Gravenhurst and Political Posturing, A Nice Place To Live and Work, and The Fellow Who Owned A Big Ditchburn

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - THE PLACE I WAKE UP TO EACH MORNING - THE URBAN, WALDEN POND OF SOUTH MUSKOKA

A STRANGE SOLITUDE FOR THE CONTEMPORARY VOYEUR

   
     I WROTE TODAY'S BLOG BASED ON A FEW STORIES, I'VE HEARD RECENTLY, THAT I DIDN'T FIND AT ALL FLATTERING TO THE OLD HOMETOWN. ACTUALLY, A LITTLE TROUBLING, AS FAR AS ALL THE STORIES I'VE HEARD BEFORE. OUT OF HUNDREDS, I AM EXPOSED TO, BY THE SIMPLE REALITY WE RUN A MAIN STREET SHOP IN GRAVENHURST, AND OPERATE THE KIND OF BUSINESS THAT ENCOURAGES CASUAL HERITAGE CHATS. I HEAR A LOT OF CRITIQUES ABOUT GRAVENHURST EVERY YEAR, AND AT LEAST SEVERAL TIMES A WEEK, ONE OF OUR CUSTOMERS WILL OFFER-UP SOME NASTY OVERVIEW, REGARDING A LESS THAN PLEASING ENCOUNTER WITH THE TOWN'S POLITICAL WING. I HEARD ANOTHER ONE TODAY, AND IT REALLY BOTHERED ME. WHEN SOMEONE SAYS, THEY CAN'T WAIT TO LEAVE THIS TOWN, YOU CAN INTERPRET IT ONE OF TWO WAYS. EITHER THERE IS A REALLY WONDERFUL OPPORTUNITY ELSEWHERE, OR THERE IS SERIOUS DISPLEASURE WITH THE TOWN FOR SOME SIGNIFICANT PERSONAL REASON. OF COURSE THERE ARE ALWAYS UNFOUNDED CLAIMS IN THE GUISE OF HARD LUCK STORIES, WHICH ONE HAS TO WEIGH AGAINST KNOWN FACT. WE'RE NOT ADVERSE TO CORRECTING ANYONE WHO, WE BELIEVE, IS PASSING ALONG INACCURATE INFORMATION. WE DON'T DO THIS IN A RUDE FASHION, BUT WE ALSO CAN'T TOLERATE HURTFUL GOSSIP, THAT IS BASED ENTIRELY ON FALSEHOODS. WE'VE BEEN THE SUBJECT OF MANY OF THESE IN THE PAST, OURSELVES, SO FORGIVE OUR SENSITIVITY.
      WHEN I LIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE, I HEARD ROUGHLY THE SAME KIND OF CRITIQUES. I THINK THEY'RE PRETTY COMMON IN THE MUNICIPALITIES OF THIS BIG OLD WORLD. THERE ARE ALWAYS THOSE WHO FEEL UNFAIRLY TREATED. WE RAN AN ANTIQUE SHOP BRACEBRIDGE AS WELL, AND HAD AN ALMOST CONSTANT "HOT STOVE LEAGUE" COUNTER-SIDE GATHERING, OF POLITICAL COMMENTARY, WHERE LOCAL GOVERNMENT WAS CRITIQUED FOR HOURS ON END. EVEN LIVING AND WORKING IN GRAVENHURST, I STILL HEAR SOME OF THESE NEGATIVE OVERVIEWS ABOUT MY FORMER HOME TOWN, BUT AS A LONG-TIME BRACEBRIDGE HISTORIAN, I ASK THEM TO GIVE ME THE REASON THEY FEEL THIS WAY. I REALLY WANT TO KNOW. AND, AS I NOTED PREVIOUSLY, I WILL CORRECT ANY HISTORICAL INACCURACY. I'VE HAD MANY OF THESE SELF PROFESSED EXPERTS, ARGUE THESE POINTS WITH ME, BUT I DON'T HAVE ANY PROBLEM COMING UP WITH HARD EVIDENCE TO SUPPORT MY POSITION. I DO THE SAME WHEN SOMEONE COMPLAINS ABOUT GRAVENHURST, IN A SIMILAR OUTBURST, AND IN ONE HUNDRED PERCENT OF THESE INTERACTIONS, WHERE I PRESS FOR SOME SUBSTANCE TO THE CRITIQUES, THE ANSWER COMES BACK THE SAME, TIME AND AGAIN. "POLITICS." "MEAN POLITICS." AND BY THE WAY, THE SUGGESTION OF "THE POLITICS OF THE TOWN," DOESN'T MEAN IT ALL COMES FROM TOWN COUNCIL OR TOWN HALL. IT DOES REFER TO WHAT A SMALL PERCENTAGE OF OUR CITIZENRY FEEL ARE POWER PLAYS BY THE FEW, TO SUIT THEIR OWN AGENDAS. A PRETTY COMMON COMPLAINT. AND WHAT ARE SEEN AS POLITICAL ALLIANCES, THAT HAVE IN SOME WAY, EITHER CAUSED INCONVENIENCE, OR OBSTRUCTED SOMETHING FROM EITHER TAKING PLACE, OR EVER TAKING PLACE, BECAUSE OF A PRESUMED HUMAN BLOCKADE.     WHILE I AM WILDLY LOYAL TO MY PRESENT HOMETOWN, DESPITE THOSE WHO WILL CRITIQUE THIS AS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE, (THAT WE WOULD LIKE TO DESTROY IT INSTEAD), I DO FIND MYSELF THESE DAYS, DISTANCING MYSELF FROM ANYTHING THAT SMACKS OF POLITICAL POSTURING. IT'S NOT EASY TO DIVORCE OURSELVES FROM POLITICAL CURRENTS AND INITIATIVES. THERE ARE THOSE RESIDENTS NOW, WHO ARE FEELING AS IF THEY ARE OUTSIDERS IN A TOWN THEY HAVE RESIDED-IN FOR DECADES, WITH FAMILY ROOTS GOING BACK GENERATIONS.
     IT ISN'T THE CASE, THAT I PLAN A ONE PERSON CRUSADE, TO STOP OPPORTUNISTS FROM ASSUMING WHATEVER AUTHORITY, THEY THINK WILL MAKE THEM MORE POWERFUL IN THIS COMMUNITY. GO FOR IT, IF THIS IS WHAT PLEASES YOU! THOSE WHO WANT THIS POWER, WILL HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES, OF THEIR FAILED MISSION; BECAUSE THERE ARE A FEW OF US KICKING AROUND WHO CAN'T ABIDE SOCIAL / POLITICAL GAMESMANSHIP.      MY SOLID OPINION OF GRAVENHURST, IS BASED ON THE NEIGHBORHOODS IN WHICH WE LIVE AND WORK, AND HOW THEY RELATE TO US AS PARTNERS IN THE MUNICIPALITY. WE SEE THIS REGION OF SOUTH MUSKOKA, AS THE BEAUTIFUL PLACE IT IS, AND HAVE LEARNED TO IGNORE THE POLITICAL MANIPULATIONS, OF THOSE WHO WISH TO BE OUR NOVEAU ROYALTY. THERE IS NO POWER ELITE IN GRAVENHURST THAT HAS ANY MORE INFLUENCE THAN THE AVERAGE CITIZEN, RESIDING IN A SMALL BUNGALOW, IN A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD, WHO WALKS THE DOG THREE TIMES A DAY, KINDLY FEEDS THE BIRDS, AND STOPS THE CAR TO HELP AN INJURED SQUIRREL, THAT THEY MAY HAVE ACCIDENTALLY HIT ON THE ROAD. I HAVE COME TO KNOW THE CITIZENRY OF THIS TOWN, BEYOND THE VEIL OF POLITICS, AND FOUND A WONDERFUL, SHARING, GENEROUS, AND FORGIVING COMMUNITY, WHERE THERE IS NO NEED TO DECLARE SELF IMPORTANCE, JUST TO BE ONE OF THE GANG.
     IT WILL READ FAMILIAR, I SUPPOSE, BECAUSE I TYPICALLY COMPOSE FOUR BLOGS EACH YEAR, AS A MODEST THANKS, BACK TO THE HOST COMMUNITY, THAT HAS BEEN A GOOD HOME FOR OUR FAMILY SINCE 1989. I WROTE THE FOLLOWING BLOG, ON THIS OCCASION, ON THE BACK OF TWO NASTY STORIES I'VE HEARD IN 24 HOURS, THAT REFLECT BADLY ON THE GOOD NATURE OF THE TOWN AS A WHOLE. OF COURSE THERE'S ALWAYS MORE TO THE STORY, AND I DON'T BELIEVE UNSUBSTANTIATED CRITIQUES, TOLD OUT OF FRUSTRATION AND ANGER. VENTING IS NOT ALWAYS IN THE VEIN OF ACCURACY. BUT THESE ARE UNSETTLING CLAIMS NONE THE LESS, AND NEVER SOLICITED BY US, FOR THE SAKE OF SPECTACLE. IN FACT, IT DISCOURAGES US VERY MUCH. IN EACH CASE THIS WEEK, I UNDERSTOOD THE STORIES, AND WHY THE FOLKS INVOLVED WOULD BE UPSET AT THEIR RESPECTIVE SITUATIONS. BOTH, BY THE WAY, WERE CLEARLY AWARE, THERE WAS NO RECOURSE FOR THEM, AND THAT THEY WOULD HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE PREVAILING CIRCUMSTANCE. I AM NOT QUALIFIED TO JUDGE WHETHER THEIR CLAIMS WERE RIGHT OR WRONG, BUT I AM ABLE TO WEIGH THEM ACCORDING TO ALL THE OTHER STORIES I'VE HEARD. SOME MORE UPSETTING THAN OTHERS. SOMEONE SAID TO ME ONE DAY, THAT LIVING IN GRAVENHURST WAS LIKE PLAYING A LARGE SCALE GAME OF "SURVIVOR," WHERE ALLIANCES MAKE POWER PLAYS TO GET WHAT THEY WANT. IT IS NOT A TOWN HALL THING. I BELIEVE IT IS A SORT OF CHANGING OF THE GUARD SCENARIO, IN HISTORICAL TERMS, WHERE A NEW SOCIAL LEADERSHIP HAS TAKEN THE REIGNS FROM THE FORMER MOVERS AND SHAKERS, AND IT HASN'T BEEN A SMOOTH TRANSITION.
     IT IS A MANIFESTATION OF AWKWARD POWER MONGERING, THAT WILL EVENTUALLY DIMINISH, BECAUSE OF ITS OWN IRRELEVANCE. THE RESULT OF ITS FAILURE TO ACHIEVE WHATEVER IT INTENDED IN THE FIRST PLACE. THERE ARE TOO MANY SELF INTERESTS GOING ON, TO CREATE ANY REAL ARROW-HEAD. IT WOULD SEEM THAT EVERY SOCIAL / POLITICAL CLIMBER WANTS TO BE AT THE TOP, AND YOU KNOW HOW THAT WORKS OUT. IN THE MEANTIME, IT IS A DISTRACTION FROM ONGOING WORK TO MAINTAIN OUR COMMUNITY DYNAMIC AND ECONOMIC VIABILITY. THOSE WHO DON'T TAKE THIS GENERAL CRITIQUE SERIOUSLY, ARE THE VERY ONES WHO ARE CONTRIBUTING TO THE ILL-WILL, THAT FLOURISHES HERE QUITE UNABATED. IT'S A SHAME IT HAS TO BE THIS WAY. BUT NO MATTER HOW MANY NEGATIVE COMMENTS WE GET ABOUT OUR HOMETOWN, IT IS STILL THE PLACE WE CHOOSE TO LIVE AND RUN OUR FAMILY BUSINESS. WE HAVE FOUND A LOT OF KINDRED SPIRITS IN THIS COMMUNITY, THAT ONLY RE-ENFORCE OUR POINT OF VIEW; THAT AS IT HAS BEEN FROM ITS PIONEER YEARS, GRAVENHURST HAS AND CONTINUES TO BE A SOLID, STALWART HOMETOWN, THAT WE CAN BE PROUD OF. DESPITE THE NEGATIVE COMMENTS, AND THE EFFORTS OF FOOLISH PEOPLE, TO ATTEMPT TO CHANGE THE TOWN, TO MIRROR THEIR OWN VALUES AND AMBITIONS, IT WON'T HAPPEN. THIS IS A TOWN WORTH FIGHTING FOR, AND WHILE IT MIGHT NECESSITATE SOME FUTURE SKIRMISHES WITH ADVERSARIES, WE'D RATHER FIGHT THAN SWITCH.
     I WROTE THE BLOG TODAY, BECAUSE OF THESE LATEST COMMENTS, ABOUT OUR TOWN. I HAVE NO CAPABILITY OF CURTAILING THE POLITICAL GAMES THAT GO ON HERE, BUT I WON'T BACK DOWN FROM MY MISSION, TO PRESENT A THOUSAND AND ONE REASONS, WHY THIS IS A HOME TOWN THAT DESERVES BETTER FROM ITS LEADERSHIP. A LOT BETTER.        

