Christmas In Muskoka; My First Ever Barn Jam And It Was Great

My Favourite Major Oak In The Bog. Rob Currie Photo

AH! NOW WE HAVE A CHANCE TO SEE HOW OUR SEMI-NEW GRAVENHURST TOWN COUNCIL, WILL FARE IN ITS FOUR YEAR MANDATE

     I'M HEADING INTO THE NEW FOUR YEAR TERM OF GRAVENHURST COUNCIL, WITHOUT A SINGLE EXPECTATION. AS A CITIZEN OF THIS TOWN, SINCE 1989, I HAVE LEARNED TO TOLERATE WHAT THEY GET UP TO, OR DON'T, AND THEN I'M NEVER DISAPPOINTED. I DIDN'T GO TO THE SWEARING-IN CEREMONY, BECAUSE; WELL, JUST BECAUSE. I DON'T WANT TO DO ANYTHING, THAT WOULD GET MY HOPES UP; AS IF SOMETHING OTHER THAN STATUS QUO IS GOING TO OCCUR OVER THE NEXT FOUR YEARS. I CAN'T SAY FOR SURE THEY WON'T DO SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT BUT IT IS USUALLY SAFE IN GRAVENHURST TO JUST SIT ON THE FENCE WITH EVERYONE ELSE, AND WATCH THE SPECTACLE UNFOLD. I READ A REPORT IN THE LOCAL MEDIA BEFORE DINNER TONIGHT, ABOUT THE OPERATION OF THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE, AND SOME OF ITS PLANS FOR 2015, AND I STARTED TO LAUGH; I MEAN REALLY LAUGH, AND THANK GOD I WASN'T DRINKING MILK AT THE TIME. THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN A SPECTACLE. HONESTLY, THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT. INSTEAD OF GIVING THEMSELVES A COLLECTIVE SHAKE, AROUND THE COUNCIL TABLE, THEY HAVE GONE RIGHT BACK INTO THE TRAP OF MAKING THEATRE THEIR WAY OUT OF THE RED. A SUMMER OF THEATRE IS GOING TO SAVE US. GOSH THAT'S NAIVE. BUT THEN WHEN YOU HAVE A SUBSIDIZED THEATRE, ON THE TAXPAYERS BACK, WHAT'S WRONG WITH LOSING MONEY? THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST NEEDS TO HAVE AN ELECTED BOARD OF DIRECTORS, TO ACT ON THE TAXPAYERS' BEHALF; AND GET COUNCIL OUT OF THE ENTERTAINMENT BUSINESS. AS FOR THE REST OF THE MUNICIPAL FOLLIES, WELL, I'M HOPING THAT SEVERAL NEW COUNCILLORS WILL SPRING INTO ACTION, AND GIVE US LOCALS, REASON FOR OPTIMISM. I'D REALLY LIKE TO BELIEVE THIS IS POSSIBLE, BUT ONCE AGAIN, WHY GET OUR HOPES UP?
   


CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - SHARING MEMORIES ALL DAY LONG - THIS IS THE ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE BUSINESS WE'VE COME TO ADORE

WHEN WE SAY WE'RE HAVING AN OLD FASHIONED CHRISTMAS, LEAVE IT TO ANTIQUARIANS TO GET IT RIGHT!

     THE LEAVES OF THE VENERABLE, GNARLED OAK TREE, SITUATED PROMINENTLY AGAINST THE PINES, ALONG THE BORDER-LANE OF THE BOG, RATTLE IN THE WIND THIS AFTERNOON, AS THE SUDDEN, VIOLENT SNOW SQUALLS PUSH ACROSS MUSKOKA BAY. THE LEAVES RATTLE EVEN IN A LIGHT WIND, BUT TODAY IT'S ALTOGETHER, AN AUTUMN SYMPHONY OF SOUNDS, RISING FROM THE DARKNESS OF THE HOLLOW. THERE WAS A PERIOD OF DRIZZLE IN THE EARLY MORNING, SO THE LEAVES ARE COATED WITH A THIN LAYER OF FROST, MAKING THE SOUND MUCH LOUDER AND MORE INTRUSIVE. YOU CAN'T STAND AT THE END OF OUR LANE, AT BIRCH HOLLOW, FOR ANY LENGTH OF TIME, WITHOUT HEARING THE CRISP CHATTER OF THE LEAVES, ON THE ENTICEMENT OF EVEN THE MOST MODEST CURRENT OF AIR. THE TREE HAS HELD MANY OF ITS LEAVES, AND WILL RATTLE LIKE THIS THROUGHOUT THE WINTER SEASON. IT'S STRANGE TO HEAR THIS IN THE MIDDLE OF JANUARY, ON A BITTERLY COLD NIGHT, WITH A SLIGHT BREEZE. IT IS, FOR A VOYEUR LIKE ME, A NOSTALGIC REMINDER OF AUTUMN, LASTING THROUGH THE GALES OF THE EARLY WINTER. IF TREES COULD BE STALWART, IN CHARACTER, THEN THIS OLD OAK IS OF THIS STAUNCH DEGREE OF ATTITUDE. SINCE WE ARRIVED AT BIRCH HOLLOW, I'VE STUDIED THIS TREE ALMOST DAILY, THROUGH THE SEASONS. IT'S A FRIENDLY CHARACTERISTIC OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD, AND WITH EVERY WIND STORM WE GET, I WORRY SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN TO THIS NATURAL ICON, THAT ENHANCES THE ENTIRE STREET. IT IS A CURIOUS TREE AND SOMETIMES, I THINK IT'S TRYING TO COMMUNICATE IN THE WINDSONG OF RATTLING DRY LEAVES; THAT LOOK, AT THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, AS IF THEY WERE HUNG AS DECORATIONS.

