Drawing Precedents From The Past and Build Upon For The Future

DRAWING PRECEDENTS FROM THE PAST; APPRECIATING WHAT THE GENERATIONS ACHIEVED FOR US TO BUILD UPON

WHY WE SHOULD GIVE THANKS TO THE FOUNDING CITIZENS OF OUR TOWN AND REGION

     It doesn't take too long these days, sitting in front of the nightly television news, watching video reports from war-torn countries, and seeing the desperate exodus of millions of refugees, to appreciate, the quiet, safe, hometown we have here, in the hinterland of South Muskoka; a paradise in comparison. Despite some of the typical problems inherent of any hometown on the good old earth, there are communities in much greater peril, from mankind-generated calamities, to natural disasters, claiming lives every minute of every hour of every day. We can always find reasons to complain about something or other, but when it comes right down to the well being of our families, it's a pretty obvious choice where we are best off; the place where we're not going to get blown up by incoming missiles, on the way to the grocery store, or killed on the road to school or work, by concealed land mines planted by adversaries. We've got it pretty good here, and as far as trading places, I dare say, there would be few wishing to join the plight of the displaced people of the Middle East, when they can live here free of war. Yes we should be thankful. It is the perfect week to bestow these thanks, and what a nice gesture, to send a donation of cash or provisions to the local food bank, to help those of our citizenry presently down on their luck. Thanksgiving in a small town is the best Thanksgiving of all. At least that's what I believe.
     It's logical and even expected, and part of the job description, that someone who claims to be an historian, even if it's more theatre than reality, would find something of importance in what others see as a pile of old and musty paper. It is probably public opinion, that while some celebrants of victory bathe themselves in champagne, the historian instead of getting all wet and sticky, dives into a bin of old documents with reckless abandon.
     The expectation is, that when you inform someone you are an "historian," or "antiquarian," you will get, beyond the rolled-up eyes, a corresponding nod and wink, a nervous frown, and most likely, the conversation will be quickly changed, because, history is so freaking boring. Right? I use the reference to "historian" in my written work, because it is pertinent to the story-line. I don't blurt it out, in public, because folks I'm talking with, generally associate history with those incredibly boring classes we all remember, from back in high school. Honestly, I felt the same, and I almost became a qualified artist, by the sheer volume of doodles I did in my binder every single class. It's to be expected, that if the future historian was bored by classroom studies, well, there's a fair bit of truth to the suggestion, history wasn't taught the way it should have been. And although Suzanne tried her best as a history teacher to instill some excitement in class, and improve appreciation for heritage issues, she also didn't have a lot of wiggle room to manipulate curriculum.
     Today, when I write casually about being thankful, that our family lives in a charming, kindly, benevolent home town, and region, here in Ontario, I do so in the contemporary sense. Always with high regards for the citizenry who have made it a good all-round community; while stalwartly maintaining a sharp reverence, for what our citizens of the past, have sculpted for our benefit, from as far back as pioneer times. I find it's the one flagrant violation today, of a modern way of thinking, that most offends me as a working historian, and troubles me about the welfare of the future; because it's unquestionably self-defeating to dismiss the precedents of the past, that have been our foundation, as abstract as that seems to modernists, who prefer to only look forward.
     There have been many revered writer / philosophers, who have opined, that history is best forgotten, so as not to get in the way of future progress. "The past is past, so let's get on with making the future." I don't disagree about the "past being past," just the part about it being of lesser importance, than leap-frogging what many don't understand, without fear of consequence. Precedents aren't all they're cracked-up to be, these visionaries argue; precendants are like the inches hacked away to build a path that will remain a path forever, and ever, if useful to future generations. Why is it necessary to re-visit time and again, the inch by inch process of building it? Isn't it more important to recognized the fact a path was built, that heralded an easier way to travel, and initiated, by its linkage, even more progressive building down the road. The nitty-gritty of history seems to annoy those who wish to get on with their lives, and find it moot, that self proclaimed historians like me, would continue to find meaning in the routines of a former population, trying to make a home out of the wild woods. I get it! Today, there are more citizens than ever, who would think the same, and feel there was nothing wrong at all, about throwing out old letters, and historic documents, because they represent clutter in the modern scheme of order and social conscience. I can't tell these futurists they are wrong, for dismissing the relevance of footholds, as I see the worth of historical detail, such that if we were climbing a rock cliff, these anchors in the rock would be highly useful, and potentially save the climber from falling to a nasty demise.
     When I look at our home town, in this contemporary mood, forgive the stubborn, old fashioned historian, from overlapping what is in "the now," with what I know of the past. Good stuff and bad blended into the mix, whether it is contemporary or truly antiquated, it doesn't matter. For me, I could never describe Gravenhurst, or Muskoka, as a district, without overlapping the decades to create a realistic, responsible characterization; having the full dimension, color and dynamic of a town "with a past." I am always looking for ways to present this side of the historian's lament, and reach those in our community, who believe the present and future are all that matters. I've met local politicians who were so stubbornly forward minded, they refused to acknowledge the protocols and precedents, because they wrongly believed them, the corrupting influence against progress. If someone warned me about walking in an area, where rattlesnakes had been witnessed, sometime earlier, I would heed the advice, based on my knowledge of the current information, and what I know of our region, as a habitat for these endangered creatures. I would thusly, take a wide swing for their good, in case I stepped on one, and my health and welfare, not wishing to be bitten. I can't tell you how many folks today, if given the same warning, would purposely go out of their way, to walk through the portion of topography where the snakes were basking. When these same individuals get stung, they can't believe it happened, and would most likely turn to the person who warned them in advance, and curse them for not having used physical restraint to halt their progress. And then they would undoubtedly beg for medical assistance. It would seem logical, for the injured individual to have been influenced, against ever doing something as foolish again. But the chances are high, they would fall into the class of repeat offenders. To them precedents are for fools.
     When I look out on the main street of our town, I am reminded of all the precedent setting events that have happened on this stretch of Muskoka Road, quite literally, from the beginning of village life. I am looking upon a limited, framed scene, from an October 2015 perspective, yet the color in the story comes from knowing what "hometown" has meant for all these years. At a time of Thanksgiving, I do think everyone, even the modernists, who don't give a hoot about the old days, and old ways, let alone what happened yesterday, (even their own part in history), should pause to think about what really characterizes the place in which they dwell, whether rural or urban. What kind of things should we recall, when judging our own place in this community, or frankly, wherever you come from, or call home. There is always something from the past, that rings important, for how we perceive the present, and what expectations we have for the future. I want to give you a small but poignant example, of what kind of historical precendants, influence historians like me, to stay the course, to keep searching for information sources; to then offer back our finds for the benefit of hometown citizens, and interested others, who really need to know what kind of reputation we have been conscripted to uphold. Despite the banging heads of politics, and public disagreements, the history stays the same. We can't change it, but we can use it to better our futures. At least in my mind.
     In the archives material I have been sorting through for the past week, generously donated by a conscientious citizen, Suzanne found a long-ago letter-to-the-editor, from a Gravenhurst citizen, serving overseas, part of the 3rd Light French Mortar Battery, of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, during the First World War. The soldier, a farm kid, from rural Ontario, who was thrown into the bloody battles in trench warfare in France, writes about the experience, so his hometown would appreciate the effort and sacrifice, all Allied soldiers were committing for love of home and nation. It is one of the most compelling war time letters I've ever read, and the message is entirely relevant to modern times, and the conflicts ocurring at present in Europe and the Middle East, that could spark a world war with one ill-conceived command. The letter writer never made it back to Gravenhurst, the result of injuries sustained, and he is buried in England. But his observations about war, are timeless and important in the contemporary sense, and as hometowners now, we should feel proud to have this record of a Gravenhurst son, reporting on a most horrible circumstance.
     The letter is from Private Hilton Miller (listed as Corporal on his death certificate. as sent by the federal government), undated, and was introduced by the newspaper's editor in the opening paragraph that reads: "The following letter has been received by Mr. and Mrs. Miller from their son Hilton, who is serving with the first Canadian Division in France. He has been in the trenches almost a year, and is the only one left out of the draft that left Parry Sound with which he was connected. The letter was received on Monday last, and was dated in France, June 16th."
     In the words of Private Miller: "Dear Mother and Father (who farmed on Muskoka Beach Road), I have not much time to write just now, and I am feeling so sick and shaken up that I can hardly hold my pencil. I came up last night after a terrible battle. I knew we had to do it but I did not tell you for fear you would worry. I am so thankful to be well and alive, all my friends are either killed or wounded.
     "I am about the only one left out of the draft that left Parry Sound when I did. My best chum was wounded. However, we were successful; we took some prisoners and I have a few of their buttons to send to you when I get a chance; we also took all the lost ground. I do not know when we will be in another scrape but pray I never will; my nerves will never stand it; it has been beyond all description. I will never try to tell anyone about this war, the sooner I forget it the better.
     "I must close now, Dear Parents. I am so thankful God has spared me. I had almost given up hope but I am sure your prayers have not been unanswered. I am feeling a little lonely now that my friends have gone, but I think I will be alright. Love to all, Hilton."
    There are many layers to what we see, and know of each day, about our town and region. This is just one small but poignant example of what is often missed, when we casually dismiss the precedents and heritage, of which we have rightful possession.
    Old historians like me, can be forgiven for our lengthy pauses, when working on our research, reminded regularly, what being a "hometowner" means from the inside out; and why us historical types believe it is important to dive into those piles of old paper, to preserve information, like what is published in the letter above.
    As there are sad stories and unfortunate circumstances to reveal, garnered from these fragile bits and pieces of old paper, there are many others, unfolded and interpreted, that reveal a much more pleasant chronicle, with positive outcomes, to blend into the mix of history, boring as it might first appear. What we history-loving folks know, from first hand delving, is that there is so much more to the story, than what a narrow view reveals. Just ask an archivist, who deals with these materials day-in, day-out, what our history is all about; and see the look of satisfaction, at just being asked.
     Hope you will have a nice, restorative, fulfilling Thanksgiving holiday, wherever you happen to be this weekend.

Around and About the Shop This Thanksgiving Week

THANKSGIVING WEEK HUSTLE AND BUSTLE, WITH ONE OF OUR TEAM-MATES PLAYING AROUND IN NASHVILLE

IT'S A SOCIAL TIME AROUND HERE, MORE SO THAN USUAL - AND THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT. PROFIT? THAT'S FOR ACCOUNTANTS TO FIGURE OUT

     Alright, alright, all ready! We're slackers. Country folk who like to smell the coffee and listen to loons, lounging on the verandah we didn't use all summer, and occasionally venture out in a canoe when the speed boats are safely in dry dock. Go ahead, make us feel bad because we snuck an extra day off. We'll call the kettle black and all that, "let's be honest stuff." But no way will we offer an apology for enjoying Muskoka like tourists! It's only fair! We need down-time from shop-keeping, after the incredibly busy summer season; which by the way carried on into September, which should make local businesses owners happy.
     We took a long weekend, and felt guilty as sin (if you could read our minds), this past Sunday and Monday. We were going to be down staff anyway (we don't have staff, just a foursome of owners), because Andrew was off galavanting in the north country, visiting a girl friend, in the charming rural community of Novar. Veteran pet groomer, Sarah Rogers, well known in the Huntsville area, for her kindly and experienced pet handling techniques, and let's face it, making dogs in her care, look uber-fantastic, has just recently opened her own pet grooming studio and boutique, in Novar, called "Dog On The Run" (you can look it up on facebook or email her at "dogg.on.the.runn@gmail.com"). We of course wish her the best of luck, and maybe one day it'll turn into a franchise. She'll be able to tell everyone that it all started in uptown Novar, the jewel of the north.
      And our other business partner, who we now refer to as "Prodigal Son Robert", has been on a week-long vacation (last fall it was a whirlwind tour of 18 European airports with Luke Thompson); this tour is with Dave and Sharon Smith, and Sharon's sister, Kathy Deans, on what can only be considered a musician's no-holds barred investigation, of what makes Nashville so darn popular. Today Robert let us know they had visited the Country Music Hall of Fame, which he noted as being "freaking incredible." How's that for a quote? Dave apparently has taken his guitar, intent on jamming with the legends of country music, or if that fails, anyone who happened to have a musical instrument in their hand, a song in their hearts, and an open chair beside, keen (or totally unaware) to experience a little Canadian content. Robert said he'd be willing to provide vocals if the need was to arise. I dare say, he might also be keen to dance for quarters, like he does outside our shop on slow days. The Smiths may underestimate Rob as being the strong silent type, but give him an audience, and he's a chip off the old Buck Owens.
     Andrew, not quite as prodigal, has been running the music component of the shop, since Saturday, and at times, especially after particularly demanding customers leave the building, he sounds a lot like Yosemite Sam, grumbling away about this and that, mumbling about how much he would rather have been a rodeo clown, or steamship captain; it was a close call twelve years ago, when he was pondering his future, and thinking he might like to pilot the RMS Segwun one day. Or the arena Zamboni. But then music consumed him, his brother and then us, by happenstance, and here we are today, running a shop in Uptown Gravenhurst; which is sometimes Downtown Gravenhurst depending on who you talk to, and their disposition at the moment.
     The Thanksgiving week is also neat at the shop, because a lot of folks we know, from the city, will pop-in while passing through the region to partake of dinner with family; or we'll get a long visit if they happen to be staying locally. The boys will get a lot of their school and musician friends, in for social calls, and we get quite a lot of music action going here, if you happen to be in the shop at the right time, on the right day, and it could include walking through a jam session in the back room, or having to side-step a unplanned performance, overflowing from the studio, that can suddenly break out when enough pent-up musicians get bored with everything else in the shop. It's all part of running a vintage music shop, with a lot of old stuff, like me, hanging around. So far, Rob picked a great week to be absent. The store has been crazy wild, Andrew has enough repairs until snow flies, his mom has been selling paintings, crocks, kitchen gadgets and the woollen underwear she makes for us tough guys, who want the lumberjack feel in our shorts (colder weather inspires warm thoughts). We've been mildly swamped, but loving every minute of it; we will not be complaining about the poor sales of the fall season in Gravenhurst. It's actually been quite exciting, and this week, despite the fact we took an extra day to shop for inventory, the place has been humming; antique hunters who hum because they want to, and musicians who hum to figure out whether they know the words of the song they want to play. It's a social / cultural week with many pleasantries being exchanged, as you might expect of the Thanksgiving week. Well, for one thing, we're thankful for the support of our customers, so many of them being folks who have been coming in here, and visiting for more than a decade now, and we love it. Except when they eat all the fresh baked cookies Suzanne prepared, and only leave me the crumbs.
     Drop in for a visit if you're around this week, or weekend. We will be closed on Thanksgiving Sunday and Monday to enjoy, first of all, a really big feast at Birch Hollow, and on the second day of the holiday, a really big dinner of left-overs, which will carry on through the week, meaning that lunches and dinners will be heavily influenced by what we didn't eat on Sunday. Breakfast is exempt except if one of our inmates prefers cranberry as a side dish, and left-over stuffing instead of toast.
     When Robert comes back, he will immediately be expecting his birthday present, and all the festive fare that goes along with getting another year older. Boy oh boy, do we have some treats for him. Andrew said he's taking a week off to retreat to a monastery, where he will take a vow of silence for a week, and Suzanne and I are going to travel to nowhere in particular, but definitely not a monastery, (cause I can't stop talking or I'd hear someone else's point of view), but I will assure Robert we will check in with him now and again as he operates the shop solo. No, not quite solo. He will have Muffin the dog, to handle small delivery responsibilities, like going for coffee, and butter tarts (she eats half of them before she gets back to the store as we first detect as crumbs catch in her beard), and angrily barking at customers who ask for discounts. We've had a little cart built for her, and it's big enough to handle some small customer purchases, that she may have to assist with, from time to time, to help customers to the front door.
     Is it obvious, we're a little over-worked, and a lot less sensible than we were at the start of the summer season? I'm willing to bet there are thousands of Muskokans, who work in the service and retail trade, who would vouch for the fact, this was one heck of a tourist season, at a time when honestly, we wondered if it would be a slow summer and slower fall due to economic conditions. The low dollar can stay low, as far as we're concerned, because it was obvious, talking to our customers, that Muskoka this year, was a very affordable place to visit. We had lots of visitors from China, Germany, England, New Zealand, the United States, and even tourists from British Columbia and Alberta, which is most unusual for us during the summer months. And they were very complimentary about our town, and the district, where they found lots to do for recreation and entertainment. This is front line reporting, and after three and a bit months, honestly, we're looking forward to the respite of a blustery November, to get up the gumption, to get ready for Christmas. The Christmas season last year was huge for us, and it's without question, our favorite time of year; Andrew has always been a Christmas nut, and as festive-commander-in-chief, he's in charge of all in-store decorating. Last year he bought a great 1960's vintage, eight foot tall, plywood- backed Santa Claus, for the front of the shop, that if it accidentally fell, after getting run over by a reindeer, would flatten me to pancake thinness. It might be a good look for me. The plywood Santa, and thousands of other Christmas theme lights and decoration, are to let folks know, the only "correctness" protocol we follow here, at Currie's Music (and Antiques) is that we celebrate Christmas with old fashioned Muskoka gusto. Aye, we've got a lot to look forward to, this fall and winter. Don't be a stranger. If a "festivus for the rust of us," breaks out while you're here, for gosh sakes, play or sing-a-long. If we can't have fun at this business thing, we don't want to play any more. So far, we're having fun. Lots to go around.

