My Outdoor Affections Can Be Attributed To My Mother

Image of Muskoka Road For The Santa Clause Parade Pre Main Street Fires (Photos By Fred Schulz)

I BLAME MY MOTHER FOR MY OUTDOOR AFFECTIONS

"YOU SHOULD BE OUTSIDE GETTING SOME FRESH AIR," SHE USED TO SAY, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND ME

     MERLE CURRIE, BLESS HER SOUL, BELIEVED HER SON SHOULD PLAY OUTSIDE. ON NON-SCHOOL DAYS, SHE WOULD GET ME UP EARLY, PROVIDE BREAKFAST, GIVE ME THE WARNINGS FOR THE MORNING PLAY PERIOD, AND AFTER THE PROPER APPAREL HAD BEEN WRAPPED AROUND HER SON, THE DOOR WOULD OPEN, AND SHORT OF KICKING MY BEHIND, IT WAS MY CUE TO EXIT STAGE LEFT OR RIGHT. IN THE EVENT OF RAIN, SHE HAD NUMEROUS RAIN COATS AVAILABLE.

     I WAS A DESTRUCTIVE WEE LAD IN THE HOUSE, AND SHE WAS A NEAT FREAK HER ENTIRE LIFE. POSSIBLY SHE LOOKED AT ME, STANDING OVER ANOTHER BROKEN CRYSTAL DISH, AS HER PUNISHMENT FOR NOT ATTENDING CHURCH REGULARLY IN ADULTHOOD. MERLE HAD A BAD TEMPER AND I REALLY DIDN'T LIKE WHEN IT ERUPTED LIKE A VOLCANO, WITH A SPLIT SECOND TO MOVE OUT OF THE DANGER ZONE, SO IT WAS MUCH EASIER ON BOTH OF US, IF I DID MY DISAPPEARING ACT, COMING HOME FOR LUNCH OR DINNER. IT GOT TO THE POINT, I WOULD HAVE SLEPT OUT UNDER THE STARS, EXCEPT IN THE WINTER MONTHS OF COURSE, BECAUSE I ENJOYED IT SO MUCH OUT THERE……THE SENSE OF FREEDOM FROM THE CHAINS OF CHILDHOOD……HAVING TO GO TO SCHOOL BECAUSE IT WAS ALSO REPORTEDLY GOOD FOR ME. WITH THE EXCEPTION OF THE GIRLS I HAD A CRUSH ON, THROUGH MANY GRADES, I HATED EVERY DAY IN THOSE BOXES THEY CALLED CLASSROOMS. I HAVE TO BE CAREFUL WITH THIS ASSESSMENT, BECAUSE MY WIFE WORKS IN ONE OF THOSE STUFFY CLASSROOMS, TRYING TO HELP HER STUDENTS MOVE ON, AND UP, IN THEIR LIFE ADVENTURES.

     I THINK SOME OTHER MOTHERS ON THE BLOCK, USED TO THINK MY MOTHER WAS KIND OF CRUEL, TOSSING ME OUT EARLY IN THE MORNING. I DIDN'T CARE TOO MUCH FOR SATURDAY CARTOONS ANYWAY, AND AS I HAD EXPERIENCED ONE SICKNESS AFTER ANOTHER IN MY EARLY YEARS, BEING CONFINED JUST MADE ME MORE FRUSTRATED……BUT AGREEABLE TO ANY DEAL THAT WOULD ALLOW ME TO ROAM RATHER FREELY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. THIS WAS INITIALLY ON THE BANKS OF RAMBLE CREEK, IN BURLINGTON, IN THE YEARS BEFORE MY TENTH BIRTHDAY, AND THEN UP TO MOUNTAIN GARDENS, ON BURLINGTON'S BRANT STREET, FOR A SHORT PERIOD, BEFORE ARRIVING ON BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO'S ALICE STREET…….AN OLD WORKING CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD ON HUNT'S HILL. THE NEIGHBORS, THE POOR BASTARDS, HAD TO PUT UP WITH ME FOR MOST OF THE DAY. I WAS JUST ABOUT THE MOST INTRUSIVE KID YOU COULD ASK FOR…..IF BEING INTRUSIVE WAS AN ASSET.

