MY TOM THOMSON TIME OF THE YEAR

The autumn season has always been my most prolific time writing......and it was an equally inspiring change of climate enjoyed by Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson. As he found the autumn colors and contrasts, of light and shadow, and the drastic changes in weather, appealing for his art panels, I can feel this surge of interest rising as soon as harvest times rolls around. I have also paddled the Algonquin Lakes at this time of the year, and been captivated by the amazing landscape....the approach of a November storm-front, the early snow that sweeps down over the barren hardwoods and then there are the northern lights that Thomson always found so spirit-full and haunting.

Over the past several months I’ve set aside my landscape writing and concentrated on local politics. This is the first time in many, many years that I’ve sacrificed my forays into the woodlands, and the traverses by canoe through this amazing lakeland, to pay attention to the governance, past, present and future, of my, “Our” hometown. It was worth the effort of course, and overall, I was pleased with the election outcome. But now it’s time to set out my own art panels, you might say, and immerse myself back to the nature-watch I literally can not live without.

This town, and this modest homestead, at Birch Hollow, affords me so many wonderful opportunities to celebrate the lakeland. I hope this appreciation for the home region, is reflected in the content of what I compose. As Thomson was thrilled when someone would remark, for example, that his art panel on the Northern Lights, made them feel the bitter air of a lonely Algonquin night, it’s always good to find out that some reader has travelled with me, to some similar vantage point, to see and feel the true haunting of the lakeland.

As Robert Frost wrote, about stopping by the woods on a snowy evening, I too have a wanderlust on gentle winter evenings, to pause, momentarily, to celebrate a wonderful life, with friends, family and this ever-healing solitude.....just down the lane from the soft glow of lamplight in the homestead window.....that calls me back to hearthside.

I will occupy myself this fall and winter, exploring this amazing landscape, and please feel free to accompany this set-in-his-ways writer, travelling along old and familiar trails. Dress warmly. Liberate your imagination. We are now watchers in the woods.

NOTE: You can link with Ted’s other blogs, including his take on Muskoka’s “Walden Pond,” plus his Algonquin and Muskoka Ghosts blog-site. If you are a culinary zealot, check out his sites on Vintage Muskoka Recipes.....where he discusses the relevance of collecting “handwritten recipes.” You can connect with these sites through this blog-site and or by doing an online search of other business and professional links. You can also connect with “Curious: The Tourist Guide,” online, to read his most recent column on Ada Florence Kinton, a year long series in support of the Gravenhurst Salvation Army Food Bank.

THE FERMENTATION OF SOUR GRAPES -

IMMATURE CHEAP SHOT DEMEANING AND SHORT-SIGHTED

Hopefully the mayor elect for the Town of Gravenhurst, will laugh-off a sour grapes’ sucker punch, courtesy a local disgruntled media outlet this week. It was inappropriate in my opinion, as I’m sure many others felt, who may not have voted for the winner....but are fair enough to give the mayor-elect the opportunity of sitting at the head of the council table, for at least a couple of moments, before being accused of working for, and on someone else’s agenda.

The mayor elect, who bested the bunch, is cartooned as a puppet, being manipulated by the current mayor.....an editorial opinion that the “former” is going to control the “incoming!” My concern is how fast a mayoral candidate can change from putting the interests of Gravenhurst first, to disrespecting the majority of citizens who did vote for the alleged puppet on a string. More than doubling the votes on second place. Troubling moreso, is the portrayal of the mayor, as someone who does not have an opinion, independence, and the competence to lead without direction of the puppeteer. This is pretty strong stuff, not to mention the unintentional (I’m sure) connotation to a woman mayor, which could muster some outrage from the numerous women who were successfully elected this week, to serve our community.....as democracy, not as controlling interest, warrants. Or are they being controlled by puppeteers as well?

Usually editorial cartoons don’t bother me but the fact that the publisher was the second place finisher, in the mayoral race, makes this even more troublesome. Is this the attitude that would have made it to council had he been elected? The optics of this stink. It was an uncalled for, rude, editorial comment, that clearly demonstrates the unfair advantage that occurred many times during the election, when a publication was used as a battering ram to bang home a point.....on behalf of a vested interest. Who the editor is, well, that’s moot. The publisher is top dog and you don’t need a journalism degree to know that as fact! Editors don’t follow the publisher on mast-heads. Therefore....well, the editor answers to the owner. Content? I’ve never come across a publisher yet who admitted he didn’t have knowledge and over-riding authority about what runs and what doesn’t.