THE INFLUENCES OF MY GRANDPARENTS' GRAND OLD HOUSE

     MAYBE YOU CAN RELATE TO MY CHILDHOOD STORY. GRANDPARENTS ARE POWERFUL SOURCES OF INFLUENCE. POSSIBLY, IN MY CASE, YOU WILL UNDERSTAND HOW EASY IT WAS FOR ME, TO GET BITTEN BY THE ANTIQUE BUG EARLY IN LIFE. A BITE SO DEEP, THE IMPRINT, EVEN TODAY, IS SOCIALLY AND CULTURALLY UNMISTAKABLE. I WEAR IT LIKE A SHADOW, BUT NOT ONE THAT IS BLACK WITH EVIL. MY EARLY INTRODUCTION TO HISTORY, IN THE FORM OF ANTIQUES, IS STILL INFLUENCING ME, ALL THESE YEARS LATER. BUT I'M GOOD WITH THAT! WHAT I SAW, WELL SIR, I WON'T FORGET. IT WOULD BE A PERSONAL TRAGEDY TO LOSE THE INSPIRATION, I GOT AS A PROFOUND GIFT, AT ONLY FIVE YEARS OF AGE.
     MY PARENTS USED TO MAKE REGULAR VISITS TO MY GRANDPARENTS' (MERLE'S PARENTS) STATELY BRICK, THREE LEVEL HOME, IN TORONTO. AT THE TIME, WE WERE LIVING IN BURLINGTON. THROUGH MANY SUNDAY VISITS, WHEN I HAD TO WEAR MY WOOLEN CHURCH PANTS AND SWEATER, I CAME TO KNOW QUITE INTIMATELY, THAT BEAUTIFUL OLD HOUSE, MY GRANDFATHER, STANLEY JACKSON BUILT; WITH ITS HUGE VERANDAH AT THE FRONT, AND PICTURE WINDOWS, AS IT APPEARED OVER THE FOUR SEASONS, OF THE MANY YEARS WE VISITED. IT ALWAYS LOOKED LIKE A HAUNTED HOUSE BECAUSE OF ITS HERITAGE ARCHITECTURE, AND THE INTERIOR WAS FULL OF DARK WOOD FURNITURE, HEIRLOOMS OF THE VICTORIAN ERA, THE FAMILY HAD INHERITED. BUT I DON'T REMEMBER EVER BEING FRIGHTENED OF BEING LEFT ALONE IN THE PARLOR, OR UPSTAIRS, ALTHOUGH I WOULDN'T ENTER THE BASEMENT WITHOUT AN ADULT ESCORT. IT WAS A FRIENDLY PLACE, IF YOU JUDGED IT ON THE ATTRIBUTES OF THE KITCHEN, WHICH TO A LAD MY SIZE SEEMED HUGE AND THE BIG WINDOWS ON THE SIDE, MADE IT MUCH BRIGHTER THAN THE OTHER ROOMS.
    WHILE IN THE SUMMER SEASON, WE WOULD ALL START OFF OUR VISIT, SITTING OUT ON THE VERANDAH, IN A VARIETY OF ROCKERS AND SETEES, THE MOST INTERESTING PART, WAS WHEN WE GOT TO SIT INDOORS, WITH ALL ITS VINTAGE ATTACHMENTS. IT WAS AMAZING WHAT BLANCHE AND STAN HAD IN THAT HOUSE, IN THE WAY OF ANTIQUE FURNISHINGS, AND ART WORK ON THE WALLS. IF I WAS LUCKY, STAN WOULD BE IN ANOTHER PART OF THE HOUSE, PLAYING HIS VIOLIN. I LOVED HEARING HIM PLAY, AND MY MOTHER USED TO TELL ME ABOUT HIS DAYS PLAYING WITH A QUARTET IN THE HOUSE. HE WAS A VIOLINIST-CARPENTER. I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT WAS A NEAT COMBINATION OF PROFESSIONS, LIKE BRACEBRIDGE'S BILL ANDERSON, WHO HAD BEEN A BARBER / ARTIST, BOB EVERETT, A PHARMACIST / ARTIST, AND ROSS SMITH, A GAS JOCKEY / ARTIST. IT WAS A VERY CULTURED HOUSEHOLD, BECAUSE MY GRANDFATHER ADORED HIS CLASSIC MUSIC, JUST LIKE MY MOTHER DID, WITH HER SMALL COLLECTION OF LP'S, WHICH WERE NINETY PERCENT, RECORDINGS OF THE GREAT SYMPHONIES SHE HAD GROWN UP LISTENING TO AT HOME. I COULDN'T HAVE TOLD YOU WHAT AN ANTIQUE WAS, AT THAT POINT, OTHER THAN TO SAY I COULD CLEARLY IDENTIFY, THAT WHAT STAN AND BLANCHE HAD AS POSSESSIONS, MADE THE SPARTAN COLLECTION OF HOUSEHOLD ITEMS, IN OUR BURLINGTON APARTMENT, LOOK LIKE WE WERE LIVING IN A MONASTERY. WHEN I LOOK AT OLD BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPHS OF THAT BURLINGTON APARTMENT, I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW FEW PIECES OF FURNITURE WE OWNED, WITHOUT MUCH IN THE WAY OF ORNAMENTS, OR ART WORK ON THE WALLS. MY INHERITANCE INCLUDED TWO VINTAGE PAINTINGS, ONE THAT WAS GIVEN TO MY MOTHER BY AN ARTIST SHE WORKED FOR, AT THE ONTARIO COLLEGE OF ART, (WILLIAM KRANLEY) ONE SUMMER; AND THE OTHER WAS A SEASCAPE SHE PURCHASED, WHEN WE LIVED AT THE NAGY APARTMENTS IN BURLINGTON. TWO PAINTINGS. THAT WAS IT. BUT I LATER LEARNED, THIS WAS MY MOTHER'S WISH, THAT THERE BE NO CLUTTER IN HER HOUSE. SHE EVEN HATED IT WHEN MY ROOM LOOKED PLAYED-IN, WITH MY FEW TOYS SCATTERED ABOUT. SHE OBVIOUSLY DIDN'T APPRECIATE THE WAY HER PARENTS HAD FILLED THEIR HOUSE WITH SO MANY FAMILY HEIRLOOMS, AND IMPRESSIVE ANTIQUE PIECES. IT DIDN'T RUB OFF ON MY MOTHER, BUT IT DID ON ME. I LOVED MY GRANDPARENTS HOUSE, AND I SUPPOSE, I HAVE TRIED TO REPLICATE IT EVER SINCE. SUZANNE CAME FROM A SIMILAR BACKGROUND, AND INDEED, THE TWO OF US TOGETHER ARE DANGEROUS BECAUSE OF OUR INSATIABLE PASSIONS FOR OLD THINGS WITH PROVENANCE. I'VE GOT MORE ART ON ONE SMALL WALL, THAN MY MOTHER HAD IN HER ENTIRE APARTMENT, COLLECTIVELY, FOR HER ENTIRE MARRIED LIFE. SHE FELT IT WAS LESS TO DUST. I LIKE DUST. YOU KNOW? THE DUST OF AGES THING?
     WHEN YOU WORK ALL DAY, IN A SHOP THAT STOCKS OLD STUFF, YOU HAVE TO POSSESS RESPECT FOR HISTORY. OR YOU'D FAIL FOR SURE, OR GO NUTS. YOU CAN'T BE SUCCESSFUL IN OUR CHALLENGING ENTERPRISE, WITHOUT BEING WELL INFORMED, AND EDUCATED, ABOUT THE HISTORY, THAT PLAYED A PART IN THE CHARACTER ENHANCEMENT OF PIECES, IN OUR RESPECTIVE STORE COLLECTIONS. I CAN GO AS FAR AS SAYING, THAT MOST DEALERS I HAVE KNOWN IN MY PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP WITH ANTIQUES, HAVE BEEN COMPETENT HISTORIANS IN THEIR OWN RIGHT. POSSESSING A KNOWLEDGE OF THE PROFESSOR, THE FERVOR OF A CARNIVAL BARKER. THEY HAVE ALL, IN MY OPINION, BEEN EXPERTS IN THEIR FIELD OF INTEREST, BUT QUITE KNOWLEDGABLE ABOUT MOST OF THE MATERIALS IN THEIR SHOPS OR MALL BOOTHS. I'VE NEVER YET MET A FULL FLEDGED ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE DEALER, WHO WASNT'T THRILLED TO BE ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT THEIR COLLECTIONS, AND SPECIALTIES. THEY'VE ALWAYS BEEN WILLING TO MENTOR THOSE INTERESTED IN COLLECTING, AND IF THEY'RE IN A TALKATIVE MOOD, THEY CAN ALSO GIVE AMAZING HISTORICAL LECTURES, IF CUSTOMERS ARE INTERESTED IN HEARING, FOR EXAMPLE, MORE ABOUT THE HOST COMMUNITY AND THE REGION IN WHICH THEY RESIDE. MOST ANTIQUE DEALERS TAKE A PARTICULAR INTEREST IN THE HOME REGION. IT'S PART OF THEIR HUNTING GROUND, SO THEY NEED TO BE INFORMED ABOUT ITS HERITAGE CHARACTER. WE SELL A LOT OF MUSKOKA MEMORABILIA IN OUR SHOP, AND SUZANNE AND I ARE BOTH ACTIVE HISTORIANS THIS REGION OF ONTARIO. DEALERS MAKE IT THEIR BUSINESS TO KNOW ABOUT LOCAL HERITAGE, BECAUSE THEY ARE OFTEN THE ONES WHO REPRESENT LOCAL COLLECTIBLES FOR SALE IN THEIR SHOPS. SO IT MAKES SENSE TO BRUSH-UP ON WHAT MAKES CERTAIN LOCAL RELICS MORE SIGNIFICANT THAN OTHERS. AND BY THE WAY. LOCAL COLLECTIBLES SELL FOR A PREMIUM PRICE, SO IT IS A GOOD INVESTMENT TO READ LOCALLY PUBLISHED HISTORIES, BEFORE YOU OPEN AN ANTIQUE SHOP IN THAT LOCALE. INEVITABLY, A LOCAL DEALER WILL GET LOCAL ANTIQUES WITH LOCAL PROVENANCE. IT'S THE BOON OF THE TRADE, AND SOME OF THE EASIEST PIECES TO SELL OFF FOR A FAIR PROFIT.
     AT OUR FORMER ANTIQUE SHOP, ON UPPER MANITOBA STREET, NORTH OF BRACEBRIDGE'S MEMORIAL PARK, I'D START GETTING ANXIOUS ABOUT THE CHRISTMAS EVE WEATHER, AT ABOUT THREE IN THE AFTERNOON. ALMOST ALL THE CHRISTMAS EVES WE HAD AT OUR BASEMENT STORE, INVOLVED SOME TYPE OF INCREDIBLE WEATHER EVENT. I CAN REMEMBER ONE WICKED SNOWSTORM, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, WHEN I HAD TO DELIVER A LARGE, HEAVY, AWKWARD, GRAIN SCALE TO A BUYER'S HOME IN THE VILLAGE OF PORT CARLING. IT WAS A DANGEROUS DRIVE ON ICY ROADS, WITH SNOW SQUALLS MOVING IN OFF GEORGIAN BAY. THE DELIVERY WAS ARRANGED BY A PARTNER AT THE TIME, WHO I NEVER FORGAVE BY THE WAY; HE WAS SUPPOSED TO PUT THE MONSTER SCALE IN HIS STATION WAGON, AND GET THIS! I WAS DRIVING A "FESTIVA" AN ADULT VERSION OF A DINKY TOY. I COULDN'T GET THE HATCH COMPLETELY DOWN, WITH THE GRAIN SCALE HANGING OUT THE BACK, AND FOR THE ENTIRE WHITE KNUCKLE TRIP TO PORT CARLING FROM BRACEBRIDGE, I INHALED EXHAUST FUMES, AND HAD SNOW BLOWING INTO THE BACK, CONTAMINATING OTHER ITEMS, INCLUDING WRAPPED GIFTS, I ALSO HAD STASHED TO BRING HOME FOR THE BOYS. I MADE IT TO THE CUSTOMER'S HOUSE, WAS HURRIED IN, SO HER HUSBAND WOULDN'T CATCH ME IN THE ACT (WHICH MADE ME A TAD NERVOUS), AND THEN WITHOUT A PECK ON THE CHEEK, SHE GAVE ME THE BUM'S RUSH OUT THE BACK DOOR. SHE DIDN'T EVEN OFFER ME A COOKIE FROM SANTA'S PLATE, OR A HOT BEVERAGE, IN THE FESTIVE TRADITION. AS FOR A TIP, SHE YELLED THROUGH THE INCOMING SQUALL, "HAVE A NICE CHRISTMAS." I DROVE HOME THROUGH BALA, INSTEAD OF GOING BACK THROUGH BRACEBRIDGE, TO GET BACK TO GRAVENHURST. I COULD SEE ABOUT TEN YARDS AHEAD ON THE ROADWAY. THANKFULLY, I WAS ABLE TO FOLLOW A SNOWPLOW MOST OF THE WAY HOME. I TALKED TO MYSELF THE WHOLE WAY. "TED, YOU ARE A STUPID, STUPID MAN." THAT WAS MY LAST CUSTOMER DELIVERY ON CHRISTMAS EVE. BAD KARMA, BECAUSE SNOWSTORMS KNOW WHEN I'M AT THEIR MERCY.
     MOST CHRISTMAS EVE BUSINESS DAYS, ENDED WITHOUT SERIOUS INCIDENT, THANKFULLY, AND I'D HAVE TO MAKE SURE I HAD TIME TO GET TO THE GROCERY STORE, AND POSSIBLY ANOTHER RETAIL OUTLET, TO BUY SOME LAST MINUTE GIFTS. THIS DEPENDED ON THE GENEROSITY OF MY LAST MINUTE SHOPPERS, WHO PROBABLY SAW THE DESPERATION IN MY EYES. WE VERY SELDOM EVER HAD A GOOD CHRISTMAS SEASON, BUT BREAKING EVEN WORKED FOR US. FORTUNATELY, FROM A VERY YOUNG AGE, ANDREW AND ROBERT, BECAUSE OF OUR INVOLVEMENT IN THE COLLECTABLE TRADE, DESIRED VINTAGE TOYS UNDER THE VINTAGE TREE, VERSUS ANYTHING NEW. WHICH WAS GREAT FOR US, BECAUSE WE WERE ALWAYS BUYING COLLECTABLES (AND OLD TOYS) OVER THE COUNTER, AND TRAVELING OFF TO AUCTIONS, WHERE WE COULD PICK-UP AFFORDABLE DINKY TOYS, LESNEY TRUCKS AND CARS, CORGI MILITARY VEHICLES, MATCHBOX CARS, AND OF COURSE, THEIR FAVORITE "HOT WHEELS"; THE BEST ONES COMING FROM THE LATE 1960'S OR EARLY 70'S I BELIEVE. THEY LIKED HOCKEY CARDS, BUT MOSTLY THE OLD ONES. THIS WAS RIGHT UP OUR ALLEY. SO WE OFTEN MADE PURCHASES OF VINTAGE TOYS, RECORDS, AND SPORTS CARDS, KEEPING THEM ASIDE FOR THE BOYS AS CHRISTMAS GIFTS. BY THE WAY, THEY ASSUMED SANTA COULD HAND OUT COLLECTABLE TOYS AS WELL AS NEW, SO IT WAS NEVER THE CASE, THEY WERE SUSPICIOUS ABOUT WHAT APPEARED UNDER THE TREE. IT'S NOT THAT WE DIDN'T GET THEM NEW ITEMS FOR CHRISTMAS, BUT AS THEY REMAIN TODAY, ANDREW AND ROBERT ARE STILL MORE IMPRESSED BY FINDING VINTAGE MUSIC GEAR UNDER THE TREE, AND ENTERTAINMENT MEMORABILIA, THAN NEW ITEMS. WE'VE BEEN DOING THE "OLD IS BEST" THING FOR SO LONG NOW, IT'S A DEEPLY ROOTED TRADITION. THE GOOD THING ABOUT GIVING THESE ITEMS OF AGE, WITH ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE VALUE, IS THAT THEY SHOULD, AT THE VERY LEAST HOLD THEIR VALUE. IF THEY SHOULD DECIDE TO GET RID OF THE PIECES WE'VE GIVEN THEM, (OR FROM SANTA), THEY ARE FREE TO DO THIS, BECAUSE THEY ARE FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, ANTIQUE DEALERS LIKE US. WHAT A NICE GIFT THEN, FOR THEM TO ACTUALLY PROFIT FROM WHAT THEY WERE GIVEN, A LITTLE DOWN THE ROAD, WHEN THEIR INTERESTS HAPPEN TO CHANGE. THE GIFT THAT GIVES A LITTLE BIT EXTRA.
     WHILE MANY GIFT ITEMS GO DOWN IN VALUE ONCE OUT OF THE SHOP, WHERE THEY WERE PURCHASED, (WHICH IS OKAY) ANTIQUES AND COLLECTABLES, PURCHASED SENSIBLY ACCORDING TO APPRAISAL, SHOULD GO UP IN VALUE. SOME MORE THAN OTHERS. WHILE CHRISTMAS TENDS TO BE AN EXPENSIVE TRADITION, FOR EVERYBODY TO GET WHAT THEY WANT (OR SORT OF), OUR GIFT PURCHASES AS A FAMILY, ARE AT LEAST NINETY PERCENT INVESTMENT GRADE; MAYBE IT'S A 1960'S GIBSON GUITAR, A VINTAGE PEDAL STEEL (INSTRUMENT), A BOX OF OLD STAMPS (FOR DAD), CRANBERRY GLASS (FOR SUZANNE), OR A REALLY NICE TOM THOMSON LANDSCAPE FOR MOM AND DAD. I'M KIDDING HERE. BUT I'M ALWAYS OPEN TO A BOOK ON THE GROUP OF SEVEN, OR THE ARTISTS WHO MADE UP THE CANADIAN ART SCENE AT ITS MOST TRANSITIONAL POINT. THE OLDER THE BOOK THE MORE DESIRABLE, AND THE MORE VALUABLE, ESPECIALLY IF IT'S ABOUT TOM THOMSON.
     I USED TO CLOSE UP AT AROUND FOUR ON CHRISTMAS EVE, AS I WORKED THE SHIFT ALONE; SUZANNE KEEPING THE HOME FIRES BURNING, LOOKING AFTER THE BOYS. I'D SHUT DOWN THE LIGHTS AND GRAB UP THE FEW COINS FROM THE TILL, AND HEAD TO THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS. I HAD THIS TRADITION, YOU SEE, OF STANDING THERE FOR A FEW MOMENTS OF SILENT CONTEMPLATION, (EXCEPT MY GRUMBLING STOMACH) AND THANKS, FOR THIS MODEST SHOP'S CONTRIBUTION TO OUR FESTIVE CHRISTMAS. NOT ONLY HAD IT BEEN THE CONDUIT FOR US TO MAKE ENOUGH MONEY TO HAVE A NICE CHRISTMAS, BUT IT HAD BEEN THE PLACE WHERE WE HAD ENJOYED THE COMPANY OF OUR LOYAL CUSTOMERS, AND THOSE SIGNIFICANT OTHERS, WHO USED TO HUDDLE, ALMOST DAILY, BY THE SALES COUNTER, TO TALK ABOUT COMMUNITY LIFE AND TIMES; AND OCCASIONALLY, ABOUT THE OLD STUFF WE SOLD AND THEY COLLECTED.
     WE HAD SO MANY INCREDIBLE CONVERSATIONS ABOUT ANTIQUE GUNS, TOYS, GLASS, POTTERY, CHINA, HATS, YOU NAME IT. I LOVED THOSE PRECIOUS MOMENTS, WITH TRULY REMARKABLE CUSTOMERS, AND SAVY COLLECTORS, WHO HELPED ME UNDERSTAND AREAS OF COLLECTING I WASN'T TOO FAMILIAR. IT ALL HAPPENED IN THAT CLUTTERED LITTLE BASEMENT SHOP, AND IT BECAME OUR SOCIAL / CULTURAL TRADITION, AND VERY MUCH A PART OF OUR CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION. WHILE I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS NEAT WHEN WE TURNED A PROFIT, THE FELLOWSHIP WE ENJOYED WAS PRICELESS. IT IS WHAT MOTIVATED ANDREW AND ROBERT TO OPEN THEIR OWN VINTAGE MUSIC AND COLLECTABLE SHOP, A DECADE AGO, AND CERTAINLY WHY WE CAME BACK INTO THE STORE-FRONT ANTIQUE BUSINESS AGAIN, THREE YEARS AGO; AFTER A LONG STINT SELLING OUR OLD BOOKS AND ART ONLINE. THE PERSONAL CONTACT WAS AMAZING THEN, AND IT STILL IS. YOU CAN'T RUN AN ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE SHOP, WITHOUT BEING HISTORICALLY INTIMATE WITH CUSTOMERS. IT'S PRETTY REVEALING STUFF, LIKE A HOSPITAL X-RAY. ESPECIALLY WHEN TALK TURNS TO FAMILY HISTORY, AND BOY OH BOY, THE SKELETONS I'VE HEARD ABOUT. THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT SHARING HERITAGE, THAT PULLS US TOGETHER, AND I BELIEVE IT HAS A LOT TO DO WITH SHARED PROVENANCE. MANY OF THE PIECES WE SELL, HAVE STORIES ATTACHED TO THEM. AND ALWAYS ENHANCES THE VALUATION. IF THEY'RE HAUNTED PIECES, YOU GET THE GHOST WITH OUR BLESSING. WE HAVE ENOUGH ALREADY. IT'S FASCINATING TO CELEBRATE THESE PIECES, WITH A PROVENANCE WE ARE DELIGHTED TO PASS ON; AND SOMETIMES WE LET GO OF OUR COLLECTION WITH CONSIDERABLE RELUCTANCE. HISTORY AND ITS STEWARDSHIP, ISN'T ONLY THE RESPONSIBILITY OF A MUSEUM CURATOR. IN OUR PROFESSION, WE'RE ALL CURATORS, AND ALWAYS STEWARDS OF OUR IRREPLACEABLE HEIRLOOM RESOURCES.
     AS WE STILL DO TODAY, AS A CARRY-OVER TRADITION, EACH IN OUR OWN WAY, WE WILL TAKE A LAST CHEERFUL GLANCE BACK, A FEW MOMENTS BEFORE CLOSING THE DOOR OF THE SHOP BEHIND US, ON CHRISTMAS EVE; TO PAY A LITTLE HEARTFELT HOMAGE, TO ALL THE ANTIQUARIANS WHO HAVE KEPT US IN GOOD, AND ENTERTAINING COMPANY, DURING THE YEAR. WE OFFER A SILENT BUSINESS-OWNERS' PRAYER OF THANKS ALSO, TO OUR CUSTOMERS, WHO HAVE TAKEN AN INTEREST IN OUR PRESENT COLLECTION, AND WHO MAY HAVE PURCHASED VINTAGE ITEMS TO GIVE FOR CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. AND A SPECIAL THANKS TO THE SHOP, ITSELF, SET COMFORTABLY IN AN HISTORIC BUILDING, THAT NICELY FACILITATED THE RELATIONSHIP FOR ALL OF US PARTNERS, IN THE HISTORY GAME. IN OUR BUSINESS, THERE IS ALWAYS A HAUNTING FEELING OF PAST TIMES AND FORMER LIVES, BUT IT IS IN NO WAY, A BURDENSOME QUALITY TO POSSESS. WE ARE THE CONDUITS OF CONTINUING RESPECT AND ENJOYMENT OF SOMEONE ELSE'S HEIRLOOMS. IT'S A NEAT FEELING, TO BE ABLE TO CONNECT AN ANTIQUE WITH PROVENANCE, TO A NEW OWNER, WHO IS THRILLED TO HAVE A "STORIED" PIECE IN THEIR HOME. IT'S A "COMPLETION" FEELING FOR US, KNOWING THE PROVENANCE WILL BE CONSERVED AND ADDED TO, BY THIS NEW OWNER. WE CAN'T HELP BUT TAKE THESE PIECES VERY SERIOUSLY, AS IF GREAT WORKS OF INTERNATIONAL ART; WE WANT TO SEE IT (THEM) GO TO A GOOD HOME. AND YES, IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING, WE HAVE REFUSED TO SELL PIECES, WHEN WE FOUND OUT, THE SOLE PURPOSE WAS TO REPURPOSE THEM, THUSLY CHANGING THEIR ANTIQUE CHARACTER FOREVER. SO I SUPPOSE, WE HAD, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, MORPHED INTO "GUARDIAN" ROLE, WELL BEYOND BASIC STEWARDSHIP, WHILE STILL PART OF OUR COLLECTION. I REMEMBER AN INTERIOR DECORATOR, TELLING ME THAT THE BEAUTIFUL, HAND PAINTED 1880'S ZITHER, I HAD JUST WRAPPED-UP FOR HER, WAS GOING TO LOOK GREAT PAINTED PURPLE; TO BE HUNG OVER A CLIENT'S PURPLE PAINTED GRAND PIANO. I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO BE SICK TO MY STOMACH. SHE WAS GOING TO RUIN A WONDERFUL PIECE OF MUSIC HISTORY, TO FIT A DECORATING SCHEME. BUT, I HAD ALREADY ACCEPTED HER MONEY, AND WE WERE BROKE AT THE TIME. WE WON'T HESITATE REMOVING ITEMS TODAY, IF SOMEONE WAS TO COMMENT, THAT THEY WANTED TO RIP AN 1850'S TABLE APART, TO RE-ALLOCATE THE PEDESTAL. WE WOULD PUT A "STORE FIXTURE, NOT FOR SALE" SIGN ON THE TABLE. LIKE THE ZITHER, THEY MAY ONLY TELL US AFTER THEY'VE PAID FOR THE PIECE, THAT IT IS TO BE RE-CONSTITUTED, AND IN THIS CASE, WE HAVE TO CONTEND WITH DISMAY, FEELING WE'VE FAILED AS ANTIQUE DEALERS, TO STEWARD ANTIQUES IN OUR CARE. SOUND RIDICULOUS? MOST OF US ENTERED INTO THE ANTIQUE PROFESSION, BECAUSE OF OUR LOVE FOR HISTORY. SOME OF US ARE MORE HISTORICALLY ARDENT THAN OTHERS, BUT MOST OF US AREN'T IN IT, JUST FOR THE BIG PAY-DAY. WE WANT TO REPRESENT THE ANTIQUES AND COLLECTABLES WE FIND ON OUR HUNT AND GATHER MISSIONS, WITH SOMEWHAT THE SAME VIGOR, AS THE MUSEUM CURATOR, WANTS TO SHARE THE COLLECTION WITH PATRONS. SO WE CAN GET PRETTY FUSSY ABOUT MATTERS OF ACCESS, AND WHO GETS TO BUY SELECT PIECES. THIS IS WIDELY KNOWN, BUT IT'S REAL. IF WE CAN STOP YOU FROM MAKING A TABLE OUT OF A PRIMITIVE DULCIMER, BY GOLLY, WE WILL GO ABOVE AND BEYOND, TO SPARE ITS HERITAGE INTEGRITY. IF A BUYER DECIDES, DOWN THE ROAD, TO MAKE IT INTO A TABLE, OR AN ELABORATE PIPE RACK, OBVIOUSLY WE HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE OUTCOME. WE JUST HOPE THE SAME CUSTOMER WON'T ARRIVE IN THE SHOP, BRAGGING ABOUT WHAT THEY'VE INFLICTED. WHAT WE DON'T KNOW WON'T HURT US. OR AT LEAST THAT'S WHAT THEY SAY. I STILL HAVE ISSUES ABOUT LETTING SPECIAL PIECES I'VE COLLECTED, LEAVE OUR BUILDING WITHOUT A TUSSLE. EVEN WHEN WE GET THE ASKING PRICE, I HAVE A FEW UNHEALTHY EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENTS. MANY ANTIQUE DEALERS SHARE THESE "OF COURSE IT'S FOR SALE, BUT MAYBE NOT," PERSPECTIVES. THESE PIECES ARE HARD TO FIND, AND OFTEN COME FROM ESTATES, AND POSSIBLY TRAGIC CIRCUMSTANCES, WHICH WE ARE ABUNDANTLY AWARE AT THE TIME. IT CAN MAKE IT DIFFICULT TO PART WITH THEM, IN THE SHOP SETTING, BECAUSE OF EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENTS, NOT APPRECIATED UNTIL THE MOMENT OF PURCHASE. LIKE UNLOADING A RING THAT A GIRLFRIEND OR BOYFRIEND GAVE YOU, IN RECOGNITION OF A SPECIAL OCCASION. SOME ONE WANTS TO BUY IT, BUT EVEN THOUGH IT'S IN THE SHOWCASE FOR A REASON, IT CAN TURN IN A HEARTBEAT, TO BEING A FLASHBACK MOMENT THAT ENDS BADLY; WHEN YOU PULL IT FROM THE CUSTOMER'S HAND, ADVISING THE RING IS NO LONGER FOR SALE. THAT'S THE WHOLE PROBLEM OF OUR BUSINESS, IN A BIG NUTSHELL. WE GET ATTACHED TO INANIMATE OBJECTS, BUT WE DON'T ALWAYS NO WHY. UNLIKE THE EXAMPLE OF AN OLD RING WITH A CASH VALUE. EMOTIONS RULE OUR BUSINESS MORE THAN BASIC ECONOMICS. I'VE MADE A LOT OF HAPPENSTANCE DECISIONS TO HANG ONTO ANTIQUES THAT MADE SUZANNE ANGRY. AND SHE'S DONE THE VERY SAME, TO SOME OF OUR COLLECTION, THAT HAVE A FAMILY CONNECTION. NEEDLESS TO SAY, IT IS OUR EMOTIONAL DOWNFALL, BECAUSE WE HAVE A LOT OF ATTACHMENTS VISIBLE ALL OVER OUR HOUSE, THAT ONE DAY, OUR BOYS WILL HAVE TO DETACH FROM OUR ESTATE. WILL THEY FEEL THE SAME? I THINK SO!