     IF YOU WERE A HOME COOK, AND PLACED A FRESHLY BAKED PIE ON A WINDOW LEDGE, I COULD FIND IT. AS A PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE, THE HOUSE MOM WOULD MEET ME HALF WAY, AND OFFER A LITTLE "PROTECTION" SLICE, IF I'D AGREE TO STAY AWAY FROM THE FULL PIES. I MIGHT EVEN GET COOKIES AS A LITTLE BONUS FOR MY WILLINGNESS TO BOTHER OTHER NEIGHBORS INSTEAD. THE POINT OF THIS, IS THAT FROM A YOUNG AGE, I WAS NOT ONLY A "WILD CHILD," BUT A CHILD IN THE WILD. I HAD SOME GREAT PLACES TO ESCAPE TO, LIKE BAMFORD'S WOODS, THE GROVE, THE SANDPIT BEHIND THE WEBER APARTMENTS, THE HYDRO FIELD, UP ON BAYSVILLE ROAD, AND DOWN AT BASS ROCK, WHERE WE USED TO SWIM IN THE RAW. IF YOU WERE A HOMEOWNER IN THE VICINITY OF THESE LOCATIONS, I PROBABLY TRESPASSED THROUGH YOUR BACKYARD, PATIO, OR GARDEN. I ONCE PICKED A HALF DOZEN NICELY RIPENED BEAF STEAK TOMATOES, AND WITHOUT WASHING THEM, FINISHED OFF THE WORKS IN MY FORT. LET'S JUST SAY, SHORT OF THE BOWEL SYNDROME ASSOCIATE WITH LITTLE GREEN APPLES, I WAS CLEANSED OF ALL THE TOXINS IN MY BODY…..FOR ABOUT A WEEK AFTER. I CAN'T BLAME IT ON MY MOTHER FOR SETTING ME LOOSE ON THE NEIGHBORS. SHE WAS JUST SAVING HERSELF, POOR SOUL. BE THANKFUL THE CURRIES WEREN'T YOUR NEIGHBORS BACK THEN. WHEN FOLKS SAW ME EMERGE FROM THE FRONT DOOR OF 129 ALICE STREET, THEY MADE THE GESTURE OF CROSSING THEIR HEARTS, PRAYING, HOPING AGAINST HOPE, I WAS GOING TO PLAY SOMEWHERE ELSE FOR THE DAY.

MY SELF IMPOSED EXILE AT BIRCH HOLLOW

     About ten years ago, during a hugely oppressive heat wave, to hit Muskoka, I packed up my sleeping gear, my small portable radio, assorted survival snacks (beer and wine) and hit the verandah where I slept until the first snow of autumn. I think I made it through Indian Summer than year, with an upgraded sleeping bag. I suppose it does go back to childhood, and my expansive budget of outdoor hours. Extreme to most, but not enough for me. I've camped in Algonquin enough times, to appreciate the comforts of wide open spaces on the pent-up soul. It's no surprise then, that my favorite artist, is Tom Thomson.

    Suzanne likes the heat, and it makes me nuts when she basks in the sun, when I'm wilting in the shade. So I told her it was nothing personal, but my cot on the verandah was the most comfortably cool place in the house. I took the dog, a bottle of ice tea and some potato chips, and began my summer season sojourn, residing just above the lush ferns and wildflowers at Birch Hollow. She wasn't mad at me, because she clearly understood what it was like to sleep beside a sweating man with his face inches from an electric fan. As Suzanne can not sleep with the sound of a fan, she admits, it was sad to see me go, but much easier to get a good night's sleep. We had an amicable agreement. She would come out if I began screaming "Bear, Bear, Bear," but you know, we never discussed wolves, fishers, moose or rogue deer in that emergency alert. Son Robert used to remind me about those videos depicting "animals gone wild," and how I might be ravaged by a troop of chipmunks while I slept…..or harvested by aliens, looking for a little fun probing. 

     The first night out, on top of that luscious garden, with such enchanting perfume teasing my nostrils, I awoke in the middle of the night, to find an intoxicated party goer, a neighbor lady, thrashing through the fern cover. When I raised my head, expecting a bear to lash out with long claws, all I could see was this wildly flung blond hair, and what certainly sounded like human cursing, as she fell two or three times trying to get out of the shallow depression in the fern garden. We eventually met face to face. "Excuse me miss, this is my bedroom." She shrieked just before she fell one last time, in the mire of periwinkle and ground cover. "Sorry sir, I was just taking a short cut," she said, trying to put her dress back down from its rather revealing shoulder-height extension. Without further adieu, she stumbled back from where she came from, tumbling at least twice while back-tracking. I suppose she made it out of the garden because I didn't find any remains while gardening the next day. This was my first outdoor, night-time encounter with a neighbor who was just like me……..as a kid; just a tad old to be doing the childlike trespass thing.

     Truthfully, I was writing twice as much in those days, and the outdoor venue was perfect for my own creative energy. The folks in our bailiwick would hear the cadence of the typewriter keys, at all times of day and night, and either wave or yell a greeting, as they passed by, while on walks and jogs up and down the boulevard. It was kind of neat actually. I was the neighborhood writer outside-of-residence. I truly loved laying on that open verandah, listening to nature's evening show…..and of course the parties occurring all around us. I'd awake to the smell of Suzanne's famous scones, fresh out of the oven, and her magnificent coffee, and the very sweet smells of a Muskoka morning courtesy all the wildflowers, the ferns and leaves, that so nicely shaded my outdoor bedroom from the summer sun. It was in fact, one of my most prolific writing periods, and I'm still benefitting from my sojourn in the semi wilds of Calydor Subdivision. I had to come in eventually, when the colder weather moved in that autumn season, and the family of raccoons kept raiding my stash of snacks at bedside. They'd get ugly if I had rice chips instead of the good stuff.

     I have seen Muskoka naked, all times of the day and night. I liked what I saw. I will never forget the thrill of that experience. Never.