Legend Of Tall Pines In Muskoka

Gazebo at The Gravenhurst Wharf - Photo By Fred Schulz

LEGEND OF TALL PINES - THE SOUND OF THE WIND

MUSKOKA AS WALDEN

" TWISTING BALLS OF FIRE, FROZEN STILL IN LIGHT, LOOPS OF WRITHING DRAGONS LEAP FROM THE BOUNDS OF NIGHT. GRASPING CLAWS SLASH AGAINST THE AIR, TO ESCAPE THE ROSSEAU MYTH. IN SEARCH OF MORTAL WARMTH, TO FREEZE IMMORTAL RIGHT; SUN AND LAKE MAKE A PACT, TO END THE DRAGON'S WAKE. TAME IT WITH THE SPANNING LIGHT, EXPLODING ON THE LAKE, A CHILD, I WATCHED THE DRAGON SLAYED AT DUSK." THE LEGEND OF TALL PINES. 1984. INSPIRED BY THE TALL PINES AT THE COTTAGE IN WINDERMERE.

I MUST HAVE APPEARED QUITE A SILLY-MAN, STANDING OUT, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LANE, PONDERING THE UNIVERSE. I DON'T THINK IN RETROSPECT, I WOULD HAVE ACTUALLY SAID THIS, SHOULD I HAVE MET A NEIGHBOR AT THIS SAME TIME OF NIGHT. BUT IT WAS TRUE NONE THE LESS. IT WAS A CLEAR SKY WITH MOON AND STAR-LIGHT, AND AT ONLY A FEW DEGREES BELOW ZERO CELSIUS, STANDING FOR ALMOST A HALF HOUR, DIDN'T INSPIRE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST CHILL. THE HEAVENS HAD OPENED UP, AND IT REMINDED ME WHEN THE BOYS WERE YOUNGER, AND WE'D EVEN LAY BACK IN THE SOFT SNOW, AT BIRCH HOLLOW, TO LOOK UP INTO THE NIGHT SKY. ON WINTER NIGHTS JUST LIKE THIS……CLEAR AND REFRESHING, AND ALTOGETHER UNIVERSAL IN APPEAL. WHEN YOU'D LAY ON THE SNOW, LOOKING UP, WE WOULD START TO FEEL AS IF WE WERE FLOATING IN SPACE, VERSUS ANCHORED TO THIS PLANET. WE IMAGINED THAT WE HAD PROPULSION FROM JET PACKS, AND WE COULD DART SILENTLY FROM STAR TO STAR IN QUEST OF NOTHING IN PARTICULAR…….OTHER THAN THE FREEDOM TO JET THROUGH TIME AND SPACE, INTO FAR OFF GALAXIES. I WAS AS MUCH A KID AS THEY WERE, IN THOSE CHERISHED DAYS, WHEN IMAGINATION MADE UP MOST OF ANY PLAY-DAY.

BEFORE THE BOYS CAME INTO OUR LIVES, I COMPOSED TWO SMALL BOOKS, LARGELY COMPOSED OF SHORT STORIES, AND SOME POETRY I HAD WORKED ON WHILE AT UNIVERSITY. THERE WERE HOWEVER, SOME PIECES IN THE BOOK, THAT WERE BASED ON ACTUALITY AND MY OUTDOOR EXPERIENCES. THESE ARE MY BIOGRAPHICAL PIECES, AND THEY WERE FROM A PERIOD IN MY CREATIVE ENTERPRISE, WHEN I SPENT MOST OF MY DAYS OUTDOORS LOOKING, I SUPPOSE, FOR THE MEANING OF LIFE. A LOT OF WHAT I WAS WRITING ABOUT, HAD ORIGINS IN THE MUSKOKA WILDS. I WOULD, FOR EXAMPLE, SPEND A DAY BOTTLE DIGGING, AROUND OLD MUSKOKA HOMESTEADS. I STARTED IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS, COLLECTING OLD CANADIAN GLASS, GLASS OIL LAMPS, AND BOTH MEDICINE AND SODA BOTTLES. I REAL WINNER WAS FINDING A TORPEDO-SHAPED SODA BOTTLE IN THAT HOMESTEAD SOIL. I MIGHT DIG FOR TWO OR THREE HOURS, BEFORE TAKING MY FIRST BREAK. IF I HAD A GOOD START TO THE DIG, I COULD WORK THROUGH UNTIL LATE AFTERNOON BEFORE REALIZING I HADN'T SNUCK INTO MY PICNIC LUNCH. ONE GOOD FIND MEANT ANOTHER WAS JUST A FEW INCHES AWAY. OF COURSE, THIS WAS TRUE ABOUT ONE PERCENT OF THE TIME, BUT AS TREASURE HUNTERS KNOW, ONCE THE ADRENALIN IS PUMPING HARD, THERE'S NO WAY OF STOPPING WITHOUT BEING COMPELLED TO DO SO……BY SAY, AN IRRITATED BEAR. OLD DUMPSITES SEEMED TO ATTRACT THE ESTABLISHMENT OF RASPBERRY CANES, SO I ALWAYS HAD TO BE WARY OF GUESTS FOR LUNCH.