     I REMEMBER SITTING UP ON THE SAND EMBANKMENT, OF PONCE INLET, JUST SOUTH OF DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA, WATCHING THE OCEAN WAVES TUMBLING AND CRASHING DOWN ONTO THE SHORE, AND THINKING, THIS WAS THE PLACE TO INVEST MY FUTURE INTERESTS IN WRITING. AS I HAD ALWAYS BEEN DRAWN TO THE WORK OF AMERICAN POET, WALLACE STEVENS, ESPECIALLY HIS POEM "THE IDEA OF ORDER AT KEY WEST," I FOUND THAT THE OCEAN-SCAPE WAS POWERFULLY LIBERATING. IF YOU ARE AT ALL FAMILIAR WITH WRITER'S BLOCK, THE STALEMATE AUTHORS FEAR WILL KILL THEIR CAREERS, PONCE INLET, FOR ME, WAS THE ONE NATURAL PARADISE, I HAD ACCESS TO, THAT HELD ME SPELLBOUND. EVEN THOUGH I HAD NO REASON TO FEEL WORLDLY, SITTING COMFORTABLY ON THE SAND BEACH, LISTENING TO THE WAVES POUNDING ONTO THE HARD PACKED SHORE, WAS ENTIRELY THERAPEUTIC, AND WRITER-FRIENDLY. AT ONE MOMENT, IT COULD INSPIRE A SHORT STORY, A DOZEN POEMS, EVEN A NOVEL, AND THEN, IN ANOTHER, DRAW ME INTO ITS SOLITUDE, SUCH THAT I WOULD GRADUALLY SINK INTO THE TRANCE OF NEAR SLUMBER. IT WAS AN EXCITING PLACE, YET IT COULD BE TRANQUIL AT THE SAME TIME. IT WAS MY PLACE TO SEEK IDEAS FOR WRITING PROJECTS, AND IT WAS A RESPITE WHEN I WAS EXHAUSTED FROM TRYING TOO HARD TO BE A WORLD REKNOWN AUTHOR. IT WAS A FORGIVING PLACE, AND I COULD DAYDREAM OR EVEN SLUMBER IF I FELT SO INCLINED. ONCE I NEARLY LOST MY FATHER'S OLDSMOBILE, WHEN IT GOT STUCK IN THE SAND, AFTER BEING HIT BY A LARGE WAVE AS THE TIDE WAS CHANGING. I WAS LUCKY TO SAVE THE VEHICLE, BUT IT DEMONSTRATED CLEARLY, JUST HOW POWERFUL NATURE WAS, AMIDST THE ATMOSPHERE OF RELATIVE TRANQUILITY.
     AS MY PARENTS USED TO WINTER EACH JANUARY AND FEBRUARY IN FLORIDA, I WAS ENCOURAGED TO JOIN THEM, EVEN WHEN IT INVOLVED SOME HOME TUTORING WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL. MY PARENTS, WHO I NEVER FELT WERE OVERLY PHILOSOPHICAL IN ANY OTHER WAY, BELIEVED THE EXPERIENCE OF TRAVEL AND EXPLORATION, WOULD HELP BROADEN MY KNOWLEDGE. RIGHT THROUGH UNIVERSITY, I HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE CHRISTMAS SEASON VACATIONS, IN FLORIDA, AND I'D ALWAYS FIND TIME DURING THESE VISITS, TO TRAVEL DOWN TO PONCE INLET, TO SIT ALONG THE SHORE OF WHAT I FELT WAS A MODEST PARADISE, AND SANCTUARY FOR A BUDDING WRITER. I SUPPOSE THIS WAS MY ERNEST HEMINGWAY PERIOD. I WOULD SIT ON THE BEACH WITH A NOTE-PAD, AND MAKE COPIOUS NOTES ABOUT STORIES AND EVEN BOOKS I WANTED TO PURSUE. I WROTE SHORT POEMS, BUT MOSTLY MADE OBSERVATIONS ABOUT THE OCEAN AND THE TIDES, AS IT IMPACTED THE SHORELINE. MY LAST VACATION TO FLORIDA, AND FINAL VISIT TO PONCE INLET, WAS DURING MY CHRISTMAS SEASON HOLIDAY IN 1983. WHEN I RETURNED HOME, THAT WINTER, I MET SUZANNE, WHILE COVERING AN EVENT FOR THE MUSKOKA WINTER CARNIVAL, IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND BY THE FALL, WE WERE MARRIED. I WAS THEN INTRODUCED TO A BEAUTIFUL HILLSIDE LOCATION ON THE SHORE OF LAKE ROSSEAU, IN THE VILLAGE OF WINDERMERE, WHERE SUZANNE'S FAMILY HAD AN ELEGANT OLD FAMILY HOMESTEAD, BUILT EARLY IN THE 1900'S, OPPOSITE WELLSLEY ISLAND (DIRECTLY ACROSS THE CHANNEL), AND FLORENCE ISLAND TO THE EAST. WE SPENT A LOT OF TIME THERE, THROUGH THE FOUR SEASONS, AND MY NEW PONCE INLET, WITH A MUSKOKA BACKDROP, WAS THIS MAGNIFICENT LAKEFRONT, WITH AN AMAZING PANORAMA, AS WE ENJOYED DAILY FROM THE FRONT VERANDAH. THE HILLSIDE LOCATION AFFORDED AN EXCEPTIONAL VIEW OF THE ISLAND ACROSS THE LAKE ROSSEAU CHANNEL. IT WAS NO HARDSHIP ADJUSTING FROM A SEASCAPE TO LAKE ROSSEAU. I HAVE BEEN SMITTEN BY MUSKOKA EVER SINCE.
     AS A MATTER OF SOME GOOD FORTUNE, I HAVE NEVER SUFFERED FROM LONG BOUTS OF WRITER'S BLOCK. I HAVEN'T BEEN SPARED ITS INFLUENCES, AND FRUSTRATIONS, BUT NEVER TO THE POINT, I WOULD CONSIDER QUITTING THE PROFESSION BECAUSE OF A MINOR OBSTACLE; OR THE PROVERBIAL DRY WELL OF INSPIRATION. IT IS WHY I WAS SO CAREFUL IN PICKING OUR PRESENT PROPERTY IN GRAVENHURST. SUZANNE, FROM HER YEARS AT THE COTTAGE IN WINDERMERE, AND OUR NEWLYWED DAYS CANOEING ALL OVER LAKE ROSSEAU, FOUND OUT VERY CLEARLY BY TOTAL IMMERSION, WHAT A HINTERLAND VANTAGE POINT, AND CLOSE ACCESS TO UNOBSTRUCTED NATURE, COULD MEAN TO DAILY LIFE. WHILE I WAS TRAINED TO WRITE IN A BUSY NEWS ROOM, IN LATER YEARS, I STARTED TO LOSE THIS CAPABILITY, SIMPLY BECAUSE I COULDN'T CONCENTRATE WITH A WILD DIN GOING-ON AROUND ME. I'VE DESCRIBED A NEWSROOM MANY TIMES IN THESE BLOGS, BUT NOTHING CAN DO IT JUSTICE WITHOUT A COMPANION SOUND TRACK.
    AFTER SON ANDREW WAS BORN, IN 1985, I STAYED HOME TO LOOK AFTER HIM, AND DID MY EDITORIAL WORK FROM OUR ONTARIO STREET HOUSE, TWO BLOCKS FROM THE HERALD-GAZETTE OFFICE. AFTER SECOND SON, ROBERT, WAS BORN, WE MOVED TO A NICE LITTLE 1960'S ERA COTTAGE, ON GOLDEN BEACH ROAD, NEAR BOWYER'S BEACH. IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE, WITH LAKE MUSKOKA ACROSS THE ROAD, COMFORTABLY NESTLED INTO A PINE FOREST IN THE BACKYARD. IT WAS JUST BECAME AN INCONVENIENT LOCATION WITH A YOUNG FAMILY, AND MOM AND POP BEING INVOLVED IN SO MANY COMMUNITY ACTIVITIES. SUZANNE AND I RAN WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM, AND BECAUSE WE HAD A HUGE NUMBER OF PROBLEMS WITH THE BUILDING'S ALARM SYSTEMS, I WOULD HAVE TO DRIVE BACK TO BRACEBRIDGE AFTER MIDNIGHT, SOMETIMES THREE TIMES A WEEK. GOLDEN BEACH WAS AN INSPIRING PLACE, BUT IT DIDN'T SUIT OUR LIFESTYLE AT THE TIME. SO WE SOLD IT AFTER ONLY A COUPLE OF YEARS, MOVED BACK TO WINDERMERE FOR THE FALL SEASON, WHERE THE DAILY COMMUTE ALMOST KILLED US (NEAR MISSES WITH HEAD ON COLLISIONS, DRIVING BACK AND FORTH TO BRACEBRIDGE). THIS IS WHEN WE DECIDED TO LOOK AT A COUPLE OF HOUSES IN GRAVENHURST. AS SOON AS I SAW BIRCH HOLLOW, AND THE LOWLAND ACROSS THE ROAD, BOTH OF US WERE SOLD ON THE POTENTIAL OF THE PROPERTY. IT WAS CLOSE TO THE MAIN STREET, A THREE MINUTE DRIVE TO THE HIGH SCHOOL, WHERE SUZANNE WAS TEACHING AT THE TIME, AND WE COULD WALK TO GET OUR GROCERIES IF WE WERE WITHOUT A VEHICLE AT SOME POINT. WE ARE STILL ANCHORED COMFORTABLY TO BIRCH HOLLOW, AND I HAVE NEVER SUFFERED FROM WRITER'S BLOCK. I HAVE, WITH PURPOSEFUL INTENT, OPTED TO TAKE HIATUS PERIODS FROM DAY TO DAY WRITING, ONCE FOR MOST OF A YEAR. NOT BECAUSE THERE WAS SOME SHORTFALL OF INSPIRATION, PROVIDED BY THIS LOVELY LITTLE CRANNY IN THE LANDSCAPE, WHERE OUR TINY BUNGALOW-COTTAGE-LODGE, SITS COMFORTABLY APPOINTED ABOVE THE MOOR.
     EARLY THIS MORNING, ROBERT WAS OVER IN THE BOG TAKING PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE ICED-OVER BOG, AND HE AGREED TO CAPTURE SOME IMAGES OF THE LITTLE CREEKS, AND CATARACTS, FOR ME, THAT I OFTEN WRITE ABOUT, BUT SELDOM SHOW READERS TO BACK UP MY OBSERVATIONS. ROBERT HAS BECOME A NATURE PHOTOGRAPHER OF SOME ACCLAIM, BECAUSE OF THE PROXIMITY WE HAVE, TO THIS DIVERSE WETLAND, WITH ITS TALL PINES AND BORDER FOREST; THE DOZENS OF LITTLE CREEKS THAT CRISS CROSS OVER THE TWENTY ACRES, EVENTUALLY DECLINING INTO THE BASIN OF MUSKOKA BAY, OF THE WIDER LAKE MUSKOKA. IT'S AN URBAN OASIS WHICH I THINK, IS WHAT MAKES IT SO UNIQUE. THE SURROUNDING NEIGHBORHOODS ARE BUILT RESPECTFULLY AROUND IT, WITHOUT SERIOUS COMPROMISE, AND THERE ARE TIMES, DEEP WITHIN, THAT YOU CAN'T HEAR MUCH URBAN INTRUSION WHATSOEVER.
     WHILE THE SPLENDOR OF OUR NATURAL RESOURCES IN GRAVENHURST, ISN'T POWERFUL ENOUGH ON ITS OWN, TO STIFLE THE POLITICAL TUG-OF-WAR THAT RAGES ON, BEHIND THE SCENES OF A CHARMING LITTLE TOWN, IT IS AN EMPOWERMENT FOR ME; THE ENVIRONMENT THAT HAS NEVER FAILED ME, OR ALLOWED ME TO SUFFER WRITER'S BLOCK. I HOPE THE PHOTOGRAPHS ABOVE, ILLUSTRATE, THIS POINT OF VIEW. POLITICS? JUST A SILLY DISTRACTION FROM WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT. QUALITY OF LIFE OUTWEIGHS EVERYTHING ELSE. WHEN I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING, AND TAKE MY FIRST LOOK OUT THE FRONT WINDOW, I KNOW I AM IN THE RIGHT PLACE. IT'S NOT PONCE INLET. BUT IT IS GRAVENHURST, ONTARIO.

NORM STRIPP PORTRAIT BY GEORGE MARQUIS

ANTIQUE BOATS IN MUSKOKA, AND THE GUY WHO USED TO REPAIR THEM

NORM STRIPP, THE WINDERMERE MARINA, AND THE DITCHBURN KNOWN AS THE "SHIRL-EVON"

A NOTE OF EXPLANATION:

AS HARD AND LONG AS YOU LOOK OUT THERE, IN THE BOOK PUBLISHING INDUSTRY, PAST AND PRESENT, ONE THING IS FOR SURE. YOU WILL FIND VERY FEW ATTEMPTS, THAT BOAST BEING LESS THAN SERIOUS, BORDERING ON THE ANECDOTAL, AND ENTIRELY COMEDY-LADEN. BIOGRAPHIES OF ANTIQUE DEALERS? INTERESTING BUT NOT LIKELY TO MAKE YOU LAUGH. HERE THEN IS A DEVIATION FROM THE NORMAL, WEIGHTY, "LIFE'S A GOOD STORY" DIATRIBE, DECKED BENEATH A HARD COVER AND A FANCY WRAPPER.

HERE NOW, IS A BIOGRAPHY THAT IS BRUTALLY HONEST, FULL OF THE WILD AND WHACKY ADVENTURES, AN ANTIQUE DEALER / WRITER / HISTORIAN LIKE ME, CAN GET UP TO…..FRANKLY, WITHOUT TRYING VERY HARD. IF I ONLY PRESENTED THE HIGHLIGHTS AND THE BIGGEST OF THE BIG ANTIQUE DISCOVERIES, THEN YOU WOULD FIND THIS LIKE ALL THE OTHER BIOGRAPHIES…… THAT WHILE REMARKABLE, AND FULL OF CURIOUS ACCOMPLISHMENTS, WOULD BE MUCH LESS HUMOROUS, AND ENTIRELY VOID OF THE INTIMACY YOU'RE GOING TO GET IN THE FUTURE. I GUARANTEE THIS. AND I DON'T HOLD BACK, WHICH MAKES MY ULTRA CONSERVATIVE WIFE CRINGE. SHE ALWAYS REMINDS ME, "TED, MY MOTHER USED TO TELL ME, YOU DON'T NEED TO TELL EVERYTHING YOU KNOW." I FIRE BACK, THAT THIS WOULD CONFINE ME TO THE RANK AND FILE OF THE "DULL" AND "PLEASANTLY SATISFIED." I TELL HER BLUNTLY, "I CAN'T LET THE TRUTH GET IN THE WAY OF A REALLY GOOD STORY." SHE LOOKS AT ME, AS IF I'VE JUST HAD A STROKE. "WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING," SHE BARKS, IN THE NETHER REGION OF EITHER A STATEMENT OR A QUESTION. I JUST SMILE, LOOK LIKE I'M SMARTER THAN HER, BECAUSE I GOT IT AND SHE DIDN'T, AND RETURN TO WHAT I DO BEST…….LAY OUT THE FAMILY SECRETS FOR PUBLIC SCRUTINY. "WORTS AND ALL," THEY SAY.

AS I'VE OFFERED, AS AN EXPLANATION EARLIER IN THIS BLOG COLLECTION (AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ROAM BACK IN THE FILE OF BLOGS), IN ALL MY 35 PLUS YEARS WRITING, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF REGULAR COLUMNS ON ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES, FOR SEVERAL PUBLICATIONS, I'VE NEVER EVEN CONSIDERED A BIOGRAPHICAL COLLECTION OF STORIES FOR MY FAMILY……AND THEY DESERVE AN EXPLANATION AFTER THESE MANY YEARS DEALING WITH THE MADNESS OF THE COLLECTOR. SO WHEN I WRAPPED UP MY LAST FEATURE SERIES, ON MUSKOKA ARTIST ADA FLORENCE KINTON, THAT I'D BEEN PUBLISHING OVER THE PREVIOUS YEAR IN "CURIOUS: THE TOURIST GUIDE," (YOU CAN READ IT ONLINE EVERY MONTH), I ANNOUNCED THAT IT WAS TIME TO WRITE ABOUT MY EXPERIENCES…..BETTER STATED, "ADVENTURES," IN ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES, FOR THE COMING 2012 PUBLISHING SEASON. WHILE IT WASN'T ALL THAT UNUSUAL TO WRITE AN ANTIQUES RELATED COLUMN, AS I'VE HAD DOZENS OVER THE DECADES, THIS WAS GOING TO BE THE FIRST BIOGRAPHICAL ACCOUNT OF MY YEARS SPENT IN THE PROFESSION. I ANNOUNCED THAT I WOULD BACK IT UP, WITH A YEAR LONG COLLECTION OF BLOGS, ALSO BIOGRAPHICAL. THE COLUMNS ARE ALL DIFFERENT THAN WHAT APPEARS ON THIS BLOG SITE. MY PRIMARY REASON, AS THE REASON FOR MOST BIOGRAPHIES….., GEEZE, I'M GETTING OLD LIKE THE ANTIQUES I COLLECT. I STARTED TO WORRY THAT I HADN'T LEFT OUR BOYS ANYTHING TANGIBLE, AS REFERENCE MATERIAL, ABOUT HOW I BEGAN COLLECTING IN THE FIRST PLACE. IT WAS WHEN I STARTED THINKING ABOUT THEIR GRANDFATHER, NORM STRIPP, MY WIFE SUZANNE'S FATHER, THAT I FOUND MY WRITING MOJO, TO START HAMMERING THESE RECOLLECTIONS DOWN…..BEFORE THE GRIM REAPER STARTS CHASING ME AROUND BIRCH HOLLOW TO FILL OUT THE NEED FOR OLD SOULS.