PLAYING MUSIC IN THE BARN - MY MOST MEMORABLE FARM EXPERIENCE IN MUSKOKA

"THE FARM IN GOOD ORDER"

     "GRADUALLY BUT SURELY THE WORK OF IMPROVING A NEW FARM GOES FORWARD, UNTIL IT IS ASTONISHING WHAT A CHANGE IS BROUGHT ABOUT IN A FEW SHORT YEARS. THE WILDERNESS IS TRANSFORMED INTO A FRUITFUL FIELD. ONE BY ONE THE STUMPS HAVE ROTTED OUT, AND GIVEN THE PLOUGH FREE SCOPE TO WORK. INEQUALITIES IN THE SURFACE OF THE LAND HAVE BECOME SMOOTHED DOWN, AND ALMOST THE ONLY EVIDENCE THAT THE COUNTRY IS NEW, IS FURNISHED BY THE RAIL FENCES. THE LOG BUILDINGS HAVE GIVEN PLACE TO STRUCTURES OF FRAME OR STONE. A GARDEN ON THE FARM WHICH WE ARE SUPPOSING TO HAVE REACHED A STATE OF COMPLETENESS. THE FRONT FENCES HAVE CEASED TO BE THAT OF RAILS. A NEAT, ORNAMENTAL PALING OR HEDGE, SKIRTS THE PUBLIC ROAD, AND A TASTEFUL BIT OF SHRUBBERY ENVIRONS THE HOUSE AND OUT-BUILDINGS. ALTOGETHER THERE IS AN AIR OF BEAUTY AND ATTRACTIVENESS ABOUT THE SCENE, BUT RECENTLY SO WILD." THUS THE APPEARANCE OF THE WELL LAID-OUT, AND NEATLY KEPT CANADIAN FARM.  THE PASSAGE ABOVE WAS FROM AN EARLY SETTLERS' GUIDE BOOK, THAT WAS, WITHOUT SHAME, OR REGRET, PUTTING A GENEROUS SPIN ON HOW WONDERFUL HOMESTEAD LIFE COULD BE....JUST AS THOMAS MCMURRAY DID MUCH LATER, IN HIS GUIDE, "MUSKOKA AND PARRY SOUND," RELEASED IN THE EARLY 1870'S. THERE'S NO DOUBT THE DESCRIPTION, AND THE ACCOMPANYING WOOD CUT ILLUSTRATION, OF AN APPARENTLY SUCCESSFUL FARM NESTLED INTO THE PICTURESQUE COUNTRYSIDE, INFLUENCED MANY IMMIGRANTS TO HEAD TO THE ONTARIO FRONTIER....WHERE THERE WERE FORESTS TO FELL, WETLANDS TO BRIDGE, THE FILL, ROCKS TO CLEAR, AND A LANDSCAPE TO TAME. AND THEN CAME WINTER. ONCE AGAIN, YOU CAN READ JUST HOW ADVENTUROUS AND ROMANTIC THIS HOMESTEADING THING COULD BE.....AND WHAT A FEW YEARS (BACK-BREAKING) LABOR COULD GET AN AMBITIOUS FAMILY. THEY DON'T SPEND A LOT OF TIME TELLING THE TRUTH, BUT WE'VE ALREADY EXAMINED THE MISINFORMATION AND LIES THAT MADE UP THE CAMPAIGN TO POPULATE THE RURAL AREAS OF OUR PROVINCE AND COUNTRY. NOW LET'S MOVE AHEAD A CENTURY PLUS, TO A NEW ERA, AN OLD FARMSTEAD, AND AN HISTORIC BARN THAT WAS BEGGING TO BE RESTORED.

     I USED TO REFER TO MYSELF AS A CITY KID. THAT WAS BACK IN THE LATE 1960'S, WHEN I TRIED TO IMPRESS MY NEW TOWN FRIENDS, IN BRACEBRIDGE. ONE DAY ANOTHER KID, WHO HAD ALSO MOVED NORTH FROM THE BANANA BELT, TO BECOME MUSKOKAN, CORRECTED ME WHEN I SAID THIS TO IMPROVE MY STATUS AMONGST THE LOCALS. "WHERE ARE YOU FROM AGAIN?" THE KID ASKED, AS WE STOOD IN A SMALL GROUP AT THE BASEBALL DIAMOND AT JUBILEE PARK. "BURLINGTON," I BLURTED BOLDLY, AS IF TO SAY...."I'M SO MUCH MORE SOPHISTICATED THAT YOU HICKS." THE KID ANSWERED, "I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE FROM THE CITY." "BURLINGTON IS A CITY," I ANSWERED, A LITTLE FLUSTERED AT BEING CHALLENGED ON THIS BIT OF PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY. BURLINGTON ISN'T A CITY-CITY," HE LAUGHED. "IT'S JUST A BIG TOWN." WELL IT WAS MORE LIKE A SMALL CITY WHEN WE MOVED NORTH IN 1966, BUT IT JUST DIDN'T SOUND LIKE A DECENT BOAST, TO SAY I WAS FROM A "SMALL CITY." IT WAS "CITY" STRAIGHT UP OR NOTHING. YOU KNOW, FROM THAT DAY, I STOPPED SAYING THAT I WAS FROM THE CITY, OPTING INSTEAD TO REFER TO MY PLACE OF ORIGIN AS "SOUTHERN ONTARIO," INSTEAD. IT COVERED ALL THE BASES.

     IN THE FIRST TEN YEARS, LIVING IN MUSKOKA, I DID POSSESS A STRANGE RELUCTANCE TO LET GO OF MY URBAN PAST. MY CHUMS, MANY WHO WERE MUSKOKA-BILLIES, (AND PROUD OF IT) BY THEIR OWN ADMISSION, WOULD GET ANGRY, WHEN I'D SLAP THEM WITH THE "CITY-RAISED" THING, AND EVENTUALLY, IT JUST WASN'T A STATUS-BUILDER, IF IT EVER HAD BEEN. I'D JUST GET STRANGE STARES, WHEN I'D MENTION IT, AND MOST OF THE KIDS HAD NO IDEA WHERE BURLINGTON WAS ANYWAY. SO OFFERING IT UP, AS A STATUS MARKER, WAS A LITTLE INSULTING TO THESE MATES, WHO WERE PROUD OF THEIR OWN HOME REGION. SEVERAL OF MY BUDDIES WOULD SUGGEST I SHOULD RETURN THERE, SEEING AS I MISSED IT SO MUCH. THIS WASN'T THE CASE AT ALL, BECAUSE FROM THE MOMENT WE ARRIVED HERE, SHORT OF A BRIEF HIATUS PERIOD OF ADJUSTMENT, I FELT HONESTLY, THAT THE BENEVOLENT GOD HAD GIVEN ME A SLICE OF HEAVEN, AS A SPECIAL GIFT BEFORE MY ULTIMATE DEMISE. HERE I WAS SEEING FIELDS OF CATTLE, CLOSE TO WHERE WE LIVED, DEER AND MOOSE IN OUR WOODLAND, VERSUS WITNESSING, AS I HAD DAILY, THE URBAN THRUST OF PROGRESS, WITH ITS VAST ACREAGES OF SPRAWLING INDUSTRY AND COMMERCIAL ESTABLISHMENTS. WHERE I'D COME FROM, WAS NOT WHERE I WANTED TO BE. MY SOUL WAS CONTENT TO BE MUSKOKAN.

      OF COURSE I LOVED MUSKOKA, BUT IT WAS JUST A JUVENILE REACTION OF SILLY BANTER, TO CALL MY SELF A CITY SLICKER, THAT MEANT NOTHING. I CAN REMEMBER MY FAMILY CONSIDERING A MOVE BACK TO THE CITY, AFTER SEVERAL EMPLOYMENT DEBACLES, EARLY ON IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND MY VEHEMENT OBECTIONS TO LEAVING WHAT I CONSIDERED A PARADISE ON EARTH.

     BUT I STILL HAD SOME URBAN RESIDUE ON MY SOUL THAT WAS SLOW TO FADE AWAY. WHEN MY GIRLFRIEND GAIL, WANTED TO TAKE ME TO A NEWLY MOVED, AND REFURBISHED CENTURY-OLD BARN, WHERE HER FATHER AND SOME OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS WERE GOING TO JAM, THAT NIGHT, I TRIED EVERY EXCUSE SHORT OF FAKING "NEAR-DEATH," TO REMOVE MYSELF FROM THE BARN-FEST. IT WASN'T THAT I DIDN'T LIKE MUSIC OR BARNS, BUT AS A SPECTATOR, I WOULD HAVE RATHER WATCHED A ROLLER DERBY, OR GONE TO THE MOVIES INSTEAD. I HAD BEEN IN THE HIGH SCHOOL MUSIC PROGRAMS WITH GAIL, HAVING LINKED UP, WHEN THE BAND, UNDER JOHN RUTHERFORD, TRAVELLED TO ENGLAND BACK IN THE SPRING OF 1974. BUT I WASN'T BEING ASKED TO BRING MY BARITONE (SMALL TUBA LIKE INSTRUMENT) TO THE BARN JAM, BECAUSE IT WAS AN ALL-GUITAR EVENT. GAIL AND I WERE TO BE SPECTATORS WHILE HER DAD, GORD, AND RELATIVES, ROD FORTH, AND KEN PEARCEY MADE UP THE JAM PART OF THE BARN SOIREE. I'D LISTENED TO THESE FINE MUSICIANS MANY TIMES IN THE PAST, AT THE SMITH FAMILY HOME, BUT THIS WAS SOMETHING MUCH DIFFERENT; MUCH MORE EXCITING. THIS WAS ABOUT TO BE MY FIRST TRULY RURAL, FARMSTEAD EXPERIENCE, SINCE ARRIVING IN MUSKOKA.

     THE HISTORIC "JACKSON" BARN HAD BEEN MOVED BOARD BY BOARD, BEAM BY BEAM, ACROSS A FEW MILES OF MUSKOKA COUNTRYSIDE, FROM A PROPERTY ON HIGHWAY 118 IN THE AREA OF THE PIONEER COMMUNITY OF ZISKA, TO ACREAGE ON THE BEATRICE TOWN LINE, BELONGING TO MODERN DAY FARMER, KEN PEARCEY. HIS GRANDPARENTS HAD OWNED AN OLD FARM LESS THAN A MILE WEST, FROM THE FORMER JACKSON PROPERTY, ACROSS FROM THE ENTRANCE TO WHAT WAS CALLED, BACK THEN, PIER 100 MARINA. KEN HAD BOUGHT QUITE A LARGE ACREAGE AND WANTED AN OLD BARN TO GO WITH IT! HE WAS A FORMER CITY KID HIMSELF, WHO DECIDED TO RETURN TO THE RURAL AREA THAT HAD BEEN FARMED BY HIS KIN LONG BEFORE HIM....A REAL CITY TO HINTERLAND SUCCESS STORY. SO THE JAM SESSION WAS TO CELEBRATE THE SUCCESSFUL COMPLETION OF THE BARN RELOCATION. A SORT OF REDEDICATION OF THE LANDMARK BARN THAT WAS SO RECOGNIZABLE ON THE CORNER OF ZISKA ROAD FOR SO MANY DECADES. I THINK IT HAD BELONGED TO HARRY JACKSON ALTHOUGH I STAND TO BE CORRECTED.

     KEN INVITED GORD SMITH, HIS DAUGHTERS GAIL, GLENNA AND JUNE, AND ROD FORTH, PLUS SOME SIGNIFICANT OTHERS, TO THE LOW-KEY JAM SESSION, TO PLAY SOME OF THEIR FAVORITES. I REALIZE NOW, IN RETROSPECT, ESPECIALLY HAVING TWO LADS DEEP IN THE MUSIC BUSINESS, HERE IN GRAVENHURST, SPECIALZING IN GUITARS, JUST HOW REMARKABLE AND STRANGELY PROVIDENTIAL THAT NIGHT WAS, FOR ME.....AND BY GOLLY, HOW MUCH ANDREW AND ROBERT WOULD HAVE ENJOYED PLAYING ALONG WITH THESE GUITAR VETERANS. WHILE I HAD BEEN RELUCTANT TO GO THIS FARM "COUNTRY" JAMBOREE, AND GET INVOLVED IN SOMETHING AS INTIMATE AS A JAM SESSION WITH REAL MUSICIANS, I WAS SO PLEASED GAIL HAD DRAGGED ME ALONG.....DESPITE SOME WHINING AND PROTESTATION.  IT MADE A LIFE-LONG IMPRESSION, THAT'S FOR SURE. IT DIDN'T MATTER, YOU SEE, WHETHER I PLAYED A GUITAR OR NOT. I WAS INVITED INTO THE INNER CIRCLE TO EXPERIENCE AN AUTUMN EVENING IN MUSKOKA, WITH THE BARN DOORS OPEN, AND THE MOON SHINING BRIGHT; THE MUSIC WAS SPIRITUALLY INTOXICATING, AND WE DIDN'T NEED A DROP OF BOOZE TO GET THIS WAY.

