THE HIATUS FROM POLITICS - THE PEACE OF THE HINTERLAND

Back in the mid-1990's, while researching the mystery of Tom Thomson’s death, on Algonquin Park’s Canoe Lake (in July 1917), our whole family turned onto camping and canoeing, in one of the finest parks in Canada. We had a hell of a run, and between Tea Lake and Rock Lake we spent many fascinating vacations hiking trails (Booth) and paddling many different waterways. I always seemed to feel better overall, as soon as we hit Dorset on the trip to the park. Touching the water at Canoe Lake was magnificently spirited, and everything that came after was a joy on earth. What oppressed us at home, was dissolved out here. The first couple of miles paddling the canoe, evaporated all the politics and economics of the homefront. We may still have been poor either way but out in that canoe, on a beautiful lake, just took the stresses and cast them aside for those wonder-filled weeks.

If I have any regret today, with our boys now fully occupied in their own music business, here in Gravenhurst, it’s the fact there’s not much time to travel to the park ,let alone canoe through the summer. It’s their busy time in Muskoka, and in the antique trade, of which we have been longstanding members, our best hunting-gathering time is also from April to Thanksgiving. We host four or so major sales during this time, plus on-line business, and it definitely makes it harder to get back to back days anymore, to even think about an overnight camping excursion. I know the boys miss it. I’m hoping they will do the same with their youngsters one day, because it is a life-enhancing experience.

I have always operated my life on a “rewards” basis. I will work hard and long, and get the job done, but at the conclusion, I must be able to reward myself with something. It hasn’t mattered what my occupation, or the task at hand but having something to look forward to, while working away at something stressful, gives me an objective worth achieving. When I played sports, particularly hockey, I looked forward to the game, then hated it after the opening face-off. I was the goalie and it was a solitary, lonely, high stress position. I not only was a clock-watcher but while tending the net, I made oh so many plans for activities immediately following. The better I felt about post game fun, the better saves I made. It was the same with writing, way back in the early years with various Muskoka media. A lot of the stories I had to work on, were painfully boring....such as business features and personal interest stories.....some that put me to sleep during the interview. Not to be disrespectful but I just couldn’t get interested in a guy who made a wooden bowl.....something that has been done for centuries without the need for news coverage. When I’d get to the task of writing up the story, gads, if I didn’t have a strong plan for reward, after the fact, the story-line would suck big time. Then I’d have a guy with a wooden bowl and my publisher (usually his friend) angry that there was no enthusiasm in the piece. I hate that kind of work but it made up more than half of the projects we were asked to write-up. Even sitting through a municipal council meeting, meant I’d have to plan a really nice reward for myself afterwards, because these events were traditionally void of anything interesting.....unless a councillor fell off his or her chair in slumber.

I don’t take on projects these days that will necessitate any added reward at the end of the project. Everything is self-assigned, and in reality, writing jags now are the reward for work on something else......like mowing the lawn, cleaning the gutters, wangling around the crawl space or shovelling the driveway. It is a joy and a wonderful release, like getting into a canoe, when I sit down here to compose something or other. Of course wandering over into the woodlands is usually a mainstay reward these days as well. When I get frustrated with the news of the day, politics, economics and phone interruptions I can’t stand, a walk with old Bosko through the woods, here at Birch Hollow, is just perfect for mellowing-out. While I wish I was a little closer to those beautiful Algonquin lakes, and could easily slip the bow of the canoe into the sparkling water, standing here on the hillside, above the bog, is still a soothing respite.

Today is one of those beautiful winter days in Muskoka, when the deep cold and clear sky is the perfect relief for what might ail the voyeur. Listening to the sounds of the still-trickling waterfalls, at junctions of intersecting creeks below, and looking out over the snow-laden cat-tails, frosted grasses and leaning birches, makes this for me, a heaven on earth. A writer’s paradise where there are no deadlines and no word counts. No boundaries that tell me how I must present a story, such as one on a bowl maker, or how I should write-up a local political story that annoys me. What goes on in my mind during those spirited vigils, is evidence of a joy for creativity, I still possess, afterall these years calloused by the profession. It is writing for blogs like this one, that provides my daily treat.....an honest relief from the etching of urban, business, economic and political existence. Even writing about my Walden here, at Birch Hollow, is like the first full paddle of a canoe out onto a mirroring lake, where the traverse has never been mapped, and the destination, never fully determined. I might just paddle off into the eventual sunset, and that would be pretty darn rewarding.

My reward now is to sit here for awhile longer, watching the wee birds at the feeder outside my office window. What a friendly encounter between food-provider, and welcome guests.