     There is a rumor trending now on social media (yea right), and I'm treating it as such, that Dave and Robert, on individual challenges, wearing cowboy attire, buttless chaps, and ten gallon white stetsons, were on the losing end of a Nashville mechanical bull. No injuries reported. Just red faces. Boys will be boys.
     The last word. Well, of course, that's my privilege. Truth is, we'd all like to be with those Nashville gad-abouts today. No fooling. When I asked if I could go, Robert enquired with a trademark Currie smirk, as if I didn't know the difference between country music and reggae, who I wanted to see most, perform on a Nashville Stage. "Tennessee Ernie Ford," I said, with considerable, but reserved hubris. "Well then, you'll just have to wait until you get to heaven, provided that's God's intention for you. Tennessee Ernie is flying with the angels now dad. I'm surprised you didn't know that, being a big country fan and all!" The next ten country stars I named, were also of the deceased variety. Makes me feel rather poorly lodged beneath this cowboy stetson. Better put my Titleist cap back on, and stick with stuff I know.
     Robert's gal-pal, Bette Smith, a talented singer / musician / song-writer, by the way of public information, is off on the silver rails of the trans-continental railway, performing her music for train passengers, all the way to British Columbia. She will have a several week lay-over in B.C., where she plans to perform at numerous venues, before heading back to Muskoka. She is also filming portions of her on-train solo performances, for a documentary the CBC is producing, on, well, "musicians who are hired to perform on this iconic Canadian train, travelling across the country." What a hoot! She has been a travelling musician, riding the silver rails, in this fashion, numerous times in the past, making her a veteran of the cross-Canada singing experience. We've asked for regular updates. Best of luck to her.

I Would Like To Write About Downtown Bracebridge But Need A Nice, Warm Office With a View

OUTSIDE CONSULTANTS, BRANDING, AND A COUNCIL DISCONNECT - BRACEBRIDGE BEING MANIPULATED BY THE FEW, TO IMPACT ON THE MANY

BRACEBRIDGE DOESN'T SUFFER FROM AN IDENTITY CRISIS - OR A LACK OF MARKETABLE CHARACTER

     I remember waking up one hot but sunny summer morning, after spending the night sleeping on the front, second story balcony, of the former McGibbon house; and hearing a lot of voices and clanging noises, of what I could only imagine was the metal piping, used to build temporary shelters. I knew it was the day for the annual Business and Professional Women's annual sale, in the park, but for gosh sakes, it wasn't long after sunrise. It was probably later than this, but it was definitely too early, for a man who had enjoyed too much wine with friends, the evening before. I had a blanket draped over the railing, to disguise my outdoor bedroom, but I pulled it open just a crack at the bottom, at this moment, to reveal what was happening below, and over in Memorial Park, so early on this bright new day. Well, it was a town on the move. The organizers and vendors of the popular sale, were busy setting up their tents, and the women were getting the bandshell ready, for their barbecue, and loading-in food provisions for the day. The coffee by this time, was already brewing. I could smell it from across the road. It was, in the freeze-frame of photography, like a folk art painting, in full life and color; naive at first glance, storied, and a study in rural traditions, as the day progressed. Especially when viewed as a panorama, the old houses of the neighborhood, creating a picturesque, historic backdrop. I pulled myself up into a chair, and sat for about an hour, watching it all unfold. I even took some news photos for The Herald-Gazette, from that elevated perspective, and it was just fascinating to watch how well the sale came together, and looked, and acted like a party, on an otherwise hot summer morning; in the middle of what was usually a quiet park for strolling and bench sitting. I watched a lot of contemporary Bracebridge history, unfold in this manner. I liked to immerse myself in the festivities. How better to understand it all, than to be imbedded in the party unfolding.

     Call it what it is! A first in Bracebridge history! A solution to some of the identity issues, burdening the community right now, crafted right here in South Muskoka. Here's a low budget offer to the citizens of Bracebridge. It's an offer I extend to Town Council, the Chamber of Commerce, and the local BIA. I offer it particularly to the downtown business community, that seems to be having some problems these days, keeping the storefronts rented. Give me a cubby-hole, with a window offering a nice, and pleasant view, (the old federal building with the magnificent clock tower, works for me) in one of Bracebridge's wonderful old downtown, main street buildings, from which to work, and I will write oodles of promotional, editorial copy, about the provenance of character, my former hometown possesses; that most these days, have either forgotten, or cared not to expose, let alone exploit.

    Whether the town becomes a Christmas themed community, (as some desire and are pushing for) from its present "Learning is Us" status, as deemed a necessary branding by town council, two years ago, I have no desire to petition the municipality, the business community, or the residents themselves, in any bid to turf one "branding" theme for another. I didn't agree with the branding proposal to begin with, and when opinions were asked for, by the consultants, my only response was that heritage is the saving grace. And without shame, and regard for the shunning of the past, I pitched the idea of capitalizing on what history gave us as preamble provenance; being the rightful heirs to the literary biography, of internationally recognized author, Washington Irving. The town was named after Irving's book, "Bracebridge Hall," which if you know, even a few of the author's accomplishments, you will then appreciate, that it should be considered an historically significant honor to share such a literary name.

     I didn't get a call back on this one, but then I knew I wouldn't; so I wasn't disappointed. The full recognition of this provenance of name and author, has been downplayed routinely by folks at town hall, and significant others, for reasons unknown. I have my suspicions. So I feel no obligation then, having at least tried to honor protocols, and respect channels of government, to let them know when I'm about to tear off, on my very next Washington Irving editorial jag, (of which there have been dozens since 1999); which I exploited again this year to the fullest, in blogs (which you can archive back to read) about Bracebridge and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," at Hallowe'en. And then at Bracebridge Hall, at Christmas, which is right out of the pages of Irving's two "Bracebridge" connected books: first, of course, "The Sketch Book," circa 1819, and then "Bracebridge Hall," circa 1822. Point is, when the "learning" choice for community branding, was imposed upon the community, that largely couldn't have cared less, I felt that once again, council was looking everywhere else to find an identity, and a marketable one, apparently having given up on what they had been sowing and growing, in their own garden, since the late 1850's. Don't you just hate when you hear or read about consultants having to study who we are, and what we're all about, and what we should become? I have always found it offensive, but there are those citizens, who believe we need someone from out of the area, to define us for our own good.

     I have never felt it incumbent to follow blindly, those who lead based on assumed power, that really doesn't exist except in their own minds. I will voluntarily fall in behind those who I believe can show the way, based on knowledge, experience and the character dynamic, to boldly admit, when need arises, they don't know it all! I find very few politicians these days, who will admit that the direction they have taken is the wrong one, and instead, opt for silence when the going gets rough. Then, to solve a problem they've had a hand in creating, opt for yet another consultant, to repair and restore what wasn't broken in the first place.

     I began writing about my home town, in earnest, when I arrived back in Bracebridge, after my university years in Toronto, circa the autumn of 1977. Our family moved into the beautiful old brick house, that had once been owned by Dr. Peter McGibbon, a former Member of Parliament for our region, situated on upper Manitoba Street, opposite the elegantly treed triangle of Memorial Park. The house was torn down quite a few years ago now, but I had the privilege of some wonderful years of residency, including my early period as the new editor of The Herald-Gazette. It was the first meeting place of the fledgling Bracebridge Historical Society. It was the house that afforded me an inspirational vantage point, to view a goodly portion of the main street, north and south, especially Memorial Park, which I studied over the four seasons, from the attic window, where I had positioned my writing desk. With exceptions of months here and there, ever since, I have been writing about my former home town with great enthusiasm. The fact that I no longer live in town, and in fact, live ten miles south, in Gravenhurst, hasn't changed my opinion, that Bracebridge history is a fascinating pursuit I won't abandon.

     In all the years I've been writing about, and promoting the Town of Bracebridge, in publications ranging from the former Herald-Gazette, the Muskoka Advance, The Muskoka Sun, Muskoka Today, The Bracebridge Examiner, The Muskokan, plus others, including a former advertising magazine, known as "The Bracebridge Downtowner," it has seemed more of a pleasure than work; and those forays have given me a pretty fair archives, of previously published work from which to work, when writing more contemporary editorials. I pause every time I read about issues with "branding" and unfulfilled promises, and especially when the town is referred to as "having been great, so what happened?" I can understand why some people think this way, and continue to make such unfounded, historically weak statements, believing that they have the most insightful overview, and solutions, regarding what's wrong with the old home town. What should be armchair critiques only, somehow make it into print via the local press, without any meaningful counterpoint from, well, those who know the history of the town, and realize how ridiculous the off-hand statements are, in the grand scheme. Some historians are bashful at all the wrong times, and I don't count myself part of this number. My reputation is the exact opposite, and I've never once avoided a dust-up, because someone might kick dirt at my pants. I do consider myself a defender of local history, and I've never believed that the historian's only resource, was to write a book, when public demonstration is the best way to kick back in the opposite direction.

     I have written about Bracebridge for long enough now, to have gotten used to the critics, who feel I am too outspoken and politically irreverent for my own good. If I had worried about such adversity, I would have quit writing local material a long time ago, so you might say, I've kind of blown right through it, and continue to pursue what I believe is most relevant; for example, looking at the town's history in the contemporary sense. Bringing history, with a little zing, back to public attention, so that it doesn't wind-up being forever lodged on a book shelf, awaiting the curious amongst us to get frisky some lonely night. It's too important to our identity, to be shelved and archived. It's why I continue to re-visit the town I knew, and all that I have learned about it since, and harp on that trusted, but tired old saying, about what is "old being new again." I don't see town history the way my contemporaries do, and that has always been our dividing line. I am about "living" history, and the restoration of heritage to suit the modernists, who have never been sold on the idea that history can be anything more than a textbook, school desk and a teacher's drone, about the milestones of once. History is a our culture; our art, and something to be heralded, whenever we talk, or write about identity and character. We don't need consultants to inform us, what kind of community we are, or should be, or town councillors to intrude where they have no place. They are stewards of our community resources, and are not elected to mess with a social / cultural legacy. It's fine to exploit what we have to exploit. There is no need for facade building, when Bracebridge has such a significant historical record, that has been, for all intents and purposes, largely undeveloped, and under-utilized as a resource. The reason? We look to town hall for solutions and directions in these matters, and they look elsewhere for rescue; or at least they find a comfortable consensus, that will only rock the boat for a short while.