     I WAS USED TO THIS MUSICAL FAMILY HAVING REGULAR JAMS, WITH FRIENDS AND FAMILY, PLAYING IN THE SMITH FAMILY'S LIVINGROOM, SEATED AROUND THE ROCK HEARTH, ON NIGHTS JUST LIKE THIS. BUT THE SENSATION OF BEING IN THIS MASTERFULLY RECONSTRUCTED MUSKOKA BARN, ON THIS AMAZING PIECE OF DISTRICT LANDSCAPE, IN THE AUTUMN OF THE YEAR, WITH THE SENTIMENTAL BATHING OF MILKY MOONLIGHT ON THE EVERGREEN FRINGE, WAS A TREAT FOR THE SENSES. LISTENING TO THE COUNTRY SONGS BEING PLAYED BY THESE THREE LADS, PUT ME BACK IN HISTORY LET ME TELL YOU.....SUCH THAT IF EVER THERE WAS A PIONEER FEELING IN THIS URBAN PHYSCHE, IT WAS ON THAT NIGHT THAT I OFFICIALLY, IN MY MIND, BECAME A COUNTRY BOY. GORD, ROD AND KEN, AS I REMEMBER THEM, WERE FABULOUS MUSICIANS, AND LOVED ANY OPPORTUNITY TO WHIP OUT THE GUITARS, AND MAKE MUSIC. THEY DIDN'T NEED ANY MORE URGING THAN A WINK OF AN EYE, AND A PLACE TO SIT AND PLAY. I ENJOYED MANY OF THESE CASUAL JAM SESSIONS, INDOORS AND OUT, AND EVERY TIME, IT MADE ME MORE MUSKOKAN THAN I WAS THE HOUR BEFORE. I THINK HONESTLY, MY EXPOSURE TO THESE COUNTRY MUSICIANS, DID MORE TO IMMERSE ME IN MUSKOKA CULTURE THAN ANYTHING ELSE I'D EVER DONE, IN THOSE YEARS OF ADJUSTMENT, FROM SMALL CITY LIFE TO SMALL TOWN CELEBRATION.

     GAIL HAD A HARD TIME GETTING ME OUT THE BARN THAT NIGHT. I WANTED TO STAY ALL NIGHT. YUP, I WAS CONTENT TO SLEEP IN THAT BEAUTIFUL HERITAGE BUILDING, WITH THOSE HUGE HAND HEWN BEAMS, MADE FROM THE BOUNTY OF HALE AND HARDY TREES, HARVESTED FROM A PRIMAL MUSKOKA FOREST. I LAPPED UP THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE; THE AROMA OF THAT SEASONED WOOD, THE SMELL OF HISTORY INGRAINED, THE CRACKLE OF WOOD IN THE STOVE, THE MOONLIGHT SPARKLING THROUGH SOME OF THE CRACKS BETWEEN THE BOARDS; THE COOL NIGHT AIR AND THE AROMA OF A SMALL POT OF  COFFEE, STEAMING ON THE STOVE. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT OF HEAVEN, WHEN I FINALLY GET THERE, BUT I REALLY THOUGHT, ON THAT NIGHT, THAT I WAS CLOSE TO THE PERFECTION THAT WOULD SERVE ME WELL IN ANOTHER EXISTENCE. IT WAS A NIGHT THAT INSPIRED A THOUSAND POEMS AND JUST AS MANY SHORT STORIES, WRITTEN IN OLD JOURNAL BOOKS, I'VE KEPT IN MY ARCHIVES SINCE THE LATE 1970'S. IT WAS THE NIGHT I FELT I'D HONESTLY ARRIVED, AT AN UNDERSTANDING ABOUT WHAT IT TRULY MEANT TO BE, AND WHAT JOHN DENVER NOTED IN THE SONG, "A COUNTRY BOY." I WAS HOME. AND I WAS BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND ALL THE JOYS AND BENEFITS OF BEING A COUNTRY HUMAN BEING. MY SPIRITS WERE LIFTED PRETTY HIGH, AND I FOUND THAT YOU COULD HAVE A GREAT TEENAGE-PARTY WITHOUT THE BOOZE. NOT A DROP. NOT EVEN A WINE GUM. THIS WAS A PURE, HONEST, UNCOMPROMISED, UNFETTERED RELEASE INTO A WORLD I WAS NOT FAMILIAR....EVEN THOUGH I HAD BEGUN TELLING PEOPLE I WAS FROM BRACEBRIDGE, BY THIS POINT......FEELING BURLINGTON WAS THUSLY A DISTANT MEMORY, AND NO LONGER A BRAGGING POINT. THERE WAS A ZEN-LIKE QUALITY TO THIS NIGHT IN THE BOSOM OF MUSKOKA FARMLAND, AND IT WAS EVEN A LITTLE TRANSCENDENTAL AT THE SAME TIME. I'D BEEN OFFERED AN ILLUMINATION, TO SEE MORE CLEARLY, WHAT MY LIFE COULD BECOME.....IF I WAS TO CHOOSE TO LIVE HERE, AFTER GRADUATING UNIVERSITY. WELL, I'M STILL HERE, AND I NO LONGER CALL MYSELF A CONVERTED CITY KID. I AM A CONTENTED MUSKOKAN, WHO HAS NEVER, SINCE THAT JAM SESSION, EVER DOUBTED THAT MY PARENTS HAD MADE THE RIGHT CALL, TO STICK IT OUT IN THE RURAL CLIME OF ONTARIO, DESPITE SOME RESIDENT HARDSHIPS THOSE FIRST FEW YEARS. ACTUALLY, MY MOTHER HAD GROWN UP ON A FARM NEAR TRENTON, ONTARIO, SO SHE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED THE PULL OF THE HINTERLAND ON THE HEART STRINGS. IT WAS HER SON'S TURN TO RESTORE A FAMILY TRADITION, AND LIVE RURALLY. I JUST WOULD HAVE MADE A HORRIBLE FARMER. I CAN'T EVEN GROW DECENT GRASS IN MY FRONT YARD, TO EVEN THINK ABOUT GROWING A CROP OF ANYTHING. CURRENTLY I AM BEST KNOWN IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD FOR DANDELION CULTIVATION AND HARVEST.

     RECENTLY, MY PHOTOGRAPHER COLLEAGUE, FRED SCHULZ, OF GRAVENHURST, HAS BEEN CAPTURING SOME INTERESTING IMAGES OF MUSKOKA BARNS,  MOST OF THEM NOW IN RATHER POOR CONDITION. I THINK WE PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE INITIATED THIS MUSKOKA HERITAGE PROJECT TWENTY YEARS AGO, AS MANY OF THESE FARM BUILDINGS HAVE BEEN LOST TO DECAY OR TORN-DOWN FOR SAFETY CONCERNS; THE FORMER FARMS RETIRED FROM ACTIVE SERVICE, LIKE SO MANY THOUSANDS ACROSS THIS COUNTRY. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE TO HAVE PROTECTED MORE OF THESE BARNS, LIKE THE ONE KEN PEARCEY SAVED FROM ROTTING INTO THE GROUND....GIVING AN EXTENDED LIFE FOR THE BEGINNING OF A NEW FARM VENTURE. THERE'S IS A LOT OF SOCIAL / CULTURAL HERITAGE CONNECTED TO THESE FARM PROPERTIES IN MUSKOKA, NOW MOSTLY JUST RESIDENTIAL PROPERTIES. FRED WILL BE OFFERING OTHER IMAGES OF MUSKOKA BARNS, AND INTERESTING OUTBUILDINGS, THAT HE ENCOUNTERS ON HIS JAUNTS AROUND THE DISTRICT THIS AUTUMN, TRYING TO CAPTURE THE ESSSENCE OF THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION ON FILM. I WISH HE COULD HAVE BEEN IN KEN PEARCEY'S BARN THAT NIGHT, BACK IN THE 1970'S, WHEN I WAS CONVERTED.....FROM A SMALL CITY OFFSPRING, TO THE REAL COUNTRY THING; COURTESY AN AMAZING COUNTRYSIDE, AN ENCHANTED AUTUMN NIGHT, AN HISTORIC BARN, AND SOME MUSICAL FRIENDS, WHO TO ME, REPRESENTED THE OLD PIONEER LIFESTYLE, OF BEING MUSKOKAN.....WHICH FROM THAT NIGHT ON, I CONSIDERED A GREAT HONOR. "I'M FROM MUSKOKA," I BEGAN TO BLURT, WITH THE STANCE OF SOMEONE RIGHT AT HOME SAYING SO! I'M SO DARN PROUD OF OUR HISTORIC FAMILY ROOTS, DATING BACK TO THE 1860'S,  MY MUSKOKA BORN WIFE, SUZANNE (BORN IN HUNTSVILLE, AND RAISED IN WINDERMERE), AND OUR LADS, ROBERT AND ANDREW, BOTH BORN IN BRACEBRIDGE. LIVING RURALLY? IT'S BEEN A CHARM WE'RE STILL BENEFITTING FROM AFTER ALL THESE YEARS. THOSE COURAGEOUS PIONEERS, ARE THE ONES WHO REALLY DESERVE THE CREDIT FOR WHAT WE HAVE TODAY.

     THANKS SO MUCH FOR VISITING WITH FRED AND I TODAY, AND WE'RE PLANNING A GREAT WEEK OF THANKSGIVING RELATED BLOGS, AND COMPANION PHOTOGRAPHS, COMING YOUR WAY......SO PLEASE PLAN TO VISIT DAILY, FOR A TRULY MUSKOKA CELEBRATION. MAYBE IT WON'T BE QUITE AS ENTHRALLING AS MY NIGHT JAMMING AT THE PEARCEY BARN, BUT WE'LL DO THE BEST WE CAN TO REPLICATE THAT SENSORY BONANZA THAT FINALLY PUT ME IN MY PLACE. THANK GOD!

Grant Tingey & Hired Gun To Play The Griffen Gastropub Thursday; The Ghosts Of Christmas Past

A NEW / OLD-TIME COUNTRY BAND RE-EMERGES -  "GRANT TINGEY & HIRED GUN," FEATURING DRUMMER, JOHNNY FAY FROM THE "TRAGICALLY HIP"

     AS PROMISED, (AND THANKS FOR BEING PATIENT) I AM NOW ABLE TO LET MY READERS KNOW, ABOUT THE NEWLY RE-LAUNCHED COUNTRY BAND, WITH A DEEPLY IMBEDDED GRAVENHURST CONNECTION, THAT HAS ITS FIRST PUBLIC GIG THIS THURSDAY, AT THE WELL KNOWN GRIFFIN GASTROPUB IN BRACEBRIDGE.
     THE RE-EMERGENCE OF THE FORMER COUNTRY BAND, "GRANT TINGEY & HIRED GUN," FEATURING UBER-TALENTED DRUMMER, JOHNNY FAY, OF THE ICONIC CANADIAN ROCK BAND, "THE TRAGICALLY HIP," WAS LAUNCHED FROM THE SAME GRAVENHURST STUDIO, WHERE I'M SITTING COMFORTABLY TODAY. IT'S BEEN HARD TO KEEP A LID ON THIS IN-HOUSE STORY, BECAUSE WE HAVE A LOT OF PRETTY TUNED-IN MUSIC LOVERS, VISITING OUR SHOP, WHO HAVE SEEN JOHNNY FAY COMING AND GOING FROM THE STUDIO. HEY, IT'S A SMALL TOWN WITH A BIG GRAPEVINE. SO WE CAN'T BLAME THEM FOR WONDERING WHAT'S GOING ON BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. LET'S JUST SAY WE'VE HAD QUITE A FEW DAWDLERS HANGING AROUND THE STUDIO DOORS FOR THE PAST FIVE MONTHS OF PROJECT DEVELOPMENT. WE'VE HEARD A LOT OF RUMORS, NONE BEING TRUE OF COURSE, BUT WE STILL DIDN'T FEEL COMFORTABLE RELEASING THE NEWS, UNTIL THE BAND'S FIRST GIG WAS BOOKED. BUT WHERE DID IT GET IT'S START?
     A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO, MY MUSICIAN SONS, ANDREW AND ROBERT, WORKED WITH WELL ESTABLISHED COUNTRY SINGER / SONGWRITER, GRANT TINGEY, OF GRAVENHURST, TO RECORD HIS HIGHLY PERSONAL SONG "VAL, MARK AND ME," ONE OF MY FAVORITES, WHICH THEY ACTUALLY WENT ON TO PERFORM, AS A TRIO, AT THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE, AS PART OF A TALENT COMPETITION. DURING THE STUDIO MIXING PROCESS, ROBERT PLAYED THIS SONG OVER AND OVER, AND NOT ONLY DID IT IMPACT ON ME, THE "WRITER IN RESIDENCE," BUT OUR CUSTOMERS WERE ASKING SUZANNE REGULARLY, WHO WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS AMAZING SONG, THE COULD HEAR THROUGH THE DOOR. AT THIS POINT, GRANT WASN'T IN THE STUDIO, BUT BECAUSE ROBERT HAS TO PLAY BACK THE SONG, AT A HIGHER VOLUME, MOST DIDN'T BELIEVE US WHEN WE TOLD THEM, IT WAS JUST A RECORDING. THEY WOULD EVEN TRY THE DOOR KNOB OF THE STUDIO, BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO SEE THE PERFORMER WITH THE DEEP, RICH VOICE.
     EARLY THIS SUMMER, OUR FRIEND JOHNNY FAY, WAS IN THE STUDIO VISITING WITH ROBERT, AND ANDREW, WHEN IT CAME AROUND TO THE DISCUSSION OF LOCAL MUSICIANS WE WERE WORKING WITH, AND RECORDING. ROBERT PLAYED THE GRANT TINGEY SONG FOR HIM, THAT THEY HAD PERFORMED AT THE OPERA HOUSE. JOHNNY WANTED TO HEAR MORE OF GRANT'S MUSIC, AND WELL, HE LIKED IT ENOUGH, TO JOIN-IN AS THE DRUMMER, DURING PRACTICE SESSIONS IN OUR STUDIO. SINCE THEN, IT HAS MORPHED KINDLY, INTO A RE-EMERGENCE OF GRANT'S FORMER BAND, WELL KNOWN IN THIS REGION OF ONTARIO, FOR ITS BRAND OF BAKERSFIELD-BEAT COUNTRY MUSIC. GRANT'S INFLUENCES HAVE COME FROM LEGENDARY COUNTRY PERFORMERS SUCH AS BUCK OWENS, FARON YOUNG AND GEORGE JONES. HE HAS TWO RECORDS TO HIS CREDIT, AND HAS, IN HIS EARLIER FORAY INTO COUNTRY MUSIC, TOURED HOLLAND, ONTARIO, AS WELL AS HAVING PLAYED IN THE UNITED STATES. A MAN WITH A POWERFUL, COMMANDING VOICE, SOME OF HIS FINEST AND MOST RECOGNIZABLE WORK, CAN BE HEARD IN SONGS, SUCH AS "STUPID ME," "VAL, MARK, AND ME," "NO MORE HUGS AND KISSES FOR LORETTA," "I'VE GOT SOME THINGS TO DO," AND "WALK THIS WAY AGAIN."
     HAVING DEVELOPED A WORKABLE REPOIRE WITH GRANT TINGEY, DURING THE RECORDING OF "VAL, MARK, AND ME," ANDREW AND ROBERT WERE ASKED TO JOIN THE BAND AS THE "HIRED GUN" COMPONENT, WITH GRANT'S SON, BLAKE, ALSO A TALENTED GUITAR PLAYER; AND WHEN JOHNNY FAY OFFERED TO PLAY DRUMS FOR THE REVAMPED BAND, THE GROUP WAS HONORED TO HAVE HIM AS A BOTH A PERFORMER AND MUSIC-SCENE MENTOR. "HE HAS BEEN TREMENDOUSLY HELPFUL TO US, SINCE HE JOINED OUR PRACTICE SESSIONS, AND WE'RE LOOKING FORWARD TO OUR FIRST PUBLIC GIG WITH HIM, ON THURSDAY NIGHT. HE HAS INSPIRED US TO WORK HARD, AND BE PATIENT, TO GET THE BEST SOUND POSSIBLE, AND HIS INSIGHTS HAVE CERTAINLY GIVEN US ADVANTAGES WE WOULDN'T HAVE HAD OTHERWISE. THIS WILL BE A PROFESSIONAL HIGHLIGHT FOR ALL OF US, AND I HOPE HE'LL HAVE A BLAST AS WELL. WE HAVE GREAT ADMIRATION FOR HIS SUCCESSES WITH THE "TRAGICALLY HIP," AND IT'S KIND OF A DREAM COME TRUE, TO HAVE THIS KIND OF ASSOCIATION WITH SUCH A TALENTED MUSICIAN."
     "IT'S A PLEASURE WORKING WITH BOTH JOHNNY AND GRANT, AND THE PRACTICE SESSIONS HAVE BEEN AMAZING FOR THESE PAST FEW MONTHS," ADMITS ANDREW, THE BASS PLAYER IN THE OUTFIT. "AT FIRST WE DIDN'T KNOW HOW IT WAS GOING TO WORK OUT, BUT WE'VE BEEN GETTING ALONG PRETTY WELL, AND OUR SOUND HAS BEEN IMPROVING A LOT, DURING THE PAST TWO MONTHS OF PRACTICE. WE'LL SEE IF IT ALL COMES TOGETHER AS WE'VE PLANNED, WHEN WE PLAY THE GRIFFIN ON THURSDAY. IT'S PRETTY EXCITING TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THESE TWO TALENTED AND EXPERIENCED MUSICIANS. WE JUST HOPE WE CAN LIVE UP TO THEIR HIGH STANDARDS."
     I'VE HAD THE VERY GREAT PRIVILEGE, TO HAVE LISTENED TO THE PRACTICE RECORDINGS OF THIS COUNTRY BAND, FOR THE ENTIRE PERIOD THEY'VE BEEN WORKING TOGETHER. AND ALTHOUGH, AS I'VE CONFESSED, OPENLY AND HONESTLY, TO NOT BEING A FINELY TUNED MUSIC-SCENE CRITIC, AS A MUSIC LOVER, I KNOW WHAT I LIKE. I ACTUALLY ASK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDINGS EVERY DAY, WHEN I'M TRYING TO COME UP WITH BLOG IDEAS, AND BY THE END, I'VE ALWAYS GOT LOTS TO WRITE ABOUT. MUSIC LIKE ART, IS SUPPOSED TO INSPIRE. WELL, GRANT TINGEY, AND HIS BAND, CONTINUE TO INSPIRE ME. I JUST HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO WRITE ABOUT THE NEW GROUP UNTIL NOW. BELIEVE ME, IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT.
     I WILL HAVE ADDITIONAL MATERIAL ON GRANT TINGEY & HIRED GUN IN THE NEAR FUTURE, AS THEY PLAN FOR UPCOMING PERFORMANCES WHICH OF COURSE, WILL INCLUDE PLAYING AT A GRAVENHURST VENUE SOMETIME IN THE NEW YEAR.


CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA -  WHAT I LIKE ABOUT CHRISTMASES PAST, AND THE SPIRITS THAT ENJOY HAUNTING ME

     When I've admitted in the past, that I see dead people, it's not a negative situation for me whatsoever. It's true, I am haunted by these wayward spirits, but I'm not scared of them. Actually, I'd feel dreadfully uninspired, if they didn't occasionally lean on my shoulder, tap me on the back, or whisper in my ear, to ask if I remember the time we played shinny, on a frozen pond down on Ball's flats, in Bracebridge. Or times when we sat beside each other, getting our "ears lowered," when our mothers sent us, with a couple of dollars tucked in our pockets, for Saturday morning hair cuts. Maybe sitting at the counter of Irma's Restaurant, at the corner of Chancery Lake, and Manitoba Street, having a Sunday morning order of thick toast, talking about the Maple Leaf game from the night before. No matter how many times I go into Precision Music, in the same location, I can still see the ghost of my father, and his old lumber mill friend, Harry Rutherford, sitting at the counter, laughing about their differences of opinion. Harry was a die-hard Leaf fan, and my father, (and I hated this) was a Montreal Canadien booster. I don't know what this means in the spirit sense, but I can also see the ghost of myself, as I was back them, sipping my pop between my two elders, talking over my head. I remember the day I swallowed a large ice cube, and it stuck in my throat. I wasn't really choking but it seemed a little precarious in my own mind, what might happen next. And it was Harry who had the hottest coffee, as he drank it black. It helped me melt the cube down far enough, that I could swallow it. I remember being quite frightened, and Harry giving me some money for the juke box, to calm me down after all was resolved in my throat.
    Sometimes when I visit the same retail space today, with Andrew, I just wander about, thinking of those Sunday mornings, with my dad, one of the few times in the week, we got to spend any time together. I feel I should apologize to the proprietor, for not appreciating the true depth and significance of his contemporary shop, because I'm preoccupied thinking back to another era. I do this mindful dawdling thing all the time, but I will never reference it as a curse. If I wonder about anything, it's why I feel, and can visualize, all these old spirits wandering about, in places I used to meet them in life. I seem quite helpless, to avoid them, and cancel out the scenes, in part, because I feel there's is an important message attached; but I can't always figure what it all means. My mother always felt I over-analyzed everything, so I'm taking her advice, by just accepting my fate; having the kind of sentimental old heart, that for all intents and purposes, encourages the interplay between intimate history and its contemporary counterpoint. I'm a sort of spiritual steward I think, keeping track of this most passive of hauntings.
     There is a point, in the life of a crusty antiquarian, a lover of history, and collector of antiques (old stuff), when one has to choose between living in the past, as a preference, or being of a contemporary perspective, while still enjoying occasional dalliances with the past. There are lots of times, when I wonder if I'm too far over the line, and ridiculously traditional, to be, for example, a thought provoking, contemporary, "in the now", writer. I know I'm provocative! People tell me this all the time. That I provoke argument where previously everybody was happy to leave well-enough alone. Obviously, I can write about contemporary issues, but as you will no doubt recognize of my past blogs, I rely heavily on historical precedent routinely, to support my arguments. It doesn't suggest it's a death knell, of open minded reasoning, to obsess about the past. Without question, however, pining for the past isn't entirely good either.
     As my historian colleague Tom Brooks, seemed to live contently in both the worlds of an American Civil War, Confederate soldier, as a re-enactor, and then happily and profitably, as an everyday bloke, who was also a capable book-keeper, it seemed he had managed to keep it all very proportional. He did wear Confederate attire, to fit the season, and the steed he was riding, but when we talked, it was always very contemporary but with an unmistakable historical aura attached. I could talk to him about politics and the economy, but with some distraction for me, it may have been the case, he was in full regalia that particular day, as if still with his Confederate regiment; getting ready, as it was, to rejoin his outfit. I have had many colleagues in the profession of preserving and representing history, who were like this, but not in costume on a daily basis. I don't have a single vintage frock in my closet, stove-pipe hat, or steed awaiting my call. My pre-occupation is different, and possibly more intense in the scholarly sense. I am hemmed-up a lot these days, because I see a huge distancing from important precedents of our past, especially in our Muskoka communities. Possibly it is a wide-spread reality. History is nice to have around, for tourists, and occasional researchers, but not something we need to consult on a regular basis. I have much less faith in the modernist politicians, for example, who are comfortable there are museums and archives collections, to handle heritage conservancy. When it comes to drawing from governmental history, they know about bylaws on the books, and the immediate history of their own work on behalf of the municipality, but if the requirement was to go back fifty or a hundred years, or even more, they would be lost in a research abyss. I understand how daunting it might be, for a non-historian, to delve into obscure documents, by the wheelbarrow-load, just to find one or two important details related to a contemporary issue.
    There are times, and it always happens around Christmas, that I find myself wishing, like Dickens character "Scrooge," to have a spirit messenger, take me on a return visit to Christmas past. I suppose most of us have these sentimental yearnings at this time of the year, when we wish to re-connect with our parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and siblings who have passed. Just this morning, driving along Muskoka Beach Road, I was thinking about how much I would like to see my father again; as it was on Tuesday mornings, that I used to visit him at his Bracebridge apartment. I have the same feelings, when we get a call at home, on a certain day, and time of the evening. If it's around the supper hour, I expect to answer the phone, and hear Charlie Wilson's voice on the other end. Charlie was my archivist friend who worked on the biography of Roger Crozier with me, as an employee of MBNA, an American Bank, where Roger had worked as a corporate executive. Charlie was a hobby Civil War historian, and we had some great chats about the battlefield at Gettysburg, and other heritage sites important to the conflict of the 1860's. If the phone was to ring at around seven in the evening, I might expect to hear the voice of my old book collecting mentor, Dave Brown, who never identified himself, but started right into a story, as if resuming exactly where we had left off in a previous conversation. Dave died in the late 1990's, and Charlie, early in this new century. Along with my other archivist pal, Hugh Macmillan, who liked to call in the late afternoon, I was immersed in deep and profound history-chats, as a matter of constant recreation. Maybe it's true what my mother said, about having too much of a good thing, for your own good.
     I travel with this history-loving-thing, and whether I'm walking down the main street of Gravenhurst or Bracebridge, and last week, Huntsville, I'm amalgamating my acquired recollections of each community, and imposing them on the contemporary scene. In Bracebridge it is far more unrelenting, because as a kid, I pretty much lived on Manitoba Street, that in my opinion, was a "happening" place back in the mid to late 1960's. It's not fair, I suppose, to the contemporary business owners and modernist politicians, but honestly, I can't walk down the main drag, without seeing a plethora of ghosts from my past. Nothing with a fright attached, but unsettling, in that I can't avoid recognizing them as entities, even long, long after their demise. It isn't a case of delusion, because there are no fictions attached to these reminiscences. They were all citizens of our communities, and they walked these same stretches of sidewalk, wandering into these historic buildings, that I might casually saunter into for old time's sake each Christmas season. But do I want these apparitions to cease? No way! I need them as part of my casual comforts as an historian. To satisfy my need for inspiration, I like to see their faint but still visible images, trailing up and down the streets, as they did in life, to validate the character they added to our neighborhoods. Maybe this reads as the folly of an oldtimer, who has become lost in time. I worry about this, truth be known, and if it wasn't for the way I can emerge at will, from these retrospective moments, I might have to seek professional counsel. I don't talk to them. That would be delusional. But I respect their immortal stake in the towns they helped create and diversify. They are the reminders, in my cluttered mind, that we are the mortals, the champions of the modern era, who carry the torch for those who led us in the past. I don't expect that we should pay them too much attention, or obsess about their curious intrusions, but carrying on with the traditions and precedents they helped establish, isn't a foolish enterprise either. From my perspective, then, we always have crowded streets, and if I could paint a picture of what I see, it would be a colorful piece of folk art, as Grandma Moses might have painted, depicting the spirits of Christmases past, and present. I'm not much of a futurist, so I leave this to your vivid imagination, to infill that part of the profile.
     Maybe, as a reluctant modernist, I deny myself an unobstructed vantage point to study the townscapes as they are; being consumed instead, by they way they were when I was growing up. I like to think that I am able to bridge the gap, and appreciate the composite values of the ages, as a compliment to the future. To me, it isn't a jumble of entities. It all makes sense, just as Stephen Leacock's "Mariposa," was "storied" because of its past, but played-out, in his sketches, by a contemporary cast of characters. You can not judge a community by its present tense realities. That's my point.     The overview I possess, and will never abandon of our communities, has been very substantially influenced by what I understand of their respective histories. I am an unapologetic cultural historian, and recreational dreamer, and Christmas never ceases to amaze me. I suppose there are worse ways to live, than to be in the markedly beautiful situation, of mingling with those friendly old spirits that still haunt the places they used to dwell. They bring with them something marvelously providential, a folklorist needs to spin a good story.
     Whether you believe in ghosts, or wayward spirits, apparitions, or the ability of those who have crossed, to communicate with the living, I'm reasonably sure, at some point in your life, and travels about the old hometown, you have had the strange feeling you weren't alone with your thoughts. Possibly it was coming into a familiar shop, and swearing you could hear the voice of a former clerk, who had long since departed this mortal coil. Or heard someone calling from far down the street, through a veil of December snow, that sounded like your mother. Which would be impossible, of course, because she has passed. It could be a sensation of a hand touching yours in a bank line-up, where you used to stand with your father, while helping him do his banking. The laughter from a restaurant table, that makes you turn around, because you swear it was identical to your uncle's chortles. Maybe hear someone calling out your name, as you remember from childhood days, when rambling with chums along the main street, checking out the shops on Saturday mornings. When we sense them, hear them, and think we have even seen them, we most often dismiss them as the mind playing tricks. It could have been the sound of the wind moving a rusted old sign board, or banging a shutter on a window. To deny our perception, something spiritual tried to get our attention, is quite normal. But what if we didn't deny our senses, as Scrooge learned to trust, in his Christmas Eve spent with the spirits? Maybe we would find enlightenment and fulfillment we never expected to possess.


The Rink Rats Tribute Is Dedicated To Former Team Mates, Brant Scott and Harry Ranger

The Herald Gazette Rink Rats and Bracebridge Blades and a 1980's circa Santa Claus Parade.

BRACEBRIDGE AND THE CHRISTMAS SPIRITS - THE SANTA CLAUS PARADE - THE RINK RATS HOCKEY TEAM OF ONCE, LONG AGO

IN SUPPORT OF THE BRACEBRIDGE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAM

     ONE QUIET AFTERNOON, PROBABLY ON A SNOWY THURSDAY JUST LIKE TODAY, BACK IN THE LATE FALL OF 1981, THREE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND TWO MUSKOKA GRAPHICS EMPLOYEES, GOT TOGETHER AT THE COFFEE URN, MIDWAY BETWEEN THE PRINTING COMPONENT OF MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, AND THE NEWSPAPER OFFICES......AND AFTER COMPARING REASONS WE HATED OUR JOBS, STARTED TALKING ABOUT "SAY LADS, WE SHOULD START UP A HOCKEY TEAM."

     I WAS ONE OF THE STAFFERS, BRANT SCOTT, AND HAROLD WRIGHT, THE OTHERS, FROM THE NEWSPAPER SIDE, AND THERE WAS JIM WRIGHT AND HARRY RANGER FROM THE PRINT DEPARTMENT. HARRY, BY THE WAY, PASSED AWAY THIS YEAR. HE WOULD BECOME OUR FIRST GOALTENDER, ON THE FLEDGLING "HERALD-GAZETTE RINK RATS." BRANT, A REPORTER AND RESPECTED COLUMNIST, AUTHOR OF "A WEE BISCUIT," RAN WITH THE IDEA, AND SOON HAD CONVINCED PARKS AND RECREATION MANAGER, TOM ROBINSON, TO AFFORD US SOME LEFTOVER ICE TIME AT THE COMMUNITY CENTRE. I THINK WE STARTED OFF THAT SEASON, PAYING TWENTY-FIVE TO THIRTY BUCKS AN HOUR. THE HITCH? OUR ICE TIME BEGAN AT 11:00 P.M. AND ENDED AT MIDNIGHT. IT WAS AN AWFUL TIME TO PLAY SHINNY, BUT THE RINK RATS BECAME A SORT OF FRATERNAL ORGANIZATION WITHOUT US EVER INTENDING TO CREATE MORE THAN A "NO FRILLS" OUTLET, FOR FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES OF OUR NEWSPAPER. I SHOULD NOTE, BEFORE I GO ANY FURTHER, THAT, THANKS TO FOLKS LIKE GORD DAWES, THE RINK RATS ARE STILL ICING A TEAM EVERY YEAR, AND DOING THE SAME KIND OF FUNDRAISING WORK AS WE COMMENCED BACK IN THOSE FIRST FEW YEARS. THE ONLY THING DIFFERENT, OTHER THAN A FULL TRANSITION OF PLAYERS, IS THAT "THE HERALD-GAZETTE" HAS BEEN DROPPED FROM THE TEAM NAME. THE PAPER ISN'T PUBLISHED ANY MORE, AND THE LETTERS FROM OUR OLD OFFICE BUILDING, THAT SPELLED IT OUT, ARE NOW IN A CARDBOARD BOX TUCKED IN MY SHED.