THE REASON NORM STRIPP CAME TO MIND, SPECIFICALLY, IS THAT WHAT WE FEARED WOULD HAPPEN….DID SO. SUZANNE AND I HAD BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR YEARS AND YEARS, BEFORE NORMAN GOT SICK. WE WANTED TO TALK WITH HIM ABOUT HIS LONG-TIME WORK RESTORING THE OLD WOODEN BOATS ON THE MUSKOKA LAKES. WE WANTED HIM TO TAKE US THROUGH HIS JAMMED BOAT HOUSE, AT THE FAMILY COTTAGE ON LAKE ROSSEAU, AT WINDERMERE, AND INTO THE MYSTERIES OF HIS WORKSHOP AT HOME, JUST A FEW MILES AWAY…… A SOLID HIT WITH A ONE WOOD, (AND A COUPLE OF BOUNCES) FROM THE FIRST HOLE AT THE WINDERMERE GOLF AND COUNTRY CLUB. WE WANTED HIM TO EXPLAIN THE MATERIALS HE HAD IN THE GARAGE. THE TOOLS HE CUSTOMIZED TO SUIT HIS REFINISHING CHALLENGES, ON DIFFICULT WOOD WORKING PROJECTS, TO FIX SOME OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED VINTAGE WATERCRAFT IN THE AREA. HE WAS WELL KNOWN AS A HIGHLY SKILLED CRAFTSMAN, WHEN IT CAME TO REPAIRING THE OLD MAHOGANY LAUNCHES, WITH LEGENDARY NAMES LIKE DITCHBURN, MINNET-SHEILDS, GREAVETTE AND DUKE. SOMEWHERE IN THAT MAZE OF CONTRAPTIONS, BOAT PARTS, TOOLS, OUTBOARD AND INBOARD ENGINES, WAS, FOR EXAMPLE,…..(IF YOU CAN BELIEVE), PIECES OF THE 999TH FORD ENGINE (OF THE FIRST EVER PRODUCED), THAT HAD ONCE BEEN USED AS A BOAT ENGINE BY A FAMILY FRIEND. NORM HAD SCAVENGED IT, WHEN IT WAS NO LONGER NEEDED. WELL, NORMAN WAS A TAD RESISTANT TO THIS KIND OF INTERVENTION, AND I SUPPOSE, FIGURED THAT OFFERING THIS KIND OF BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION, MIGHT HAVE BEEN A SORT OF JINX……BAD KARMA, AS IF HE WOULD HAVE BEEN RELENTING TO THE RIGORS OF OLD AGE, BY LAYING OUT HIS PAST ACCOMPLISHMENTS. HE MAY HAVE THOUGHT IT UNLUCKY TO ADMIT REACHING RETIREMENT AGE. TRUTH WAS, NORMAN NEVER REALLY RETIRED, AND PASSED AWAY IN HIS LATE-EIGHTIES, NEVER ONCE SAYING "I'M RETIRED." SO THE REALITY IS, WE NEVER GOT A CHANCE TO DO THAT BIOGRAPHY-THING, AND WHEN WORKING ON THE DISPERSAL OF HIS ESTATE, AFTER HE PASSED AWAY, HAD NOTHING MORE THAN A SURFACE KNOWLEDGE, OF THE ITEMS HE KEPT IN HIS UNBELIEVABLE COLLECTION……INCLUDING THE FORD ENGINE, THAT WAS NEVER IDENTIFIED AS SUCH. SOMEONE FROM THAT ESTATE AUCTION, OWNS PARTS FROM THAT ENGINE AND DOESN'T KNOW IT!

I DIDN'T WANT MY BOYS TO GO WITHOUT, YOU MIGHT SAY, SO THIS BIOGRAPHY SIMPLY HAD TO BE WRITTEN. IT INCLUDES STORIES ABOUT THEIR MOM, AND THEIR GRANDPARENTS AND EVEN BEYOND……WHICH WILL EVENTUALLY LINK WITH A FAMILY TREE SUZANNE IS WORKING ON AT PRESENT, THROUGH ANCESTRY.CA, WHICH FILLS IN A HUGE NUMBER OF DETAILS ABOUT WHERE THE HECK WE CAME FROM……AND WHY, OH WHY, WE'RE SO WILDLY OBSESSED WITH OLD WAYS AND OLD STUFF. IT'S AS MUCH A RIGOROUS SELF EXAMINATION, TO OFFER OUR YOUNG LADS, A WEE EXPLANATION ABOUT THEIR OWN CURIOUS COLLECTING HABITS…….THAT JUST POSSIBLY MAY RUN IN THE FAMILY. THIS MATERIAL WILL BE MADE AVAILABLE TO ALL POTENTIAL DAUGHTERS-IN-LAW, WHO MAY WISH TO INFORM THEMSELVES PROPERLY, ABOUT WHAT LIFE CHALLENGES THEY MAY FACE……BEING PART OF THE CLAN "CURRIE." WE'VE CHASED A FEW AWAY ALREADY, EVEN BEFORE THEY HAD ANYTHING TO READ. I'M TELLING YOU. WE'RE "THE ADAMS FAMILY," OF COLLECTING. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT WE'RE GOING TO SHOW YOU, ON A HOME VISIT. OF COURSE, IF WE DON'T LIKE WHO THEY BRING HOME, I WON'T LIE TO YOU. I MAY WHIP OUT MY COLLECTION OF TRIBAL MASKS WITH HORRIBLE GRIMACES…..OR SHOW THEM MY COLLECTION OF NATIVE (STONE) SCRAPERS. NOT SCARY. JUST TO LET THEM KNOW WHAT TURNS US ON AROUND HERE. THE LAST THING YOU'LL SEE OF THEM, IS THE SOLES OF THEIR SHOES, AS THEY'RE RUNNING DOWN THE LANE AS FAST AS THEY CAN……TO GET AWAY FROM THIS STRANGE ABODE, AND STRANGER CURATOR. KEEPS OUR VISITORS TO A MINIMUM, BUT IT'S NOT HELPING OUR BOYS' SOCIAL LIFE. KNOW WHAT? THEY'RE JUST AS WHACKY IN THE COLLECTING GAME AS MOM AND DAD. THEY NEED TO FIND, AS I DID IN SUZANNE, A VERY ACCOMMODATING INDIVIDUAL, WHO THINKS OF EXCESS AS AN ADVENTURE FULFILLED.

NORM STRIPP AND HIS MUSKOKA BOATS

ONE AFTERNOON, SHORTLY AFTER SUZANNE AND I BECAME ENGAGED, HER MOTHER HARRIET, DECIDED TO ARRANGE A CELEBRATORY BARBECUE OVER AT THE COTTAGE…..SITUATED ON A CHANNEL OF LAKE ROSSEAU, OPPOSITE WELLESLEY ISLAND….NOT FAR FROM THE BEACHFRONT IN WINDERMERE. WHEN SOME OF THE FAMILY MEMBERS LEFT THAT DAY, HARRIET TURNED TO NORMAN AND SAID, "GIVE TED THE KEYS TO THE S.S. SO HE CAN TAKE SUZANNE FOR A BOAT RIDE." WELL SIR, I THOUGHT NORMAN WAS HAVING "THE BIG ONE," AS REDD FOX USED TO SAY ON HIS TELEVISION SHOW. HE SPUTTERED, CHOKED A LITTLE, GOT RED FACED, AND LOOKED AT HARRIET, AS IF SHE HAD SAID THE MOST DRAMATICALLY SILLY THING, IN ALL THE YEARS THEY'D BEEN MARRIED. "GIVE HIM THE KEYS," HE ASKED, POINTING A SHAKING FINGER AT THIS FUTURE SON-IN-LAW….WHO HE ALWAYS SUSPECTED WAS KIND OF A KNOB. "NO, I DON'T THINK THAT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA," HE ANSWERED. "IT HASN'T BEEN RUNNING FOR AWHILE, AND I'D BE SCARED THEY'D GET STRANDED OUT ON THE LAKE. I'LL TAKE THEM OUT IN IT MYSELF."

FIRST OF ALL, THE BOAT HARRIET HAD REFERRED TO, WAS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE MAHOGANY SPEED BOAT, NORM HAD BUILT WITH HIS FATHER SAM. THE "S.S" REFERRED, WE BELIEVE, TO "SAM STRIPP." NO GREAT MYSTERY. IT WAS A POWERFUL WATERCRAFT, AND WHEN HE TOOK US OUT, I FELT AS IF I WAS SITTING IN A WIND-TUNNEL, AS BOTH MY CHEEKS WERE HITTING MY EARS. TO THINK THAT HARRIET FELT I COULD HANDLE THE "S.S." WAS EITHER A MASSIVE SHOW OF CONFIDENCE IN ME, TO LOOK AFTER HER DAUGHTER AND ANTIQUE BOAT, OR JUST THE EXCITEMENT OF THE MOMENT TO WELCOME A NEW MEMBER OF THE FAMILY. NORM READ THE SITUATION CORRECTLY. I'D HAVE WRAPPED THAT BOAT AROUND A ROCK, AND ENDED OUR COURTSHIP. I THINK I HEARD NORM MUMBLE, SOMETHING OR OTHER THAT SOUNDED LIKE, "THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL, THAT GUY IS GOING TO DRIVE MY BOAT." FAIR ENOUGH. WELL BY GOLLY, THAT'S HOW OUR RELATIONSHIP CONTINUED FOR MANY YEARS. MY FACE PRESSED UP AGAINST THE WORKSHOP WINDOW……HIS DETERMINATION THAT THIS IS THE WAY IT HAD TO BE. ME AT ARM'S LENGTH OR FURTHER AWAY. I COULDN'T REALLY BLAME HIM, AS I WAS ABOUT AS "HANDY AS A FOOT," OR AT LEAST THAT'S WHAT SUZANNE HAD BEEN TELLING ME SINCE WE GOT MARRIED…….AS I TRIED TO FIX THINGS AROUND THE HOUSE, INCLUDING THE CAR…..AND CONTINUALLY FAILED.

NORM WAS JUST POSSESSIVE ABOUT THE THINGS IMPORTANT TO HIS PROFESSION. I WAS THE PAIN IN THE ASS SON-IN-LAW, ALWAYS LOOKING OVER HIS SHOULDER. "CAN I HELP NORM," I'D OCCASIONALLY ASK, BUT KNOWING THE ANSWER BEFORE I MADE THE INQUIRY IN THE FIRST PLACE. "NO, IT'S OKAY TED. JUST SIT DOWN AND RELAX……," ALWAYS POINTING TO THE FURTHEST LOCATION IN A YARD OR A ROOM….WHICH WITH ME, HE ALWAYS FOUND A LITTLE CONFINING. I WAS OKAY WITH OUR RATHER DISTANT RELATIONSHIP. HARRIET SEEMED TO LIKE ME. WE EVEN CO-AUTHORED A LITTLE BOOK, ENTITLED "THE LEGEND OF TALL PINES." WE SOLD THEM OUT WITHIN MONTHS. NORM SEEMED HAPPY I WAS PRE-OCCUPIED WITH OTHER THINGS, AND PROJECTS, SUCH THAT I NEVER ASKED TO BORROW ONE OF HIS BOATS AGAIN.

WHETHER NORM WAS WARY OF ME CALLING MYSELF AN "ANTIQUE COLLECTOR," OR PART-TIME DEALER, OR NOT, I DON'T KNOW. BUT FROM VERY EARLY ON IN OUR MARRIAGE, SUZANNE BECAME A PARTNER IN THE PROFESSION….AT FIRST RELUCTANTLY….KICKING AND SCREAMING MIGHT DESCRIBE IT BETTER. SO FOR MOST OF THE TIME I SPENT WITH NORM, FOR YEARS AFTER MARRIAGE, "HE KNEW WHAT I KNEW, AND WHAT SUZANNE HAD KNOWN FOR YEARS AHEAD OF ME." NORMAN WAS SITTING ON THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF HIGHLY DESIRABLE, EASILY MARKETED MARINE COLLECTIBLES. BUT I CAN TELL YOU ONE THING, IT WAS A SUBJECT NOT EASILY WORKED INTO A CONVERSATION. NORM HAD A PRETTY EFFECTIVE WAY OF LETTING ME KNOW IF AND WHEN I WAS GETTING INTRUSIVE WITH MY QUESTIONING. THE NEWSPAPER WOULD GET HIGHER AND HIGHER, SUCH THAT HE NO LONGER HAD TO STARE AT ME. HARRIET WAS FAR MORE PATIENT AND INTERESTED IN TALKING ABOUT HISTORY, AND HER UPBRINGING ON THE FAMILY FARM IN UFFORD. IF SHE THOUGHT I WAS A PAIN IN THE BEHIND, SHE NEVER SHOWED THAT SIDE, AND WITH SUZANNE, WE HAD QUITE A FEW MEMORABLE CONVERSATIONS ABOUT LOTS OF THINGS. THIS GAVE NORMAN A CHANCE TO SNEAK OUT TO HIS GARAGE…..AND WORK AT SOMETHING OR OTHER, OR JUST SIT AND RELAX AWAY FROM THE INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER, HUNKERED-DOWN IN HIS LIVING ROOM.

THE REASON FOR INCLUDING THIS BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO THE STRIPP AND SHEA FAMILY, IS TO GIVE YOU AN IDEA HOW DEEP OUR INVOLVEMENT IN THE HISTORY OF MUSKOKA;…… FROM HAVING FAMILY MEMBERS WHO CLEARED THE PINE OFF THOSE ROCKY ACRES, ON THE FIRST CULTIVATED FARMSTEADS, TO THE CORE-HISTORY OF BOAT BUILDING ON THE MUSKOKA LAKES, AND ALL THE INTRICATE WEAVING OF FAMILY ACTIVITIES IN SO MANY CLUBS AND ASSOCIATIONS THAT MADE UP THE SOCIAL / CULTURAL FABRIC OF OUR DISTRICT. AS MY RESEARCH PARTNER, ON MANY HISTORY-RELATED PROJECTS, SUZANNE AND I STARTED AS NEWLYWEDS, IMMERSING OURSELVES EVER-DEEPER IN REGIONAL HERITAGE, AND THERE WAS NO TELLING WHAT FIELD THE NEXT BIG ADVENTURE WOULD PRE-OCCUPY, BUSYING THE PARENTS OF TWO YOUNGSTERS, WHO HAD LITTLE CHOICE BUT TO JOIN-IN. SOMETIMES IT WAS SPORTS RELATED, AS WITH THE N.H.L.'S ROGER CROZIER, AND IRVIN "ACE" BAILEY, AND AT OTHER TIMES IT WAS BIOGRAPHICAL, IN THE ART WORLD, SUCH AS IN THE CASE OF THE TOM THOMSON MYSTERY…….AND THE STORY OF ARTIST / MISSIONARY, ADA FLORENCE KINTON, OF HUNTSVILLE. SO IT WAS THE SAME SORT OF STUDY OF NORM STRIPP, WITHOUT HIM REALLY KNOWING ABOUT IT……CAUSE I CAN TELL YOU, HE WOULDN'T HAVE APPROVED. SO ALTHOUGH WE COULDN'T REALLY SIT DOWN AND POUND OUT A MEANINGFUL BIOGRAPHY OF THE BOAT RESTORER, SUFFICE TO SAY, THE INFORMATION HE PROVIDED US, BY SHEER ASSOCIATION AND KINSHIP, HAS HELPED US IMMEASURABLY IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE IN MUSKOKA.

WHILE WE AREN'T PUSHY ABOUT WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT OLD BOATS, AND THE WORK NORM USED TO GET UP TO IN ANY GIVEN WEEK, SUZANNE IS THE KEEPER OF QUITE A STORE OF INSIDER INFORMATION, THAT WE BENEFIT FROM WHENEVER WE'RE OUT ON THE ANTIQUE HUSTINGS, HERE OR ANYWHERE REALLY. NOT ONLY DO WE KNOW ABOUT MUSKOKA COLLECTIBLES AND HOMEGROWN ANTIQUES, WE CAN IDENTIFY TOOLS AND BOAT HARDWARE FAIRLY QUICKLY…..AND HAUL AWAY A MARINE ARTIFACT WITHOUT CAUSING A RIPPLE IN THE WATER. CALL IT STEALTH PURCHASES. A LOT OF SECOND HAND TRADERS HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THESE BOAT PARTS AND TOOLS LOOK LIKE, OR HOW TO SPOT AN ORNAMENT OFF A DITCHBURN, MINNET-SHIELDS, DUKE, OR SEABIRD. SUZANNE DOESN'T NEED A GUIDE BOOK. WHEN SHE WAS ALLOWED INTO THE BOAT HOUSE WORKROOM, OR IN THE GARAGE, SHE WAS PAYING ATTENTION TO DETAIL. SHE'S GOOD AT THAT. I'M MUCH SLOWER ON THE UP-TAKE. HER KNOWLEDGE OF THE INDUSTRY, FROM THE RESTORER'S POINT OF VIEW, HAS ENTITLED US TO GRAB UP A LOT OF PIECES OVER THE YEARS, FOUND AT OUT-OF-THE-WAY ESTATE SALES, FLEA MARKETS, AUCTIONS AND AT ANTIQUE SHOPS UNFAMILIAR WITH LOCAL MARINE HERITAGE.

