sky progressives, sucking the marrow of the 1980's surge of development investment. In my opinion that pause, and reluctance of government to embrace all development as good and enhancing, has enabled Gravenhurst to learn from the mistakes of others......knowing I’m sure by now that beanstalks all over the place, don’t define prosperity and quality of life but instead illustrate quite poignantly why we need to watch out for sellers of magic beans.

When we made this change in our young family’s life, we took an enormous risk on our new neighborhood. Today, pulling out of this wee lane at Birch Hollow, looking out over the snowy woodlands, and seeing the quaint, Christmas-decorated homes of neighbors and good friends, and drive up onto the main street, we have always adored for what it possesses of small town architecture, of history and accomplishment, and pull up in front of the shop where Andrew and Robert operate their music business, across from the Opera House (where they frequently meet up with friends to promote music events, for charity), it’s a settling, comfortable feeling about this adopted hometown......., and how it has all worked out for us over the decades. And one can pause, like Jimmy Stewart, for a moment, in the spiral of gently falling snow, and think about the possibility we had moved somewhere else, and established ourselves in another neighborhood. What a wonderful life we would have missed indeed. Ambitions I’m sure would have been at work there as they have been here, of course, and it is by no means the intention of this writer to be overly critical of my former hometown. Yet I know we made the right decision to move here, where today there is that effervescent feeling of belonging......as if we have been here for generations.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “so what the heck does this have to do with a Christmas message,”(or finding out that we think there are kindly spirits that walk the earth throughout the rolling year). After last weekend’s fundraising concert, at the Opera House, in benefit of the Salvation Army Food Bank......and all the kind remarks we’ve had over this week from sponsors, performers and patrons, and of course from the recipients of the funds, I can tell you honestly, on behalf of our family, that moving to Gravenhurst was a life-enhancing, wonderful adventure.......a risk we’re all glad we took back in 1989.

As for the future. We have so many more projects planned with our musical friends and helpers.....and with the spirit(s) of the season, and elsewhere as we seem to have as permanent companions, (we’re not complaining), we hope you will be part of our history of home town life and times, in that grand perpetuity of goodwill on earth. And if you have some suspicion that our paths were meant to cross, and there was some handiwork of providence at play, a hand on the shoulder, a mysterious voice of welcome, or odd feeling of being in the right place at the right time, well, then you’re on the right page with like-minded folks. Kindred spirits you might say.

For the entire time I was writing this lengthy tome, I have kept thinking about an author friend and mentor, Wayland Drew, who has for long and long had a hand on my own shoulder from beyond, of which inspires evermore. It was sitting with him, at hearthside, one Christmas, that his sage advice struck that chord of creativity, to write with spirit, write with devotion, write with passion. Write honestly. God bless!

We wish you all a safe and merry Christmas and of course a Happy New Year.

A DONATION UPDATE FROM “A NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”

Once the family business bean-counter, Suzanne, was finished with all the accounting for our fundraising variety show, for the Salvation Army Food Bank, well, we had found another hundred dollars to contribute. We had over-estimated the rental of the Opera House, and got a pleasant surprise that it was much lower than we had budgeted. We always over-budget! We hate shortfalls! The cheque for $902 is being presented later this morning (Wednesday).

Just for your information, and we have been asked this a number of times recently, (and it is a significant, valid inquiry), we have made a longstanding commitment to abide by the rules and fees charged at local venues, whether it is at the Opera House or the Senior Citizens Centre, where we have had numerous successful shows as well. We believe that these rental rates are fair and created by sensible folks, who realize what it actually costs to offer the site and services, and the costs of cleaning, staffing, services such as lighting and electrical, and overall administration. In the case of the Opera House, Andrew has been a long time employee of the Town, and we have never once asked for a special rate, not only under his circumstance of employment, and potential conflict, but because we are also taxpayers, and we insist on pulling our weight when it comes to rental costs. We know how to be frugal, and how to get the no-frills rate. We do provide our own technical support staff.

Each year council has to wrestle with requests for subsidies from user groups, and has a difficult time deciding which group deserves a reduction, and which doesn’t. We flatly refuse to have our cause weighed, and critically debated in public forum, in this fashion. Our sponsors were all aware, from the onset, of how we operate, and will operate in the future, when we plan our fundraisers at a public facility such as the Opera House. The Opera House needs to make money, and the taxpayers need the income on already burdened budgets. Our family businesses alone, contributed all but 19 dollars of the total rental fee of $519.00, which we think is a bargain, for such a wonderful entertainment venue. We do get a better rate because we are operating an event for a recognized charitable group but that’s by the terms of the contract, and not because we petitioned for a discount.