     I have studied Bracebridge from many different portals, and I've never been disappointed in what I've observed. Whether from the attic room or balcony of the former McGibbon house; or the retail space we used to rent in the former home of W.W, Kinsey, further north on Manitoba Street; the restored office of Henry Bird, at Woodchester Villa and Museum, (when I was site manager), the house once owned the Marrin family, on Quebec Street, at our old home, near the bottom of Tanbark Hill (below the former Bracebridge High School), and even in early pennings, from our tiny third floor residence up on Alice Street, known then as the Weber Apartments. And then there was the ten years jag, I spent working in the former Herald-Gazette building, on Dominion Street, which was after-all, where I did the most day to day writing. In some ways, I have been observing Bracebridge since childhood, and its what I write about most these days; the town that has evolved since the winter of 1966, into an urban landscape I couldn't have predicted. Some change I agree, has been for the betterment of town, some of it not-so-much.

     My offer to write promotional material for, and about the Town of Bracebridge, is nothing new for me. What is new, in fact, is my interest in re-connecting with the downtown core, that was so important to me as a youngster, and a place that continues to inspire a lot of wonderful memories. So I thought if I offered something exclusive, such as the willingness to set up shop, in the downtown preferably, to write about the town past and present, it would possibly inspire some stake-holders, to take a chance on such a home-inspired opportunity, to exploit what has been available to the town all along. No need for a consultant or yet another expensive study, to figure out what the town's all about. I would write from the clock tower, or anywhere history shines through, because it's the fabric I need to work with, in order to make this quilt historically responsive, but only in the most contemporary sense. The actuality of the present is history, one fraction of a second from now. What you just read is history. It's the failing you see, that history ceases to become contemporary and exciting, when it's not taken out to play. It doesn't have to be this way.

     Bracebridge doesn't need to be branded, in order to be marketable or unique. It needs to be fully recognized as a vibrant, charming, adaptable small town, that has survived the naysayers and political intrusions for the entire period of its settlement, here in South Muskoka. Why didn't we need to be branded in the 1920's, 1940's, the 50's or 60's? In my view, it's because the town leadership was secure with what had been accomplished in the past, and that there was enough fortitude to soldier-on, and continue to develop on a reliable, trusted assurance "the best was yet to come." A way of looking at the future, based on the distance it had already travelled. An unwritten, unspoken plan, that had kept the town prospering through the feast and famine of the decades. Having survived the economic chagrin of the Great Depression, and many recessionary periods, the rigors and demands on resources of two World Wars, and the world conflicts, up to and including the present; I'm satisfied, as an historian, that Bracebridge can rest comfortably on its past accomplishments. They're pretty impressive, and deserve to be played and replayed for the modern audience, largely unaware what has been confined to the archives, and modest paragraphs in local history texts. We all need to be reminded from time to time, where we came from, and how we got from here to there. In Bracebridge, reviving history isn't the magic potion, to turn the economic tide, but it's a start.

     The town has weathered economic storms many times in its history, without requiring anything other than resilience and confidence, that the old and familiar path, has never once been the wrong direction, in which to travel. Despite those modernists, who insist on prescribing what's in our best interest, without feeling it incumbent first, to fully appreciate what history has already created on our behalf, I will always trust the road I've travelled in the past, to get me home again. We're not lost, despite the claims of those, with vested interest, who feel we are.

     So if you know of a tiny, inspiring portal, and wish to share it with an historian, for the gain of some useable, for-free editorials, you know where to find me. If not, I will carry-on as I have been, for long and long, and maybe sit occasionally in Memorial Park, a parked car, or work from any one of the benches, that affords me a different vantage point, to look back and forward, upon the place I still consider my home town.

Muskoka History and Its Folk Tales As Recalled By Captain Levi Fraser

MUSKOKA HISTORY AND ITS HEALTHY HARVEST OF FOLK TALES

CAPTAIN L. R. FRASER CIRCA 1942

     I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I GOT MY COPY OF CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER'S SELF-PUBLISHED HISTORY OF MUSKOKA, BUT IT LOOKS TO HAVE FIRST BEEN RAVAGED BY A LAWNMOWER BLADE, BEFORE IT BECAME PART OF MY ARCHIVES. IT HAS ENOUGH INTEGRITY LEFT THOUGH, TO MAKE A HELL OF A RESOURCE FOR MY SUNDRY HERITAGE PROJECTS.....BUT AS FOR RE-SALE, IT'S NOT WORTH MUCH. I USED TO BUY AND SELL BOOKS LIKE THIS, ON MUSKOKA HISTORY, BUT THE SUPPLY OF THE BEST ONES DRIED UP. THE LAST TIME I BOUGHT A LEVI FRASER BOOK, IT WAS OFF A FRIEND FOR FIFTY BUCKS. I SOLD IT A FEW WEEKS LATER FOR A HUNDRED. BY ANTIQUE BOOK SELLER RETAIL PROTOCOLS, A HUNDRED PERCENT PROFIT IS PRETTY MODEST, SEEING AS HIS WORK TODAY CAN SELL FOR TWO TO THREE HUNDRED OR MORE, ESPECIALLY VIA EBAY AUCTIONS.

     WHAT I LIKE ABOUT LEVI'S WORK, IS THAT HE WASN'T SHY OF OFFERING AN OPINION, AND I'VE HAD A FEW FEMALE CONTEMPORARIES, WHO WERE OFFENDED AT WHAT THEY PERCEIVED WAS HIS SEXIST SLANT ON, FOR EXAMPLE, WOMEN BEING ABLE TO VOTE. IT'S ALL PART OF THE PACKAGE OF THE TIMES, I HAVE EXPLAINED OVER AND OVER, AND WHETHER YOU AGREE WITH HIS POINT OF VIEW OR NOT, WE'RE USING THIS BOOK FOR THE CAUSE OF HISTORICAL PRESERVATION, AND RE-DEVELOPMENT, NOT TO WRITE A PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY.

     MY ONLY GRIEVANCE WITH HIS OVERVIEW, OF THE PIONEER PERIOD, IN OUR DISTRICT, IS THAT IT IS, WELL, JUST A NO FRILLS, SHALLOW RESEARCHEED GENERALIZATION, WITH A CONTRARY OPINION ATTACHED, OF WHICH I DON'T HAPPEN TO CONCUR. HE HAD A CLOSER GLIMPSE UPON THE PIONEER PERIOD, THAN I'VE HAD, SO HE HAD BETTER INSIGHT TO OFFER AS AN INFORMED JUDGEMENT. IN A RETROSPECTIVE DEBATE HOWEVER, HE WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY SIDE WITH MUSKOKA'S FIRST PUBLISHED AUTHOR, HISTORIAN, THOMAS MCMURRAY, WHEN IT COMES TO HIS ASSESSMENT, THAT THE PIONEER PERIOD WASN'T SO BAD AS IT WAS....., AND STILL IS PORTRAYED BY OTHERS; THOSE DISTRICT-HATERS, WHO MADE INTERPRETATIONS BASED ON THE MOST DEPRESSING OF HOMESTEADING ACCOUNTS. BASICALLY, CAPTAIN FRASER BELIEVES, THAT BECAUSE OF THE TYPE OF IMMIGRANT ATTRACTED TO THE HOMESTEAD GRANT LAND, OF THE 1860'S, THE OBSTACLES OF POVERTY, PHYSICAL INABILITY TO FARM, INEXPERIENCE AND SKULLDUGGERY, HAD NO SERIOUS IMPACT ON THE MISSION OF THE SETTLERS TO ESTABLISH PROSPEROUS FARMS AND THRIVING BUSINESSES.

     LEVI FRASER WAS UNQUESTIONABLY A STALWART MUSKOKA ADVOCATE, AND WHETHER IT WAS IN BUSINESS, WITH HIS OWN STEAM BOAT, OR AS A LOCAL POLITICIAN, A FREQUENT NEWSPAPER CONTRIBUTOR, OR HISTORIAN, HE FIRMLY BELIEVED IN THE INHERENT ABILITY OF HOME-GROWN MUSKOKANS, TO WEATHER THE STORMS OF ADVERSITY. WHAT HE WAS ALLUDING TO, WAS THAT THE PIONEER PERIOD WAS MUCH LESS DIFFICULT AND TRAGIC, AS OTHER CRITICS, FROM THE 1860'S ONWARD, WERE CLAIMING, IN THEIR WIDELY PUBLISHED LETTERS, TO NEWSPAPERS, WITH SUCH BOLD HEADLINES AS "THE BLACK PICTURE IN THE DISTRICT."

     I COULD NOT AGREE WITH CAPTAIN FRASER IN THIS REGARD, BUT I RESPECT HIS OPINION. HAVING RESEARCHED THIS PERIOD OF OUR HISTORY, FOR WELL MORE THAN THREE DECADES, MY IMPRESSION IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE, AND I'VE TRIED TO PRESENT SOME EVIDENCE, IN THIS REGARDS, OVER THE PAST FEW WEEKS. BUT THERE ARE NO STATISTICS TO BACK UP EITHER POINT OF VIEW. THE GOVERNMENT DIDN'T KEEP THE STATISTICS OF SUCCESS AND FAILURE ON THE HOMESTEADS, OR HOW MANY SETTLERS FROZE TO DEATH, STARVED, OR WERE KILLED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF FARMING ACCIDENTS, DUE TO INEXPERIENCE. WE ALSO KNOW THAT THE AGRICULTURAL DEPARTMENT, OF THE PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT, IN THE EARLY 1880'S, PUBLISHED A GLOWING COMMITTEE REPORT, ON THE PROGRESS OF SETTLEMENT IN THE FIRST TWENTY YEARS. INDICATING BASICALLY, AS A SUMMARY OF INVESTIGATION, THAT THE EXPERIMENT TO SETTLE THE MUSKOKA AND PARRY SOUND DISTRICTS, HAD ACHIEVED ENOUGH GAINS, SINCE THE 1860'S, WITH SUCCESSFUL, PROSPERING HOMESTEADS, TO DECLARE THE WHOLE INITIATIVE A POLITICAL TRIUMPH. IF YOU READ BETWEEN THE LINES, YOU'D RECOGNIZE THAT THE ONLY WAY THEY COULD ASSESS THIS, IS IF THE NUMBER OF FAILURES, AND THE DEATHS THEY KNEW ABOUT, FELL UNDER WHAT THEY BELIEVED WAS "ACCEPTABLE LOSS." IN OTHER WORDS, THEY HAD NO DOUBT FAILURES AND DEATH, AS A RESULT OF THEIR PROGRAM OF SETTLEMENT, WAS GOING TO OCCUR, BUT UPON SURVEY IN THE 1880'S, ASSUMED BY WHAT THEY SAW, LIFE ON THE WHOLE WAS GOOD AND PROSPEROUS....WHICH BY THE WAY, GAVE THE GOVERNMENT FUEL, TO COMMENCE SETTLEMENT INITIATIVES FURTHER NORTH, WHERE THE LANDSCAPE WAS EVEN MORE ADVERSE THAN IN MUSKOKA. IN MY OPINION THE REPORT WAS FUDGED TO READ BETTER THAN IT WAS, TO SERVE THE POLITICAL AMBITIONS OF THE POLITICAL PARTY IN POWER. IF THEY HAD DONE A PARALLEL REPORT, FOCUSING-IN ON THE DISGRUNTLED FARMERS, WHO FELT THE PROVINCE AND FEDERAL GOVERNMENTS HAD LIED TO THEM, AND FAILED TO LIVE UP TO PROMISES, IT WOULD HAVE PROVIDED A TRULY, NO HOLDS BARRED "BLACK PICTURE." INSTEAD, THEY ACCENTUATED THE POSITIVE. NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED, HAS IT?

     BESIDES THIS, WHICH JUST HAPPENS TO BE A SOURCE OF CHAGRIN FOR ME, BECAUSE I KNOW MORE ABOUT THE CASUALITIES THAN CAPTAIN FRASER DID, IN 1942, WHEN THIS BOOK WAS RELEASED FOR LOCAL CONSUMPTION. LIKE MY FAVORITE MUSKOKA WRITER / HISTORIANS, LIKE BRACEBRIDGE'S REDMOND THOMAS, AND BERT SHEA, OF UFFORD, LEVI FRASER WISELY CONSERVED MANY IMPORTANT STORIES IN THIS BOOK, ABOUT EVENTS IN WHICH HE HAD BEEN INVOLVED.....WHICH RANK, IN MY OPINION, AS A RICH MINE OF HERITAGE FOLK TALES. I HAVE USED HIS WRITINGS, IN MY RESEARCH WORK, FOR AT LEAST THIRTY YEARS, AND FOUND SEVERAL OF HIS ACCOUNTS SOME OF THE FINEST, MOST INTERESTING, IN ALL OF MUSKOKA'S COLLECTION, OF WHAT CAN BE CONSIDERED "FOLK HISTORY." ONE OF MY FAVORITES INVOLVES THE EERIE ENCOUNTER OF TWO SMALL STEAMSHIPS, IN DARKNESS, THAT COULD WELL HAVE ENDED WITH SERIOUS LOSS OF LIFE. GOD'S WILL, IT SEEMS, SPARED ALL ON BOARD. BUT WHAT A GREAT STORY TO GRACE OUR HISTORY PAGES.

     "I REMAINED IN CHARGE OF THE (STEAMER) 'SOUTHWOOD' FOR ANDY BOYD, AND LATER FOR THE LAKE ROSSEAU LUMBER COMPANY, FOR A NUMBER OF YEARS. DURING THOSE YEARS I BECAME VERY MUCH ATTACHED TO MY EMPLOYER, BOYD; I FOUND HIM TO BE A MAN OF STERLING QUALITIES, ALWAYS LOOKING ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE, TRYING TO BE HAPPY AND MAKE OTHERS THE SAME. TO ANDY THE FUTURE ALWAYS SEEMED BRIGHT AND PROMISING BUT THEN THE PRESENT NEARLY ALWAYS HELD ITS DIFFICULTIES, BECAUSE HE WAS DOING A LITTLE MORE BUSINESS THAN HIS FINANCIAL SET-UP COULD COMFORTABLY STAND. ONE OF HIS PECULIARITIES WAS A HORROR OF BAD BUTTER.