SUZANNE GREW UP IN THE MARINE INDUSTRY. HER FATHER WAS ALWAYS WORKING ON SOME TYPE OF BOAT RESTORATION IN HIS WORKSHOP. AT A YOUNG AGE, HER FAMILY PURCHASED THE WINDERMERE MARINA, IN THE MID 1960'S, AND THE BOAT THAT CAME AS PART OF THE SALE, WAS THE LARGE, MAGNIFICENTLY APPOINTED DITCHBURN, KNOWN AS THE "SHIRL-EVON," A SLEEK MAHOGANY LAUNCH STILL CRUISING LAKE ROSSEAU. THE SHIRL-EVON WAS USED THEN, AS A LIVERY BOAT, TAKING FOLKS TO THEIR COTTAGES, MANY ON TOBIN'S ISLAND. HE ALSO USED IT AS A DELIVERY BOAT, AND ON OCCASION, IT WAS HIRED BY ONTARIO HYDRO, TO FERRY CREWS TO LOCATIONS AROUND THE LAKE NOT ACCESSIBLY BY ROAD. IT MAY HAVE SEEMED AN EXTRAVAGANT BOAT FOR THIS KIND OF SERVICE, BUT WE HAVE A SLIDE, FROM THE ESTATE OF NORM'S FRIEND, AND NEIGHBOR, BILL SKINNER, SHOWING A WATER-SKIER BEING TOWED BY ONE OF THE WIGWASAN LODGE, DITCHBURNS, KNOWN AS THE "WIGGY I" (AND THERE WERE SEVERAL OTHERS IN THE LODGE FLEET). BILL SKINNER IS DRIVING THE "WIGGY" IN OUR PHOTOGRAPH. SO DITCHBURNS WERE USED AS COMMON WATERCRAFT IN THOSE YEARS, AT THE SAME TIME AS THEY WERE PRIZED LAUNCHES, STORED SAFELY IN THE BOATHOUSES OF MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR COTTAGES. NOT MANY PEOPLE THINK OF THIS CONTRAST OF USES, WHEN THEY SEE THE BEAUTIFUL ARRAY OF RESTORED WOODEN BOATS, AT THE ANNUAL BOAT SHOWS IN MUSKOKA, EACH SUMMER SEASON.

SUZANNE IS QUITE AN AUTHORITY ON THE BOATS OF LAKE ROSSEAU, FROM HER TIME SPENT LIVING AND WORKING IN WINDERMERE. SHE KNEW THE NAMES OF THE BOATS, FROM THEIR LANDINGS AT THE MARINA, AND THEIR USAGE AT THIS TIME, FOR RECREATION, GENERAL USE, RESORT TOURS, AND THOSE WITH A MORE UTILITY FUNCTION, WORKING IN AND AROUND THE MARINA AND VILLAGE WHARF. THE FAMILY ALSO OWNED A LARGE HUNTER-MADE LAUNCH, WITH ENCLOSED CABIN, THAT HAD BEEN FORMERLY USED AS A REGATTA BOAT, TO START SAILING RACES, SPONSORED BY THE MUSKOKA LAKES ASSOCIATION. THERE WAS A SPECIAL BRACKET, MOUNTED ON THE WOODEN TOP OF THE BOAT, WHERE A SMALL CANON HAD BEEN PLACED, WHICH WAS FIRED TO START THE EVENTS.

SHE AND HER MOTHER HARRIET, RAN THE SNACK BAR ABOVE THE MARINA, KNOWN AS "THE SKIPPER." SHE HAD AN IDEAL VANTAGE POINT, TO WATCH THE LAKES AND THE BOAT TRAFFIC COMING INTO THE MARINA. THE TIME WASN'T WASTED. I REMEMBER HER TELLING ME THAT BOB BOYER HAD PHONED HER ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, AFTER WE WERE MARRIED, TO ASK FOR ASSISTANCE ON A MATTER OF LAKE ROSSEAU RESORT HERITAGE, FOR SOMETHING HE WAS WRITING FOR THE MUSKOKA SUN. THIS IS FUNNY, BECAUSE I WORKED WITH BOB AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE, AT THE SAME TIME, BUT HE PREFERRED TALKING TO THE PERSON WHO INTIMATELY KNEW THE COMMUNITY'S HISTORY….WITHOUT HAVING TO FIRST CONSULT A FORMAL TEXT, OR GO SEARCHING THROUGH RECORDS. HE'D PHONE HER TO REFUTE INFORMATION PUBLISHED IN OTHER BOOKS, SUCH AS THE DEMISE OF WIGWASSAN LODGE…..WHETHER IT WAS TORN DOWN, OR BURNED IN A FIRE. BOB, AT THE TIME, WAS ONE OF THE BEST KNOWN REGIONAL HISTORIANS, AND HE WAS VERY MUCH MY TUTOR, DURING MY TENURE AS EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE. HE PREFERRED MY STRAIGHT-SHOOTING, FACT-PERSNICKETY WIFE, SUZANNE, TO CLEAR UP MISINFORMATION, BEFORE HE'D INSERT A FRESH PAPER INTO THE TYPEWRITER CARRIAGE. NOT MANY PEOPLE KNOW THIS ABOUT MY WIFE. SHE BITES HER TONGUE A LOT, AT WORK AND WHILE WE'RE ATTENDING COMMUNITY EVENTS, WHEN HEARING FALSEHOODS ABOUT LOCAL HISTORY…..AND NOT WISHING TO START THE GREAT DEBATE, WITH FOLKS WHO ARE RELATIVE NEWCOMERS TO THE REGION.

WE HAVE LIVED AND BREATHED LOCAL HISTORY FROM THE FIRST DAYS OF OUR MARRIAGE. I HAVE LEARNED A LOT ABOUT THE EARLY DAYS IN MUSKOKA, BY READING THE BOOKS HER UNCLE BERT SHEA WROTE, ABOUT PIONEERING IN MUSKOKA…..SPECIFICALLY THE THREE MILE LAKE AREA OF THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES. I'VE SPENT MANY ENJOYABLE HOURS IN HER GRANDFATHER, JOHN SHEA'S FARMSTEAD, IN UFFORD, VISITING WITH SUZANNE'S AUNT ADA, AND HUSBAND JACK, WHO INHERITED THE PROPERTY WHEN JOHN DIED. I'VE STOOD IN THE BARN THE SHEA FAMILY BUILT, AND WANDERED THE BEAUTIFUL LITTLE PROPERTY WITH EYES WIDE OPEN, TO THE HARSH REALITIES OF FORESTS AND ROCKY TERRAIN THEY WERE FORCED TO CONTEND WITH, IN THOSE EARLY HOMESTEAD YEARS. I'VE SAT WITH NORM AND HARRIET, AND TALKED ABOUT THEIR EARLIER DAYS, LIVING IN THIS LITTLE PARADISE KNOWN AS WINDERMERE. I LISTENED WITH GREAT INTEREST, TO NORM DESCRIBING THE PAINTING WORK HE AND HIS FATHER DID FOR THE EATON FAMILY, REFURBISHING THEIR STEAM YACHT, "THE WANDA" NOW PART OF THE FLEET OF VESSELS ON DISPLAY, AT THE WHARF, ON GRAVENHURST'S MUSKOKA BAY. HE TOLD ME ABOUT THE TIME HE WAS COMING BACK FROM GRAVENHURST, ON LAKE MUSKOKA, AT THE TIME OF THE GREAT WIND STORM, THAT OVER-TURNED THE SMALL STEAMER "WAOME," RESULTING IN A LOSS OF LIFE. HE SAVED THE BOAT HE WAS OPERATING, AND HIMSELF, BY CAREFULLY TARPING OVER THE LAUNCH, TO MAKE IT LESS WIND RESISTANT….WHILE STILL HEADING HOME TO WINDERMERE. HE MIGHT NOT HAVE LET ME PLAY AROUND IN HIS WORKSHOP, AND DOWN AT THE COTTAGE BOAT HOUSE, BUT TRUTH IS, HE WAS ENORMOUSLY GENEROUS WITH THE STORIES HE SHARED WITH BOTH OF US….AND HIS GRANDSONS, ABOUT HIS EXPERIENCES WORKING ON THE MUSKOKA LAKES, IN SO MANY DIFFERENT CAPACITIES. AS ANTIQUE DEALERS, LET ME TELL YOU, WE HAD A MILLION DOLLARS WORTH OF EDUCATION, BECAUSE OF THESE REGULAR, COMFORTABLE LIVINGROOM TUTORIALS.

WHEN SUZANNE OCCASIONALLY INTERJECTS HER OPINION, WHEN ONE OF HER COLLEAGUES MISREPRESENTS SOME ASPECT OF MUSKOKA'S MARINE HERITAGE, SHE EXPECTS THE LOOK OF "OH SURE……OF COURSE YOU HAD A DITCHBURN….RIGHT…..I HAD FIVE OF THEM!" IT'S WHY SHE HAS A SORE TONGUE A LOT. "SOMETIMES IT'S JUST BETTER TO LET IT GO," SHE ADMITS. "THEY WOULDN'T BELIEVE ME ANYWAY."

THANKS FOR JOINING TODAY'S BLOG. PLEASE JOIN ME AGAIN FOR SOME ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE ADVENTURES……YOU HAVEN'T READ BEFORE.

The Horner "Auto Sled" Bracebridge's First Snow Machine; Barbecue Sauce Out Of The Bottle, Malton and Hamilton