I would have expected, for the last print edition of this publication, something more memorable and heartfelt than hurtful.....to both the town and each member of the incoming Gravenhurst Council. To me, it’s a sad way to end, and as I was there in the beginning.....and for some time there-after, I do know how the dream unfurled.....and it was a pleasure to be a part.

To the Mayor-elect.....well, the majority of Gravenhurst citizens are willing to give you a wee bit more time on the job before we cast any opinions, one way or the other.

Good luck!

JUST ANOTHER DAY - IN “OUR TOWN”

Got the news, early on election day that a person I’ve known in the retail business for many years, had passed away on the weekend. I felt bad for the store clerk that morning, who was trying to tell me about her friend’s passing, the day before, tears welling up in her eyes......but a keen sense of decorum, trying to carry-on with business because, after all, it’s a job.....and there’s not a lot of room for emotion while tending a busy main street sale-counter with customers lining up and impatient. They’ve got no time to waste, you see. Time waits for no one. There are places to go and profits to make. Of course, how would they know. They weren’t just then, affected by the sense of tragedy and loss. Yet it just seemed, at that precise moment, that everyone should just stop for a moment.....to respect the person who occupied this same sales desk for more than a decade. It should have been alright in the almighty scheme of things, for the day to day business to just calm for a few minutes of kind reflection. Maybe the shop should have been closed altogether, so the folks here could mourn properly, and not have to trudge on with this over-burden of already burdened life. I left the shop feeling as I do in these circumstances that it just isn’t fair on any count,.....and as naive as I tend to be, it’s that mirror image of “Our Town,” where joy and prosperity, tragedy and sorrow, birth and death raise us in spirit one moment, and dash us into tears the next. This wasn’t a play. It wasn’t a Hollywood script. It was real. It was final.

An election has occurred. Candidates who won last evening’s vote are ecstatic, the losers wonder what went wrong. The pundits are stirring their coffees with varying clatter, and political hangers-on are anxious about having nothing more to do, no more rallies to attend, signs to erect, doors to rap upon. Present councillors will wonder how the world will turn without them, and the newly elected can’t wait to sit at the council chamber in the great hall, in the new town office. They will ponder being able to fulfill their election promises, and make mental notes about their first council pitches, and then meeting the press for their post election interview.

I don’t imagine many of those folks who do now, and who will shortly lead our municipal government, will give too much consideration to the former store manager who succumbed to illness. Afterall, it’s just part of this cycle of life and times.....that fills our hours with pleasure and success at the same time as it purges others of any kind of happiness or contentment. While some enjoy prosperity others suffer from poverty and constant need. As an historian, who has so aggressively pursued the work of William Henry Smith, who wrote the book “Gravenhurst,” the title from which we were named, I understand the philosopher’s argument, that in order to fully appreciate happiness, we must also endure the intrusion of sadness, or there is no means of comparison of emotion. Each time the intrusion hurts as much as it did the time before and the time before that!

I was reminded on this day of my own philosophy about “home town.” There were folks who reacted in kind immediately, and many others who have since offered assistance at this sad time. Looking out upon the town, it was bustling at the noon-hour. Mothers pushing strollers, teenagers hanging in groups swapping tall tales, businessmen in suits on a quest, heavy trucks, like tanks, moving south on the main street, toward the construction site disrupting the business community. Candidates were hustling about to yank down their election signs, some big, some bigger. They had no time. No time. An ever-turning world, you see!

There was however, this gentle, insisted-upon pause. Stolen moments from a busy world, to remember the person who used to meet me here every day.....once, and who was very much a part of the character, the soul of Our Town. When she first began working at the shop, she used to give my boys her own music memorabilia, because she knew they didn’t have a lot of spending money....and they’d appreciate the collectibles that she’d held onto herself for years. It meant a lot to her, to see them pleased by the act of kindness, and it impressed upon them, what kindness means in perpetuity to us all. I often chatted with her for one reason or another, and it was that strange commonplace you see, I very much adore, when everyone is in the place they should be. I have always feared.....loathed change. But as sadness is consumed by the rigors of daily life, and tears dry away eventually, and the pause ends as all pauses do, we will still miss those days of once....and that’s okay!