     CAPTAIN FRASER WRITES, "DURING THE WINTER HE AND I TRAVELLED A LOT TOGETHER, BUYING LOGS AND LOOKING AFTER CAMP OPERATIONS, FREQUENTLY STOPPING AT HOTELS. ANDY USUALLY SELECTED A TABLE WHERE WE WERE MORE OR LESS BY OURSELVES, AND HE PROCEEDED AT ONCE TO SMELL THE BUTTER, THEN TURNING TO THE WAITRESS WITH A GOOD NATURED GRIMACE, WOULD SAY, "SUSIE, LIKE A GOOD GIRL, SEE IF YOU CAN GET US A BIT OF GOOD BUTTER - THAT STUFF WOULD POISON ANY DOG IN TOWN.' SUSIE USUALLY RETURNED WITH A SMILE AND THE GOOD BUTTER.

     "ALONG ABOUT 1900 ANDY, IN PARTNERSHIP WITH HIS BROTHER DAVE, OF GRAVENHURST, BOUGHT BIG ISLAND, THE LARGEST ISLAND IN MUSKOKA LAKE, CONTAINING ABOUT 1,200 ACRES. IT WAS WELL TIMBERED WITH HARD AND SOFT WOODS, AND HAD LARGE TRACTS OF GOOD FARM LAND AND SCORES OF BEAUTIFUL POINTS SUITABLE FOR TOURIST COTTAGES. ANDY SAW GREAT POSSIBITIES IN THIS VENTURE, LUMBERING, FARMING AND TOURIST DEVELOPMENT. WITHIN THE FOLLOWING FEW YEARS, HUNDREDS OF MEN FOUND EMPLOYMENT ON BIG ISLAND; WINTER AND SUMMER WORK WAS CARRIED ON. THE PLAN WAS TO REMOVE ALL THE MERCHANTABLE TIMBER FROM AN AREA SUITABLE FOR FARMING. THE TIMBER NOT SUITABLE FOR SAW-LOGS WAS CUT INTO CORDWOOD. (THERE WAS IN THOSE DAYS AN UNLIMITED DEMAND FOR ALMOST ANY GRADE OF CORDWOOD). THE LAND WAS THEN BURNED OVER, CLEARED UP AND SOWN OR PLANTED. SO IN COMPARATIVELY SHORT TIME, THE ESTABLISHMENT OF TWO FINE FARMS WAS STARTED. THE ISLAND WAS DIVIDED EQUALLY. ANDY KEEPING THE NORTH AND DAVE THE SOUTH. THE FINE LARGE FRAME BARNS WERE ERECTED, WITH STONE STABLES UNDERNEATH."

    CAPTAIN FRASER NOTES, "WHILE THE ISLAND WAS OWNED BY THE BOYDS, WHO ALWAYS ENCOURAGED THE GENERAL PUBLIC, LARGE SCALE PICNICS WERE BECOMING AN ANNUAL AFFAIR; THE IDEA WAS TWO-FOLD - TO MAKE THE ISLAND A SPORTS CENTRE FOR BOTH GRAVENHURST AND BRACEBRIDGE, AND TO ATTRACT AND ACQUAINT POSSIBLE BUYERS OF THE TOURIST PROPERTY, WITH THE GENERAL LAYOUT OF THE ISLAND. THOSE PICNICS WERE BECOMING VERY POPULAR; THE NAVIGATION COMPANY CO-OPERATING TO THE EXTENT OF SENDING THE ISLANDER AND THE MUSKOKA, EACH LOADED TO CAPACITY. SOMETIMES THE ISLANDER MADE SEVERAL TRIPS. THERE WAS NO DOCK THEN IN WHAT WAS LATER CALLED ROWAN'S BAY. WE USUALLY MOORED A GOOD SIZE SCOW AT A CONVENIENT POINT, MAKING A VERY SATISFACTORY WHARF. THESE PICNICS CONTINUED TO BE HELD FOR A NUMBER OF YEARS BUT WHEN THE ISLAND CHANGED HANDS THESE GATHERINGS WERE DISCONTINUED. AMONG THOSE WHO HELD SUCH PICNICS WERE THE BRACEBRIDGE CITIZEN'S BAND.

     "AN INCIDENT OCCURRED ON THE NIGHT OF ONE OF THESE PICNICS THAT NEARLY SENT THE SOUTHWOOD AND THE COMET TO DAVEY JONE'S LOCKER. THE COMET WAS RUNNING DOWN FROM THE ISLAND SHORTLY AFTER DARK, WITH A PARTY THAT HAD ATTENDED THE SPORTS; THE SOUTHWOOD COMING BACK FROM GRAVENHURST RUNNING ITS LIGHTS. THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR WAS IN FULL SWING AT THE TIME, AND AN ACCOUNT OF A FIERCE RUNNING NAVAL ENGAGEMENT WAS IN THAT DAY'S PAPER. I HAD SECURED A PAPER AT MUSKOKA WHARF AND AFTER CLEARING THE NARROWS LIGHT-HOUSE, I GAVE THE WHEEL TO THE MATE, ELWOOD IRELAND, AND WENT INTO MY ROOM BEHIND THE PILOT HOUSE, TO READ OF THE GREAT SEA BATTLE. IN A FEW MINUTES THE MATE CALLED TO ME THAT THERE WAS A BOAT'S LIGHTS AHEAD, AND ASKED AS TO WHICH SIDE HE WOULD KEEP. I TOLD HIM TO KEEP ON HIS OWN SIDE WHICH MEANT STARBOARD, AND CONTINUED TO READ THE WAR NEWS. TEN MINUTES LATER I WAS ALARMED AT HEARING THE EXTREMELY UNUSUAL TWO BELLS, A SIGNAL TO REVERSE ENGINE. RUSHING OUT ON DECK I WAS HORRIFIED TO SEE THE COMET, NOT MORE THAN THIRTY FEET AWAY, WITH OUR BOW POINTING DIRECTLY FOR FINE MIDSHIPS. SO CLOSE WE WERE THAT I HEARD DISTINCTLY THE COMET'S CLEARANCE BELL, AS THE CAPTAIN RANG FOR MORE SPEED AHEAD, AND HEARD THE ACCELERATED CHUG OF HER ENGINE. OUR HELM WENT HARD TO PORT, THE COMET'S HARD TO STARBOARD IN AN EFFORT TO LAY THEM ALONGSIDE, AND IF POSSIBLE, ESCAPE WITH A GLANCING BLOW; AND TO ADD TO THE INTENSE HORROR OF THE MOMENT, TWO WOMEN APPEARED AT THE COMET'S WINDOWS, THEN A SPLINTERING CRASH."

     CAPTAIN FRASER STATES, OF THE COLLISION, "THE SOUTHWOOD'S BOW GRAZED THE COMET'S STERN AND SAVAGELY CRASHED INTO THE RIVER-DRIVERS LARGE PUNT THAT WAS BEING TOWED BEHIND THE COMET, CUTTING THE PUNT TO THE CENTRE. THE COMET AND THOSE ON BOARD WERE SAFE AND CONTINUED ON THEIR WAY. I RUSHED BELOW TO DETERMINE WHAT DAMAGE WE HAD SUFFERED BUT TO MY SURPRISE AND RELIEF, I FOUND NO SIGN OF A LEAK. THIS WAS THE ONLY NEAR COLLISION OR ACCIDENT INVOLVING ANOTHER VESSEL THAT I HAVE EVER HAD, AND THE ONLY TIME I HAVE EVER KNOWN FEAR IN A CRISIS. THE MUSKOKA LAKES SAILORS ARE JUST AS FEARLESS AS THE MEN WHO RECENTLY FACED HELL IN THE CLOUDS OR DESTRUCTION ON THE HIGH SEAS. NEITHER FIRE NOR FLOOD NOR TEMPEST WILL DISMAY THEM, SO LONG AS THEY HAVE A CHANCE TO FIGHT BACK. THIS HAS BEEN DEMONSTRATED ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION.

     "A NUMBER OF YEARS AGO, THE AHMIC, ON A COLD, SNOWY DAY IN LATE NOVEMBER, AT ST. ELMO (ISLAND - MOUTH OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER), AN OVERTURNED CANOE, WITH TWO MEN CLINGING TO IT, WAS SIGHTED. THE AHMIC AT ONCE SPED TO THE RESCUE. COMING ALONGSIDE, THE BOAT'S SWELL BROKE THE HOLD OF ONE OF THE BENUMBED MEN, AND HE BEGAN TO SINK. MATE (LATER CAPTAIN) JACK BIBBY, WITHOUT WAITING TO REMOVE HIS WINTER COAT, DOVE FROM THE UPPER DECK AND KEPT THE EXHAUSTED MAN AFLOAT, UNTIL THEY COULD BE TAKEN ABOARD. NO HERO IN ANY CASE WOULD HAVE DONE MORE. THEN THERE WAS THE CREW OF THE CAPSIZED STEAMER, WAOME, (BLOWN OVER BY A SUDDEN AND VIOLENT WINDSTORM ON LAKE MUSKOKA, NEAR BEAUMARIS). THEY DID JUST WHAT THE SAILORS ARE DOING TODAY (1942 NAVAL ENGAGEMENTS), SEIZED UPON THE WRECKAGE THAT WOULD FLOAT, ASSISTED AND ENCOURAGED EACH OTHER AND MANAGED TO GET TO SHORE; THE SURVIVORS WERE ENGINEER ALVIN SALTER, FIREMAN BOB BONIS, COOK REG. LEADER (SOON TO BE CAPTAN OF THE SAGAMO), AND PURSER, GEORGE HARVEY. THESE MEN DID ALL THAT SHIP-WRECKED SAILORS COULD DO, AND BY HELPING EACH OTHER, PERHAPS SAVED A LIFE. THEY HAD A CHANCE TO FIGHT BACK AND WON. BUT WITH US THINGS WERE DIFFERENT; THE CASE WAS HOPELESS BEFORE I BECAME AWARE OF DANGER, THE SIGNAL TO REVERSE ENGINES HAD ALREADY BEEN GIVEN, BUT AS A SINGLE ENGINE CANNOT BE REVERSED UNTIL THE VESSEL HAS LOST MOMENTUM, I KNEW THAT BEFORE THE ENGINE COULD BE REVERSED (IF THE COMET COULD NOT CLEAR) THE SOUTHWOOD'S RELENTLESS BOW WOULD PIERCE HER VERY VITALS AND SHE COULD NOT REMAIN AFLOAT FIVE MINUTES. THE IMPACT WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY HAVE LEFT THE SOUTHWOOD, ALSO IN A SINKING CONDITION. IT SEEMED TO ME THAT THOSE WOMEN AT THE WINDOW, WERE STANDING AT THE VERY PORTALS OF DEATH, AND THAT I, IN MY HELPLESSNESS, WAS IN SOME UNACCOUNTABLE WAY RESPONSIBLE. I LEARNED LATER THAT SEVERAL CHILDREN WERE PEACEFULLY SLEEPING IN THE COMET'S CABIN. TO THIS DAY I CANNOT ACCOUNT FOR HOW THIS NEAR COLLISION HAPPENED. CAPTAIN W. FINDLAY OF THE COMET, (A BROTHER OF R.A. FINDLAY, BRACEBRIDGE ASSESSOR), COULD SHED NO LIGHT ON THE CAUSE. BILL WAS ONE OF THE MOST TRUSTWORTHY FAITHFUL-TO-DUTY AND UPRIGHT MEN, THAT I HAVE EVER MET; AND ON HIS PASSING SOME YEARS AGO, I FELT I HAD LOST A REAL FRIEND."

    THIS IS AN IMPORTANT INCLUSION, IN THE PROFILE OF MUSKOKA HISTORY; A STORY FULL OF PARALLELS TO OTHER WORLDLY EVENTS, INCLUDING THE EARLY YEARS OF WORLD WAR II. THANKFULLY, CAPTAIN FRASER DECIDED THIS WAS THE KIND OF STORY, FUTURE GENERATIONS WOULD FIND INTERESTING. FRASER MAY HAVE CREDITED A GUARDIAN ANGEL, FOR SPARING ALL THOSE LIVES, DURING THAT DANGEROUS ENCOUNTER BETWEEN TWO WELL KNOWN STEAM BOATS, PLYING THE MUSKOKA LAKES. WHAT A TERRIBLE WAY IT WOULD HAVE BEEN, TO END A DAY OF RECREATION WITH UNTOLD TRAGEDY.

Folk Stories Put The Colour Back Into History, Captain Levi Fraser On The Muskoka Lakes

FOLK STORIES PUT THE COLOR BACK INTO HISTORY

     IT IS A LONG FORGOTTEN FOLK TALE NOW, ABOUY A FORMER BRACEBRIDGE BUTCHER, WHO THREW AN ADVERSARY OVER THE BIRD'S MILL BRIDGE, BECAUSE  AS THEY SAY, DEAD MEN TELL KNOW TALES.

     REDMOND THOMAS Q.C. WHO DEFENDED MURDER SUSPECT, GEORGE CYR, FOR KILLING THREE OF HIS FRIENDS, DURING A ROBBERY, HEARD THE MAN'S CONFESSIONAL BEFORE HE WAS HUNG, APPARENTLY TO EASE HIS CONSCIENCE. THE GALLOWS HAD BEEN SITUATED AT THE TOP OF BRACEBRIDGE'S CHANCERY LANE. THOMAS KNEW WHERE THE HANDGUN HAD BEEN HIDDEN BY CYR, WHO THOUGHT HE'D GET OFF THE RAP, IF A "SMOKING" GUN COULDN'T BE LOCATED. HE WAS WRONG. HE WAS BURIED BESIDE THE GALLOWS, IN A BATH OF FAST ACTING LIME, SUPPOSEDLY TO SPEEDILY DISSOLVE ALL HIS MORTAL REMAINS.

     FLYING SAUCERS HAVE BEEN REPORTED, IN THE SKIES OVER MUSKOKA, ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS,  IN THE PAST. (WE'LL REVISIT THIS TOPIC IN A FUTURE BLOG.)

     ARE FOLK STORIES IMPORTANT TO THE APPRECIATION OF LOCAL HISTORY. WELL, IN MY OPINION, IT WOULD CERTAINLY BE A LOT LESS FUN TO RESEARCH.