CHRISTMAS IN THE NEWSROOM - THE CASE OF STEAK SAUCE THAT GOT US THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS

     AYE, WHAT'S CHRISTMAS WITHOUT A FEW FOLK TALES TO RECOGNIZE THE QUALITIES AND QUANTITIES OF THE FESTIVE SEASON. HERE'S ONE NOW:
     SON ANDREW WAS GIVEN A BOTTLE OF JOHNNY WINTER'S FAMOUS BARBECUE SAUCE, BY ONE OF HIS COMPANION MUSICIANS, A MONTH OR SO AGO, WHEN HE WENT DOWN TO SEE A TRIBUTE SHOW TO THE LATE GUITARIST, AT PETER'S PLAYERS IN GRAVENHURST. HE DIDN'T WANT TO USE ANY OF IT, BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE MORE SIGNIFICANT UNOPENED. AS FOR THE EXPIRY DATE, WELL, IT WAS ENTIRELY NECESSARY TO USE AND ENJOY WHAT JOHNNY HAD CONCOCTED, AS THE PERFECT PARTNER FOR A STEAK OR RIBS. ANDREW WORKED AS A SOUND TECHNICIAN FOR JOHNNY WINTER NUMEROUS TIMES, AND ALWAYS LOVED HAVING THE OPPORTUNITY TO VISIT THE BLUES GUITARIST IN HIS R.V., THE ARTIST'S HOME AWAY FROM HOME WHILE ON TOUR.
    WE OPENED THE BOTTLE, AND EVERYBODY HAD A SPOONFUL IN HIS HONOR. IT WAS REALLY GOOD. SINCE THEN, I INSIST ON HAVE A SPOON-FULL OR TWO AT DINNER, WHETHER I'M HAVING MEAT OR NOT. IT GOES GREAT ON A BAKED POTATO. I KNOW THAT'S SACRALAGE TO MEAT FANCIERS BUT I JUST DON'T CARE. I'VE BEEN HOOKED ON BARBECUE SAUCE FOR DECADES. HONESTLY, BECAUSE OF MY EXCESSES, SUZANNE WON'T LET ME HAVE ANY OF THE STORE-BOUGHT VARIETY, UNLESS IT HAS BEEN REDUCED IN ALL THE SPECIAL INGREDIENTS THAT MAKES A SAUCE, A GENUINE BARBECUE SAUCE. I DON'T CONSUME FACSIMILE PRODUCTS. SO GETTING A HOLD OF THE JOHNNY WINTER SAUCE BROUGHT BACK SOME BAD HABITS OF OVER INDULGENCE. HERE'S HOW I BEGAN CHASING THE DRAGON, "BARBECUE SAUCE."
     IT WAS AROUND CHRISTMAS ONE YEAR, WHILE I WAS EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, IN BRACEBRIDGE, THAT WE GOT A LITTLE SURPRISE LEFT OFF IN OUR NEWSROOM. THE FRONT DESK CLERK, BUZZED THE NEWSROOM, TO ASK FOR SOME ASSISTANCE, BRINGING A HEAVY CARTON UPSTAIRS. I THINK BRANT SCOTT WENT DOWN TO SEE WHAT THE FUSS WAS ALL ABOUT. HE WAS DOWNSTAIRS FOR AWHILE, CONSULTING WITH THE PERSON RESPONSIBLE FOR BRINGING THE BOX TO OUR DOMINION STREET OFFICE. WHEN HE ARRIVED BACK IN THE NEWSROOM, WITH THIS BIG BOX IN HIS OUTSTRETCHED ARMS, HE SAID, IN A VERY LOUD VOICE, "TEEDER, (IT'S WHAT HE CALLED ME IN THE NEWSROOM AND WHEN WE PLAYED HOCKEY FOR THE RINK RATS). WE GOT AN EARLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT." "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT'S IN THE BOX." "A LITTLE HEAVEN ON EARTH, MAN," SOUNDING A LITTLE LIKE DENNIS HOPPER, FROM THE MOVIE "EASY RIDER." HE HANDED ME A PRINT-OUT THAT WAS ON THE TOP OF THE BOX. "IT'S A BOX OF 24 BOTTLES OF BARBECUE SAUCE," HE CHORTLED. "WE CAN EAT THIS CHRISTMAS. I MEAN DRINK." HE SET DOWN THE BOX AT HIS DESK, OPENED IT UP, AND THERE WERE TWO DOZEN AVERAGE SIZED BOTTLES OF A NEWLY RELEASED BARBECUE SAUCE. I WON'T NAME THE PRODUCT BECAUSE THAT WOULDN'T BE FAIR. IT'S STILL OUT THERE, AND IT'S THE ONE I'M MOST LIKELY TO PURCHASE, WHEN SUZANNE FEELS IT'S SAFE FOR ME TO HAVE A LITTLE TREAT AT DINNER.
     "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH IT ALL," I ASKED, WHILE BRANT WAS EXAMINING A BOTTLE, PREPARING TO OPEN ONE FOR A TASTE. WE LOOKED AT EACH OTHER, AND ALTHOUGH WE WERE BOTH GENEROUS BLOKES, WE WERE ALSO QUITE BROKE AT THE TIME; AND SEEING AS THIS WAS KIND OF A CHRISTMAS GIFT INTENDED FOR THE NEWSROOM, (OR SO WE ASSUMED) FOR A CRITICAL REVIEW IN THE HERALD-GAZETTE, IT SEEMED APPROPRIATE TO BASE THE CRITIQUE AFTER CONSUMING ALL THE SAUCE. NOT JUST A FEW BOTTLES. I MEAN WE HAD TO BASE IT ON THE CONTEXT OF WHAT WE WERE GIVEN TO SAMPLE. ALL THE BOTTLES IN THE BOX. WE CALCULATED THAT IF WE WERE CAREFUL, WE COULD MAKE THE SAUCE LAST FOR MOST OF THE WINTER SEASON. THERE WERE A FEW MOMENTS OF GREED, AND CORRESPONDING SHAME. WE DEALT WITH THE SHAME WHILE POURING SOME OF THE BOTTLE INTO OUR EMPTY COFFEE CUPS, AND SUCKING IT BACK. GOSH IT WAS GOOD STUFF.
     SHOULD WE HIDE THE BOX? HOW MANY STAFF MEMBERS KNEW WHAT WE GOT IN THE BOX? WE KNEW THE FRONT DESK SECRETARY DID, AND SURE ENOUGH, SHE WAS UP A FEW MINUTES LATER, TO CHECK ON THE PAYOLLA WE GOT, PRESUMABLY TO WRITE A GREAT REVIEW OF THE NEW PRODUCT. "HOW MANY BOTTLES DID YOU GUYS GET," SHE ASKED, TRYING TO SEE PAST BRANT, INTO THE HALF OPEN BOX. "THIS ONE," BRANT SAID, HOLDING UP WHAT WAS NOW A HALF-FULL BOTTLE. "COME ON YOU GUYS," SHE REPLIED. "YOU GOT AT LEAST A DOZEN IN THE BOX. GIVE ME ONE AT LEAST." WE GAVE HER THREE, AND TOLD HER TO KEEP QUIET ABOUT THE REMAINDER. SHE BARGAINED THAT HER SILENCE SHOULD BE WORTH AT LEAST FIVE BOTTLES. WELL, SHE HAD HER FINGERS CROSSED, WHEN SHE PROMISED THIS, AND BEFORE LONG, THERE WAS A LINE-UP FOR THE SAUCE, AND BRANT AND I WINCED AS THE RESERVE BEGAN DWINDLING DOWN TO A DOZEN LEFT. WITHOUT A TRACE OF SHAME, WE HID A DOZEN ALL OVER THE OFFICE AND UNDER OUR DESKS. WHENEVER WE GOT "OWLIE" WHICH MEANT BEING STRESSED-OUT BY THE DEMANDS OF THE PUBLISHER, WE'D WHIP OUT A BOTTLE OF RIB SAUCE AND AFTER AFEW SWIGS, WE'D BE BACK IN THE SWING OF THINGS. WE JUST SMELLED LIKE GARLIC. EVERY DAY.
      WE WERE LITERALLY DRINKING BARBECUE SAUCE, TO SATISFY OUR HUNGER PANGS. WE DIDN'T HAVE STEAK OR RIBS BUT THAT DIDN'T MATTER ONE BIT. WE DRANK THE SAUCE RIGHT OUT OF THE BOTTLE. IT WAS THE BEST LEAD-UP TO CHRISTMAS I THINK I'VE EVER HAD. PUT ON ABOUT FIVE POUNDS, DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO THE SIX BOTTLES I CONSUMED PERSONALLY. BRANT TRIED TO MIX IT WITH A SHOT OF RYE BUT THAT DIDN'T WORK OUT SO WELL. "YOU'VE GOT MORE OF THAT BARBECUE SAUCE DON'T YOU," ANOTHER STAFF MEMBER GRILLED US, ONE PRESS DAY, WHEN EVERYBODY WAS IN A BAD MOOD AND HUNGRY. "YOU'VE GOT BARBECUE SAUCE BREATH MR. CURRIE. I WANT SOME." "DRANK THE LAST DROP AN HOUR AGO, SORRY," I RESPONDED, KNOWING FULL WELL I HAD ANOTHER TWO BOTTLES STASHED IN MY CAMERA BAG. ACTUALLY, THAT BROUGHT ABOUT ANOTHER DEBACLE, BECAUSE I FORGOT ABOUT THEM, AND WENT TO COVER AN OUTDOOR EVENT, IN THE THROES OF A BITTER EVENING. THE BOTTLES FROZE, AND ONE EXPANDED, SUCH THAT IT BLEW OFF THE LID. IT TOOK ME WEEKS TO RESTORE MY CAMERA EQUIPMENT AND DRY OUT MY CASE. I SALVAGED WHAT WAS LEFT, BUT IT ALWAYS SEEMED THAT GOD HAD REMINDED ME, IN A SPECIAL WAY, ABOUT SHARING, ESPECIALLY DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON.
     WHAT FOLLOWED AFTER THE BARBECUE SAUCE INCIDENT, WHICH STRETCHED OVER TWO WEEKS, WAS THAT I BECAME ADDICTED. AND AS A SINGLE FELLOW, WHO COULDN'T BOIL WATER WITHOUT DESTROYING A POT, I OPTED FOR BARBECUE SAUCE, AS A VEGETABLE SIDE DISH, UNTIL I GOT MARRIED, AND WAS CUT-OFF THE STUFF, BY MY NEW NUTRITIONIST WIFE; THEN SENSIBLY REPLACED BY ACTUAL VEGETABLES YOU COULDN'T DRINK OUT OF A BOTTLE. I STILL GET WEIRD WHEN I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE, AND PASS THE AISLE WITH THE BARBECUE SAUCE SECTION. THAT'S WHY, WHEN ANDREW BROUGHT HOME THE JOHNNY WINTER BRAND, I LOST MY MARBLES, AND CONVINCED THE POOR LITTLE FELLOW, THAT IT WOULD ONLY GO BAD, IF WE JUST LET IT SIT ON A SHELF. JOHNNY WOULDN'T HAVE WANTED HIS CREATION TO BE AN ORNAMENT ON A SHELF OVER THE STOVE. SO ROBERT AND I GOT HIS APPROVAL TO OPEN THE SAUCE, AND WE'VE BEEN MAKING REGULAR RAIDS ON IT IN THE FRIDGE. ANDREW HAS BEEN MEASURING IT TO SEE IF HE'S GETTING A FAIR SHAKE, CONSIDERING IT WAS A GIFT TO HIM. ANDREW IS NOT BIG ON BARBECUE SAUCE IN THE FIRST PLACE. HE WAS JUST A GOOD FRIEND OF JOHNNY WINTER.
     WELL, THAT'S MY CHRISTMAS STORY AND I'M STICKING TO IT. YOU KNOW, WE CONSUMED ALL THE BARBECUE SAUCE BACK IN THOSE HALCYON DAYS AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND NEVER DID WRITE THE REVIEW FOR THE COMPANY. WE WERE DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS! BOUNDERS! BUT IN A FAIR AND HONEST PRESS, THE REVIEW WOULD HAVE CLEARLY BEEN A BIASED PIECE, BECAUSE WE HAD NOT ONLY ACCEPTED THE GIFT, BUT ALSO ENJOYED IT TO THE LAST DROP. SEEING AS WE PRIDED OURSELVES ON BEING UNBIASED, WE JUST THOUGHT IT BEST TO REFRAIN FROM COMMENTING; THAT AND THE FACT EVERYONE IN OUR BUILDING WOULD HAVE KNOWN WE WERE HOARDING A CASE THAT WAS INTENDED FOR US ALL. IT WAS MY TIME OF PERSONAL WEAKNESS, AND BELIEVE ME, I FELT LIKE SCROOGE, WITH EVERY SPOON-FULL I CONSUMED. IT BECAME EASIER TO BE SCROOGE, AS THE SAUCE BECAME MORE TANTALIZING EACH DAY.
     I STILL SUFFER FROM SELF LOATHING, EVERY TIME I LINGER AT THE FRIDGE, WITH SPOON IN HAND, STEALING SOME MORE OF ANDREW'S KEEPSAKE SAUCE, KEPT FOR POSTERITY. THANK YOU JOHNNY WINTER.  

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - DO YOU HAVE A VERY, VERY, VINTAGE HORNER IN YOUR GARAGE? NO, NOT AN ACCORDIAN!

SNOWMOBILE RAN IN SOUTH MUSKOKA AT LEAST NINETY YEARS AGO - THE "HORNER AUTO SLEIGH"

     LEAVE IT TO REDMOND THOMAS TO COME UP WITH NEAT STORIES ABOUT OUR PAST. ONE OF THE BEST BOOK INVESTMENTS I'VE MADE, IN REGIONAL HISTORY, WAS TO RE-ACQUIRE THE LONG-OUT-OF-PRINT, REDMOND THOMAS REGIONAL HISTORY, ENTITLED "REMINISCENCES," A BRACEBRIDGE COLLECTION OF STORIES, THAT ARE VERY MUCH, THE MODEST BUT UNIQUE ARCHIVES OF OUR FOLK HISTORY IN THESE PARTS. OUTSIDE OF THE BOOKS WRITTEN BY BERT SHEA, ABOUT WATT TOWNSHIP IN PIONEER TIMES, AND THE SHEA AND VEITCH FAMILY CHRONICLES, REDMOND'S BOOK IS MY MOST REFERRED TO, OF ALL MY MUSKOKA ARCHIVE HISTORIES.     TAKE FOR EXAMPLE, THE STORY OF MR. HORNER, AND HIS MOTORIZED CONTRAPTION, THAT LOOKED LIKE A SLED, BUT MOVED LIKE A HORSELESS CARRIAGE, BUT ON TOP OF THE SNOW. IF YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE ONE OF THESE FORERUNNERS OF THE MODERN SNOWMOBILE, WELL, YOU'VE GOT A VALUABLE RELIC OF NOT ONLY MUSKOKA HISTORY, BUT CANADIAN TRANSPORTATION HERITAGE. NOW, IN THE WORDS OF REDMOND THOMAS, Q.C., A FORMER COLUMNIST FOR THE BRACEBRIDGE-GAZETTE, OWNED BY HIS FATHER, G.H.O. THOMAS. (THE BOOK, BY THE WAY, WAS PUBLISHED BY THE HERALD-GAZETTE, BY FORMER EMPLOYER, AND IT WAS INTRODUCED TO THE READER, BY MY GOOD FRIEND AND FORMER BOSS, ROBERT BOYER. THE TWO PAPERS, ONE BEING THE BOYER FAMILY'S "BRACEBRIDGE HERALD," MERGED IN THE 1950'S, TO MAKE "THE HERALD-GAZETTE." REDMOND HAD WORKED AS A COLUMNIST FOR MR. BOYER'S PAPER, AT THE TIME THE BOOK WAS PUBLISHED. IN CASE YOU WOULD LIKE A COPY OF YOUR OWN, YOU CAN SEARCH THE LISTING OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND OUT OF PRINT BOOK COLLECTIVE, THE ADVANCE BOOK EXCHANGE (ABE) ONLINE, AND CONDUCT AS SEARCH FOR "REMINISCENCES," BEING OFFERED BY MEMBER DEALERS. IT'S WHERE I BUY MOST OF MY VINTAGE MUSKOKA HISTORIES. YOU MIGHT HAVE TO WAIT AWHILE, BUT THEY DO TURN UP QUITE REGULARLY.)
     "As in recent winters (circa 1969) the modern snowmobile has come into popularity here, it may interest some readers, who did not live in Bracebridge, at least forty-five years ago (1920's), if I mention that as far back as those times, there was running in Bracebridge, a vehicle powered by a gasoline engine, and designed for winter-time cross-country travel, and which today would be called a snowmobile; though originally the word 'snowmobile' had a different meaning from its present one. The word was first applied to a single seat closed motor vehicle, having at its front a pair of runners, and its back four wheels equipped with endless belts, and which was used on the roads in the winters, before regular snowplowing kept them open for ordinary motor vehicles," wrote Mr. Thomas, in his regular column of January 23, 1969.
     "Frank Gilbert Horner, though still in his prime, had retired in ample financial circumstances, after having been engaged in gold mining in Alaska. It seems to me that he hailed from some place in one of the Northwestern states, probably Washington, which is the state immediately south of British Columbia; and I have forgotten how he came to choose Bracebridge as a place of residence. In the early 1920's he purchased the old Sheriff Bettes place. Its extensive grounds ran from McMurray Street, westward to John Street and from Hamilton Street northward to the schoolyard of old Central School, where the public school now is. On those grounds stood an elegant big, old style residence facing toward McMurray Street, but far back from the sidewalk along which stood a high cedar hedge; behind the house the was small barn."
     Judge Thomas recalled that, "When snow was on the ground, Mr. Horner used to occupy his time by designing and testing what would today be called a snowmobile but which he called an auto sleigh. As well as I can remember it, the vehicle was a sort of cross between a sled and toboggan, and had at its gasoline engine at the back; it was about a dozen feet long and at its front there was a freely revolving circular rudder, which was very much similar in appearance, to one of the very big disk wheels which were the height of style, on the biggest automobiles in those days, when cars had very much higher clearances than now, in spite of the small old-time high pressure tires. Those are the chief details remembered by me.
     "On the only occasion that I saw it really under way, the auto sleigh seemed, to me, to be running perfectly. But as Mr. Horner was not satisfied with its all-round performance, he had not put it on the market. His concern that the vehicle be available for cross-country travel, under every conceivable condition of snow and weather, will be appreciated, if it is borne in mind, that the auto sleigh was basically intended to replace dog-sled transportation, in many parts of Alaska, the Yukon Territory, and the North West Territories. The last running of the Horner auto sleigh here, could not have been later than the winter of 1923-24, as according to an old ledger of mine, it was in the following January (1925) that I drew, for Mr. Horner, the deed by which he sold the old Sheriff Bettes place, and he was then residing in Timmins. Snowmobiles are not new, just numerous, and nice!"

THE OTHER MOST RELIABLE MEANS OF WINTER-TIME TRAVEL - THE HORSE-DRAWN SLEIGH IN THE SNOWY CLIME OF SOUTH MUSKOKA

     "Freight traffic on Bracebridge streets, in winter-time, was much heavier than in present-day winters; even though the town's population was not quite as big as it is now (1969). Nearly all the fuel used in houses, stores and offices was wood, requiring many sleighs. Many loads of ice for ice houses (commercial and private) were hauled from the river beside River Street, where they were cut in those days, when there was no electric refrigeration. Far more stores had delivery sleighs than now have motor trucks. Great loads of bark went to the Old Tannery (Muskoka Leather Company) in the Hollow, and the New Tannery, (Anglo-Canadian Leather Company) in the 4th ward. Three of the important industries, Bird's Woollen Mill, Dominion Linen Mill, and Old Tannery, had no railroad switch. So on sleighs went all their freight, to and from the Grand Trunk Railway Station. The Old Tannery had so many teams, going to and from the railroad yards, that at almost any time in the day, one could see one of its huge sleighs hauled by a team of beautiful big horses. There were so many of those horses, that in the Old Tannery yards, there was a stable covering a big area of ground, and it was double-decked. In addition to the foregoing there was hauled on sleighs ample goods, for the stores; and coal was hauled from the G.T.R. freight shed, and yards, by sleighs owned by stores or carters. The only big commodities of which I can think that are now carried by motor truck, but were not hauled by sleigh, are gasoline fuel oil and saw-logs. The logs for each of the old sawmills here, were floated down whichever branch of the river ran past the mill," writes Redmond Thomas, about the necessity of horse power the old fashioned way.
     He continues, by noting, "But passenger traffic was very much lighter. Few people owned a driving horse, or (for a trip within the town) would hire a rig from a livery stable. There was nothing corresponding to the present day school bus. Nor (except the bus from the railroad station) was there anything equivalent to the present-day taxi, for trips with the town; but for a trip out of town, a rig (with or without a driver) could be hired at a livery stable. The roadways of the streets were not snowplowed and were kept open by only the traffic on them; except that in the Downtown business section, the roadway on Manitoba Street was kept hand-shoveled for absolutely its whole width, between the outer edges of the sidewalks. There were no snowbanks along the sidewalks like there were in business sections in other towns. Even though the Downtown roadway was narrower than it now is (because each sidewalk was very much wider than at present), it was a great task to keep it snow-shoveled by hand, and keep the snow from it hauled away on sleighs to the river.
     "Sleighs were for freight passengers or both. All (except a bus mentioned later) were open. Some were hauled by one horse, others by a team. All were driven fro the right-hand side. Runners on opposite sides of a sleigh were closer together than wheels on opposite sides of a summer-time wheeled vehicle. Sleigh bells were required by law; most were strings of small globular bells buckled around the horse but some were larger bells, much like cowbells, fastened to the shafts of a sleigh. Freight sleighs (and the bigger passenger sleighs) were bob-sleighs; they had two sets of runners of which the front set was pivoted. The freight sleighs were of considerable variety, ranging from very heavy ones for heavy loads, to light ones such as used for store-delivery rigs. The floor of some had no sides and back but not top. The big sleighs had at the back end of each of the rear runners, a dog; namely a hinged big spike which could be swung down, and tramped into the road, to hold the sleigh on a hill, while the horses got a breather."
     The columnist writes that "Passenger sleighs were of several varieties. The kind for fast travel was the cutter. It had one pair of runners. Most cutters had just one seat but some had two, and the latter varied among themselves inasmuch as though, almost all had the back seat facing forward, there was a type having the seats back to back. Though most cutters had high spindly runners there was a kind called a Quebec cutter, which was built low-set and had solid runners.
     "Meeting such four of the G.T.R. passenger trains as arrived in daytime, there was a bus which was a bobsleigh with a fully inclosed body, resembling that of a small street car. It would take a customer to any place in the town, upon payment of a small fare. The passengers used a door in the back of the vehicle, and occupied long seats whose backs ran along the sides of the bus, the two seats facing each other across a narrow aisle. The driver sat outdoors on a seat across the very front of the bus. For groups of people wanting to go elsewhere that from the railroad station, there was a kind of bus like the one just mentioned, except that its body was fully open. There was a dual-purpose small sleigh, called a jumper, which was light, sturdy, and low-set and had only one pair of runners. It was a dandy for getting over drifted roads. The jumper could be used for passengers or light freight or both together, like the station wagon of today. The foregoing does not deal with all the kinds of sleighs, but enough of them to give the highlights of their era. The station bus described was the elegant replacement of a plainer one which I remember. Winter traffic in the old days was slow but picturesque."
     Got to go folks. There's barbecue sauce beckoning. I'm going on the wagon in 2015. I hate myself, but I'll get over it!