As I have held as mantra for so many years, it’s the difference between a town, a place to reside, and one that can truly be called a “home town.” It’s what I felt at the counter, with those co-workers, on that particular day that made all the difference to me, because it was a signature of a caring place and caring people....and they held special, a memory of someone they knew as both a colleague and a friend.

It’s what I hope our new council will embrace most of all, when they set out their definition of Gravenhurst for the future.....that they see the humbleness of home above all else, and the humanity that dwells within.....and they appreciate, when bandying about words like “progress” and “moving-forward,” that they come to the appreciation there is so much more to quality of life than business as usual!

Rest in peace Alice. Thank you for kindnesses bestowed over many years.

As time makes memories of us all, this pause ended, I said goodbye to my friend who had told me the news, and I ventured forth, my purchase under my arm, as is my habit after these visits to my favorite shop in Gravenhurst. Today the din of a small town seems too intrusive and disrespectful. There is almost disharmony but sadness won’t muffle the traffic, or stop the sun from breaking through the clouds, or the squirrels from chattering from barren boughs.

It’s just another day isn’t it. I’m just glad I’m home!

COUNCIL OKAY FOR FOUR ACTION PACKED YEARS

For those wise old bards and sage political watchers, debating the candidate qualities, in coffee shops all over town, admittedly, and nervously, there was a very real potential of achieving a dysfunctional council for the next four year marathon. There were personalities burdened by caustic opinions and agendas that may have done more harm than good over a long, financially burdened term of office. I’ve measured this out for most of the last two months and found that there were council configurations that would wage “personality warfare”, with the kind of vortex spinning away, that would suck up a lot of useful business time. This evening’s election results have offered us, the voters, a solid representation without too much compromise. It’s a council that I feel comfortable with, and there was a very real possibility, I was going to head to bed, this evening, for a husky bout of night sweats...... if votes had swung differently.

I’m truly sorry some very good candidates didn’t win but there will be other elections. I lost two myself, back in Bracebridge, so I know it will take a while to deal with the loss.

To one winning candidate, who I talked to frequently during the election campaign, I’m so very pleased your hard work has paid off, and look forward to your leadership on council, and can sense a mayoral run sometime in the future. Don’t be a stranger.

You all played a part in the functioning of democracy, win or lose, and we do appreciate the fact that you took so much of your personal time, to exercise your right to run for office. To John, I insist you take another shot at municipal politics. You do have what it takes. We need critical thinkers.....those who don’t stop educating, and challenging themselves.....and your turn will come. And I’m sure Mike will be ready, willing and able to work the corners for you.

This will be a conservative but interesting council with a few exceptions. I like the business acumen of some, and past municipal council / board of education experience, that should combine to make a good working council......on initial glance of course.....having just now heard the results.

The critics, like old chatty crows, sitting huddled in the gnarled (philosophical) tree above the council table, will study it all in the coming months, and make their critical assessments known.

You can count on it!

Best of luck.

NEVER A FAIR WEATHER FRIEND -

WHEN NOT IN A CANOE, OR ANTIQUING I’M RIGHT HERE - SO CALL

It can be said my blogs are a tad caustic. Like flying down a sandy “acid rain” influenced slide with a bare behind. In retrospect I wouldn’t have it any other way. The feel of grit on the hindy is invigorating after awhile. Aggressive? Hardline? True enough but only because you’re not used to criticism in this town, except on the streets. There’s lots of caustic stuff circulating daily, just not in the press. I worked in the media at a time when caustic was a sort of after-shave. The two newspaper rivalry was immense back in the 1980's, and the reporting staff were like pit bulls on every news source we ferreted out of hiding. Our respective publishers weren’t happy to get “scooped,” and I must admit being very fearful of press day, when we’d find out if the competition nailed us. It was pretty much a fifty-fifty split back then but the point was, you had to keep your teeth sharpened constantly and your will to succeed peaked. Getting that front-page byline, beneath a double-banked, bold faced (above the fold) headline, was better than sex. We didn’t have time for sex anyway. We were young, ambitious, fearless, and well, ruthless when it came to hunting for news. I suppose in some ways, it was an unhealthy obsession. It took me years to come down from that news-week frenzy to fill the paper. I’d easily write a dozen pieces each edition including sports. I even wrote caustic obituaries. “The old bugger lived a good life!”