    WHEN I WORKED AT SOUTH MUSKOKA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, IN BRACEBRIDGE, AS A SUMMER SEASON PAINTER, TO PAY FOR UNIVERSITY, (CIRCA EARLY 1970'S) I HAD NO IDEA REALLY, WHAT MY FUTURE HELD IN STORE. I HAD AN IDEA THAT IT WOULD INVOLVE WRITING TO SOME DEGREE, AND POSSIBLY HISTORY, BUT IT KEPT BANGING AROUND IN MY HEAD, THAT BOTH PROFESSIONS COULD RUIN ME FINANCIALLY. EVEN BEFORE I GOT STARTED. BOTH PROFESSIONS DID NOT PROMISE BIG PAY CHEQUES, UNLESS I COULD SPECIALIZE, OR BECOME A TEACHER. MY GIRLFRIEND GAIL, AT THE TIME, HAD ACTUALLY SECURED A JOB IN COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY, BEFORE SHE GRADUATED UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO. I HAD A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO DO, CONSIDERING I WAS ON THE JOB HUNT A YEAR BEFORE HER.....WITH NEXT TO NO LUCK. THERE WASN'T A LOT OF DEMAND FOR HISTORIANS JUST THEN. THE MARKETPLACE HASN'T REALLY IMPROVED EITHER.

    SO IN THOSE WARM-UP YEARS, I JUST LISTENED AND LEARNED FROM  WHOEVER I WAS ASSOCIATED, AT THAT TIME, THAT MOMENT, TO GET SOME ON THE JOB TRAINING. I WAS, YOU MIGHT SAY, AN OPEN CANVAS.

     AT COFFEE TIME, TWICE A DAY, I'D HAVE MY CHANCE TO SIT WITH SOME FINE CHAPS, OF SENIOR YEARS, WHO WOULD SWAP STORIES IN OUR ROUND-TABLE BREAKS, AND FOLKS, IT WAS THE BEST EDUCATION IN LOCAL HISTORY I COULD HAVE SECURED ANYWHERE, FOR ANY PRICE. AND YES, IT WAS LIKE AN EXTRA TUTORIAL TO ADD TO MY UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN CANADIAN HISTORY. I HEARD STORIES THAT HUGELY CHANGED MY OPINION ABOUT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA HISTORY, EVEN BEFORE I KNEW MUCH ABOUT IT, EXCEPT BY MY OWN IMMERSION AS A KID GROWING UP IN A SMALL TOWN, IN A BEAUTIFUL REGION.

     IT WAS WHEN I BEGAN TO APPRECIATE THE OFTEN PROFOUND DIFFERENCES IN WRITTEN AND ORAL HISTORIES; THE FUNDAMENTAL HISTORY THAT WAS IMPRINTED IN BOOKS, AND WHAT WAS MORE LIBERAL AND EXCITING, IN THE ORAL VERSION, OF THE SAME OR SIMILAR STORIES. IN OTHER WORDS, I LEARNED QUICKLY, FROM THEIR TAKE ON COMMUNITY EVENTS, POLITICIANS AND LOCAL NOTABLES, THAT THERE WAS MUCH MORE ABILITY TO BEND TRUTH, AND EMBELLISH, THAN WITH THE SAME STORY SET IN TYPE, AND BOUND INTO A BOOK. WHEN I STARTED WORKING AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND BEGAN MY CLOSE APPRENTICESHIP WITH ROBERT BOYER, A WELL KNOWN WRITER / HISTORIAN, THE LIBERALITIES BETWEEN ORAL AND WRITTEN VERSIONS OF HISTORY, WERE THEN MILES AND MILES APART, EVEN THOUGH THE FACTS ESSENTIALLY REMAINED THE SAME. BOB BOYER WAS NOT A STORY TELLER, AT LEAST IN MY OPINION, AND HE COMMUNICATED WITH ME, WHEN I HAD A PARTICULAR QUESTION FOR A FEATURE ARTICLE, BY HANDING ME A COPY OF ONE OF HIS BOOKS, SO THAT I COULD EXERCISE MY RESEARCH SKILLS, AND FIND THE ANSWER MYSELF.

     AT THE HOSPITAL COFFEE SESSIONS, I HAD THE RARE OPPORTUNITY, TO HEAR FOLK TALE INTERPRETATIONS, OF OUR REGIONAL HISTORY, FROM OLDTIMERS, LIKE BILL "WILLY" ANDISON," WHO KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT LIFE ALONG THE FRASERBURG ROAD; KEN DAWSON, STEAM ENGINE TRACTORS ON THE FAMILY FARM, ART COULSON, LONG TIME RESIDENT IN PURBROOK, FRANK HENRY, HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATOR, WHO CAME FROM A STEVENS BAY ROAD FARM BACKGROUND, BILL BENNETT, WHO MADE ROPE BOAT BUMPERS FOR JOHN NEWARK, DOUG FITZMAURICE WITH A LONG BACKGROUND IN MUSKOKA LAKES, JACK HIGH AND GEORGE JACKSON, WHO WERE MASTER STORY TELLERS ABOUT EVERYTHING RELEVANT TO HISTORY AND CONTEMPORARY LIVING. I NEVER HAD ONE DAY, IN THE COMPANY OF THESE FINE GENTS, THAT I WASN'T TUTORED ABOUT LIFE AND TIMES IN MUSKOKA, PAST AND PRESENT. BUT THESE STORIES WERE NOT QUITE THE SAME, IN THE HISTORICAL CONTEXT, OF WHAT WAS BEING IMPRINTED AND PUBLISHED. BOB BOYER'S PROFILE WAS LEAN AND MEAN, WITHOUT ANY EMBELLISHMENT. IN HIS EYES, HISTORY WAS BEST SERVED BY FACT; NO NEED TO PAD. MY MATES AT THE HOSPITAL, PUT THE COLOR COMMENTARY OUT THERE, ADDING SOME CHARACTER TO THE BLACK AND WHITE OF HISTORY. BY THE WAY, I WAS TOLD EARLY IN MY HOSPITAL YEARS, BY MY BOSS, KEN DAWSON, OF THE MAINTENANCE DEPARTMENT, THAT "WHAT I HEARD HERE, REMAINED HERE, WHEN I LEFT HERE." I DIDN'T NEED TO BE TOLD TWICE. BUT WHAT I LEARNED, UNDER THEIR MENTORSHIP, WAS THAT THERE IS ALWAYS A STORY BEYOND THE BARE BONES, AN HISTORIAN SHOULD AT LEAST BE AWARE OF, BECAUSE EVEN WITH FOLK TALES, THERE WAS HONESTY WITHIN.....IT JUST TOOK A LITTLE SLEUTHING TO GET AT THE BLOATED FACTS.

     WHEN I THEN, (AS FOR THIS BLOG), REFERENCE THE WORK OF CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, I'M NOT SUGGESTING HIS ACCOUNT WAS MORE FABLE THAT FACN, JUST THAT HE IS TELLING HIS STORY, FROM HIS MEMORY OF EVENTS,  IN HIS OWN UNIQUE WAY, AS A NAVIGATOR MORE SO THAN A PURITAN HISTORIAN. WE SHOULD HAVE NO REASON TO QUESTION THE FACTS OF THE STORY, BECAUSE HE HAD VERY GOOD RECALL. YET WE HAVE TO APPRECIATE THAT HE WASN'T TRAINED AS AN HISTORIAN, AND HE WAS WELL KNOWN FOR HIS ABILITY TO SPIN A YARN WITH, AS THEY SAY, "THE BEST OF THEM." SO IN THE STORY TODAY, THERE IS A LITTLE OF BOTH. HISTORICAL RECORD AND EDITORIAL LICENSE TO PRESENT THE STORY WITH THE BEST INTENTION. HERE NOW IS THE STORY TOLD OF THE SMALL STEAMSHIP, "LAKE JOSEPH," BETTER KNOWN AS THE "LAKE JOE."

     IN THE WORDS OF CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER: "I DO NOT REMEMBER THE SPRING 20 YEARS AGO (CIRCA 1922), BUT IT WAS BY NO MEANS THE EARLIEST OPENING OF NAVIGATION. ONE SPRING, ALONG ABOUT 1900, WE OPENED NAVIGATION ON APRIL 4TH, WITH THE OLD STEAMSHIP, 'LAKE JOSEPH,' FAMILIARLY OR AFFECTIONATELY KNOWN AS THE 'OLD JOE.' ALTHOUGH THE ICE WAS OUT EARLY THAT YEAR, IT WAS IN NO OTHER SENSE AN EARLY SPRING. THE DAYS WERE CLOUDY AND WINDY AND THE NIGHTS BITTERLY COLD. IT WAS NOTHING UNUSUAL TO FIND THE BAYS FROZEN OVER IN THE MORNING FOR A MONTH AFTER WE HAD BEEN RUNNING. THE OLD JOE WAS EXPECTED TO RUN IN THOSE DAYS, TWENTY-FOUR HOURS PER DAY. THAT SPRING WE WERE EXCEPTIONALLY BUSY AND IT NOW SEEMS TO ME THAT WE MUST HAVE BEEN DOING OVER-TIME.

     "MANY THRILLING TALES COULD BE TOLD OF THE EXPLOITS OF THE OLD JOE. THERE ARE FEW SHOALS IN THE LAKES THAT HAVE NOT, AT SOME TIME, OR OTHER, COME IN CONTACT WITH HER KEEL. YET SHE INVARIABLY CAME THROUGH WITH SOUND TIMBERS AND UNDAMAGED MACHINERY. THAT SPRING WE HAD LOGS TO TOW FROM VARIOUS POINTS ON THE THREE LAKES. I RECALL GOING INTO A LONG NARROW BAY, BETWEEN JUDDHAVEN AND SANDY BAY FARM, FOR A BLOCK OF CEDAR LOGS ONE HOUR BEFORE DARK. IN ORDER TO CLOSE THE BLOCK WE HAD TO RUN SOME BOOMS BEHIND IT. A LIGHT WIND WAS HOLDING THE LOGS SHOREWARD WHICH MADE THE JOB DIFFICULT AND SLOW. IT WAS NOW GROWING DARK BUT WE NEVER THOUGHT OF LEAVING THE JOB UNTIL FINISHED. JIM MCCONNELL WAS BOSS LONG-MAN, TOM BRUCE WAS MADE AND ASSISTANT LONG-MAN, SO WE THREE WORKED AWAY IN THE FADING LIGHT TO CLOSE THE BOOM. NOW AND THEN A SPLASH COULD BE HEARD AND WORDS NOT LEARNED IN SUNDAY SCHOOL, FLOATED THROUGH THE SEMI-DARKNESS. ALONG ABOUT TEN O'CLOCK WE COMPLETED THE JOB, ADJUSTED THE TOWLINE AND THE OLD JOE STRUCK HER CHUGGING STRIDE FOR AN ALL-NIGHT PULL. THE WIND BY THIS TIME HAD GONE DOWN AND IT WAS FREEZING COLD. MCCONNELL AND BRUCE AFTER REMOVING THEIR WET CLOTHES, WENT TO BED AND I TO THE WHEEL."

     THE WRITER RECALLS, "FOUR OR FIVE HOURS LATER, AS WE WERE APPROACHING WHAT IS NOW WIGWASSAN LODGE (TOBINS ISLAND, LAKE ROSSEAU), AT THAT TIME JUST A GREEN POINT, WE ENCOUNTERED FRESH ICE AND HALF AN HOUR LATER, WE WERE AT A STANDSTILL. THE ICE HAD BECOME SO THICK THAT WE COULD NOT PULL THE BLOCK ANY FURTHER, NOR COULD WE GET TO SHORE TO TIE UP. SO WE STOPPED THE ENGINE AND WENT TO BED. I WAS AWAKE AT DAYBREAK BUT WE WERE STILL FAST IN THE ICE. IT WAS SEVERAL HOURS LATER THAT AN EAST WIND AND THE OLD KENOZHA FROM ROSSEAU, BROKE UP THE ICE. WE THEN PULLED THE BLOCK ASHORE, TIED IT UP IN A SHELTERED BAY AND RAN BACK TO BOYD'S MILL TO TAKE A SCOW OF LUMBER DURING THE DAY, AND TOW THE LOGS DURING THE NIGHT. A WEEK LATER WE HAD THE CEDAR BLOCK IN ROWAN'S BAY, BIG ISLAND, AND WERE WATCHING FOR A CALM NIGHT TO TOW IT ACROSS TO GRAVENHURST. ABOUT TEN O'CLOCK ONE MOONLIT NIGHT SOON AFTER, EVERYTHING LOOKED FAVORABLE, SO WE LEFT FOR BIG ISLAND. THE OLD JOE WHEN RUNNING LIGHT WOULD GO FOR MILES STRAIGHT AS AN ARROW WITHOUT TURNING THE WHEEL. SO WHEN WE CAME ABREAST OF GOWAN ISLAND, AND STRAIGHTENED AWAY ON THE GRAVENHURST ROUTE, OUR BOW WAS POINTING DIRECTLY AT CAPTAIN PARLETT'S LITTLE GEM OF AN ISLAND, ONE MILE AHEAD.

     "THIS COURSE COULD BE HELD FOR THREE-QUARTERS OF A MILE WITHOUT MOVING THE WHEEL. IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL CLEAR MOONLIT NIGHT, JUST A FAINT RIFFLE OF WIND. EVERYTHING SEEMED QUIET AND STILL. I WAS DREADFULLY WEARY, AND HAD BEEN ON DUTY TWENTY-ONE HOURS A DAY FOR THE WHOLE WEEK, AND NOW THERE WAS NOTHING TO DO FOR A FEW MINUTES BUT TO REMAIN AWAKE AND WATCH THE OLD JOE AS SHE CHUGGED SMARTLY ALONG. COULD I REMAIN AWAKE? I THOUGHT I COULD. I RESTED MY CHIN ON THE WHEEL, WITH MY EYE ON THE LITTLE ISLAND AHEAD. I REMEMBERED ST. ELMO, OFF OUR PORT BEAM; CHIEF ISLAND (DR. BRIDGLAND'S SUMMER HOME) WAS FALLING ASTERN - THEN SOMETHING HAPPENED. THE SCENE CHANGED! INSTEAD OF THE LITTLE ISLAND AHEAD, A HUGE SEA MONSTER SEEMED TO BE RUSHING ACROSS THE LAKE AT A TERRIFIC SPEED, AND MY LITTLE SHIP WAS RIGHT IN ITS PATH. I SEEMED TO BE ALONE ON THE SHIP, BUT I REALIZED THAT WHATEVER WAS DONE HAD TO BE DONE BY ME.