I WORKED ON BOTTLE DIGS, ON AND OFF, FOR ABOUT FIVE YEARS. WHEN SUZANNE AND I MARRIED, I WAS ABLE TO FIND THREE BURIED SITES ON THE COTTAGE PROPERTY, AND MUCH LATER, ONE AT THE FAMILY HOME IN WINDERMERE. I WAS IN MY ELEMENT, SPADE IN HAND, FOUND BOTTLES AT MY FEET. YET AT THE SAME TIME, I WAS THOROUGHLY ENJOYING THE OUTDOOR EXPERIENCE. AS THE COTTAGE PROPERTY, ON THE SHORE OF LAKE ROSSEAU, WAS LOADED WITH TALL PINES, OVER TIME, I BECAME VERY MUCH INFLUENCED, BY THE SOUND OF THE AIR CURRENTS PASSING THROUGH THE MASS OF NEEDLED-BOUGHS. IT WAS A HAUNTING SOUND THAT ALMOST IMMEDIATELY CAUGHT, NOT ONLY MY ATTENTION, BUT SEEMED TO INFLUENCE EVEN MY IMAGINATION. AS I'D BE DIGGING THROUGH THE DEBRIS OF OLD CANS AND BROKEN GLASS, OF A CENTURY EARLIER, THE OVERHEAD SOUNDS WERE, BY SHEER EXPOSURE, INSPIRING STORY-LINES AND MY WHOLE CREATIVE DEMEANOR. I HAD DONE A MAJORITY OF MY WRITING IN URBAN SETTINGS, IN TORONTO AND BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE MY ATTIC OFFICE, LOOKED OVER THE BUSY LANES OF THE MAIN STREET. I WAS WRITING ABOUT NATURE BUT AT THE SAME TIME, BEING LARGELY INFLUENCED BY THE URBAN CONUNDRUM THAT I DIDN'T REALLY LIKE. I HAD NICE OFFICES IN THOSE YEARS, AND I WAS PROLIFIC. OF THAT THERE IS NO DOUBT. MY FIRST CREATIVE JAG WAS PRODUCING A BOOK WITH AWARD WINNING MUSKOKA PHOTOGRAPHER, TIM DUVERNET, A COLLEAGUE AT MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, CALLED "MEMORIES AND IMAGES." IT CAME ENTIRELY FROM MY MANITOBA STREET HOME, AND EVEN THOUGH NATURE WAS THE COMMON THREAD, THROUGH EACH AND EVERY STORY, I WAS STILL WRITING FROM A STUFFY SECOND FLOOR APARTMENT, IN AN OLD BRACEBRIDGE HOUSE.