From the Archives

THE STUFF WE FIND IN THE BOXES OF VINTAGE VINYL? SUPER TERRIFIC! OR A LITTLE CRAZY?

HE LET'S ME LISTEN TO SOME OF MY OLD FAVORITES - YES, LIKE "MALTON AND HAMILTON HOLDING THEIR OWN"

  WE OFTEN ACQUIRE, IN BULK VINTAGE VINYL PURCHASES. LATER IN THIS BLOG, I'LL OFFER AN EXPLANATION, WHY I FOUND THEIR WORK STRESS-RELIEVING, AND ANOTHER REASON WHY I HAVE ALWAYS SOUGHT OUT COMEDY, AND MUSIC, TO HEAL THE BATTERED SOUL. THE FINAL SEGMENT, OF THE CLIP, IS WORTH THE WAIT. YOU WON'T BELIEVE HOW GOOD THESE GUYS WERE AT MAKING MUSIC WITH FOUND INSTRUMENTS.....FROM A BICYCLE REPAIR SHOP. TO ME, AT LEAST, IT IS ONE OF THE FUNNIEST CANADIAN COMEDY CLIPS I HAVE EVER SEEN. BUT THEN, I AM A RATHER ODD CHAP, AND I ACTUALLY OWNED A SUIT THAT LOOKED A LOT LIKE THE ONES THEY'RE WEARING ON THE RECORD SLEEVE. WHICH SOMEWHAT EXPLAINS WHY I NEVER GOT INVITED TO FORMAL OCCASIONS.

   FIRST OF ALL, I ENJOYED THE WORK OF THE CANADIAN COMEDY TEAM OF MALTON AND HAMILTON, BECAUSE, AT THE TIME, I NEEDED THEM. I'LL EXPLAIN LATER. IN THE 1970'S AND 1980'S, WHEN WE'D CATCH THEIR ACTS AT ONE OF THE LOCAL HOTELS, (AND WE THOUGHT WE WERE RAUNCHY), WE'D EVEN WINCE AT SOME OF THEIR MATERIAL. THAT WAS THEIR MISSION STATEMENT. HUMOUR BY INTIMIDATION. HOW TOUGH WERE THEY? IT WAS URBAN LEGEND, THAT MALTON AND HAMILTON COULD MAKE YOU PEE YOUR PANTS. WHY? PATRONS WERE SO NERVOUS OF BEING SINGLED OUT, AND MADE FUN-OF, THAT THEY WOULDN'T GO TO THE LOUNGE WASHROOMS UNTIL INTERMISSION. IT WASN'T JUST THAT THE AUDIENCE WAS BEING POLITE, AND WAITING FOR ONE, OF ABOUT FOUR BRIEF INTERMISSIONS, TO RELIEVE THEMSELVES. YOU WOULDN'T HAVE BELIEVED THE PANIC GETTING TO THE BATHROOM, BEFORE THE MASS OF HOPPING, CROSS-LEGGED TAVERN-GOERS, TRYING TO GET THROUGH THAT SWINGING DOOR IN TIME. TO SUGGEST THAT SOME PATRONS IN PAIN, USED THE SINKS INSTEAD, WOULDN'T BE A MISTRUTH. IT DIDN'T MATTER WHO YOU WERE, IF YOU GOT UP DURING THEIR SHOW, BECAUSE YOU WERE GOING TO GET IT! IF YOU HAD, WHAT THEY THOUGHT WAS A FUNNY HAIRCUT, OR A LOUD SWEATER, CORDUROY PANTS, OR HAIRY ARMS, THEY'D BE ALL OVER YOU LIKE A FUNGUS; AND IF YOU BLUSHED EASILY.....WELL, THEY'D MAKE FUN OF THAT AS WELL. WERE THEY POLITICALLY CORRECT? DID THEY MAKE CULTURALLY SENSITIVE REFERENCES? SEXIST? USE POTTY REFERENCES TO EXCESS? MAKE FUN OF NEWFOUNDLANDERS? ASIANS? THOSE OF POLISH ANCESTRY? IT WAS THEIR ACT. BUT WE HAD ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO ARCHIE BUNKER, THE LESS THAN POLITICALLY CORRECT LABOURER, FROM THE HIT TELEVISION SHOW, "ALL IN THE FAMILY." NOT THAT THIS GAVE MALTON AND HAMILTON FUEL FOR THEIR MULE, BUT BY TIME WE'D BE SITTING IN THE FRONT ROW, MOST OF THE MATERIAL HAD BEEN HEARD BEFORE. JUST NOT WITH THEIR PATENTED LOUNGE LIZARD-STYLE, MACHINE-GUN, RAPID FIRE REPERTOIRE, THAT BY ITSELF, MADE FUN OF EVERY COMEDIAN WHO EVER SET FOOT IN A HOTEL, OR SMOKE-FILLED LOUNGE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD, WHERE, WITH COMFORTABLE FAMILIARITY, YOU STUCK TO THE FLOOR ON THE DRIED REMAINS OF LAST NIGHT'S TOPPLED, AND SLOSHED JUG OF BEER.

    THEY WERE A PARODY OF THEIR OWN PROFESSION, AND WHEN YOU LOOK AT THE COVER OF THE RECORD, ROBERT GAVE ME THIS MORNING, THE MAROON TUXEDOS KIND OF GIVE IT AWAY.....IF THE HANDS IN THE POCKETS DON'T. WHEN I HEAR THEM NOW, I HAVE A VERY DIFFERENT IMPRESSION, THAN I DID, AS A STARVING WRITER, WORKING IN THE COMMUNITY PRESS. BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S, LIKE PAUL RIMSTEAD'S DAILY COLUMN, MALTON AND HAMILTON'S ACT CHEERED US UP, FROM A JOB WE OFTEN DESPISED BECAUSE OF THE EMOTIONAL CHALLENGES. THIS MORNING, LISTENING TO THEM OVER COFFEE, IT SEEMED IN ESSENCE, AS IF THEY WERE MAKING FUN OF THEIR OWN ROLE, IN THE ENTERTAINMENT BUSINESS; AND EVERY STAND-UP COMEDIAN IN HISTORY, WHO HAD TO BREAK GROUND IN BARS WHERE ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN, AND LEARNING HOW TO DUCK, BOBB AND WEAVE, FROM FLYING BEER BOTTLES, WAS PART OF STANDARD TRAINING.....LIKE A BOXER OR A GOALTENDER. I ACTUALLY STARTED THINKING ABOUT COMEDIAN ANDY KAUFMAN'S, TACKY-TO-A-FAULT, LOUD, ABUSIVE CHARACTER, LOUNGE LIZARD, "TONY CLIFTON," (MOVIE "MAN ON THE MOON," WITH JIM CAREY).  FROM AROUND THE SAME TIME PERIOD, AS KAUFMAN WAS USING CLIFTON IN HIS ACT, MALTON AND HAMILTON WERE DOING ROUGHLY THE SAME THING, BUT WITH MUSICAL COMEDY....AND THEMSELVES. I NEVER GOLFED WITH THEM, OR WENT FISHING, BUT I'M ASSUMING THEY DIDN'T ACT LIKE THIS OUT OF CLASS. AS YOU DIDN'T PISS OFF CLIFTON, YOU CERTAINLY DIDN'T DO IT TO "TWICE-THE-STRENGTH" MALTON AND HAMILTON, WHICH BY THE WAY, WAS KNOWN AS CANADA'S NUMBER ONE COMEDY TEAM. I DON'T KNOW IF THIS WAS TRUE, BUT IT'S WHAT WAS PRINTED ONTO THE COVER OF THEIR RECORD ALBUM. BUT I'LL TELL YOU ONE THING; THEY HAD A WAY OF CAPTURING THE ATTENTION OF THEIR AUDIENCE THAT WAS REMARKABLE. FLEDGLING COMEDIANS WOULD BE WELL SERVED, TO CHECK THEM OUT, BECAUSE THEY OWNED THE BELL OF OLD SCHOOL COMEDY.

MIKE HAMILTON AND WAYNE MALTON, HAD A WAY.....AND IT WORKED FOR ME

     Every time I drive up or down what we used to call the Albion Expressway, which was the extension they made of Main Street, in Bracebridge, between Toronto Street and Anne Street, I always look at the hollow of urban landscape, which for some time was marked by a weave of tarpaulins, covering the brick of the collapsed historic hotel, "The Albion." Formerly one of Bracebridge's oldest buildings, I think it was Leishman's at one time; located across from the original Bracebridge Train Station. It had been considered a potential for restoration, some years back, until its weary bones finally gave out. While I'm sorry to recall Malton and Hamilton this way, I can't really reference the Albion Hotel, in Bracebridge, without making comment about being old and decapitated. The last time I went to one of their shows, was in the bosom of the landmark hotel by the train tracks, where tacky was good, and the jugs of beer were cold and cheap. I didn't take the time to count the bricks, but where they used to stage their show, was a literal crypt of building materials, from nails, Muskoka pine, to plaster. If there was a trace echo of those brilliant acts, it would have been a muffled one, in this new-century reality for the Albion Hotel. We all have to flatten out at some point.

     When Robert asked if I had ever heard of this comedy duo, as he held up their record, found in a dusty box of attic treasures, brought into our shop, I was speechless. "It's even signed on the back, by Mike Hamilton," one of the dynamic duo. It was a stormy winter morning, and I asked if he would mind putting it on his turnable (he's a fraction-off being a full fledged audiophile, so cleanliness is indeed Godliness). So after a long period of study, and cleaning, he put the record on, and you know, for the first time this winter, I forgot about the weight and depth of snow on the roof of the house. I worry a lot about snow-load, as I don't want to wake up in a bed of ice splinters, and woodwork. For those few moments, I was back in the old tavern, jammed together with hundreds of other "hungry for entertainment" patrons, wishing to be abused, poked, and prodded by the stylings of two lads living the life. I think they liked their work. I hope they did.

     I remember the first time I saw them in Bracebridge; my colleague in weekly newspaper reporting, Brant Scott, told me he was "buying" at what we called our "press club," and the treat of the evening, over and above watching the fights that broke out around us, was that Malton and Hamilton were in town.....and he knew more about them than I did. That day, that week, that month, had been burdensome like no other in the local news game....which city reporters would claim was soft compared to their assignments. There had been fatal car accidents, house fires, coverage of sick youngsters needing financial assistance, to pay for treatment, the usual depressing court coverage of crime, and the mundane study of local municipal councils, and the Board of Education. On that day, although it is a tad cloudy, we were looking to be elevated from what had become a drudgery. I hated getting the call to cover an accident scene, and especially if there were casualties. If I there was one reason I wanted to quit being a reporter, it was having to visit these horrific scenes. In our coverage areas, where we have a lot of high-traffic two lane highways, especially during the summer months, we might have received three calls each day, to chase the ambulances. We ran a scanner in the office, which I came to detest. But it was news. We had a responsibility to report on local happenings, not just the usual grip and grin photographs we buried inside the paper. While it may seem ridiculous to some, that reporters could suffer from post traumatic stress disorder, as might first responders, there were times we were on the scene so speedily, we beat the fire department and responding police officers. One of our reporters-photographers, John Black, used to have traffic flares in the trunk of his car, if he was one of the early ones to arrive at an accident. We would help wherever we could, and if asked, direct traffic if it was required. But what we saw in that twisted metal, did stick with us after we got home. On the occasion of Malton and Hamilton's visit, later that day, their show had a very liberating affect I've never forgotten. I don't know why everyone else was jammed into that lounge, but for us, it was a temporary relief to go with the beer on tap. As Brant told me about their act, and not wanting to get singled out, I probably consumed only a few glasses of beer during their acts, to manage trips to the washroom.

     I have been thinking back to those days a lot, during the past year, but I'm not really sure why. I left active, day to day reporting in the early 1990's, after eleven years in the front line. I stood on the spot where a Huntsville based police officer was fatally shot, only a few hours after his death, and thought about penning a note of resignation when I got back to the office. I wasn't cut out for this work. I didn't mind reporting on local council, but I wasn't handling the tragic occurrences very well. But I didn't have a plan B. I could hardly pay rent as it was, and I know I was drinking way too much for my own good. This isn't a revelation about a couple of wild-eyed, garishly dressed comedians, saving my sanity, or leading me to another seven or so years in the same profession. I think they imprinted pretty heavily on me, the genuine need for comedy in my life, and the very real relevance, of laughing out loud at life itself. Life is guaranteed to have these tough moments, so better get used to them. I can remember almost choking myself to death, inhaling that cold beer, and pretzel dust, laughing at their jokes. Brant had to hit me so hard on the back, I almost lost consciousness from the blow, moreso than from what was now deep in my lungs. Malton and Hamilton made fun of my gagging, and I loved it. They may have even referenced our group of beer-swilling newsies, as members of the Klan or something like that, but we laughed with them. We sure weren't bashful but son of a gun, could they ever make us blush.

     I remember being at a fatal head-on collision, on Highway 118, just out of town, with Brant, and him whispering to me, camera in hand, "Ted.....move your feet back." He said it at least three times, while I was trying to focus my camera. "All right, all right," I answered, and stepped back, expecting he knew what was best. He did. It was the first time in my life that I had blood on my shoes. To war correspondents, and big city news hounds, this wasn't earth shattering. For me, it was! Especially when Brant and I knew both victims. That was the other part of being a small town reporter. The so-called bad side. It was a long way from reporting on the events of the Horticultural Society, or on the opening of a new variety store. We knew a lot of people, and chances were, one day, it was going to happen....., that it would be violently imposed upon us; this kind of tragic situation we wouldn't be able to dodge emotionally.

     It seems like an awful weight of responsibility, to put on the shoulders of two comedians, enjoying a gig at the local watering hole. I didn't tell them about my burdens. But over their several night stand, I let it all hang out, I'm telling you. I laughed until I peed my own pants, and by golly, I think my laughter made them pee their pants. A lot of laundry was inspired by their stay in our fair town.

     We didn't seek mental-health assistance, after seeing tragedy unfold. We didn't have a clue what PTSD was, and even if we had known, we couldn't have limited our exposure any way.....like the first responders, it was our responsibility to present the whole news....as grim as that was at times. Town size has never had anything to do, with the severity of the emergencies within and around. As we suffered the other reality, of being of poor-income, and not having a lot of "mad" money, to pay for entertainment, Malton and Hamilton used to come-in on budget.....explaining why we had front row seats, every time they played the local Albion. What they did for the others in those crammed quarters? It took them away from pressing realities, for a short period of time. I'm just speculating about this, but I sort of think beer sales may have been down on those nights, because the show was too good, to miss any of it, due to intoxication. Bet they could have used that line as a show promotion. Less profitable for the hotels, but they sold lots of chips and pretzels.