     CAPTAIN FRASER RECORDS OF THAT MISADVENTURE, "IN AN INSTANT I WAS ON MY FEET, AWAKE, WITH ALL MY MENTAL FACULTIES FULLY RESTORED. THERE WAS NO SEA MONSTER IN SIGHT BUT A BOAT'S LENGTH AHEAD, LAY CAPTAIN PARLETT'S LITTLE ISLAND, WITH THE OLD JOE RUSHING MADLY FOR ITS ROCK-BOUND SHORE. I GAVE THE SIGNAL FOR FULL SPEED ASTERN BUT REALIZED THAT NOTHING NOW COULD PREVENT THE BOAT STRIKING THE ISLAND. I WONDER IF THE SPEED OR RANGE OF THE HUMAN MIND IN A CRISIS HAS EVER BEEN CALCULATED? IN THE FEW MOMENTS BEFORE THE BOAT STRUCK SHORE, MY WHOLE LIFE SEEMED TO PASS IN MENTAL REVIEW. I REMEMBERED THAT, AS A SCHOOL BOY, I HAD ALWAYS LOVED TALES OF THE SEA, ALWAYS ADMIRED SUCH MEN AS BRAVE JOHN MAYNARD, THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE BIRKENHEAD; THE MEN WHO WENT DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS WERE MY HEROES. THEN WHEN AN OPPORTUNITY OFFERED A CHANCE TO GO SAILING, HOW EAGERLY I GRASPED IT. FROM THE BEGINNING I WAS DETERMINED TO MAKE GOOD AND GET TO THE TOP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I REMEMBERED THE THRILL OF PRIDE IT GAVE MY DEAR OLD MOTHER WHEN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SECOND SEASON I HAD GONE HOME TO TELL HERE THAT I WAS NOW MATE TO CAPTAIN MORRISON.

     "AND NOW, AT THE EARLY AGE OF TWENTY-FOUR, I HAD FAILED WHILE IN COMMAND OF MY FIRST BOAT, WITH THE INK SCARCELY DRY ON MY MASTER'S CERTIFICATE, WHICH ONLY A FEW NIGHTS BEFORE I HAD SO PROUDLY SHOWN TO THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WAS WEARING MY RING. WHAT WOULD SHE THINK OF ME NOW? WE HAD ARRANGED TO SIGN OUR DECLARATION OF WAR AT THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON, BUT THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON NOW APPEARED TO BE COMING TO AN ABRUPT CLOSE AND FOR ME AN IGNOMINIOUS ONE. THE JOE WOULD BE PILED ON THE ROCKS AND IN ALL PROBABILITY A TOTAL WRECK AND PERHAPS LIVES WOULD BE LOST; IF SO A COURT OF INQUIRY FOR ME, STERN-FACED OLD SEAMEN WOULD BARK QUESTIONS AND IN THE END MY PRECIOUS CERTIFICATE WOULD BE CANCELLED AND I WOULD BE A DISHONORED OFFICER, A TERRIBLE PRICE TO PAY FOR TWO MINUTES' SLEEP.

     "WHILE ALL THESE MEMORIES WERE PASSING THROUGH MY MIND, THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE BOAT AND THE ISLAND WAS RAPIDLY SHORTENING, THE INEVITABLE CRASH WOULD COME IN A MOMENT. COULD NOTHING BE DONE? HAD MY GUARDIAN ANGEL FAILED ME? IN THE SHADOW OF SOME OVER-HANGING BOUGHS, HIDDEN FROM THE MOONLIGHT, LAY A GOOD SIZED LOG; ONE END ON THE SHORE, THE OTHER HALF-SUBMERGED IN THE WATER. I NOW NOTICED IT FOR THE FIRST TIME. IF I COULD ONLY SWING THE BOAT SO AS TO HIT THE LOG, IT WOULD AT LEAST SOFTEN THE IMPACT AND PERHAPS SHEAR HER OFF. SOME AGENT WAS AT WORK IN MY FAVOR, PERHAPS SOMEONE WAS PRAYING AND THAT LOG WAS THE ANSWER, FOR IT SURE SAVED THE OLD JOE. SHE STRUCK, CLIMBED HIGH ON THE ISLAND, ROLLED HEAVILY TO PORT, BUT THE LOG WAS UNDER HER KEEL. THE PROPELLOR WAS NOW GETTING A FIRMER GRIP AND SLOWLY THE BOAT BEGAN TO SLIDE BACK, THE LOG ROLLING, BUMPING, GROANING AND GRINDING; THE OLD JOE WAS STEADILY GOING ASTERN. IT SEEMED AS THOUGH SHE WOULD NEVER DETACH HERSELF FROM THAT ISLAND BUT FINALLY, AFTER SEVERAL MORE ROLLS AND BUMPS, THE SHIP WAS ONCE AGAIN FLOATING CLEAR."

     LEVI FRASER CONCLUDES, "I RUSHED TO SEE WHAT DAMAGE WAS DONE, BUT STRANGE TO SAY THERE WAS NONE. WE RAN A QUARTER MILE TO WHERE OUR LOGS WERE, DOWN IN ROWAN'S BAY, TIED UP AND WENT TO BED FOR A FEW HOURS. I WAS COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED. I HAVE SPENT MANY SLEEPLESS NIGHTS WHEELING A BOAT DURING THE LAST FORTY YEARS BUT ALWAYS MANAGED TO KEEP MY BOAT FROM DANGER. MANY INTERESTING STORIES COULD BE TOLD OF HAPPENINGS ON OR AROUND BIG ISLAND."

     IF YOU HAD ALL KINDS OF EXPECTATIONS, ABOUT THE OLD JOE BEING CRUSHED IN A GIGANTIC SMASH AGAINST THE ROCKS, AND THE OCCUPANTS BEING KILLED IN THE COLLISION, THE BOAT SINKING AS A RESULT, THEN YOU HAVE BEEN MASSAGED BY A WONDERFUL STORY-TELLER, BY THE NAME OF LEVI FRASER.

     I DON'T WORK AS AN HISTORIAN, DEALING WITH FOLK TALES ALONE. BUT IT WOULD BE AWFULLY DULL, WITHOUT THEIR COMPANY, DEPICTING OUR REGIONAL CHRONICLE. AS FOR CAPTAIN FRASER'S WORRY ABOUT THE GUARDIAN ANGEL FALLING ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL? GUESS HE WAS WRONG. IT APPEARS HEAVEN MAY HAVE HAD A HAND IN SAVING THE LIVES ON THIS HARD WORKING LITTLE STEAMER, PLYING THE MUSKOKA LAKES.

There Are Things Science Just Can't Figure Out About Things That Go Bump In The Night

CAN WE RELY ON SCIENCE TO TELL US EVERYTHING - EVEN WHAT PARANORMAL MEANS TO ITS MOST MINUTE PARTICLE?

OR ARE THOSE WHO STUDY THE PARANORMAL, WAY, WAY AHEAD?

     WHEN MY WIFE SUZANNE, AS A BAREFOOT, FROLICKING YOUNGSTER, USED TO TAKE HER DAILY STROLLS, AROUND THE COTTAGE PROPERTY, ON LAKE ROSSEAU, AT WINDERMERE. ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, SHE SWORE, ON HER DECEASED GRANDFATHER'S HONOR, THAT SHE HAD HEARD THE FAINT, BEAUTIFUL MUSIC OF THE FAIRIES IN THEIR REVELS. SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE FERN COVER, ON THE SHADY HILLSIDE OVERLOOKING THE LAKE, SHE HEARD WHAT MIGHT HAVE EVEN BEEN THE MUSIC OF ANGELS. EVEN TODAY, SHE'S STILL OF THE BELIEF, THE MUSIC WAS NOT EARTHLY. THE MUSICIANS INVISIBLE. IS THIS POSSIBLE? WAS SHE DAYDREAMING UP A QUARTET IN THE HOLLOW OF SUMMER FERNS? MY WIFE ISN'T A DAYDREAMER, AND IS MORE PRACTICAL THAN ANYONE I HAVE EVER KNOWN. IN HER MATTER-OF-FACT DAILY LIFE, WHEN SHE ENCOUNTERS A BELIEVE-IT-OR-NOT SITUATION, BELIEVE ME, WE KNOW IT MUST HAVE OCCURRED.

     AS A KID, I SAW DEAD PEOPLE. I DON'T KNOW WHY THEY SELECTED ME AS THEIR EARTHLY CONDUIT, BUT IF WE WERE OUT FOR A DRIVE, I'D TELL ED TO PULL OVER FOR THE HITCH-HIKER IN DISTRESS, ONLY TO FIND HE OR SHE HAD PULLED A VANISHING ACT. IN LATER YEARS, I REASONED THAT MANY OF THESE ROADSIDE ENCOUNTERS, MAY HAVE HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH TRAFFIC ACCIDENTS. THEY WERE THE DECEASED TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHY……..AND WHERE THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY HAD ALL GONE. THIS IS QUITE COMMON IN SUDDEN, TRAGIC ACCIDENTS, WITH LOSS OF LIFE.

     I CAN REMEMBER WAKING UP AROUND MIDNIGHT, ONE SUMMER EVENING, AND SEEING A NEIGHBOR STANDING IN THE DOORWAY TO MY BEDROOM. THE ELDERLY CHAP JUST STOOD THERE, AS A SILHOUETTE AGAINST THE BACK LIGHT, FROM THE LIVING ROOM. BUT THE STRANGE THING ABOUT THIS, IS THAT I COULD SEE HIS FACE CLEARLY DESPITE THE FACT THERE WAS NO LIGHT SOURCE IN MY ROOM. I REMEMBER THE SERENE LOOK ON HIS FACE, AND IT CERTAINLY WASN'T THE CASE I FELT IN ANY DANGER. I WAS OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE WON A STRUGGLE WITH THIS SENIOR, IF HE HAD BEEN UP TO NO GOOD.

     WHEN I SPOKE TO THE MAN, ASKING WHAT HE WANTED, ASSUMING HE WAS LOOKING FOR MY PARENTS, WHO WERE PLAYING CARDS IN A NEIGHBOR'S APARTMENT, DIRECTLY BELOW, I REMEMBER HIM SMILING AT ME, TURNING SLOWLY, AND WALKING BACK OUT THE DOOR. I GOT UP AS QUICKLY AS I COULD, AND RAN TO SEE WHERE HE WENT IN THE APARTMENT, OR IF HE EXITED THE FRONT DOOR, AND GONE BACK TO HIS OWN APARTMENT. THERE IS NO WAY HE COULD HAVE DISAPPEARED THAT FAST. I WAS PRETTY SPEEDY AT THAT AGE, BUT THERE WAS NO TRACE OF THE SILVER HAIRED GENTLEMAN. IN OUR BRACEBRIDGE APARTMENT BUILDING, IT WAS TRADITION TO LEAVE OUR DOORS HANGING OPEN UNTIL LATE EVENING. SO IT WASN'T UNSUAL TO HAVE A NEIGHBOR WANDER IT FOR A CHAT. WHILE IT WAS LATE, AND IT DID SEEM ODD THAT HE WOULD GO TO THE DOORWAY OF MY BEDROOM, I WAS MORE CONCERNED HE WAS HAVING SOME SORT OF MEDICAL CRISIS, AND MAY HAVE NEEDED HELP FROM MY PARENTS.

     I WENT DOWNSTAIRS, TO TELL MY PARENTS ABOUT THE VISITATION FROM MR. HAINES. MERLE DROPPED HER CARDS FLAT ON THE TABLE, AND JUST STARED AT ME. I KNEW IT HAD BEEN HIM, BECAUSE OF OUR MANY MEETINGS IN THE HALL, WHEN HE WOULD ASK ME WHAT IT WAS LIKE OUT, OR IF I'D HEARD WHO WON THE BASEBALL OR HOCKEY GAME FROM THE NIGHT BEFORE. HE WAS A NICE, FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR. MERLE URGED ME TO GO BACK TO BED AND RELAX, AND THEY WOULD BE UP IN A FEW MINUTES. WHEN I TURNED BACK TO ASK SOMETHING ELSE, I COULD SEE MERLE IN A SERIOUS CONVERSATION WITH MY FATHER ED, AND I PRESUMED IT WAS ABOUT MY VISITOR.

     MERLE TOLD ME IN THE MORNING, WHILE I WAS ENJOYING MY FROSTED FLAKES, THAT I JUST MAY HAVE SEEN A GHOST THE PREVIOUS EVENING.

MAYBE THEY SAW A KINDRED SPIRIT, WHO WOULD TAKE THE MESSAGE TO OTHERS…..THAT THE OTHER SIDE IS OKAY!

     She explained that Mr. Haines had died sometime earlier that summer season, and that he still had the apartment rented. It was why I hadn't seen any moving trucks. He had gone to a retirement home, after an illness. Or at least this is what she told me, and I was wary of these explanations, which at times were just tall tales, aimed at befuddling a kid. Merle did suggest, that his ghost may have been returning to see the room he used to have as his bedroom, when he had lived in that same front apartment before we moved into the building. I didn't experience a chill during the encounter, but I got one with that admission, let me tell you. For all intents and purposes, I had seen a ghost. He meant me no harm, and was just visiting his former abode. I will remember the look on his face. So heavenly calm. I guess that actuality, and the illumination of his face should have given it away, that he wasn't all that earthly at that point. I did have a few sleeping issues for a little while after the occurrence, but it was my fault for merging it with the episodes I had watched of the Twilight Zone. Hollywood makes every haunting a horror-filled event. Mine, if it was actually a ghost in the doorway, was pleasant at the time, and only unsettling when I over-thought what might have developed, if I hadn't spoken, and scared the apparition off, out the door.