This is just to footnote my zeal for staying on top of local news.....and at times being a wee bit ahead of the folks who work for the press. I measure them today, fairly or unfairly, by the way I grew into the business, and my apprenticeship with many talented newshounds, who drank hard, played hard and slept little. It sure as hell wasn’t because of the money. We were lucky at the end of the work week to have enough coin left for Friday night beer, at the local watering hole.....which by choice was Bracebridge’s former Albion Hotel, by the tracks, and the Holiday House, where the kindly innkeepers allowed us to keep a tab. A lot of news features got their spark from those late night howling sessions, like wolves, preparing for the next kill. And we’d get our reporting colleagues from the competition press, who often joined us after work, good and tight, and pump them for “off the record” information......which we would then exploit the next issue. So when I remind council hopefuls never to go “off the record,” it’s because there are betrayals as far as the eye can see.....and as the printed word reveals throughout history.

So when we left the table, on those nights, we left them with the bar bill, took their stories, and a few of us found their girlfriends to our liking......leaving with them while the poor bastards fumbled to pay the tab. When I talk about the good old days of reporting, let me tell you, we all lived a little like Paul Rimstead, a Bracebridge lad who made it big as a columnist with the Toronto Sun, in its first years of operation. We even had occasion to drink with Rimmer when he came home to officiate at a Herald-Gazette Rink Rats hockey game. He was our idol. Goes to show how rough we liked it back then.

When Suzanne and I got married, I still carried out the newsie credo. I insisted on booze, news and snooze. A few nights on the porch were spent reflecting on my lifestyle, and how Suzanne wasn’t onside with the excesses, I decided to conform everso slightly. When son Andrew was born, and had only just moved into a newly purchased home, Suzanne was making more money as a teacher, than I was as a lowly reporter, so it was agreed, as nuts as this seems, that I would become a “Mr. Mom.” That’s right. Here’s this irresponsible son-of-a-bitch, columnist, shit-disturber, now a feature editor instead, with a home office and a baby by my side, all the live long day. It was an amazing “no-choice” transition. I used to show up at news conferences and for personal interviews, wearing a snuggly, with a couple of bottles and rattles jammed into my pockets. Gradually my contemporaries stopped calling me for after-work bar socials, and the hockey team I founded in the early eighties, believed my maternal side had sucked the beast from my breast. And I started to turn down outings myself, preferring instead to remain home with Suzanne and Andrew. When second son Robert came along, a few years later, I was already house-broken in parenthood, and found reading story-books aloud was just as neat as tipping the amber brew to the beat of AC /DC, and the gyrations of the stripper, at the local watering refuge for work-weary reporters. I had more time to write and more fun generally. Suzanne didn’t lock me out any more and I stopped drinking out of boredom. It seemed I needed liquid courage more than I knew.

Here it is 2010 and I’m still working from my home office. While it is my third home office, this one now in Gravenhurst, I’m still the on-call Mr. Mom when Suzanne isn’t available. Instead of reading story books, now I’m a band roadie for the boys music business......as well as bringing them various food items from home when their coffers are a little light. When I get all retrospective, I can tell you honestly that marriage and family saved me from perishing like so many other writers, including Rimstead, because of the drink.

Professionally I dedicated myself to feature writing for a wide variety of publications, even in Iceland, where a series of articles I wrote was published in translation, back in the late 1980's. I have become a little gentler in my elder years but not so much that I can’t get caustic now and again when need arises. I’m not out to make headlines.....I’ve had those and felt good about the scoops. Now I pursue antiques mostly, art and antiquarian books and documents, and write what I want, when I want. My favorite book is still “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” and my favorite movie is “A Christmas Carol.” I’m a study in opposites, and an advocate for democracy to the exponent of ten.....and it is still my most vicious pursuit in writing and action.

