Ada Kinton Found Nature Full Of Inspiration

Photo by Fred Schulz

ADA FLORENCE KINTON BORN IN BATTERSEA ENGLAND

BUT ADORED MUSKOKA-

This has not been a typical Muskoka winter. At this moment there is a wonderful stream of sunlight coming through my office window, currently being enjoyed by two old cats, sitting on the sill, purring in that gentle, calming harmony. It feels good on my arthritic knuckles, and I apologize for taking this hiatus from typing, to let the warm rays sooth these gnarled hands. While we expect snowfall every other day, here in the lakeland, this year, as last winter, has prevailed with a milder version of Canadian winter. While others across the continent have had brutal weather, ours has been quite kind. So far, of course. Knock wood, things can change.

There has been a wonderful amount of sunshine across our region, and despite some very cold days and wood-snapping temperatures overnight, for anyone who suffers the ill-effects of light deprivation, these past few months have been more cheerfully bright than usual. Today it’s sparkling out over the birch hollow, the diamond light of ice and sun, creates a stark contrast of light and shadow. I think this would be the kind of morning artist Ada Florence Kinton would find compelling and inspirational. She very much enjoyed sunny winter days likes this, wandering along the well trodden paths through the woodlands, to sketch and make notes about the surroundings.

This was in the 1880's, while staying with her family in Huntsville, a picturesque community in North Muskoka.

"Her first experience of picking primroses was a delight to be recorded and unforgotten; and not seldom did it happen that flowers would awaken in her mind ‘thoughts too deep for tears’," This passage was written by Ada’s friend, Agnes Maule Machar, a well known Canadian writer, and was published in the biography, "Just One Blue Bonnet." The book is a compilation of Miss Kinton’s letters and journal entries, released in 1907, two years following her death in Huntsville. The book had been prepared by her sister Sara Randleson, as a lasting memorial to a life well spent.

"Her vivid imagination and playful fancy often prompted her to read into their (flowers) passive life, human feelings and emotions, resulting in graceful little parables which she wrote with as delicate a touch as that which characterizes her drawings, wrote Machar, who frequently corresponded with the artist. "This habit of mind would come out frequently in talk as, for instance, when on a country visit in June, she referred lovingly to a ‘conscientious little lilac,’ which had unfolded its first snowy bloom at an age when such an effort could hardly have been expected of it. That shrub is still distinguished by the epithet which she then bestowed. Of all the many exquisite blossoms which Florence loved and idealized through her large gift of sympathetic imagination, the nearest to her heart were the Passion flower and the pansy - the Passion-flower reminded her of a suffering Saviour, from whom she always drew her deepest inspiration; the pansy for the heart’s ease, which she found only in following him,"wrote Agnes Machar.

"Ada Florence Kinton was born in Battersea, England on April 1^st, 1859, to parents John Louis Kinton and Sarah Curtis Mackie. She would become the third of four surviving children born to the Kintons. John Kinton was an instructor of English literature, at the Westminster Wesleyan Training College. He once said of himself that, ‘Gladly would he learn, and gladly teach’." Florence’s mother died when the youngster was only ten years of age. "How great the sorrow and loss was to this sensitive girl needs not be told. Hence forward I was all the mother she had," wrote her sister Sara Randleson. "The days of childhood and youth sped away all too fast. Study at home, visits to relatives in the lovely Thames Valley, scenery of Maidenhead or on the chalk cliffs of Kent, girlish friendships, and letters from Canada, whither her two brothers emigrated, gave these years their character."

Mrs. Randleson noted that, "In the summer vacation of 1880, we two sisters crossed the Atlantic to visit our brothers in the charming backwoods village of Huntsville. The romance and excitement of this expedition into the new world can not be told. Florence was too taken up with absorbing new impressions to make any record of it, except by a number of pretty pencil sketches of pioneer life."

According to her sister however, another profound event in her young life was about to occur. "The blow of her father’s death, (December 1882) was almost paralyzing. Florence’s health and life, even seemed to hang in the balance, and only the sustaining power of religion helped us endure the severe bereavement. Miss Leonard, an American lady, had lately been holding meetings for the promotion of holiness, which brought great comfort to our hearts. Our eldest brother, Edward, receiving the news by cable, came swiftly to us by sleigh and steamer, the tears freezing on his cheeks in the bitter winter cold. We decided that the home should be broken-up, and he shortly took Florence back with him to Muskoka. This change, while a solemn one, was to afford her a new beginning."

At 24 years of age, Miss Kinton wrote a card to her sister, while having a wretched cross-Atlantic voyage aboard the S.S. Sarmatian. "February 6, 1883. "You will be sorry to hear that we have had a very rough voyage. It is said to have been the stormiest that the Sarmatian has ever had. As soon as we got away from Liverpool, the fun commenced. We had eight lady passengers, and we were all sick in our berths before Thursday dinner-time. The captain told someone that we ‘were just in the nick of time to catch the whole storm.’ Then for about a week we had a real merry time. A storm at sea is certainly a fine sight, particularly to anyone who may be reclining in their cabin. On Sunday there were only three  gentle men to dinner. I won’t try to describe how the rest of us felt. Suffice to say we were knocked down, whacked and banged and battered about until we were just worn out, even after the feeling of deathly nausea had passed away. The universal cry was for rest - just one half hour of dry land."

The artist writes, "For a week I lived mainly on ice. I didn’t grow much fatter. It was greatly amusing to hear the sea coming over the deck and down the stairs and past the cabin door, hissing and seething, fizzing like champagne in a passion. Once the stewardess could not get to me unless she waded knee deep in water through the passage. And the doctor was taking a mustard plaster to a patient, and he fell and dislocated his knee, and a passenger slipped on deck, cut his head open and knocked himself insensible.

The next letter however, was composed on February 21, 1883, and was posted from the Town of Huntsville. It contained information about the train and sleigh journey west and north to Muskoka. It presented an unexpected, abrupt arrival at the cross-roads in her life, between mourning for her old life, homesickness, fear of failure, and yet the spark of challenge liberation presented. It would allow the artist to flourish, with a period of solitude yet inspiration, a deep well that would bring her back to Muskoka many times, following world-wide missions with the Salvation Army. It was the place she would choose for her final vigil, due to illness, simply enjoying the view from the porch of her brother’s Huntsville home.