     I'm not really sure why I've been doing so many retrospectives of my newspaper days, over the past year. I left them abruptly in the early nineties, after a spat with a publisher, and decided to stick with freelance writing instead.....and of course, the antique trade. I wonder now, if it was the lingering issue, of never achieving closure from a short, but action-packed career....that possibly I hadn't want to leave in the first place. It did take years to adjust. I don't have nightmares or suffer panic attacks, or really anything I could call the impact of PTSD. As for reporting flashbacks, I live with them daily. A lot of people live with these recollections of tragic events. That's life. But for me, if I could laugh, that was oh so much better than crying.

     As a reporter in re-training, I'm pretty rusty, so forgive my rigidity, as I try to reclaim some of the mojo I used to have, interviewing artists and politicians, athletes and celebrities. I'll write a piece about my interview with former Toronto Maple Leaf veteran, Bob Baun, who made my hand disappear in his.....during an interview back in the early 1980's....but I got to ask him that million dollar question....about scoring a playoff goal while having suffered, a few plays earlier, a broken leg. The writing staff back then enjoyed a lot of special occasions, when we'd be able to get close to celebrity acts. We liked that part of the profession. I was standing so close to the band "Teenage Head," at Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School, that I could have taken a dramatic (maybe not) photo of their finger nails. It's what I thought was a tad close, but that's where I was told to stand. Same thing happened at a Kim Mitchell Concert, when handlers put me in front of his speakers, which was like nothing I had ever experienced, short of standing behind a Snowbird's Tudor jet upon ignition. I actually saw my own heart beating through my compressed chest cavity. I was good, but couldn't honestly claim to my wife for the next week, "Sorry dear, did you say something." I stretched it five of those seven days, because it was fun to mess with her.

    But although we didn't treat them as celebrities, and I offer my sincere apology we didn't appreciate their accomplishments, we did do a story about Malton and Hamilton, for an issue of The Herald-Gazette; but I don't remember much about it now. A couple of years ago, I recycled all my back issues. They were just the kind of irreverent blokes we needed back then, and we did call ourselves their fans.

     On the web site, you will be able to read their biographies, which are pretty impressive, including the Guinness Book of Records milestone, for most continuous jokes told. These chaps played to large audiences in Canada, and the United States, and I don't know whether or not there is a Canadian Comedians' Hall of Fame, but their names should be enshrined. I'm not sure how they felt about playing to the audiences at the Albion Hotel, in Bracebridge, back then, or if they were hit by any debris I might have been responsible for; but seeing that record I used to own, brought back some neat memories.

     They weren't everyones' cup of tea....or bucket of ale, but for us, they afforded us the comic relief we needed, to go another week or so, trying to maintain that freedom of the press thing.....which at times, carried a heavy tax.

      

Indie Musicians, Folk and Country Singer/Songwriters, Our Modern Day Roaming Poets

Our Indie Musical Friends:  Sara Ciantar, Shawn William Clarke, Andrew Currie, Rob Currie and James Bunton

Our Indie Musical Friends: Sean MacGillivray, Gabrielle Papillon, Shawn Jurek, Andrew Currie, Nicholas Maclean, Laura Spink, Graydon James and Rob Currie

GRASS IS SHOWING - SNOW SQUALL WARNINGS - I'M AS SNUG AS A BUG

     I HAVE JUST SNUCK, QUITE UNDETECTED, INTO THE BACK ROOM OF OUR SHOP, AMONGST MY FAVORITE RELICS OF NOSTALGIA, SITTING BESIDE THE STAGE AREA, FULL OF VINTAGE INSTRUMENTS. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO HAVE A DRY WELL OF INSPIRATION, IN THIS EMBRACE OF ALL AGES. I SOMETIMES VENTURE OUTDOORS TO CATCH SOME AFTERNOON ACTUALITY ALONG THE MAIN STREET, BUT THE COLD WIND TODAY HAS CHILLED MY BONES; AND FORCED ME TO RETREAT TO THIS INNER SANCTUM. IT'S CERTAINLY NOT A HARDSHIP, THAT'S FOR SURE. IT'S COMFORTABLE AND WARM. I JUST TEND TO GET IN THE WAY OF CUSTOMERS, WHO AT FIRST, ARE STARTLED TO SEE THE TWO OF US SITTING ON THE LOVELY, AND PROFOUNDLY COMFORTABLE, CIRCA 1960'S VINTAGE WOOD AND CUSHION COUCH. MY COMPANION IS A RECLINING STORE MANIKIN WEARING A BERET. RIGHT NOW, ANDREW HAS POSITIONED HER ARMS, TO CRADLE SOME VINTAGE VINYL, ONE BEING THE SOUND TRACK FROM THE MOVIE "THE HUSTLER," THAT STARRED JACKIE GLEASON, AS MINNESOTA FATS, AND PAUL NEWMAN. I CALL HER IRMA AND SHE'S THE STRONG SILENT TYPE. SHE DOESN'T EVEN LOOK MY WAY, SO WINKING IN HER DIRECTION IS A WASTE OF TIME.
     TODAY, ACTUALLY BEGINNING IN THE THROES OF A SLUMBER-TIME DREAM, I BEGAN THINKING ABOUT THE INDY MUSICIANS WE HAVE MET THROUGH OUR STUDIO, AND THE CHURCH CONCERTS WE'VE BEEN HOSTING THIS YEAR. I WAS ALSO RUMINATING ABOUT THE BIOGRAPHY OF A.Y. JACKSON, CANADIAN PAINTER, WRITTEN BY O.J. FIRESTONE, WHICH HAS INTERESTING REFERENCES TO HIS YEARS, TRYING TO ESTABLISH HIMSELF AS A PROFESSIONAL ARTIST; BUT SUFFERING MANY SET-BACKS, AND SHORTFALLS OF APPRECIATION, ESPECIALLY FOR HIS EARLY WORK. HE WAS A STARVING ARTIST TOO, AND ON TOP OF GENERAL HARDSHIP, ALSO KNEW WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO LIVE AND WORK THROUGH THE GREAT DEPRESSION; NEVER GIVING UP HIS PASSION TO PAINT. SO I SAT DOWN FIRST THING THIS MORNING, AND TRIED TO PUT A COMPARISON TOGETHER, THAT WOULD MAKE SENSE; TIEING PAINTERS, FOR EXAMPLE, IN WITH INDY MUSICIANS, TRYING TO MAKE THEIR WAY IN THE MUSIC PROFESSION, WITH GREAT FINANCIAL DIFFICULTY.
     HERE GOES!

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - A FEW NOTES ABOUT STARVING ARTISTS, FOLK AND COUNTRY SINGERS, STORY TELLERS, WRITERS, AND POETS

SUFFERING FOR ONE'S CRAFT, PART OF THE FOLK CULTURE OF BEING AN ARTIST

     CAN YOU IMAGINE THIS? A STANDING-ROOM-ONLY CROWD, IN A LARGE AUDITORIUM, TO HEAR CANADIAN POET, WILSON MACDONALD, RECITE POETRY FROM HIS LATEST BOOK. IT HAPPENED. AND YES, RIGHT IN GRAVENHURST. IN MANY COMMUNITIES IN ONTARIO. IN THE EARLY DECADES OF THE 1900'S, POETS LIKE MACDONALD, BLISS CARMEN, AND CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, COULD PACK THEM IN, THAT'S FOR SURE. BUT GO EVEN FURTHER BACK, IN THE HISTORY OF LITERATURE, AND DISCOVER THAT POETS, OR BARDS AS THEY WERE BETTER KNOWN, WERE THE MORE PUBLIC, AND VISIBLE, OF THE PHILOSOPHER ILK. THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST, FOR EXAMPLE, WAS NAMED AFTER THE LITERARY ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF A BRITISH POET / PHILOSOPHER, BY THE NAME OF WILLIAM HENRY SMITH. THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, WAS NAMED AFTER A GREAT AMERICAN WRITER, WASHINGTON IRVING, AUTHOR OF BOOKS LIKE "BRACEBRIDGE HALL," AND "THE SKETCH BOOK," AND KNOWN INTERNATIONALLY, FOR HIS SHORT STORIES LIKE "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW," AND "RIP VAN WINKLE." FROM MY OWN RESEARCH INTO THE LIVES AND WORK OF ALL THOSE MENTIONED ABOVE, INCLUDING WILLIAM HENRY SMITH, AND WASHINGTON IRVING, THERE WAS AN ABUNDANCE OF "SUFFERING" TO GO AROUND. GREAT HARDSHIPS WERE ENCOUNTERED, TRYING TO PROGRESS THEIR CREATIVE ENTERPRISES. I AM NOT SURE IF A CANADIAN POET, LIKE WILSON MACDONALD, WHO HAD A LONG RELATIONSHIP WITH MUSKOKA, AND THE VILLAGE OF WINDERMERE, ON LAKE ROSSEAU, WOULD BE ABLE TO FILL EVEN HALF AN AUDITORIUM TODAY; BECAUSE WE, AS A SOCIETY, DON'T REGARD POETS THE SAME, AS WAS THE CASE IN THE 1920'S AND 1930'S, THE YEARS THE MUSKOKA ASSEMBLY OF AUTHORS MET ON TOBIN'S ISLAND.
     WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAT DOWN, WITH A BOOK OF POEMS BY WHITTIER, WORDSWORTH, OR LONGFELLOW? MILTON? TENNYSON? THEIR WORK IS STILL REVERED, BUT BY A MUCH DIFFERENT, AND I DARE SAY, SMALLER AUDIENCE, MADE UP MOSTLY OF SCHOLARS, AND THOSE WRITERS WHO KNOW JUST HOW EXCEPTIONAL THEIR WORK WAS IN LITERARY HISTORY. WE DON'T APPRECIATE HOW MUCH ENLIGHTENMENT, AND ILLUMINATION, THESE AUTHORS, POETS AND STORY SPINNERS, FED THE CULTURAL APPETITE OF A LITERARY SOCIETY, IN ALL THE BYGONE ERAS WE CARE TO REVISIT. POETS WERE WORTH LISTENING TO, AND READING AND RE-READING FOR INSPIRATION. THEY HAD IMPORTANT LITERARY ILLUMINATION TO SHARE, AND A CULTURE TO ADVANCE A POEM AT A TIME. IN ORDER TO CREATE THEIR MEMORABLE PIECES, WHICH ARE STILL IN THE MINDS AND HEARTS OF THOSE WHO KEEP AN ANTIQUE OR REPRINT COPY OF WORDSWORTH, OR SHELLEY AT BEDSIDE, THERE WAS SUFFERING IN A VARIETY OF WAYS, AND FOR SOME, ABJECT POVERTY, ENDURED, TO ADVANCE THE CAUSE OF CREATIVE FREEDOM. THIS IS UNDERSTOOD. BUT WHERE ARE ALL THE POETS NOW? I THINK MANY OF THEM HAVE BECOME INDY MUSICIANS, IN THIS COUNTRY, TRAVELING FROM SMALL VENUE TO VENUE, SINGING THEIR UNIQUE FOLK / COUNTRY STORIES, JUST AS WILSON MACDONALD, AND CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS PERFORMED THEIR RECITATIONS ACROSS THE COUNTRY, TO BIG AUDIENCES AND SMALL. IN TINY COMMUNITY THEATRES, MUSTY OLD TOWN HALLS, DRAFTY WOOD PANELED CHAMBERS, LIBRARIES, AND CAVERNOUS, DAMP CHURCH BASEMENTS, OCCASIONALLY SELLING SOME OF THE BOOKS, WHICH MACDONALD, BY THE WAY, ALWAYS PERSONALIZED WITH INSCRIPTIONS, AND COLORFUL ILLUMINATIONS FOR HIS PATRONS.     TODAY THE WARES THE ARTISTS BRING TO THE SHOW, ARE CALLED "MERCH" MEANING "MERCHANDISE," WHICH HELPS MUSICIANS PAY FOR THE GAS, TO GET UP OR DOWN THE ROAD, TO THE VERY NEXT GIG. MAYBE SALES THE NIGHT BEFORE, WILL PROVIDE ENOUGH FUNDS TO BUY A PINT OF ALE, AND A SANDWICH, TO FUEL THE EXTENSION OF THE CREATIVE JUNKET, EVEN ONE MORE DAY, ANOTHER WEEK OR TWO, BEFORE FUNDS RUN DRY.
    MY SONS, ANDREW AND ROBERT, KNOW ALL ABOUT THE CHALLENGES OF TRYING TRY TO FUND MUSIC PROJECTS IN THIS COUNTRY, AS INDEPENDENT ARTISTS THEMSELVES. IT'S ONE OF THE REASONS, THEY CAME UP WITH THE IDEA OF PLAYING HOST TO TRAVELING INDIE MUSICIANS, TO CREATE WHAT HAS NOW BECOME KNOWN AS "CURRIE BROTHERS' CHURCH SHOWS." A SORT OF RESPITE EVENT, WHERE MUSICIANS CAN ZONE-OUT FOR A TIME IN THE STUDIO, BEFORE TAKING TO THE MAIN STAGE, AT THE LOCAL ANGLICAN CHURCH. THEY BEGAN AS "SESSIONS CONCERTS," BUT OUR MUSICIAN FRIENDS HAVE BEGUN REFERRING TO THEM AS "CHURCH SHOWS", BECAUSE OF THE FACT, WE HOLD THEM IN ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, IN GRAVENHURST. ACTUALLY WHAT HAPPENED, WAS THAT ONE OF OUR PERFORMERS, ZACHARY LUCKY, LISTED HIS UPCOMING GRAVENHURST GIG, VIA "EXCLAIM MAGAZINE", AS THE "CURRIE BROTHERS' CHURCH SHOW," AND IT IS NOW THE TITLE WE'RE HAPPY TO LIVE WITH. FUNNY HOW THINGS LIKE THIS HAPPEN. WELL, IT'S A CULTURAL ADJUSTMENT, AND IT WAS MADE SOMEWHAT BY HAPPENSTANCE, OF MR. LUCKY NOT KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT THE SHOWS WERE KNOWN AS; AND THE REST IS ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY IN THIS BALLYWICK.
    THE IDEA OF THE MONTLY SHOWS, WAS TO IMMERSE INTO THE INDIE SCENE, BY PROVIDING A COMFORTABLE, UNPRETENTIOUS, AND APPRECIATIVE VENUE, FOR HEAVILY TRAVELLED MUSICIANS NEEDING A CHANGE OF PACE, A BRIEF HIATUS, FROM THE RIGORS OF PLAYING IN TAVERNS AND CROWDED BAR-ROOMS, WHERE THEIR CREATIVE TALENTS AREN'T ALWAYS FULLY APPRECIATED.
     AS THE POETS ONCE REGALED AUDIENCES, INSPIRING PATRONS TO ENLIGHTEN THEMSELVES, TO THE GREAT ENCHANTMENTS OF THEIR COUNTRY, THE WORLD, AND THE UNIVERSE, TODAY, IT SEEMS TO ME, OUR INDY MUSICIANS HAVE THEMSELVES, NOW BECOME THE TRAVELING BARDS; PUTTING THEIR POETIC THOUGHTS TO MUSIC. THEY HAVE SPUN THEIR STORIES, INTO A MUSIC WRAP, WITH A MOST PLEASANT SOUND, HIGHLIGHTING PLACES THEY'VE VISITED ACROSS CANADA, AND THE UNITED STATES, AND FONDLY COMMEMORATED STAYS IN HOMETOWNS JUST LIKE OURS. THEY'VE SPUN TALES ABOUT LOVED ONES, GRANDPARENTS, BEST FRIENDS, OLD FLAMES AND NEW, FAVORITE CARS AND TRUCKS, FISHING STORIES AND URBAN LEGENDS. AND, WRITTEN ABOUT HAVING WATCHED SUNSETS, DOCUMENTING THE MINDFUL OCCASIONS, WHEN THEY'VE BEEN A LITTLE ANXIOUS ABOUT LIFE, SITTING BY THE SIDE OF THUNDERING CATARACTS; HIKED HISTORIC TRAILS ON THE EAST COAST AND WEST, CELEBRATING FOLK HISTORY AND RE-VISITING THE LEGENDS THAT DESERVE RE-TELLING. THEY ARE THE NEW-AGE POETS, PUTTING DISCOVERY AND EXPERIENCE TO MUSIC; AND IF WE LISTEN CAREFULLY, TO THE WORDS WITHIN, WE HAVE THE ENHANCED OPPORTUNITY, TO TRAVEL BESIDE THEM ON THEIR CROSS CONTINENTAL JOURNEYS. THERE'S SOMETHING OF CRITICAL IMPORTANCE, TO OUR CULTURAL HERITAGE, ROLLED UP IN THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATIVE ENTERPRISES, THAT CARRIES MUCH THE SAME ILLUMINATION AND PHILOSOPHY, MADE FAMOUS BY OUR GREAT BARDS.
     PART OF THIS, COMES FROM HAVING PERFORMED IN THOSE ALE-SCENTED ROADHOUSES, BOTTLE CLINKING OLD TAVERNS AND CLUBS ACROSS THE COUNTRY. AN ETCHING OF EXPERIENCE, GARNERED FROM STRUMMING THEIR GUITARS, ON THE PLATFORMS OF ANTIQUATED TRAIN STATIONS, AND ON THE PORCHES OF COUNTRY STORES, AND UPON THE WELL WORN LIBRARY STEPS, JUST FOR A RESPITE OF CULTURAL RECREATION. HOW MANY STORIES THEY CAN REGALE US WITH, OF WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO PLAY ON ASKEW STAGES, SET UP IN OLD BARNS, FRATERNAL AND BANQUET HALLS, COMMUNITY CENTRES, AND IN THE BACKYARDS OF KINDRED SPIRITS FROM COAST TO COAST, SOUTH TO NORTH. ALL THE INTERESTING CHARACTERS MET ALONG THE TRAVERSE OF CANADA; MEETING UP WITH VETERAN PERFORMERS, MUSICIANS WHO HAVE WEATHERED THE STORMS, ECONOMICALLY, AND IN ACTUALITY; HAVING ALSO BEEN STRANDED AT THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, WHEN THE VEHICLE'S MECHANICS GAVE UP THE GHOST. HELD UP IN SMALL TOWNS DURING SNOWSTORMS, AND FORCED TO COUCH-SURF BECAUSE THERE WASN'T ENOUGH MONEY TO RENT A MOTEL ROOM. TAKING UP THE OFFER TO HAVE A COUNTRY BREAKFAST, WITH CONCERT-PATRONS, FROM THE SHOW THE NIGHT BEFORE. KINDNESSES ETCHED INTO THEIR SOULS, OF WHAT CANADA REALLY MEANS, PERSON TO PERSON, HAMLET, VILLAGE, TOWN AND CITY, IN THE WIDE PANORAMA OF GATHERED EXPERIENCES AND UNTOLD ADVENTURE. OF COURSE THEY ARE THE NEW-AGE POETS, AND WE SHOULD TO LISTEN TO THEM. THEY HAVE SAGE ADVICE FOR THOSE OF US, WHO HAVE NEVER HAD TO HUSTLE-UP GIGS, IN BAR-ROOMS, OLD HOTELS WITH BURNED-OUT ADVERTISING SIGNS, AND THEN BUSKER OUTSIDE A GROCERY STORE, TO BUY A BALONEY SANDWICH FOR DINNER. AND PAY FOR THE NEXT LEG OF THE SIMPLE-PLAN, OR BETTER STATED, AUSTERITY TOUR, ACROSS THIS GREAT COUNTRY. WHEN WE HOST THESE TALENTED INDY ARTISTS, AT OUR CHURCH SHOWS, WE ARE OFFERING AN OPPORTUNITY TO SHARE STORIES ABOUT OUR COUNTRY, FROM THOSE WHO HAVE WITNESSED IT FROM AMAZING VANTAGE POINTS, AND INTIMATE CIRCUMSTANCES, GOOD AND ADVERSE, TRAVELING THOUSANDS OF MILES BY BUS, TRAIN, PLANE, RECREATIONAL VEHICLE, TRUCK AND AUTOMOBILE. MANY MILES POUNDED DOWN ON THEIR FAILING SHOE LEATHERS, BECAUSE A RIDE WASN'T AVAILABLE. TRAVELING CANADA BY THUMB. TAKES ME BACK TO MY HIPPY DAYS.
     WE ARE ALWAYS AMAZED, IN A GOOD WAY, BY HOW APPRECIATIVE THESE TRAVEL-WEARY ARTISTS ARE, WHEN THEY FINALLY ARRIVE AT OUR GRAVENHURST SHOP, PRIOR TO THAT EVENING'S CHURCH CONCERT. THEY SEEM TO BE OVERWHELMED BY WHAT THEY SEE AS SPECIAL ATTENTION AND GENEROSITY, ESPECIALLY FROM THE AUDIENCE, THAT ALWAYS WANT TO MEET THE MUSICIANS AT THE END OF THE SHOW. IT MAKES US WONDER, JUST HOW MUCH SUFFERING THESE TRAVELING MUSICIANS, OF THE INDIE ILK, HAVE ENDURED FOR THE LOVE OF THEIR CRAFT? HOW MUCH MORE SUFFERING, AND MILES TRAVELLED, WILL THEY NEED, TO NOTCH THEIR PLACE IN CANADIAN MUSIC PROMINENCE? WHAT MORE CAN WE EXPECT OF THEM? SHOULD WE BE TREATING THEM BETTER, AS A NATION, SEEING AS THEY ARE OUR CONTEMPORARY PHILOSOPHERS; THE BARDS, JUST LIKE WILSON MACDONALD, CARMEN AND ROBERTS FROM THE PAGES OF ANTIQUITY? TO NOT PAY ATTENTION TO THEIR WORK, WOULD DENY US A STAKE IN OUR OWN CULTURAL HERITAGE, THAT THEY OFFER TO ALL OF US, FOR THE PRICE OF DINNER, LODGINGS AND GAS. THEY ARE NEVER GOING TO GET WEALTHY ROAMING THE COUNTRY AS THEY DO, A SHARED REALITY WITH THE POETS WHO STRUGGLED THE SAME, JUST TO SPREAD THE WORD.
     IF YOU WERE TO ASK THESE WANDERING MINSTRELS, WHY THEY STILL SUFFER FOR THEIR MUSIC, I THINK, POSSIBLY, THEY WOULD FEEL INSULTED, AS IF IT WAS A LESSER DYNAMIC OF EXPERIENCE, TO SACRIFICE FOR WHAT ONE LOVES. A LITTLE BIT MORE MONEY MIGHT BE NICE, AND GUARANTEED RELIABILITY OF TRANSPORT, LESS BURDEN ON THE MIND. BUT TO SUGGEST THAT THEY SHOULD CONSIDER ABANDONING, WHAT MAKES THEM SAGE AND STORIED, WOULD BE, AS MUCH, TO SUGGEST OUR CULTURAL LEGACY SHOULD BE WHITTLED DOWN, TO A THIRD THE ARTISTS, JUST BECAUSE IT'S HARD OUT THERE. ON THIS NOTE, I WANT TO SHARE THE STORY OF ANOTHER GROUP OF ARTISTS, WHO ALSO SUFFERED FOR THEIR CRAFT, AND THEIR BELIEF CANADA NEEDED A NEW ARTISTIC IDENTITY. THE COST OF BEING RIGHT WAS A HEAVY BURDEN. BUT THANKFULLY THEY PERSISTED, AND DEFIED THEIR HARSHEST CRITICS. WE ARE ALL BETTER FOR THE EFFORT.