     BRANT AND I BOTH USED OUR NEWSPAPER COLUMNS TO RUSTLE-UP SUPPORT FOR OUR NEW HOCKEY CLUB, AND HE WAS ABLE TO WEASLE SOME COMPANY MONEY, TO RUN A CHARITY GAME AT THE ARENA, BETWEEN US AND THE CKVR NO-STARS; AS A SORT OF PUBLIC LAUNCH OF A MEDIA "SPECTACLE" TEAM IN BRACEBRIDGE. THE CAMERAS LOVED US BABY. OUR CAMERAS. BRANT WAS ABLE TO ORCHESTRATE MASSIVE PUBLICITY, WHEN WE DID EVENTUALLY TAKE ON THE ELECTRONIC MEDIA, AND HE WAS SO THOROUGH, HE WAS ABLE TO CONVINCE TORONTO SUN COLUMNIST, PAUL RIMSTEAD, A FORMER BRACEBRIDGE KID, TO COME NORTH FOR THE GAME AS THE CELEBRITY ANNOUNCER. RIMSTEAD WAS JUST LAUNCHING A NEW BOOK, AND BRANT HAD DONE SOME PROMOTION OF IT IN HIS COLUMN. GLORY BE, RIMMER AGREED, AND IT WAS HIS PRESENCE AT THE GAME, AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, THAT FILLED THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA TO OVER 1,700 FANS. IT SURE AS HECK WASN'T THE DRAW OF THE RINK RATS OR THE NO-STARS. WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DRAW THREE OR FOUR HUNDRED INCLUDING FAMILY MEMBERS. HOMETOWNERS WANTED TO SEE THE KID WHO USED TO CHASE FIRE TRUCKS, AS A STRINGER FOR THE ORILLIA PACKET AND TIMES. THE KID WHO USED TO HANG AROUND JOE'S BILLIARDS, ON MANITOBA STREET, WITH SOON-TO-BE HOCKEY ALL-STAR ROGER CROZIER. RIMMER AND HIS PARTNER, MISS HINKY, WERE THE STAR ATTRACTION. IT WAS GOOD TO SEE, THAT FOLKS IN BRACEBRIDGE WANTED TO SHOW THEIR RESPECT, AND PRIDE, FOR HOW PAUL HAD MADE IT TO THE BIG LEAGUES OF NEWSPAPERS, LIKE THE TORONTO SUN, AND SISTER PUBLICATIONS IN EDMONTON AND CALGARY. COMPLETE WITH STETSON, PAUL RIMSTEAD WITHOUT KNOWING IT, LAUNCHED A RECREATIONAL HOCKEY TEAM THAT HAS LASTED ALL THESE YEARS.....BASED ON GOODWILL AND BENEVOLENCE BACK TO THE COMMUNITY. IN FACT, THE RECREATIONAL FUNDRAISER, "THE LOVEABLE LOSERS TOURNAMENT," HELD EACH MARCH, WAS THE RESULT OF THE WORK OF THAT SAME GROUP OF NEWSIES AND FRIENDS. I EVEN CAME UP WITH THE TITLE. BACK THEN, ED KOWALSKY, WAS THE MOVER AND SHAKER, AND KEPT IT UP FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS, UNTIL EXHAUSTION AND BROKEN BODIES CAME INTO PLAY.

     THIS ISN'T GOING TO BE A FORMAL HISTORY OF THE RINK RATS. MAYBE ONE DAY. WHAT INSPIRED ME THIS CHRISTMAS, WAS THE FACT I ACCIDENTALLY, FOUND TWO OLD PHOTOGRAPHS, WHEN RIMSTEAD'S BOOK, "COCKTAILS AND JOCKSTRAPS," FELL BEHIND MY DESK.....AND WHEN I BENT OVER TO PICK IT UP, NOTICED MY RINK RAT KEEPSAKES HAD BEEN DISLODGE. THEY HAD BEEN IN THAT BOOK SINCE AROUND THE TIME OF THE BENEFIT GAME. THESE ARE PUBLISHED ABOVE, AND WERE TAKEN SOMETIME, IN EITHER 1982 OR 1983, DURING A SANTA CLAUS PARADE THROUGH DOWNTOWN BRACEBRIDGE. THE PHOTOGRAPHER WAS HAROLD WRIGHT, FROM THE HERALD-GAZETTE PRODUCTION DEPARTMENT. WE WERE PROBABLY PROMOTING THE CKVR BENEFIT GAME, BECAUSE I'M UP ON THE TRUCK WEARING MY OWN STETSON, RIMSTEAD STYLE, AND THE GIRLS IN SKATING COSTUMES, WERE REPRESENTING THE BRACEBRIDGE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAM, THAT WOULD BE THE RECIPIENT OF FUNDS RAISED. THE CHAP WITH A STICK, HELD UP TO HIS CHIN, FURTHER BACK IN THE PHOTOGRAPH, IS THE BLADES COACH, HAROLD SHER, WHO WAS ALSO ONE OF THE ALL STAR RINK RATS. WE ONLY HAD TWO ALL STARS. HAROLD WAS ONE. MIKE HILLBORN, THE OTHER. BOTH COULD RAG THE PUCK FOR A HALF HOUR, TO LET US GET OUR BREATH BACK. THE REST OF US WERE JUST HAPPY, TO STILL BE ABLE TO SKATE UP AND DOWN THE ICE A COUPLE OF TIMES EACH GAME.

     IN THE PHOTOGRAPH, ARE A FEW OF THE RINK RATS OF THE DAY, CIRCA 1982. THEY INCLUDED, BRANT SCOTT, READY FOR THE FACE-OFF, JIM WRIGHT, CHARLIE TRYON (ON THE VEHICLE), ALISTAIR TAYLOR, DRIVING THE TRUCK, ED KOWALSKY, HAROLD SHER, ME ON THE FLOAT WITH HARRY RANGER, TUCKED INTO THE EVERGREENS. THOSE LADS ON GROUND LEVEL, PLAYED SHINNY ALONG THE ENTIRE PARADE ROUTE, SOUTH ON MANITOBA STREET, AND WERE THEY EVER EXHAUSTED BY TIME WE LANDED BACK AT THE ARENA. ALISTAIR, HARRY AND I, WERE IN GOOD SHAPE. THE OTHER PHOTOGRAPH FROM THE TOP OF A BUILDING WAS ALSO TAKEN BY HAROLD, BUT I'M NOT SURE NOW WHERE THAT LOCATION WAS EXACTLY. WE ALL HAD A GOOD TIME THAT AFTERNOON, AND THE BLADES SKATERS WERE ALWAYS WILLING TO HELP US OUT......AND OFTEN PUT ON PERFORMANCES DURING THE INTERMISSIONS OF OUR BENEFIT HOCKEY GAMES. BY THE WAY, I HAVE A CERTIFICATE THAT AFFORDS ME "HONORARY FLYING FATHER" STATUS, AFTER A BENEFIT GAME WITH THOSE FINE CHAPS, SEVERAL YEARS AFTER THE "NO-STARS," GAME. NOW THAT WAS A GAME OF HOLY HOCKEY IF EVER THERE WAS ONE.

    I'M TRULY SORRY I NEVER KEPT A COMPLETE LIST OF RINK RATS IN THOSE EARLY YEARS. SOME PLAYED FOR A SEASON OR TWO, WHILE OTHERS LASTED THROUGH MOST OF A DECADE. I RETIRED FROM THE RINK RATS IN THE EARLY 1990'S, AFTER WE MOVED TO GRAVENHURST. IT WAS ONE THING TO WALK TWO BLOCKS TO THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA, FROM MY OLD APARTMENT IN THE MCGIBBON HOUSE, ON MANITOBA STREET, BUT QUITE ANOTHER TO DRIVE IN ALL KINDS OF WEATHER FROM GRAVENHURST FOR THOSE LATE NIGHT GAMES. I SAT OUT FOR A FEWS YEARS, AND MADE A ONE GAME COME-BACK, WHEN GORD DAWES SUGGESTED THERE WAS A SPOT TO FILL ON THE BENCH. I KNEW I COULD BE A GOOD BENCH WARMER. WHEN I TRIED TO SKATE, GOSH, IT WAS LIKE THE DAY MY MOTHER FASTENED BOB SKATES ONTO MY WINTER BOOTS, AND SET ME LOOSE ON A STRETCH OF RAMBLE CREEK IN BURLINGTON. AS I ALMOST KILLED MYSELF THAT DAY, I SHORT-SHIFTED MYSELF THAT NIGHT AT THE ARENA, AND WHEN THOSE SKATES CAME OFF....THEY NEVER WENT BACK ON. THEY'RE STILL HANGING OFF THE WALL ON THE VERANDAH, WHERE I LEFT THEM THE MORNING AFTER THAT FINAL GAME.

     SOME OF THE KINDLY SOULS, WHO HELPED US FUNDRAISE IN THOSE YEARS.....AND WHO MADE THE RINK RATS A LOT OF FUN TO BE ASSOCIATED, INCLUDED PLAYERS LIKE JON PARTRIDGE, GORD MARTIN, PETER RENNICK, DAVE WHITESIDE, JOHN O'BYRNE, ED KOWALSKY, ALISTAIR TAYLOR, JIM WRIGHT, BRANT SCOTT, GIL SCOTT, DOUG DUNFORD, DAN BARNES, GINO FARRARI, HARRY RANGER, HAROLD WRIGHT, HAROLD SHER, SCOTT MCCLELLAN, JERRY AUCOIN, KEVIN PEAKE, TERRY CURTIS, MIKE GAVIN, DAVE BROWN, AND MIKE HILLBORN. IN THE LATE 1980'S, TO KEEP OUR TEAM AFLOAT, AFTER MANY DEPARTURES DUE TO OLD AGE, WE AMALGAMATED WITH OTHER RECREATIONAL HOCKEYISTS, AND CREATED "THE WOMBATS," WHICH WAS THE TRANSITION POINT, FROM THE OLD GUARD TO THE NEW, BRINGING GORD DAWES, THE HEART AND SOUL OF THE NEW ERA RINK RATS, STILL GOING STRONG. SOME OF THE NAMES FROM THIS TRANSITION PERIOD, OF THE NEW RAT SQUAD, WERE LADS LIKE GERRY MOORE, WAYNE MOORE, ED RENTON, ROBIN SUMMERLY, RON RICKER, NORM LEVESQUE, KIM HAMMOND, PHIL LANGOIS, BARRY SALTER, TIM UREN, DAVE AUGER AND A DOZEN OR SO MORE, THAT HONESTLY HAVE SLIPPED MY MIND. NOT MY HEART. JUST MY CREAKING OLD MEMORY.

     WE USED TO ASK THESE SENIOR RECREATIONALISTS, WITH THEIR KNOBBLY KNEES, TO GIVE OF THEMSELVES ON THE ICE, TO KEEP US FROM BEING HUMILIATED ON THE SCOREBOARD, AND WE ASKED EVEN MORE, WHEN WE PUT ON FUNDRAISERS TO HELP COMMUNITY GROUPS. THEY DID SO GENEROUSLY AND ANNUALLY, AND IT'S NEAT TO LOOK BACK ON THE CLUB AND REALIZE HOW MUCH HISTORY HAS ACTUALLY BEEN MADE, BY A SMALL HUDDLE OF MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS EMPLOYEES, SHIRKING WORK THAT DAY, ABOUT THIRTY-THREE YEARS AGO. WE'D LIKE TO THINK SO ANYWAY.

     BACK IN THE EARLY PART OF THE CENTURY, THE MODERN ERA RINK RATS HONORED ED KOWALSKY, HARRY RANGER AND I, AT CENTRE ICE, AT THE START OF THAT YEAR'S LOVEABLE LOSERS HOCKEY TOURNAMENT. NOW THAT WAS A PROUD MOMENT, TO STAND WITH THOSE TWO OLD RATS, AND WE ALL APPRECIATED THE RECOGNITION. WE WERE EACH PRESENTED NEW HOCKEY JERSEYS WITH OUR ORIGINAL RINK RAT LOGO, WHICH BY THE WAY, HAD BEEN DESIGNED FOR US, IN THE EARLY 1980'S, BY A LOCAL ARTIST, CHRIS MINZ, FORMERLY A TALENTED ART STUDENT AT BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL.

     TWO PLAYERS OF THE RINK RATS PASSED AWAY RECENTLY, AND IT WAS QUITE A BLOW TO THE KINSHIP WE'D ALWAYS HAD ON THE TEAM. KIM HAMMOND WAS THE FIRST TO PASS AWAY, SEVERAL YEARS AGO, AND JUST RECENTLY, IT WAS HARRY RANGER, BOTH KIND SOULS WHO BROUGHT GOOD HUMOUR TO THE CLUB, AND TO ANY EVENT WE PARTICIPATED. THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES.

     I LOVED THOSE YEARS. I LOVED THOSE GUYS. I LOVED THE ADVENTURE....THE "AWAY" GAMES, AND THE WAY WE WORKED SO WELL TOGETHER......NOT SO MUCH ON THE ICE, BECAUSE WE SUCKED, BUT IN, AND FOR THE COMMUNITY. BACK THEN, WE RAISED A LOT OF MONEY TO HELP THE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAM, AND WE PUT A FAIR BIT OF CASH INTO THE PURCHASE OF A NEW ICE-RESURFACING MACHINE FOR THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. I KNOW THAT SLEDGE HOCKEY GOT A LOT OF SUPPORT FROM THE LATTER DAY RATS, AMONGST MANY OTHER WORTHWHILE COMMUNITY PROJECTS AND INITIATIVES.

     MERRY CHRISTMAS RINK RATS. I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU GUYS.

Christmas In Muskoka; Giving Credit To The Home Towners Who Influenced Us, A Storied Community

Late 1960's Early 1970's Depiction of Manitoba Street in Bracebridge looking south down the Queen's Hill. The brick building second on the left was the former Queen's Hotel, but in this vintage it was The Patterson Hotel, owned by Fenton Patterson.

Two close ups of the same Frank Johnston painting, this one showing the intersection of Manitoba Street and Dominion Street and the artist would have captured this image from the front of the former Uptown Esso Station owned by Ted Smith.