     Our son Andrew had an encounter with a wee spirit that would allegedly, look in his bedroom window in the hours after midnight, when we lived in a neighborhood of cottages, across the road from Lake Muskoka. The little Dickens used to delight in rapping on the window pane, to get Andrew's attention. For months this went on, and almost nightly I'd run a check around the house, to make sure there wasn't a human source to our ongoing problems. And as he and his mother shared similar experiences, both seeing this wayward little boy at our cottage window, we took his situation very seriously. There was something strange in the neighborhood. Suzanne had seen a faceless, blond haired child, standing in the living room, while she worked at the kitchen counter in our open concept chalet. Why was this lost child earthbound? This is a more complex story, and the larger version was published in Barbara Smith's, Ontario Ghost Stories," some years back, and you can access it on my Muskoka and Algonquin Ghosts blogsite, by looking up "Herbie," and the ghosts of "Golden Beach Road."

     We were told by folks with some history in that same neighborhood, that a young boy had been killed in a car accident, many years earlier, when he drove his bike into the path of an oncoming vehicle, rounding a corner near our home. Was it this tragedy that left the spirit of the wee lad, questing for his parents, and his bedroom…..which he found to be occupied at night, by Andrew. When we didn't see the little lad, we certainly felt his presence. We shifted Andrew's room, across the hall, to co-habitat with his brother Robert. The appearances of the little boy at the window stopped at once. Obviously, the lad was contented it was vacant once more.

     Children don't rely on science to figure everything out. They let their innocent minds and green, free-flowing imagination go unfettered, and what they see, hear and experience, often seems pure fantasy….when they try to relay the encounters to us. At first, we believed that Andrew was re-creating the visitation, of Peter Pan, from the movie he had watched just prior to the incident commencing. We even tried to explain the events, as Night Terrors, because he was often so scared, he would get sick to his stomach. But when we put together the accounts of what Suzanne had witnessed, and I had felt in that cottage, of a wayward spirit, all it took was a little more attention to Andrew's calm retelling of the frequent visitations, before we understood, they were all related. On the final day, only minutes before the real estate deal was closed, I stood on the front lawn, giving one last look back at the haunted little cabin, and I felt a profound sadness, at leaving the little fellow behind. I don't really think it was what he wanted, you know. I feel he was looking for his family, but was satisfied somewhat by the folks he found living there instead. I just don't believe he wanted anyone sleeping in his old room. I felt, for those last few moment, that he was standing in the front door, looking at me, as if to say, "don't leave me alone." I can still re-live that moment, as if it was yesterday.

     He wasn't trying to scare us out of the house. He was trying to do what a ghost does…….fit in. I should footnote here, that we didn't move from the house because of our little house-mate. We just needed a bigger house. That was 1989. We moved to Birch Hollow, here in Gravenhurst, where we have lived ever-since. And it's true. We found some more house-mates who haunt us when they feel like it. We don't mind their excesses, if they don't mind ours.

      Thanks so much for taking the time to read today's blog…….written from the heart of the Gravenhurst business section…..at the old Muskoka Theatre building, where our boys have their vintage music business. Please join me again soon.

Souvenirs That Become Collectibles For Us In The Business of Selling Stuff That Inspires Sentiments

SOUVENIRS AND WHY WE BUY THEM. IT ISN'T FOR THE INVESTMENT VALUE. BUT SOMETIMES IT WORKS OUT THAT WAY.

WHEN YOU BROWSE THROUGH A THRIFT SHOP, A CHURCH FUNDRAISING SALE, SECOND HAND STORE, OR VISIT FLEA MARKETS AND YARDS SALES, I GUARANTEE YOU, SOMEONE'S TRAVEL SOUVENIRS WILL BE UP FOR GRABS. A LITTLE LESS ATTRACTIVE BECAUSE THEY WERE PURCHASED POTENTIALLY ON ANOTHER CONTINENT, OR OTHER PROVINCES, STATES, AND ON HOLIDAYS THAT YOU DIDN'T ACTUALLY DIDN'T GET TO ENJOY. THESE WERE PART OF SOMEONE ELSE'S TRAVEL MEMORIES, AND WHILE POIGNANT AT THE TIME, LOST THEIR LUSTER BECAUSE THE THRILL OF THE ADVENTURE IS A FADING REALITY. THERE ARE OF COURSE, SOME SOUVENIRS THAT MAINTAIN THEIR VALUE NONE THE LESS. THESE INCLUDE CULTURAL AND HISTORIC ART, CRAFTS, JEWELRY, HAND-MADE ITEMS OF CLOTHING, HATS, BLANKETS, RUGS, AND ADORNMENTS LIKE SHAWLS. THERE ARE MANY OTHER EXAMPLES. YOU CAN FIND THESE AT SECOND HAND SHOPS, PARTICULARLY CHARITY STORES, AND IF YOU CHECK OUT THE RACK WHERE THERE ARE BEDSPREADS, BLANKETS AND QUILTS, YOU WILL UNDOUBTEDLY FIND PRODUCTS FROM SCOTLAND, IRELAND, DENMARK, HOLLAND, BELGIUM, AND EVEN FROM SOUTH AMERICA, FROM WEAVING TO WOOLEN BLANKETS. MANY OF THESE PIECES WERE BROUGHT TO CANADA AS USEFUL HOUSEHOLD ITEMS……UNLIKE THE BETTER KNOWN DECORATIVE SOUVENIRS, LIKE CUPS AND SAUCERS AND WALL-HANGING PLATES, THAT APPEAR IN HUGE NUMBERS ALL OVER THE SECOND HAND MARKETPLACE. DESIRED ONCE, BUT MUCH LESS DESIRABLE ON THE REBOUND.

THE SOUVENIRS THAT ENDURE, ARE PRETTY MUCH THE ONES ABOVE, THAT HAVE PRACTICAL, FASHION AND GENERAL HOUSEHOLD USE. HAND CRAFTED ART PIECES, PAINTINGS, SCULPTURES, CARVINGS AND TEXTILE ART, LACE, WEAVING, TO RUGS, ARE THE KIND OF DECORATIVE SOUVENIR THAT HOLDS VALUE IN PERPETUITY, IN LARGE PART, BECAUSE OF THE HIGH QUALITY OF THE WORKMANSHIP. CERAMIC AND GLASS SOUVENIRS ARE OKAY, AND WE HAVE BEEN SELLING THESE HERE IN MUSKOKA, SINCE THE LATE 1800'S, BUT BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT STRICTLY FROM THE REGION WHERE THEY ARE AVAILABLE, THEY DON'T TEND TO BE THE MOST COVETED ITEMS AFTER THE ORIGINAL ON-SITE PURCHASE. I'LL GIVE YOU AN EXAMPLE FROM MY EARLIEST DAYS AS A COLLECTOR, AND WHAT SOUVENIRS I WANTED TO BRING HOME FROM ENGLAND.

IT WAS THE EARLY SPRING OF 1974. I WAS IN A BAND. A BIG ONE. IT WAS LED BY WELL KNOWN CONDUCTOR, JOHN RUTHERFORD, AND THE STUDENTS MAKING UP THE SENIOR TOURING BAND, WERE FROM BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL. I THINK OUR MOTTO WAS, "SEND SOME NOISE TO ENGLAND." I HAVE THANKED MR. RUTHERFORD MANY TIMES SINCE, FOR THINKING ENOUGH OF ME, AND THE BENEFIT AN OVERSEAS ADVENTURE WOULD DO FOR A BUDDING WRITER, TO HAVE INCLUDED ME IN THE SENIOR BAND THAT GLORIOUS YEAR. IT WAS DAMN CLOSE CALL YOU SEE. I HADN'T BEEN STRONG ENOUGH, AS A BARITONE PLAYER, TO THAT POINT, TO HAVE MADE THE CUT. I'D BEEN IN THE MUSIC PROGRAM FOR THE PREVIOUS FOUR YEARS. JOHN WAS DETERMINED, BY MY FINAL YEAR, TO SHAPE ME UP FOR THE BIG LEAGUE. IT WAS THE YEAR ABOUT SEVENTY BAND-MATES WERE GOING ON A PLAYING TOUR OF ENGLAND. THE DAY HE TOLD ME I WAS IN THE BAND, WELL SIR, I DIDN'T KNOW WHETHER TO LAUGH OR CRY, BECAUSE I WAS HAPPY, AND SCARED OUT OF MY MIND AT THE SAME TIME. AS JOHN POINTED OUT, "WE'VE GOT A LOT OF WORK TO DO TED." I COMPLIED. I WORKED AS HARD AS I COULD TO EARN HIS TRUST. I WAS NOT THE BEST, THAT'S FOR SURE, BUT I THINK JOHN KNEW I WAS COMMITTED TO IMPROVING MY PLAYING, CONCERT BY CONCERT. BY LETTING ME GO ON THAT LIFE-CHANGING ENGLAND TOUR, HE OPENED UP A WORLD OF OPPORTUNITY……AND I'M NOT REALLY SURE IF HE KNEW JUST HOW INFLUENTIAL HIS TRUST WAS, THEN AND ALL THESE YEARS LATER. HE MAY HAVE BEEN THE ONLY TEACHER, WHO FIGURED THERE HAD TO BE SOMETHING WITH THIS CURRIE KID, BENEATH THE HIPPY HAIR AND THE GENERAL ATTENTION DEFICIT. I WAS GOOD AT BOTH. I COULD HAVE GOT AN "A" IN PERPETUITY, FOR MY ABILITY TO ZONE OUT. I NEVER REALLY GOT BACK FROM WOODSTOCK, YOU KNOW.

AT THIS TIME, I WAS VERY INTERESTED IN WRITING, AND IN FACT, I WROTE A JOURNAL OF THE TRIP ON AIR CANADA STATIONARY, BOTH IN THE AIR, AND WHILE TRAVELLING ABOUT IN ENGLAND. I WAS ALSO A BUDDING COLLECTOR, AT THE SAME TIME, AND IT WAS A SOUVENIR BONANZA GOING THROUGH THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE, STOPPING ALONG THE WAY FOR WEE VISITS…..AND PERFORMANCES. I DIDN'T BUY ANY ROYALTY MEMORABILIA, BUT I WASN'T ON THE GROUND MORE THAN A FEW HOURS, AND I'D BOUGHT AN UMBRELLA, AND A TWEED PEAK CAP. ALL THE LADS DID. IT WAS THE FUNNIEST THING TO LOOK AT THE BEFORE AND AFTER PICTURES, TO SEE HOW CANADIANS FIGURED THEY COULD BECOME BRITISH BY ADORNMENTS ALONE. THE GIRLS DID SOMEWHAT THE SAME, THOUGH I CAN'T BE SURE IF THEY BOUGHT UMBRELLAS TOO. A LITTLE EXPENSIVE, THIS ENTERPRISE, BUT WE WANTED TO FULLY CELEBRATE THIS IMMERSION INTO, WHAT SOME OF US RIGHTFULLY CALLED, OUR ANCESTRAL CULTURE. FULL ENGLISH BREAKFASTS AND BANGERS AND BEANS FOR LUNCH. ROAST BEEF AND YORKIES (YORKSHIRE PUDDINGS) FOR SUPPER. FOR THE SEVERAL WEEKS WE WERE IN ENGLAND, WE LOOKED FOR EVERYTHING WE COULD, THAT, IN OUR OPINION, REFLECTED BRITISH VALUES. IN FACT, WE ATE BANGERS AND BEANS A LOT, (I MEAN THIS….IT WAS LIKE A SCENE OUT OF BLAZING SADDLES, BACK AT THE UNIVERSITY DORMITORY) IN ADDITION TO CRUMPETS, ECCLES CAKES, AND WE ALL SUCKED BACK GALLONS OF TEA. AND WE ALSO THOUGHT IT WAS ONLY FITTING, WE SHOULD BE CLOAKED IN BRITISH-WARE. FROM SHOES AND PANTS, TO SWEATERS, TWEED JACKETS, AND AN ARRAY OF PEAK CAPS……MAKING US GENTS RATHER DAPPER, OR SO THE GIRLS IN THE BAND THOUGHT…..OR AT LEAST WE HOPED THEY THOUGHT! TWO OF THE YOUNG LADIES THOUGHT I LOOKED LIKE A YOUNG BENNY HILL. WHILE THE REST THOUGHT I WAS CHIP OFF THE MONTY PYTHON BLOCK!

WHEN WE TRAVELLED NORTH TO NOTTINGHAM, WHERE WE WERE SCHEDULED TO STAY WITH HOST FAMILIES, BAND MEMBERS STARTED BUYING AND COLLECTING AS MUCH LOCAL MEMORABILIA AS THEY COULD. I HAD A NUMBER OF INTERESTING EXPERIENCES THIS WAY MYSELF. THE FAMILY I WAS STAYING WITH, HAD A TICKET FOR ME, TO ATTEND A FOOTBALL (SOCCER) GAME, BETWEEN BLACKPOOL AND NOTTINGHAM FOREST. "BUT YOU CAN'T WEAR THAT SCARF TED, I'M AFRAID, OR YOU'LL BE CARRYING YOUR HEAD UNDER YOUR ARM," SAID MY NEW ENGLISH MATE. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN," I HAD TO ASK. "WELL, THAT SCARF YOU BROUGHT FROM CANADA, REPRESENTS THE COLORS OF BLACKPOOL, AND AS WE ARE GOING TO BE SITTING IN THE NOTTINGHAM SECTION OF THE STADIUM, IT WOULDN'T BE A GOOD IDEA AT ALL, TO WEAR THOSE COLORS…..UNLESS OF COURSE YOU WISH TO BE BEATEN SENSELESS." I'D BEEN READING UP ON THE OFTEN VIOLENT AFTERMATHS OF THESE BRITISH MATCHES, SO I CERTAINLY DIDN'T HAVE TO BE TOLD TWICE ABOUT SCARF APPROPRIATENESS. THEY GAVE ME A NOTTINGHAM SCARF AND A BEAT-UP OLD COAT. "I'VE ALREADY GOT A GOOD JACKET TO WEAR," I RESPONDED TO THEIR GENEROSITY. I WAS A LITTLE MIFFED WHY THEY WOULD WANT ME TO WEAR A COAT WITH SO MANY HOLES. "EXACTLY. YOU DON'T WANT TO WEAR A GOOD COAT TO THE GAME, BECAUSE YOU'RE LIKELY GOING TO BE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT, AND THIS JACKET HAS ALREADY BEEN IN A HALF DOZEN ALREADY." GADS, I WAS GETTING WORRIED. I'D GONE TO LOTS OF HOCKEY GAMES, AND WATCHED SOME FIGHTS BREAK-OUT IN THE STANDS, BUT FROM WHAT THEY WERE DESCRIBING, ALL FANS GET IN ON THE POST GAME SHOW. OH WELL, WHAT AN ADVENTURE.