I have talked to a number of candidates running for this year’s municipal election, here in Gravenhurst, and there are several councillors I really like.....because I see in them, a willingness to learn....a keen interest in enlightenment versus ignorance.....and a potential to help this council infuse logic and critical thought before making decisions that will change our community. I appreciate, more than anything else, that they were willing to discuss matters with an old fuddy-duddy of a bygone era of news reporting. Possibly they sense this old guy must be telling the truth, and not just opining out of boredom. Maybe there’s a wee respect for those who have experience in a quagmire of complexity and entrapments, otherwise known as local politics. I appreciate their wisely honed perception, that they could well be heading into the lion’s den with meat strapped to their thighs. Knowing what the next four years could bring....it’s a good analogy of real potential for disaster......especially, and as I have warned for several years now, the possible closure of South Muskoka Memorial Hospital as we know it. Yea, it’s going to be a tough haul.

The point I’m really trying to make here, is that while I’m too controversial to write in the local press.....and I’d offend advertisers up and down the street with my caustic reality checks, I’m always ready to help friend or foe in a pinch, deal with a local matter sensibly, proportionally, and carefully.....with the experience I possess from many hard years on the front line of local reporting. Arguably I’m more cuddly these days, having been softened as a Mr. Mom for so many years now, I don’t shy away from reaction when it’s required. I don’t sharpen my teeth any more but please don’t take this as a sign I’ve lost my capabilities to gnash onto something that’s not right, affecting my home town or region. I’ve offered folks of all stripes, easy access to a second opinion.....not because I’m an attention-seeker but because I know how a lot of stuff works and becomes dysfunctional, and I stay up on the news of the day, however soft and fluffy it is.....which is far too frequent....especially when there are important stories not being investigated.

Local politicians who find themselves lacking background on some historical issue, or are having a clarity problem with some aspect of government functioning, are always welcome to call or email. No charge. I’m not a fair weather friend. Whether we talk while paddling a canoe, hiking a trail, or sitting coffee in-hand, if you think I can provide some useful information from so many miles traveled, then we should definitely get together. And no I’m not a lobbyist. Unless it involves preserving The Barge, and maintaining the services of Fred Schulz. Then I’m indeed a lobbyist supreme.

Don’t forget to occasionally check my other blog-sites, including my Muskoka and Algonquin Ghosts site......yup, I’m also a ghost hunter. That all started when John Robert Colombo, one of Canada’s revered paranormal story-hunters, suggested my feature stories on Muskoka mysteries would make a great book. Instead of killing trees to publish a book, I’ve used cyber-space instead. On there you will find the story of “the death bed” I bought for my wife. No kidding.

ADA FLORENCE KINTON AND I HAVE A DATE THIS WINTER, IN SUPPORT OF THE SALVATION ARMY FOOD BANK

Since I began working for the local Muskoka press, back in 1979, first from a news desk at the Georgian Bay-Muskoka Lakes Beacon, in MacTier, up to and including my years with The Herald-Gazette, Muskoka Sun, Muskoka Advance, The Muskokan, The Examiner, The Banner, The Wayback Times and currently Curious; The Tourist Guide (online), I’ve amassed a rather significant collection of feature articles, some that ran over a few months, and several that ran monthly over a year. Point is, I’ve always got a bin-load of feature articles and local histories to update and re-write for today’s audience. If I was in a musical group, I suppose you’d say, “I’d be my own tribute band.”

There’s one biography I’ve returned to twice before, because I have a deep devotion to the subject. And I’m not really sure why. I’ve worked on many compelling and emotion-laden stories in the past. This one however, was as if I’d been touched by something divine......as one might expect from an audience with an angel. On the day when we found each other, she was alone in the corner of a book shop, and I was a writer without a muse. She was the subject of a 1907 book, entitled “Just One Blue Bonnet,” and I was the book collector with just enough coins in my pocket, to make this biography my own.