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - WE ALL HAVE TO MAKE THE PAST SIGNIFICANT TO THE YOUNGER GENERATIONS

IF WE, AS MORTALS, HAVE THE RESOURCE OF MEMORY, THEN HISTORY WAS MEANT TO BE RECALLED

     I HAVE JUST NOW, RED IN THE FACE, AND WHITE ON THE FINGER-TIPS, RETURNED TO HEARTHSIDE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. WHAT A WILD NIGHT OF WIND AND SNOW. THE WIND IS WHISTLING THROUGH THE WOODLANDS AS IF IT IS A STORM IN MID WINTER. I'M JUST HOPING THAT IT'S ALL BLUSTER WITHOUT THE SNOW OF NOVEMBER. BUT IT'S THE CHRISTMAS SEASON AND SNOW IS PART OF THE TRADITION. RIGHT? FOR A FELLOW, WHO GREW UP HAVING CHRISTMASES IN FLORIDA, I'M MUCH HAPPIER WITH A WHITE CHRISTMAS.
     EARLIER THIS YEAR, SOME RESIDENTS OF BRACEBRIDGE, WERE DISPLEASED BY WHAT THEY PERCEIVED, AS THE TOWN'S INABILITY TO CREATE THE KIND OF EXCITING, DYNAMIC COMMUNITY, THEY THOUGHT TOWN COUNCILS WERE SUPPOSED TO PROVIDE THE CITIZENRY. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE YOUTHFUL MOVERS AND SHAKERS OF THIS MISSION, TO DEMAND THE TOWN GOVERNANCE, TO GET ON THE BALL, AND GIVE THEM WHAT THEY MOST DESIRED. WHICH I THINK WAS A SORT OF LOW BUDGET UTOPIA, WHERE THE CITIZENS WERE PROSPEROUS, EACH WITH A SUITABLE AND PROFITABLE JOB OR BUSINESS, AND THAT RECREATIONAL OPPORTUNITIES WOULD SUIT THE INDIVIDUAL NEEDS, OF EVERY RESIDENT OF THE MUNICIPALITY. I THINK THEY FELL SHORT ON ASKING THAT THE STREETS BE PAVED IN GOLD. WHILE IT NEVER HURTS TO GIVE THE TOWN A LITTLE PUSH IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, NOW AND AGAIN, AND I'M ALL FOR PEACEFUL PROTEST TO FURTHER CAUSES, BUT TO BE BLUNT, "MAKING BRACEBRIDGE GREAT AGAIN," WAS A RIDICULOUS PLACE TO START SUCH A MISSION TO SAVE THE TOWN.
     FIRST OF ALL, BEFORE I GET WOUND UP HERE, BRACEBRIDGE DOESN'T NEED SAVING, AND NEITHER DOES GRAVENHURST OR ANY OF THE OTHER COMMUNITIES IN THIS BEAUTIFUL PART OF THE WORLD. THEY NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK, MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE. THEY NEED A LOT MORE SINCERE AND COMMITTED ACTIVISTS, WHO ARE PREPARED TO SHOULDER RESPONSIBILITY, NOT JUST TALK ABOUT THEIR "WANT LIST" FROM THE TOWN. ALL IMPROVEMENTS COST TAX DOLLARS, EVEN IF GRANTS ARE RECEIVED TO FUND PROJECTS, AND RENEWAL INITIATIVES. IF IT COMES FROM GOVERNMENT, AT ANY LEVEL, IN ULTIMATELY COMES FROM OUR POCKETS. AMBITION. INITIATIVE. WELL, THAT'S FREE. A LOT OF VOLUNTEER LABOUR HAS BEEN INVESTED IN THESE TOWNS, OVER THE CENTURIES, AND IT'S STILL THE WAY TO OVERCOME DEFICIENCIES. BUT TO CLAIM THAT A TOWN LOST IT "GREATNESS," IS WILDLY PRESUMPTUOUS. AS A MUSKOKA, AND BRACEBRIDGE HISTORIAN, I SAY "BALDERDASH". BRACEBRIDGE WAS NEVER GREAT. IT WAS A FINE COMMUNITY TO GROW UP IN, AND RAISE A FAMILY. MY PARENTS LOVED BRACEBRIDGE, AND I GREW UP FEELING THE SAME. BUT IT WASN'T BECAUSE OF GREATNESS, OR SUPER PROSPERITY; BUT RATHER BECAUSE IT WAS A CLOSE-KNIT TOWN, THAT KNEW HOW TO PULL TOGETHER IN TIMES OF CRISIS, AND AT TIMES OF CELEBRATION. IT ALWAYS CAME DOWN TO THE RESILIENCE OF THE CITIZENRY. NOT THE FOLKS AT TOWN HALL. THERE IS WAY TOO MUCH DEPENDENCE ON OUR TOWN COUNCILS IN MUSKOKA, TO MAKE THE COMMUNITIES BETTER. THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS. CONSTITUENTS LEAD THE CHARGE, AND TOWN COUNCIL MANAGES THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE. IF WE DON'T LIKE THE WAY THEY'RE FUNCTIONING AS A LOCAL GOVERNMENT, WE CAN GET RID OF THEM. YOU'D BE SURPRISED WHAT KIND OF PRESSURE CAN BE EXERTED ON TOWN HALL, IF IT IS WARRANTED BY PUBLIC OPINION. I'VE SEEN COUNCIL CHAMBERS FULL TO OVERFLOWING WITH VERY ANGRY PEOPLE, AND I'VE WATCHED COUNCILS BACK OFF PROJECTS THE PUBLIC DIDN'T APPROVE. POINT IS, OUR TOWNS OF SOUTH MUSKOKA, ARE AS SUCCESSFUL AS THE CITIZENS ARE AMBITIOUS. TOWN HALL IS THE ADMINISTRATION WE REQUIRE, NOT THE END ALL OF WHAT IT MEANS TO HAVE A PROSPEROUS HOME TOWN.
     I CAME TO BRACEBRIDGE AT A YOUNG AGE. I WAS AN URBAN REFUGEE. I USED TO WALK TO SCHOOL VIA A POWER LINE EASEMENT, WITH MASSIVE TOWERS STRETCHING HORIZON TO HORIZON, IN BURLINGTON, AND I EVEN PLAYED THERE BECAUSE IT WAS OPEN SPACE, AND WE COULD RUN FOR A HALF HOUR WITHOUT MAKING A TURN. I PLAYED IN A RAVINE IN A HEAVILY POPULATED NEIGHBORHOOD, AND BELIEVE ME, THE WATER OF RAMBLE CREEK WAS POLLUTED. YOU COULD SMELL THE DEAD FISH IN THE LAKE, LONG BEFORE YOU SAW THE LAKESHORE. THE CREEK WATER SMELLED BAD AS WELL, BUT I GOT USED TO IT. I LOVED BURLINGTON, MAKE NO MISTAKE ABOUT THIS. OUR FAMILY LIVED IN A WONDERFUL THREE FLOOR APARTMENT OWNED BY THE NAGY FAMILY, AND THEY EVEN LOOKED AFTER ME WHEN MY PARENTS WERE AT WORK. BUT IT WAS AN URBAN ENVIRONMENT, AND UNTIL I GOT TO MUSKOKA, I HAD NO WAY TO COMPARE HOME NEIGHBORHOODS. I'D ONLY LIVED IN TWO DIFFERENT LOCATIONS, BOTH IN BURLINGTON, AND THEY WERE NICELY APPOINTED BUT UNMISTAKENLY CITY-LIKE. WHEN WE ARRIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE, I WAS ABSOLUTELY SPELLBOUND, BY THE FACT, I WAS SURROUNDED BY HINTERLAND, YET WE LIVED IN AN URBAN NEIGHBORHOOD BY DEFINITION. JUST NOT A BIG, AND HEAVILY POPULATED NEIGHBORHOOD. IT WOULD TAKE VERY FEW MINUTES, ON FOOT, OR BY BICYCLE, TO ARRIVE IN SOME WOODED ALCOVE, OR WILD RIVERSIDE BUSH LOT, WHERE NATURE WAS KING. AT BASS ROCK, ON THE MUSKOKA RIVER, I COULD ONLY FAINTLY HEAR THE TOWN CLOCK ON THE OLD FEDERAL BUILDING, WHEN IT CHIMED ON THE HOUR. THE URBAN SOUNDS WERE MUFFLED BY THE PLEASANT WASH OF THE RAPIDS, JUST BEFORE PASSING THROUGH THE NARROWS, WHERE WE USED TO SWIM ON STEAMY JULY AFTERNOONS.
     IN THE MID TO LATE 1960'S, WE DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF RECREATIONAL PROGRAMS, OFFERED BY THE TOWN, AT ANY TIME OF THE YEAR. THERE WERE SWIMMING CLASSES AT KIRBY'S BEACH IN THE SUMMER, MINOR BASEBALL AT JUBILEE PARK, SCOUTS, CUBS, GIRL GUIDES, 4-H CLUB ACTIVITIES, (FOR THOSE IN THE RURAL CLIMES), CHURCH RELATED ACTIVITIES, SCHOOL RELATED PROGRAMS, MINOR HOCKEY AND FIGURE SKATING IN THE WINTER SEASON. I SUPPOSE THERE WAS A YOUNG CURLER'S DIVISION AT THE OLD CURLING CLUB ON JAMES STREET, OPPOSITE THE COMMUNITY CENTRE, BUT I'M NOT SURE. WE MADE OUR OWN ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE MOST PART, AND IT WASN'T MUCH OF A HARDSHIP. EVEN IN BURLINGTON, THERE WERE THE SAME NUMBER OF PROGRAMS BACK THEN, AND SEEING AS MY FAMILY DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF DISPOSABLE INCOME, I JUST MADE DO WITH THE RAVINE OF RAMBLE CREEK AND A SAFE NEIGHBORHOOD. I NEVER ONCE FELT DISADVANTAGED, HAVING NATURE AS A CHUM.
    GROWING UP IN BRACEBRIDGE WAS ENHANCED BECAUSE OF ITS RURAL SITUATION. IT STILL DEMANDED ITS YOUNG CITIZENS BE CREATIVE, AND MAKE FUN WHEREVER AND HOWEVER POSSIBLE. SURE IT GOT US INTO CRAP AT TIMES, BUT NOTHING TOO SERIOUS. WHAT WE HAD IN MY ERA, WERE PARENTS AND NEIGHBORHOOD RESIDENTS WHO HELPED US HAVE MEMORABLE CHILDHOODS. I MAY HAVE ONLY HAD TWO PARENTS LISTED IN THE CENSUS, BUT TRUTHFULLY, I HAD DOZENS LOOKING OUT FOR ME, AND THANK GOD FOR THAT. IT'S STILL WHAT MOTIVATES ME TO WRITE BLOGS LIKE THIS. WE HAD SO MANY THOUGHTFUL AND CARING CITIZENS, WHO TIME AND AGAIN, IN ALL KINDS OF SOCIAL - CULTURAL RECREATIONS, PUT THEMSELVES IN THE MIDDLE, TO PULL THEM TOGETHER. THEY WEREN'T GREAT PEOPLE, AND THEY HAD NO INTEREST IN ACHIEVING GREATNESS, AT LEAST THE ONES I KNEW. YET THEY WORKED TOWARD A SAFE AND AMBITIOUS COMMUNITY, THROUGH SWEAT EQUITY. A LOT OF TIMES, THEY CHIPPED IN THEIR OWN MONEY TO GET PROJECTS OFF THE GROUND. IF WORD GOT OUT, YOU COULDN'T REGISTER YOUR KIDS FOR HOCKEY, PRETTY SOON SOME BENEVOLENT SOUL WOULD MAKE AN ANONYMOUS PAYMENT TO MINOR HOCKEY, OR THE SKATING CLUB. THERE WAS NO FUSS, NO GREATNESS, JUST CITIZENS HELPING CITIZENS.
     I HAVE WITNESSED THIS FIRST HAND IN BOTH BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST, AND NOTHING I CARE ABOUT, HAD, OR HAS A SINGLE MOLECULE OF WHAT MIGHT BE CONSIDERED "THE POLITICAL." HUNDREDS OF CITIZENS VOLUNTEERED THEIR TIME, TO GIVE US A GOOD HOMETOWN EXPERIENCE. OUR HOCKEY COACHES AND THOSE FINE FOLKS WHO GOT UP AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, TO WATER THE OUTDOOR RINK OVER AT BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL, FOR OUR WINTER RECREATION.  WHEN THE CITIZENS GOT INVOLVED, IN MAKING OPPORTUNITIES, IT WAS ALL PART OF A FUNDAMENTAL, NO FRILLS BUILDING PROCESS, TO SATISFY OUR NEEDS AND INTERESTS. IT WAS CITIZEN DRIVEN, NOT JUST THE TASK OF A TOWN COUNCIL TO MAKE GREATNESS A REALITY. COUNCILLORS IN MY ERA, WERE AMONGST THOSE VOLUNTEER CONTRIBUTORS, BUT NOT AS TOWN REPRESENTATIVES. AS ORDINARY FOLK, JUST WANTING TO PITCH-IN, TO SAVE SOME BUCKS, AND BRING FORWARD THE BEST INITIATIVES THEY COULD MUSTER. TAKE THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE CENTENNIAL CENTRE. A HUGE AMOUNT OF WORK TO FINISH THE BUILDING, SITUATED ON A CORNER PORTION OF JUBILEE PARK, WAS HANDLED BY VOLUNTEER LABOR AND DONATED MATERIALS. THE CITIZENS WANTED A NEW TOWN RECREATION CENTRE AND POOL, AND WORKED ABOVE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY TO EARN WHAT THEY WANTED FOR THE TOWN. NOW THAT'S GUMPTION.     TODAY, THERE JUST SEEMS TO BE A RIDICULOUS PRE-OCCUPATION WITH THE MOOD OF TOWN HALL. TOWN COUNCILS DO NOT CREATE THE DYNAMIC OF A COMMUNITY. THEY ARE A MIRROR, AND ADMINISTRATE ACCORDING TO THE BEST INTERESTS OF THE TOWN AS A WHOLE. THEY ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR MAKING THEIR RESPECTIVE COMMUNITY A UTOPIA. THE CHARACTER OF OUR COMMUNITIES IS DEEPLY IMBEDDED, IN OUR CHRONICLE OF HISTORY MAKERS, DATING FROM THE BEGINNING OF RESPECTIVE SETTLEMENTS. I'M PRETTY SURE, NARY A ONE OF OUR MOVERS AND SHAKERS, FROM ANTIQUITY, WOULD HAVE EVER FELT OUR COMMUNITY WAS GREAT, EXCEPT AS A SPECIFIC REFERENCE, TO A CHAMPIONSHIP LACROSS, BASEBALL, CURLING, OR HOCKEY TEAM. COMMUNITIES WEREN'T MEASURED ON THE "GREATNESS" SCALE. BUT RATHER, WERE RESIDENTS PROUD TO CALL IT A HOMETOWN?