WELL, I'VE NEVER BEEN TO SUCH A WILD AND WHACKY EVENT AS THIS SOCCER MATCH. THE FANS NEVER SAT DOWN THE WHOLE GAME. IN UNISON, LIKE A HUGE WAVE ON THE OCEAN, THEY MOVED THE TEAM COLORS TO THE THEME SONG, FOR THEIR SIDE, AND THEN THE OPPOSITION, WOULD COME BACK WITH A ROUSING RENDITION OF THEIR OWN. AND I'M TELLING YOU, IT WAS UNNERVING BECAUSE OF THE TIGHTLY WEAVED CROWD, AND THE FACT THAT WHEN THEY MOVED TO THE SONG, SO DID YOU (THERE WAS NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER). THE BLEACHERS SEEMED TO MOVE AT THE SAME TIME. WHEN THE GAME WAS OVER, I'D ONLY SAT DOWN FOR A COUPLE OF MINUTES IN THE WHOLE GAME, AND I WAS HOARSE BECAUSE OF ALL THE SINGING. MY MATE WARNED ME TO SING LOUDLY, SO THEY WOULDN'T SUSPECT I WAS A PLANT FROM THE OTHER SIDE, INFILTRATING THE OPPOSITION FOR SOME SORT OF SABOTAGE AT THE END OF THE GAME. MY GOD. THE END OF THE GAME. I FELT LIKE I WAS BODY SURFING OUT OF THAT STADIUM, BECAUSE THERE WAS NO STANDING AROUND, AND DEFINITELY NO POLITE "LETTING SOMEONE GET AHEAD OF YOU." I COULD SEE HOW SOMEONE COULD GET CRUSHED, AND HOW BLEACHERS COLLAPSE, WITH ALL THE SIDE TO SIDE SWAYING I'D EXPERIENCED. OUTSIDE, IT WAS VERY MUCH LIKE A RIOT SCENARIO, EXCEPT THERE WAS NO CAR OVER-TURNING OR FIRES BEING SET…..JUST PEOPLE RUNNING ALL OVER THE PLACE, WAVING THESE SCARVES WITH THE OCCASIONAL DUST-UPS BETWEEN FANS. MY HOST FAMILY KEPT US MOVING AS FAST AS WE COULD. NOTTINGHAM WON THAT DAY, SO WE WERE RUNNING ON POSITIVE ADRENALIN. NO NEED TO BURN ANYTHING, OR PUNCH OUT SHOP WINDOWS, I GUESS. POINT IS, I SPENT SOME QUALITY TIME, LATER THAT DAY, SHOPPING FOR NOTTINGHAM FOREST SOUVENIRS……BUYING MY OWN OFFICIAL SCARF…..WHICH I SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN WEARING TO YORKSHIRE AND THEN BACK TO LONDON. MY CHUMS REMINDED ME TO ALWAYS BE AWARE OF THOSE IMPORTANT BRITISH SOCCER WORDS OF WARNING. "GET HIM!" SO FOR THE BALANCE OF THE TRIP, I TUCKED THAT SPORTING SCARF INSIDE MY JACKET.

THE MOST INTERESTING SOUVENIR STORY I HEARD, CAME FROM A STAFFER AT NOTTINGHAM CASTLE, WHERE, I BELIEVE, WE SAW THE STATUE OF ROBIN HOOD. THE TOUR GUIDE OFFERED AN APOLOGY ABOUT ROBIN'S MISSING ARROW. "THE AMERICAN TOURISTS KEEP NICKING-IT," SHE SAID. "SOON AS WE GET A REPLACEMENT, THEY TAKE IT AGAIN." IT WOULD BE KIND OF NEAT TO HAVE ROBIN HOOD'S ARROW, BUT I WASN'T GOING TO STEAL ONE. LATER THAT SAME DAY WE GOT A CHANCE TO MEET THE ACTUAL SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM. TALK ABOUT GRABBING UP THE SOUVENIRS OF THAT VISIT. IF IT WAS OFFERED TO US, EVEN BROCHURES, WE CLEANED OUT THEIR SUPPLY. PAPER SOUVENIRS MADE UP A MAJORITY OF MY COLLECTIBLES FROM THAT TRIP, AND I STILL HAVE MOST OF THEM TUCKED INTO AN OLD PHOTO ALBUM…..WHICH I CAN'T SEEM TO FIND IN MY CLUTTER OF LIFE'S SOUVENIRS.

I WAS PULLING BARK OFF TREES FROM SHERWOOD FOREST FOR GOD'S SAKE. WE STARTED TO RUN OUT OF MONEY SO WE GRABBED EVERY CONCEIVABLE FREEBIE. IT WAS AS SORT OF TEMPORARY INSANITY. I WATCHED BAND-MATES AT A LOCAL BAKERY, SAVING THE PAPER LACE, CUP-CAKE BOTTOMS FOR THEIR TRIP SCRAPBOOKS. WE MUST HAVE TAKEN TEN THOUSAND PHOTOGRAPHS OVER THOSE TWO WEEKS.

THE NEATEST OF THE PAPER COLLECTIBLES CAME FROM THREE SHOWS WE ATTENDED IN LONDON. MY GIRLFRIEND AT THE TIME, GAIL SMITH, AND I, ATTENDED THE OPENING OF THE MOVIE "THE EXORCIST," AND GOT MITT-FULLS OF WARNINGS BEING HANDED OUT BY NUMEROUS RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONS, TRYING TO KEEP US FROM GOING INSIDE. WE WENT IN. SCARED US PRETTY BAD, BUT WE MADE IT ALL THE WAY TO THE CLOSING CREDITS. WE ALSO HAD TICKETS (KEPT THE STUBS), AND SOUVENIR PROGRAMS, FROM THE STAGE VERSION OF "JESUS CHRIST SUPER STAR," AND THEN A CONCERT AT ROYAL ALBERT HALL BY THE LONDON SYMPHONY, I BELIEVE. WE MADE THE ROUNDS MANY TIMES OF PICADILLY CIRCUS, AND EVERY TIME I WATCH AUSTIN POWERS, I THINK BACK TO THE FUN WE HAD MINGLING WITH THE TURNED-ON CROWD IN THAT ELECTRIC NEIGHBORHOOD THAT NEVER SEEMED TO SLOW ITS PACE. WE GRABBED UP COASTERS FROM RESTAURANTS, A FEW MENUS WE SCOFFED AS KEEPSAKES, AND JUST ABOUT ANYTHING THAT WE THOUGHT WOULD REMIND US, OF THE HALCYON TRIP TO ENGLAND, THAT SPRING OF 1974.

EVERY NOW AND AGAIN SUZANNE WILL UNCOVER SOME RELIC OF THAT VINTAGE, AND ASK WHY I KEPT AN OLD CATCHUP-STAINED PLACEMAT, OR DRINK COASTER WITH WET RINGS ON IT, OR A DOG-EARRED PROGRAM FROM A SHOW SO VERY LONG AGO. I DON'T HAVE AN ANSWER THAT WOULD MAKE ANY REAL SENSE TO MY WIFE. WHAT MADE IT SO POIGNANT FOR ME, IN PARTICULAR, WAS THAT I HAD ACTUALLY MADE THE BAND THAT LAST YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL. MAYBE I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH TO PLAY THE FIVE OR SIX CONCERTS WE PERFORMED BETWEEN LONDON AND NOTTINGHAM. I DON'T KNOW. BUT BECAUSE OF JOHN RUTHERFORD'S BELIEF I COULD UPGRADE, IF I WANTED TO GO BAD ENOUGH, I GOT THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME. AS I HAVE NEVER BEEN MUCH OF A WORLD TRAVELLER, AND MOST OF MY MEMORIES OF 56 YEARS ARE OF NORTH AMERICAN TRAVEL, AND LOTS OF ROAD TRIPS IN THE HOME REGION, IT REALLY WAS EXCEPTIONAL FOR ME, AND THESE TIRED OLD SOUVENIRS STILL WORK TO REKINDLE LOST MEMORIES OF "TED CURRIE'S MOST EXCELLENT ADVENTURE."

A COUPLE OF TIMES, SUZANNE HAS STARTED TO READ THROUGH MY AIR CANADA JOURNAL, AND I'M QUICK OFF THE DRAW, TO LUNGE AT THE FADED DOCUMENT. IT CONTAINS SOME RATHER PERSONAL INFORMATION ABOUT THE LADIES I GOT TO KNOW OVERSEAS……AND INTIMATE DETAILS ABOUT DATING THREE GIRLS AT ONCE, WITHOUT ANY OF THEM KNOWING THE KIND OF CAD I WAS AS A YOUNG MUSICIAN-KIND. THEY FOUND THAT OUT ONCE WE GOT BACK TO CANADA. THE THIRD GIRLFRIEND WAS HOME IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND I'D PURCHASED HER AN EXPENSIVE CHARM BRACELET, AND SOME NICE SILVER CHARMS WITH BRITISH THEMES. AND BOTH LADIES I CHUMMED WITH, WHILE IN ENGLAND, ASSUMED I WAS GOING TO GIVE IT TO THEM AS A GIFT. I WAS LIKE LUCY RICARDO……I HAD A LOT OF 'SPLAINING TO DO!" I WASN'T REALLY A WOMANIZER, OR A DON JUAN, CASA NOVA, BUT HAVING A BLAST IN ANOTHER COUNTRY. I WASN'T ALONE. THAT TRIP STARTED MANY NEW RELATIONSHIPS, AND ENDED JUST AS MANY AT HOME. STUFF HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG OF HEART, AND A LONG WAY FROM HOME.

WHEN I'M OUT ON THE ANTIQUE HUSTINGS, I ALWAYS STOP FOR A BIT, TO ADMIRE THE INVENTORY OF SOUVENIRS FOR SALE, AND THINK BACK TO THOSE MEMORABLE DAYS ABROAD, AND WHAT THESE MUST HAVE MEANT TO THEIR ORIGINAL OWNERS…….ALSO HAVING THE TIMES THEIR LIVES. WONDER WHY THEY GOT RID OF THESE KEEPSAKES. AH, YES, THAT GETTING OLD THING. WHAT WILL MY BOYS DO WITH MY OLD ENGLAND JOURNAL? I BETTER DEAL WITH THAT ONE OF THESE DAYS.

AS A LITTLE SIDEBAR TO THIS STORY, I HAD A FUNNY INCIDENT THIS PAST OCTOBER, IN AND AROUND THE THANKSGIVING HOLIDAY. AS WE FREQUENTLY SELL SELECT ANTIQUE PIECES FROM THE BOY'S VINTAGE MUSIC SHOP, ON MUSKOKA ROAD, HERE IN GRAVENHURST, I SET OUT A DISPLAY OF CANADIAN PIECES UNDER THE STORE'S MARQUIS. ONE WAS A 1920'S VINTAGE UMBRELLA STAND WITH AN UMBRELLA TO GO WITH IT. NOW YOU CAN PROBABLY FIGURE OUT THE HOOK OF THIS ANECDOTAL MOMENT. BY GOLLY, I NEVER ONCE THOUGHT ABOUT IT, EVEN WHEN I PUT THE UMBRELLA ON THE STAND AS A SORT OF BUYER'S BONUS. ANDREW PHONED ME LATER THAT MORNING, TO TELL ME ABOUT SELLING THE STAND TO A LADY, ORIGINALLY FROM ENGLAND, TO USE IN HER HALLWAY AT HOME. "SHE DIDN'T WANT THE UMBRELLA DAD," HE SAID. "THE UMBRELLA," I REPEATED. "WELL THAT'S OKAY." "WHERE DID YOU GET IT DAD….THE UMBRELLA," HE ASKED. LIKE THE BELL OF BIG BEN RINGING IN THE OLD HEAD, I SAID, "THAT'S GOT TO BE MY OLD LONDON UMBRELLA." WHAT HAD HAPPENED, WAS THAT IT HAD BEEN PART OF MY PARENTS' ESTATE, SETTLED THE YEAR BEFORE, AND WE HAD BROUGHT THAT UMBRELLA HOME WITH SEVERAL OTHERS, MY MOTHER USED FOR BOTH INCLEMENT WEATHER, AND AS A CANE FOR HER WONKY HIP. BUT SEEING AS MY FATHER WOULD NEVER, EVER, EVER HOLD AN UMBRELLA (HE WAS AN OLD NAVY MAN, WHO BATHED IN RUM), (AND IT WAS DEFINITELY A MAN'S ITEM), I KNEW IT WAS THE UMBRELLA I HAD LEFT WITH THEM, WHEN I GOT HOME FROM ENGLAND. YOU KNOW, IT WAS IN PRETTY GOOD SHAPE TOO, AND I'D ALMOST SOLD IT AS A PROP IN AN OTHERWISE EMPTY UMBRELLA STAND. THE LITTLE BEND IN THE END, CAME WHEN ONE OF MY GAL PALS FOUND OUT ABOUT THE OTHER TWO, AND TURNED THAT UMBRELLA INTO A CLUB.

NOW IT HANGS BY THE FIREPLACE WITH MY OTHER CANES…..I HAVE WONKY HIP AS WELL, AND I THINK ABOUT THE GIRLS OF THEN……AND THIS WONDERFUL LADY NOW, AND JOHN RUTHERFORD, WHO OPENED MY WORLD TO THE MOST AMAZING ADVENTURES. SOUVENIRS. I LOVE THEM ALL, FOR WHAT THEY REMIND ME OF……MOSTLY GOOD TIMES.