It was in part, you see, a regional Muskoka text, as a fair component was set in the Huntsville region, well before the turn of the century. As my job was to ferret-out good local histories, this looked like a gem. And it contained a personal journal regarding her stay in the district, with many observations about the settlement, the inhabitants, local customs and the hinterland surrounding the pioneer encampment, with accurate descriptions of the flora and fauna, and wildlife beyond. You might say Ada Florence Kinton, and I, were kindred spirits even though we were more than a lifetime apart.

Ada Kinton was a member of the Salvation Army, as referenced by the “blue bonnet,” and she wrote for the publication “War Cry,” when not working as a personal assistant to Booth family members, while on international missions. Before she was a member of the church, she was an accomplished artist and teacher, and as well, became a talented writer. She made many pioneer era sketches and paintings, while residing in Huntsville, with her brothers, who were amongst the early settlers and business founders in the hamlet. When she arrived in Muskoka, following the death of her father, in England, the transplanted Miss Kinton was deeply homesick, and worried about her future in a new and barren land.

The story, in a nutshell, is about devotion, sacrifice, and compassion. I visited her grave recently, tucked into an old, treed cemetery in central Huntsville, and felt a gentle comfort standing above her tombstone, as if she was pleased in spirit, her biographer had finally paid a visit to her final resting spot.....which was a beautiful plot in a quiet place, surrounded by family members, and despite the din of daily life in a thriving town, there was a prevailing solitude. She passed away, early in the 1900's, on a porch not far from this gravesite. In those final days, her sister helped her onto the porch, so she could watch the comings and goings of her adopted hometown. She had been greatly fatigued by her missionary work, and had suffered numerous debilitating illnesses, contracted in tropical climates. Ada was still a young woman but appeared much older and feeble, in those last days residing in Huntsville. Despite being in constant bodily pain and being weak from fever, she was contented with the days of her life, and the people she had come to know in so many walks of life. One would think that a great writer like Charles Dickens or Washington Irving, would have celebrated her as a character in one of their memorable novels, had she been known to them. Her work amongst the poor in England and Canada was legendary, and it was this compassion that drew people to her side, whether it was the destitute, the intellectual crowd, or her art students, looking for her leadership and advice. Many of her art school graduates, both in England and Canada, became highly accomplished painters.

This is just a wee introduction to a 12 part series of articles I’m now preparing for Curious; The Tourist Guide, which will run over the coming year. It is online so you can read it there if you can’t find the publication.....which is available at select shops in Muskoka and Southern Ontario. The column is dedicated to the Salvation Army’s Food Bank, in Gravenhurst, Ontario, my hometown.......and my hope is that readers will be inspired to make a food or cash donation to a food bank in their own community. My first column on Ada Florence Kinton will appear in the November issue, and there will be a special Christmas-themed column in December of course. You can access the article by searching “Curious; The Tourist Guide.” As I am writing this feature series, as an exclusive for this publication, it will not be published on my blog-site.

Please keep the Food Bank in mind this coming holiday season. They could really use your help......it’s the neighborly thing to do. The folks in need, well, they are our neighbors!

SHORT ELECTION NOTES - WHY NOT?

A number of years ago, while working on an anniversary of South Muskoka Memorial Hospital, and Bracebridge Memorial Hospital circa 1927, an invited member of the special committee, working on behalf of the Hospital Foundation, tipped me off that closure of the facility was a very real possibility. It was said to me as Hospital Historian at the time. I never forgot it, and have written numerous blogs and letters to the editor, of the local press, trying to relay the message that unless the citizens of South Muskoka are vigilant, and up to speed on every single issue regarding the financial shortfalls of the facility, a dire consequence could be the result of ignorance and apathy.

There have been all kinds of comments coming from hospital officials, back to the apparently negative press (the press gets blamed for a lot of stuff.....but seldom credited for keeping us on top of important issues effecting our community), over the past four years in particular that seem an awful lot like damage control and public relations mantra, so as to not affect the fundraising efforts of the hospital.....which was the latest argument to keep negative news about its future off the front page. I warned the press some time ago that a closure was not as far-fetched as hospital officials might have you believe. The problem here it that the “public’s right to know,” is being confused by some folks, with a protocol of “what is less-damning for us.....for you to know!” If the financial problems were in any way to affect the future operation of the hospital, even if it was of the smallest potential, why is it that management would feel this knowledge would be a public relations problem? Sometimes enlightenment secures folks with solutions. The real problem here, is when it’s finally revealed by time and research that our suspicions weren’t misguided, we wonder collectively why we weren’t told of this sooner......and why we continue to be treated as morons?