THE BEDFORD FALLS PARALLEL

     Wherever it was, in this big old planet earth, that you called home, for the first years of your life, you will have that mortal-experience mix, of pleasant and unpleasant memories. Recollections of happy times, and unhappy, ranging from family celebrations that inspire good memories, and then, on the other side, being chased from school by the bullies looking to sharpen their skills on you. You will recall acts of kindness, and unanticipated benevolence, that made up for the actions of adversaries. People who came into your life rather unexpectedly, and provided some inspiration that changed perspective about social standing, recreational prowess, or even academics. There are negative influences of course, and some folks had the disadvantage of having more adversarial relationships than others. Yet, as I am a stalwart believer in the old adage, "what doesn't kill you, will make you stronger," I think most of us, can look back and reckon that positive experiences always outweighed the negative. As poet William Henry Smith wrote, in his book "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil," one must experience "good" to know what "bad" represents, as the polar opposite. Misfortune and fortune? How do you know the meaning of fortune, if there is nothing to compare it to? Angry or calm? (Gravenhurst, Ontario, was named after Smith's philosophical essay, still being used in university studies today). I had a lot of adversity in my youth, from illness, to doing the after-school race home, to get away from bullies in hot pursuit. I enjoyed the love of a significant other, and felt the depression of being dumped. Maybe I did blame my circumstance on my home town unfairly, at the time, for my personal chagrin. Yet it was the same town, that facilitated my re-introduction to my wife Suzanne.     It's just like that, where the good and bad wrestle around, and hopefully, what comes out of the mortal struggle, is a sort of Bedford Falls realization, that any community, proud of itself, will eventually find ways to survive and carry on traditions. Those folks you may have thought about, just now, as having been important to your early life, and having influenced your present character, should re-enforce the premise of Frank Capra's classic Christmas film, "It's a Wonderful Life." And the message, that we all contribute to the flow of tides, that bring about change in our most intimate neighborhoods. We may not give it much thought in our busy modern lives, but I can tell you, that I don't have to reflect too far back, to appreciate that my life would have been so hugely different without Suzanne. For one thing, our boys wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be sitting, writing this blog, from this comfortable studio chair, in their music and antique shop, in uptown Gravenhurst. I take history very seriously, and I can tell you with confidence, I was on the way to killing myself with booze, before Suzanne helped me shape-up. I was surrounded, in my bachelor lifestyle, with "enablers," who had convinced me that social drinking was both fun, and socially beneficial. They informed me, after ordering another jug of beer, that I would likely find the girl of my dreams, one day soon, in one of these dank, dens of iniquity. It didn't happen this way at all. Yes, I think they figured I would hook-up with one of the thousand strippers, who performed on the stage beside the designated "Press Club," table where I drank.
     I think about those citizens, of the business community in Bracebridge, who had such high thresholds of patience, for the curious Teddy Currie, and his Hunt's Hill mates. At Christmas, I spent a lot of quality time (at least in my opinion), helping Bill Elliot, of "Eliot's Five Cents to a Dollar Store", on Manitoba Street, watch his inventory, as the self appointed "Store Dick," to borrow the reference off the W.C. Fields movie of the same name. My point about Bill, as I have tried to make over the years of mention in this blog, is that he could have hoofed-us out, for loitering, but he didn't. I'm told by an insider, that Bill demanded patience from his clerks, when it came to the local youth, who loved the store's candy counter most of all. They weren't to ask us to leave, unless we were acting badly. We thought too much of Bill and his staff, to misbehave. It was, for years and years, known as the most child friendly store in town. Every Saturday morning, I showed up early, except on hair cutting days, at artist Bill Anderson's barber shop, in the Patterson Hotel, less than a hundred yards to the north. My first mission was to check out the hamsters and guinea pigs, the budgies, a few canaries, and lots of fish in the giant aquarium Bill kept-up through all the years of his ownership. That's presumptuous of course, considering the shop was operating a long time before we arrived on the scene.
     After thoroughly inspecting the livestock, at the main street department store, we would head as a group, down to see the toys brought in for the Christmas season. I never got past the Dinky Toy, Corgi, Lesney, and Matchbox car and truck display cabinets, that were always so appealing to us young lads. Then there were the table top hockey games, electric race car sets and hundreds of games we wanted to own. We had to ask Santa to bring them instead. We were broke. Call me freakish, but I loved to study the stationary department, where I used to pick-out pen and pencil sets, first choice to third, that I wanted for Christmas; and even staplers with the capacity of penetrating a hundred pages of text. Not that I had a hundred pages of text, but I was thinking that I'd buy the stapler and paper first, and then come up with the idea for a book. I'd stop at the comic book rack at the front of the store, where my good friend, artist, Ross Smith, used to stand for long periods of time, picking out his favorite titles for the week's reading. Then there were the K-Tel record compilations at the front, at the heads of both sales wickets, that I always asked my parents to buy me as stocking stuffers.
     The point I want to make, above and beyond the fact, Bill used to have a great little country shop, and the kind of inventory that appealed to our childhood interests, was that he allowed us to dawdle in his store; when he knew we didn't have but a faint Christmas wish, that our parents would have the money to buy what we had picked out. Bill treated us as shareholders, more so than customers. He allowed us to be stewards of his collection. Possibly he thought we made the budgies and canaries happy; the hamsters and guinea pigs contented to have us talking to them, as if they were our own pets. Maybe he thought we were a calming influence for the gold fish, such that they wouldn't mind being adopted-out as Christmas presents, because of our keeping them company in the shop. Whatever it was, there wasn't one of us penniless kids, at that time in Bracebridge history, who wouldn't have thought of Bill, his family, and staff, as being our retail guardian angels. If we had spent those same hours, that we invested in Bill's store, in other pursuits, we might have burned the town down, or at least part of it. A stop-in at his store was a respite, that made us think of a more orderly way of living, and by immersion, how economics works at the retail level. Son of a gun. It's what Suzanne and I are doing today (as well as the boys), and the greatest honor, would be for a customer, who had no idea of my background, to make the comment, "Gosh, does this store ever remind me of Bill Elliott's store on Manitoba Street." Bill influenced me about the friendly character I wanted to imbed in our shop that's for sure; and we have lots of young people visit us here. It takes me back in a most pleasant way.
       Often, in our haste, we under recognize, just how important people, like Bill, and hundreds of thousands of citizens, in all walks of life, and just as caring, have contributed to our own sense and proportion of goodwill. As "It's a Wonderful Life," illustrates what Bedford Falls would have been like, without the humanity of George Bailey, of the "Savings and Loan," we could all find someone from our past, who played a similar pivotal role; such that if they had never been born, how seriously we would have been disadvantaged in our development.     One might then suggest, there would have been a deviation toward some other positive role model as a replacement. In the movie, Old Man Potter, is the adversarial side of the equation, who would have modeled the town in his own image without George Bailey. The absence of fine citizens like Bill Elliot, would have had a huge impact on me, that I know for sure. Maybe for you it was acts of kindness from the landlord of your apartment, a teacher or two at public school, the town librarian, a figure skating coach, the mailman, a butcher, or the local baker. Over the course of my childhood, I had all kinds of positive influences from the people I knew, their youngsters, and the places we used to go together. My own example, was Ross Hillman, elder brother of my chums Al and Rick Hillman, who used to load us into the truck, to take us out to the Fraserburg Hunt Camp, to keep us from getting into trouble in the neighborhood. Ross passed away several weeks ago, and I couldn't help but to think back to the times he chipped in, to help his mother Stella, keep peace on Hunt's Hill; by having him take us wired-kids to some safe haven, when we were getting, as my mother would say, on the wrong side of the law. I always thought Ross was kind to give up his time to give us kids a little break in country spaces. It always seemed to work for us. But here was a guy, who probably never gave it another thought, or would have imagined that I would have remembered these adventures; or felt he was some kind of hero for doing this. This is a small corner of a much, much bigger picture, of how we all got from there to here. While we might try to impress ourselves, when looking in the mirror, feeling we are self-made, strong, forward minded individuals, there should be that humble gene, that forces us to acknowledge, that we have picked up traits we've admired, from those who have inspired us through the days of our lives. I can never forget either Bill or Ross for the way they treated us kids, as important people; when many of our elders just wished we'd disappear off the radar.
     It's at this time of the rolling year, that I might just take a wander through the streets I used to haunt as a wee lad, as if hopeful, I will run into some kind of portal experience, and be able to climb through to those days of the late 1960's and early 70's, to revisit those mates who made social / recreational intercourse so darn much fun. I will at points, stop in the snowfall of an early evening, near Christmas, and swear that I can hear the high voice of Randy Carswell, slapping his hockey stick on the hard-packed snow of upper Alice Street, requesting that we line-up in our proper positions, to get the game underway. At the point, when I actually think I can see his silhouette in the lamplight, and the light snowfall, stick handling up the street, I am reminded what a fool I am for the sentimental side of life. Randy passed away many years ago, from complications associated with diabetes, but I have never forgotten how much joy he brought into our lives back then, as the larger than life character, who always called the play by play of our little road hockey matches. He was the first one of us kids, to get a hot chocolate moustache, when my mother Merle called us up to the apartment, on cold nights, for a hot beverage to warm us up. I don't want history to cover-over effervescent blokes like Randy, who was the unofficial town greeter for most of his adult life - going from calling the play by play, to holding court at the post office, where he relayed information about the latest hockey scores, and news of standing changes in junior play. He knew all about local hockey scores, and was a goal judge at the arena for many years. Above all else, he was a boy, a man, of constant good cheer, and that mattered to me a lot. Randy could make me laugh, even if I had just learned, for example, my girlfriend had given me the proverbial heave-ho. Instead of crying, Randy would make light of the break-up, and pretty soon, we'd be kicking ice chunks up the street, and killing ourselves laughing, about the follies of life and relationships. Indeed, my life would have been a lot different without Randy, to constantly cheer me up; but I don't know that I cheered him up to the same degree.
     There are times, when, without really knowing it, we become Scrooges, by roughly the same measure, as Charles Dickens created the main character of his "Christmas Carol". By the rigors of our professional and personal lives, we can lose our sensitivity and possibly, if one could measure such things, our spirituality. We don't always recognize what has happened, until we have inflicted unkind acts upon our friends and family. At Christmas, of course, we are more likely to see this as something to re-visit and correct, even though, for many, it all snaps back immediately following the holidays, and we resort to the same old, same old. There is something very important in the study of Bedford Falls, and the issue of George Bailey's existence, that should remind us, that we are also of comparable impact on others; such that we should ask ourselves in front of that mirror, what our contribution has been to our community during our lives. Such that if we had never been born, how would everything have turned out. If your honest appraisal, is that you haven't done enough to impact much of anything, then you are either naive about the people you've touched, or need to play a greater role in the humanity of the hamlet, village, town or city you call home. It's never too late, for the living, to change their ways.
     I have very much benefitted in my life, from the kindnesses of friends and strangers. My opinion of living in Muskoka, and having homes in Bracebridge and Gravenhurst, has been positively re-enforced by benevolent experiences. It's at Christmas-time, that I offer my annual thanks, to both home towns, and to all the people I've known through the decades, who have shared, with me, some of their life lessons and wisdom; and made the whole darn enterprise, so darn much fun.
     Please take the time this holiday season, to think about the good folks who made our communities what they are; special places we will never, ever forget.

CHRISTMAS IN BRACEBRIDGE -

WASHINGTON IRVING - A FEW WORDS OF RECOGNITION - A LITERARY HERITAGE WE KNOW LITTLE ABOUT

IF, THEREFORE, I SHOULD SOMETIMES BE FOUND DWELLING WITH FONDNESS TO SUBJECTS THAT ARE TRITE AND COMMON-PLACED WITH THE READER, I BEG THE CIRCUMSTANCES UNDER WHICH I WRITE MAY BE KEPT IN RECOLLECTION." NOTES GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT., THE CHARACTER-TRAVELLER, WASHINGTON IRVING USED IN "THE SKETCH BOOK," AND THE LATER "BRACEBRIDGE HALL," OF WHICH BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO IS NAMED.

"BUT, IN FACT, TO BE EVERYTHING WAS FULL OF MATTER; THE FOOTSTEPS OF HISTORY WERE EVERY WHERE TO BE TRACED; AND POETRY HAD BREATHED OVER AND SANCTIFIED THE LAND. I EXPERIENCED THE DELIGHTFUL FRESHNESS OF FEELING OF A CHILD, TO WHO EVERY THING IS NEW. I PICTURED TO MYSELF A SET OF INHABITANTS AND A MODE OF LIFE FOR EVERY HABITATION THAT I SAW, FROM THE ARISTOCRATICAL MANSION, AMIDST THE LORDLY REPOSE OF STATELY GROVES AND SOLITARY PARKS, TO THE STRAW-THATCHED COTTAGE, WITH ITS SCANTY GARDENS AND ITS CHERISHED WOODBINE. I THOUGHT I NEVER COULD BE SATED WITH THE SWEETNESS AND FRESHNESS OF A COUNTRY SO COMPLETELY CARPETED WITH VERDUE; WHERE EVERY AIR BREATHED OF THE BALMY PASTURE, AND THE HONEYSUCKLED HEDGE. I WAS CONTINUALLY COMING UP WITH SOME DOCUMENTS OF POETRY IN THE BLOSSOMED HAWTHORN, THE DAISY, THE COWSLIP, THE PRIMROSE, OR SOME OTHER SIMPLE OBJECT THAT HAS RECEIVED A SUPERNATURAL VALUE FROM THE MUSE. THE FIRST TIME THAT I HEARD THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE, I WAS INTOXICATED MORE BY THE DELICIOUS CROWD OF REMEMBERED ASSOCIATIONS THAN BY THE MELODY OF ITS NOTES; AND I SHALL NEVER FORGET THE THRILL OF ECSTASY WITH WHICH I FIRST SAW THE LARK RISE, ALMOST FROM BENEATH MY FEET, AND WING ITS MUSICAL FLIGHT UP INTO THE MORNING SKY."

CRAYON, THROUGH THE CREATIVE MEASURES OF THE GOOD MR. IRVING, WROTE, "THESE STORIES (FOLK TALES), HOWEVER, AS I BEFORE OBSERVED, ARE FAST FADING AWAY, AND IN ANOTHER GENERATION OR TWO WILL PROBABLY BE COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN. THERE IS SOMETHING, HOWEVER, ABOUT THESE RURAL SUPERSTITIONS THAT IS EXTREMELY PLEASING TO THE IMAGINATION, PARTICULARLY THOSE WHICH RELATE TO THE GOOD HUMOURED RACE OF HOUSEHOLD DEMONS, AND INDEED TO THE WHOLE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. THE ENGLISH HAVE GIVEN AN INEXPRESSIBLE CHARM TO THESE SUPERSTITIONS, BY THE MANNER IN WHICH THEY HAVE ASSOCIATED THEM WITH WHATEVER IS MOST HOME-FELT AND DELIGHTFUL IN RUSTIC LIFE, OR REFRESHING AND BEAUTIFUL IN NATURE."

I can remember, on a Christmas morning just as this, sitting in the attic of the former home and office of Dr. Peter McGibbon, on upper Manitoba Street, opposite Memorial Park, and watching out of the large window that afforded a wonderful panorama of the park and mainstreat. It was an amazing old structure, pleasantly haunted, and a comfortable place to set up my first writing studio. It was in the fall of 1977 that we arrived, as a family, to lodge at the McGibbon House, which had only recently been turned into several apartment units, with retail space below. It's where we opened Birch Hollow Antiques. I took over the huge attic, and set my desk as close to the window as I could, so that there would be as little compromise to the view as possible. I loved that attic. I had no difficulty whatsoever, finding things to write about.

It was from that attic, overlooking the good old town, that I began organizing for the creation of the Bracebridge Historical Society, which would become a reality a year later; Bracebridge's first public museum in less than three years. It was when I first began reading about Washington Irving, as a biography, knowing the provenance then, of how Bracebridge received its name……an event that dated back to the year 1864.

While it wasn't until the late 1990's that I got around to doing a lengthy text on the subject, which was published in book form in the year 2000, I was enthralled by the author's work even then……and read many times "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." When we first arrived in Bracebridge, as a family, back in the winter of 1966, the moment we drove over the famous silver bridge, and the historic main street became visible, my mother said, quite innocently, we've moved to "Sleepy Hollow." It wasn't a derogatory statement…..as she adored the work of Mr. Irving, as I did……having grown up with this stories as a child. I realized that William Dawson LeSueur, in 1864, not long after the death of Irving and the release of a new collection of his stories, decided as a postal authority, responsible for naming new Canadian post offices, to pay tribute to the late author, his work, and a fledgling town in the District of Muskoka. LeSueur was also a noted historian, literary critic, and philosopher himself, and he would not have granted this name, if he hadn't respected the work of the American author. He did roughly the same in Gravenhurst, but instead named the town after a book by William Henry Smith, a poet philosopher, after the title of his book, "Gravenhurst, or Thoughts on Good and Evil." In this case, it was also an honor and provenance awarded to author and town, but it wasn't embraced as such……and still isn't. Actually, the same can be said for both towns.

I have hopes that one day, some decade in the future, the citizens of Bracebridge, will come to fully appreciate their connection to the historical legend of Washington Irving, as the town has a perfect right to boast this connection from the highest roof-top. It is significant. Being part of the literary heritage of an international author, of his accomplishment, is of particular honor…..that has never fully been explored. The connections to the literary heritage of the Irving name, could fan-out across North America, as there are many other regions, towns and cities, that have such a connection.

If ever there was an under-utilized resource, in this community, it is the link created by Dr. LeSueur in the year 1864, to a literary giant. Some day, this may become significant……but it won't be politically driven. It must come from those who appreciate the provenance, and the stewardship of the namesake, and be prepared to develop it to a full potential……and of course, that can include a boost to the tourism sector……of folks who wouldn't mind visiting a community named after the author of Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

"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." MR. CRAYON. (WASHINGTON IRVING)

I had a copy of The Sketch Book on my shelf, up in that first office, above Memorial Park, and I consulted it frequently. I concur with what Irving writes, and can parallel my own beliefs, with his life-long fascination by the unknowns of the world……left to flourish in their own mysterious circumstance. How interesting it is, to think then, that famous author Charles Dickens, once confessed, that he always retired "to bedlam" with a copy of Irving's stories tucked under his arm. This is a special literary link, that Bracebridge will one day, more fully appreciate; the international connectedness, that can be cultivated into a truly prosperous future harvest.

Merry Christmas.