While we appreciate that some groups face different economic circumstances, and we don’t begrudge them asking for a discount, it will never be something we pursue. If the Town should decide on its own, to forgive a rental, that’s up to them and will not be the result of any request from us. As we, the voters, demanded a new era of budget restraint for the next four year term, from council candidates in the recent municipal election, we must abide by our conviction that we must all be budget conscious and sensible, for the welfare of the entire town.

Thanks again for all your support and encouragement for our Food Bank fundraiser!

THANKS AGAIN TO ALL THE SUPPORTERS OF “A NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”

Yesterday we were able to drop off about 25 bags of groceries, and a few loaded boxes, to the Salvation Army Food Bank, in Gravenhurst, donated by patrons of Saturday evening’s Christmas Show, at the historic and wonderfully accommodating Opera House. On Wednesday, we will also have an $800 cheque to present to the Food Bank, which surpasses last year’s amount......and hopefully this is the sign of upward momentum of an exciting trend, an increasing awareness, and generosity to help the less fortunate in our community.

It is important to recognize that “A Night Before Christmas” was successful because of partnerships......many of them. It was a collaboration of musicians, dancers, technical volunteers, business co-operation, and the literal kindness of strangers......many we had not known previously who offered to help out in aid of the Food Bank.

We couldn’t have arrived at this donation without assistance from the Probus Club of Gravenhurst, Chamberlain’s Timb-r Mart, Peter’s Players, Gravenhurst Car Wash, SellaVision, Just 4 Kicks Music Studio, Andrew Currie’s Music and Collectibles, Robert Currie’s Music, and Birch Hollow Antiques. We heartily thank folks like Fred Schulz our permanent Master of Ceremonies, Doug Chamberlain, our superhero stage manager, Greg Allen, Josh Hill, James Lucibello in the “tech deck,” our good friends Kelly (Duggan) and Jane for beverage sales and organization, Lori Wallace, who managed the flow of performers from downstairs to the stage, and to Papa Larry’s Pizza, of Muskoka Road, Gravenhurst, for kindly providing some after-show food for a delighted group of weary performers and helpers. It was all greatly appreciated.......each and every contribution throughout the event, including the guests who donated to our food bank drive with bags of groceries.

There are moments in any event, when the show organizers pause to reflect, (and it can be frequent) and sometimes there’s that fear and trembling which creeps into the thought process......as one hopes to get to the end without a major disruption. And it can be said that this in itself often keeps promoters from a true enjoyment of the “actuality” of their event. Worry. Anticipation. Expectation. Impatience. We’re pretty big, in our family, about not wishing away precious time, so I begged them to drop their guard a tad, and take-in all the poignant, important moments, to celebrate what they had helped create, in their midst,......and let history account for itself in the long-run. Coming from a lengthy history in the antique field, we call this “patina.” The aged, seasoned hue of time and use on the finish of a treasured relic. In time and memory a show, even with inconsistencies, will rekindle as an inspiring, gentle, warm reminiscence of a life spent entertaining others. This time, while not dismissing the possibility that something or other would or could go wrong, my boys, Andrew and Robert, were so comfortable with their musician and dancer friends, the dedication of their volunteer brigade, and the jovial mood of the audience, that they actually enjoyed the whole show, and were understandably a tad disappointed when it was all over for another year. But alas, one show down, another in the wings. The boys have already begun thinking about a summer-time festival to celebrate the good graces of our hometown.....of which they are enormously proud. Possibly a national showcase, with hometown talent, to celebrate Canada Day? Let us know what you think? A cause you think we should throw some support?

Please accept our thanks for helping out this important community cause. I’m afraid that we are facing a serious new reality here in Ontario, possibly Canada, even when a recovery from the recession is mounted, where Food Banks become essential services.....not just sites generously set up by wonderful organizations such as the Salvation Army,...... but by the necessity of government services to deal with growing economic inequalities, that even abundant faith and good citizenship alone can’t cover in total. We need to be aware that without the Salvation Army heading this food bank, in our town,.....well, we wouldn’t have one at all. Can we rightly expect that the Salvation Army will always be there to help us out? We need to be more realistic about how precarious it is, 12 months each year, to keep food on the shelves. In my own opinion, it needs to be an agenda item for the new four year term of Gravenhurst Council. They simply can’t avoid the issue that the family count being served by the local food bank is expanding not diminishing each year.......and they need to be working much closer with the Salvation Army to examine ways to assist. Not just financially. It wouldn’t hurt at all for council to ask for a meeting with Salvation Army administration, to get the accurate statistics regarding their client volume and needs, in order to better understand the social / welfare implications of the town they’re governing. That’s my wish list for 2011.

Merry Christmas and have a safe and Happy New Year from the Currie’s of Birch Hollow!