As I have written in this blog and in letters to the editor, the councils in our region, regardless of being a district representative, or town councillor, it’s time to get off the fence and commence paying attention, for starters. Towns in our region have been accommodating developers, wishing to build seniors housing all over the place, and making our region look real good to retirees from the rest of the province, when for at least part of this time, the future of the hospital here has been unclear.....except for the debt part. When we seek out development you can bet the economic development committees are flogging the fact we are well served by medical facilities. Is it negligence on our part then, that we have attracted so many seniors to our region, while knowing full well, services were going to be reduced for these same citizens in the near future? Did these committee flag this part of the brochure, and ad, “by the way.....don’t count on it!” Don’t think they wanted to rain on their own parade.

This is a provincial fight and it’s not the first or last time it will be a fight. Frank Miller, former MPP, and Health Minister of Ontario, and former Hospital Administrator Frank Henry, fought relentlessly to keep our hospital open. It will take a relentless fight to keep it open in the future.

South Muskoka Memorial Hospital was founded in 1927 as a memorial to those local citizens who gave their lives for our freedom...... It seems to me a worthy battle to push on with, to keep our hospital a memorial for many decades to come.

AS TO WHETHER AN EDITOR IS RESPONSIBLE TO PUBLISHER OR NOT?

In my years as editor with the local press, I was never, ever, above the publisher in management authority, when it came to demanding what went in the weekly paper. There wasn’t one edition that left our newspaper office that didn’t have the publisher, or the associate publisher’s approval.....or it simply didn’t get printed until addressed. Over the years I’ve had many editor - publisher disputes, some that very nearly cost me my job but I never once misunderstood the chain of command. And if I’m not mistaken, when there is a legal action against a publication, the publisher is in the mix regardless. Seeing as the publisher has to be able to defend the work of the editor and staff, because it is a basic protocol of responsibility..... of ownership, its representation, or simply as the spokesperson of the publication,..... an editor is not above a necessary control......even if that only means protecting the outlet from legal ramifications of one nature or another.....as well as protecting the business component for those with a vested interest.

As editor, I was told by two publishers, over my tenure, to write an editorial about an issue I didn’t agree. I agreed that it was the right of the publisher to insist on insertion of such an editorial opinion but not acceptable to ask the editor to support or author the piece. I wasn’t fired and I didn’t support the editorial when asked by readership. That was the right and privilege of the publisher to use the chain of command to run the newspaper. But there was no mistaking the reality, that if I had objected to the editorials running in “my” paper, and refused their inclusion, I would have been dismissed for basic insubordination by the boss.......only over-ruled by a board of directors if a larger ownership arrangement.

Just for your information.

ELECTION LULL - WHAT A NICE CHANGE OF PACE

LOOKING FORWARD TO ROY MACGREGOR’S NEW BOOK ON THOMSON MYSTERY

For the first time in the past month, this blog isn’t about elections or their kind....but it is about living and working in Gravenhurst, and as an historian, loving anything to do with Tom Thomson. I have great respect and admiration for the folks who write so poignantly about his work, his life and times, and what we’d be missing without his incredible contribution to today’s national identity. Thomson’s was a short life. And true enough, it did end in mystery. While I’ve been enthralled with his art work from childhood, when the school text books then contained some of his best known panels, I’ve been an admirer throughout my life. When I look out on the horizon above the lake, and see a typical late autumn sky, I think of Thomson. When I see vividly colored wildflowers in sunny patches, scattered in the woodlands, I recall how Thomson worked so mindfully to match the colors with what he witnessed in person. Whether it is the Northern Lights quivering in a late autumn sky, or an approaching spring storm, I think to myself, I bet Thomson would have been interested in this.