FOR THE SECOND SHORT-STORY VENTURE, JUST TO SEE IF THIS WAS WHAT I WANTED TO WORK ON, IN THE FUTURE, I LET THOSE TALL PINES HAVE THEIR WAY WITH MY EMOTIONS. EVEN IF I WASN'T WORKING AT "A DIG," I WOULD SIT ON THE HIGH ROCK SHELF ABOVE THE CHANNEL OF LAKE ROSSEAU, AND LET THE WIND IN THOSE PINE TOPS INSPIRE THE MOOD OF THE DAY. I MADE COPIOUS NOTES, AND I MUST ADMIT FEELING VERY MELANCHOLY AT TIMES, WHEN THE LIGHT OF DAY, SKY, AND HUE OF THE WATER, CREATED STRANGE MOURNFUL THOUGHTS THAT FRANKLY FRIGHTENED ME AS A WRITER. I WASN'T USED TO THIS "HAUNTED" FEELING. EVEN WHEN IT WAS BRIGHT AND THE WATER WAS SPARKLING WITH DIAMOND LIGHT, THE SKY SO LIMITLESS AND CLEAR, IF THE WIND WAS TO SUDDENLY PICK UP, WITHOUT A STORM CLOUD ON ANY HORIZON, IT WOULD SOUND AS IF SPIRITS WERE SPEAKING TO ME, ABOUT SOMETHING I SHOULD THINK ABOUT……WRITE IN THE JOURNAL I KEPT WITH ME, SITTING ALONG THE SHORELINE. I MADE MANY NOTES. IT WAS, AT FIRST, A CONFUSING CONFLUENCE THAT I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND. JUST BY THE SOUND OF THE WIND RUSHING THROUGH THE PINE NEEDLES, MADE ME FEEL VERY MORTAL AND FRAGILE, AS IF HEAVEN AND EARTH WERE THEN LINKED BY THIS NATURAL OCCURRENCE…..THAT SEEMED VERY SUPERNATURAL. SO MUCH SO THAT I'D FEEL I WASN'T ALONE……, AS IF ALL OF A SUDDEN, THRUST INTO THE WREATHING PRESENCE OF DESCENDING SPIRITS, ANGELS, AND I'D START TO FEEL THE HAIR ON MY NECK STANDING ON END, AS IF I HAD TRULY SEEN A GHOST.

WHEN I DECIDED TO WRITE THIS SECOND BOOK OF SHORT STORIES, I INVITED SUZANNE'S MOTHER TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE PROJECT. AT THE TIME, SHE WAS QUITE ILL, AND THIS LITTLE PROJECT KEPT HER BUSY THROUGH A DIFFICULT TIME. SHE HAD BEEN WRITING SHORT STORIES, AND POEMS FOR YEARS, BUT THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME THEY WERE PUT IN BOOK FORM, WITH PHOTOGRAPHS BY WELL KNOWN MUSKOKA PHOTOGRAPHER, JOHN BLACK, OF GRAVENHURST. WE ENTITLED THE BOOK, "THE LEGEND OF TALL PINES." HARRIET WAS ABLE TO ATTEND THE BOOK SIGNING, AND WE SOLD OUT OF THE BOOK IN JUST OVER A MONTH. SUZANNE HAS KEPT A FEW COPIES FOR THE BOYS, ANDREW AND ROBERT, WHO NEVER GOT TO MEET THEIR GRANDMOTHER. SHE DIED SHORTLY AFTER THE BOOK WAS PUBLISHED.

THE PHOTOGRAPH ON THE FRONT COVER, IS A SHOT STRAIGHT UP INTO THE PINES AT THE COTTAGE, JUST ABOUT WHERE I'D SIT AND WRITE ON SUMMER AFTERNOONS, WHEN SUZANNE AND I RESIDED THERE, OVER A FEW SUMMERS BEFORE THE BOYS WERE BORN. LAST EVENING, STANDING OUT ON THE LANE, ENJOYING THE DAZZLING NIGHT SKY, I HEARD THE WINDSONG IN THOSE TALL PINES ON THE EMBANKMENT OF THE BOG, AND THE SEVERAL LARGE EVERGREENS AT THE REAR OF BIRCH HOLLOW. THE SOUND OF THE WIND IN THE PINE NEEDLES, STOPS ME IN MY TRACKS. IT IS THE SAME FEELING OF MELANCHOLY, I KNEW AS A MUCH YOUNG WRITER, SITTING IN THE MEADOWS OF LONG ABANDONED MUSKOKA HOMESTEADS, LISTENING TO THE DRY SPRING WIND THRUSTING THROUGH THICK PINE WOODLOTS, WITH THAT EERIE, MOURNFUL SOUND. THE CONFLUENCE OF NATURAL SOUNDS THAT ALWAYS SEEMED SO COMPELLING AND ALLURING AT THE SAME TIME, AS IT WAS HAUNTING AND INTRUSIVE, AND MADE ME FEEL QUITE ALONE IN THE WORLD. IT WAS THE SAME WIND I COULD HEAR THIS EVERNING, WHEN I STOOD OUT BENEATH THESE WONDERFUL STATELY PINES. IT WAS THE REASON SUZANNE HAD TO COME OUT AFTER ME, TO SEE IF I WAS ALL RIGHT. I WAS. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ALRIGHT, IN THE COMPANY OF NATURE. COMFORTABLE IN THE INSPIRING EMBRACE OF MUSKOKA….MY WALDEN.