CANADIAN PAINTERS SUFFERED FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF THEIR PROFESSIONAL LIVES

     In order to make ends meet, Tom Thomson, Canadian landscape artist, and source of inspiration for the eventual creation of the Group of Seven Artists, (following his death in July 1917), worked as a guide in Algonquin Park. He worked alongside many of Canada's now-celebrated artists, in the field of commercial art, designing everything from candy boxes, to canned vegetable labels. There is actually a book, that documents the tin-can label-graphics, created by later Group of Seven painter, A.J. Casson. He tells the story that, although it was forbidden practice, many of the contributing artists, made individual marks within the advertising art work, to identify their work; as would be clearly noticed by other graphic artists.
     There's a popular story told about Tom Thomson, trying to cash a cheque at a Huntsville bank, given to him by Dr. James M. MacCallum, a patron of Canadian art, for a painting he had purchased; the teller that day, refusing to give the artist the money. Thomson, a rising star, even at this point in his young career, was seen tearing up the cheque into little pieces outside, and then throwing them into the air. The bank manager, aware of the spectacle outside, asked the teller what name had appeared on the cheque. When he found out it was Dr. MacCallum, he quickly attempted to remedy the situation, and make it up to the disgruntled artist. The irony here, is that a man who would become iconic in Canada for his art, and have panels in the National Gallery, today selling for many millions, at auction, was seen as an individual of lesser concern, than the doctor; who, while a generous man in Canadian art, was but a generous art patron. Not one destined to become a legend, as would Thomson.
     If you had come upon Tom Thomson, pulling up his canoe to the dock, at Mowat Lodge, on Algonquin Park's Canoe Lake, you would have noticed a cluster of paint boards he had been working on, during his traverse of the local lakes and rivers. If you had also happened to make special mention of one, that you thought better than the others, first he would ask why you felt that way. Secondly, he would have handed it to you, as a gift for your honest appraisal of his work. Thomson up to the time of this death, lived a meager lifestyle, and he ate the fish he caught fishing in places like the rapids of the Tea Lake Dam. It is said his campfire blueberry pies were to die for. It can also be stated, with some integrity, that Thomson lived for his art, but at the time of his mysterious death, he was still very much a starving artist of the time period.
     In the biography of A.Y. Jackson, written by his friend O.J. Firestone, published by McClelland and Stewart, in 1979, the author profiles some of the painters early days, when it was next to impossible to survive as an artist in Canada. "Starving artist," is a relatively modern term, identifying the deficiencies of being an independent artist. It pertains to indy musicians as well. Here are a few observations, O.J. Firestone made, of A.Y. Jackson's own starving artist days, that while discouraging and depressing, didn't thwart him from carrying-on what he loved to do as an art form.
     "The man I met working in his own studio in Manotick, was clearly untroubled by want. In fact, during the rest of his productive life he lived in a seller's market and built-up a considerable estate. But for sixty years before I knew him, Alec Jackson had had a rough time, with few smooth places to lighten the burden of making an adequate living."
     Firestone records of his friend Jackson that, "He first knew poverty as a child in Montreal, in a family deserted by his father, as his mother tried to raise six children on her own. Then followed the poverty of exploitation, after he started work at the age of twelve in 1894. At the beginning, Alec probably earned less than two dollars a week as an office boy at the British Engraving Company, a lithographic company. After six years with this firm, at the age of eighteen, Alec was earning six dollars a week. Only in 1905, at the age of twenty-three, when he got another job at a photo-engraving company, was he earning twenty-five dollars a week.
     "Yet Alec managed to put aside some money. After helping out at home, he had saved over five years, the princely sum of one hundred dollars - enough to take him, with his brother Harry and another commercial artist, to Europe. They crossed the Atlantic as deck hands on a cattle boat, looking after several hundred head of cattle. They were promised five shillings each for the two weeks' work; they never were paid. Alec and Harry visited London, Paris, Brussels, Antwerp and Rotterdam, until the money ran out and Alec returned to Montreal, broke. Back in the engraving business, he saw his job evaporate with a printers' strike in 1906."
     Mr. Firestone notes, that "By the spring of 1907, Alec had saved fifteen hundred dollars, enough to go to Paris to study at the Academie Julian. I was possible in those days, to live comfortably in France on six hundred dollars a year, including money for touring. He stayed in France for two and a half years and did quite a bit of traveling in Europe. After he returned to Canada, just before Christmas, in 1909, he tried to sell some of his works but had no luck; so he gave some of these paintings to his family and kept a few himself. In 1910 Alec took another job in Montreal, doing commercial art work with a photo-engraving company. He worked there for a year but he also took on part-time work in the evenings designing cigar labels, to save enough money to return to Europe. By the early fall of 1911 he had been able to save another thousand dollars, making it possible for him to go to France and then on to Italy. He returned to Montreal early in 1911, bring back a lot of canvases, that he was unable to sell. 'They were around my studio for years,' he wrote later. Apparently, few people liked the work Alec did in Europe - his paintings showed the influence of the French impressionists, and were regarded as too modern by conservative Canadian collectors."
     "Beginning in 1913, Jackson's life entered a new phase," wrote Firestone, of his artist friend. "That year, at the age of twenty-nine, he sold his first major canvas. 'The Edge of the Maple Wood,' painted in Sweetsburg, Quebec, in 1910. The buyer was Lawren Harris, who had independent means, and the price was two hundred dollars. (Harris sold this painting to the National Gallery of Canada for about the same amount in 1937). The only other income Alec received was from the sale of six Venetian sketches, sold at a 'little picture show,' in Toronto. This money helped finance his visit to Toronto to meet, a number of artists who were to become his friends and who later-on would join together to form the Group of Seven.
      O.J. Firestone offers this overview, of a situation with both Lorne Harris, and Dr. MacCallum, which was most definitely a turning in his mission to remain a professional artist. "In the fall of 1913, Alec met Dr. James MacCallum, a friend of Lawren Harris. MacCallum liked Alec's work. When Alec explained that he was thinking of moving to the United States because there seemed little hope of making a living in Canada as a painter, MacCallum made Alec what he later described as a 'surprising proposition.' 'If I would take a studio in the building he and Harris were having erected, he would guarantee my expenses for a year.' Alec agreed, and that money saw him through the year 1914, and in June 1916 was wounded by a bullet in the shoulder while fighting at Maple Copse in Flanders. The shrapnel wound healed nicely and in 1917 he was given the opportunity to paint again. He was made a lieutenant and a member of the Canadian War Records Office under Lord Beaverbrook."
     This isn't the entire biography of A.Y. Jackson's early years, as a struggling artist. The hardships continued past the war years, and he was, like many others, severely disadvantaged by the years of the Great Depression. But his connection with the Group of Seven paid off. Despite some terrible reviews, early on, regarding the liberties taken by the Group, challenging the conservative views of national art to that point. Breaking traditions, enlightening the national art community to future trends, Jackson's sacrifices for his craft were ongoing, as Firestone says, until after his 60th year, when his fame, and the allure of his paintings, began to attract a literal parade of serious art investors.
     I often think about the artists today, musicians and writers included, who go years without serious financial validation, that their efforts to enhance the culture of this country, have, and are being appreciated. It's all part of the sacrifice, that most "starving" but committed artists would agree, is worth the angst and financial shortfalls. Experience is always hard to come by, but precious to possess.
     I don't want to give the impression, by the reference to Canadian art in the passages above, that our "Church Shows," or however they're referred to, by our musician friends, are akin to the benevolent work of Dr. MacCallum, for artists such as A.Y. Jackson, and Tom Thomson. We're a long way from being able to bestow that kind of benevolence. Instead, we hope to make up for our financial limitations, by the fact we so heartily believe in the efforts of these musicians, to enhance our arts and culture, that we will never cease, to include them in our music projects. We welcome them to play their music in our town. Damn straight. We want to show them what Muskoka hospitality is all about. What we do appreciate, being involved in the Indie scene ourselves, is just how close-knit the musicians are, in what can only be seen as a pro-active, stalwart network, of cultural adventurers; who find hardship more palatable, and loneliness on the road, less anxiety filled, knowing they aren't alone feeling this way. I want to thank all the patrons who have come out to the "Church Shows," and supported these contemporary poets, folk-lorists, musicians, who tell us about the country they've seen, and experienced, in the thousands of miles travelled, and hundreds of communities visited.
     Thank you so much for visiting with me today. As usual, it is always a pleasure to have you drop by.