I knew well known Canadian author / historian, Roy MacGregor, was working on a new book about the mysterious death of Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, who perished while traversing Algonquin’s Canoe Lake, in July of 1917. I corresponded with Roy over a few days, a couple of years ago, about work he was doing on the Thomson case. I’ve been a Thomson sleuth since the mid 1990's, when I acquired the 1970's signed first edition, of William Little’s “Tom Thomson Mystery,” from the Salvation Army Thrift Shop, here in Gravenhurst. As a matter of some irony, at the same time, I was reading the weekly installments in a local newspaper which was carrying a series of articles about Thomson’s demise, as written by long-time woodsman and Algonquin guide, Ralph Bice. Judge Little had only recently passed away, and this series of articles made a strong point of criticizing the author’s allegation Thomson had been the victim of foul play. He contradicted Judge Little numerous times, suggesting instead that Thomson was a poor canoeist and it led to his downfall. Bice, as well as a few others, have maintained Thomson, after a wee dram, simply stood up in the canoe, mid-traverse, and relieved himself, toppling down onto the gunnel where he smashed his head. Knocked-out, he sank to the bottom, and the rest is history.

I’ve been chasing this story ever-since and I’ve published numerous feature series on the case, in a variety of papers in Ontario, and that in part gave me a wonderful opportunity to chat with Mr. MacGregor, who I highly regard in both the writing industry in Canada, and for his research on the Thomson case.....which first surfaced for me in his largely fictional account....that brushed closely by the truth.....entitled “Shorelines,” dealing in part with Thomson’s romantic liaison just prior to his death. I offered a few bits and bobs of information, and have waited anxiously for the actual publication’s release, and the promised new information the text was supposed to contain. The biggest news for me, was that the skull, initially removed from a grave-site on Canoe Lake, where he was first buried after being pulled from the lake, was given a facial reconstruction by a leading forensic institution, and it appears as if the grave, (supposedly empty after an exhumation ordered by the Thomson family, later in July 1917) still has Thomson’s body within......or his twin as the reconstruction shows. This supports Judge Little’s theory, dating back to the 1950's, when he and three mates held an impromtu exhumation at the Mowat (Canoe Lake) Cemetery, and found that there was still a body buried in what was supposed to be an empty grave. When Little went to authorities and asked for the case of Thomson’s death, and final burial place, to be the subject of inquiry, the matter was intruded upon by many different sources, insisting the case be closed. With questionable forensic scrutiny, it was decided the skull belonged to a First Nations victim, the hole in the skull the result of some medical procedure, to reduce pressure on the brain.

Wow, this is really confusing isn’t it! What is exciting about the book, for this Thomson mystery fanatic, is that it somewhat proves William Little was right, when he claimed that the Huntsville undertaker, who had claimed to have moved Thomson from Mowat, to Leith, Ontario (near Owen Sound) via the train, had really only moved enough Algonquin earth to feel the weight of a newly deceased artist. I’ve pestered Roy about this, to no avail, but it sure begs now, that the Leith grave be the subject of a final investigation, to determine if that grave is empty. In the biography of Robert and Signe McMichael, who created the well respected McMichael Collection, of Kleinberg, entitled “One Man’s Obsession,” there is a reference, as related to a Thomson family source, to the metal coffin being opened by the undertaker, to satisfy Tom Thomson’s father.....who was then at peace that the plot would indeed contain the remains of his son. Now with this new forensic evidence that the skull was most likely Thomson’s, it is an even more poignant mystery now......because there was only one Tom Thomson, and there now appears to be two actual graves according to accounts new and old. Fascinating.

I ran it buy David Silcox, recently, well known in the art community, for having written “Silence of the Storm,” the biography of Tom Thomson, who has avoided the controversy of which grave is which.....and as he re-iterates, each time we chat about Thomson, the real importance is to value the art work he created during his life, which of course reminds me that we do tend to spend more time discussing the mysterious circumstances of his death, versus celebrating his wonderful art work he bestowed upon us.....now so proudly and affectionately part of our national identity for all these decades.

I’m torn between the issues, admittedly, yet in awe of the work of both men, Canadian historians, who have given us so much information on the life and work of painter, Tom Thomson.

This is the kind of material I work on most, here in my Gravenhurst office, when there’s no election bumping about!