WALDEN IN MUSKOKA MY RETREAT

It’s hard to explain to folks who don’t write, paint or wax poetic, how important it is to have a ready source of inspiration. Like legendary Canadian artist, Tom Thomson, I face a shortfall of inspiration when everything is green and fulfilled. While this isn’t to suggest, as a human being, I’m not enthralled about the woodlands of Muskoka in the spring and summer, it’s the case that autumn and winter are more profoundly diverse and unpredictable. I’ve been a landscape writer all my professional life, and the seasons have been a huge influence on when I write and what I write about. As Thomson complained that Algonquin was too green and plain in the late spring and summer, I too have issues with contrast. As a writer. Not as a path-wandering admirer of nature. I could live in these woods permanently. It’s just that as a creator, I find writing in the midst of an autumn storm, or a winter gale, is so much more rough and jagged around the edges, so many more things happening around the homestead, such as trees banging against the side of the house, hitting the glass pane of my office window.....there are wind-sounds that remind one of the Call of the Wild and inspire the imagination to incorporate ghosts and wee beasties that thrive in such tumultuous times.

My trips into this beautiful Bog I have recently come to call “Walden,” in respect to Thoreau’s own Walden Pond, are fantastic at this time of the year, as the frost has begun painting the hardwood leaves, and the wind has started to tear them away, spiraling them back to earth, to be trodden down by my intrusive travels each day. It is all so amazing. Even as these leaves fall and the solemn days of late fall evolve upon the landscape, it becomes haunting in a passionate, engaging way. We look upon the demise of one season as the birth of another.

I have now just decided it is time to travel the path this morning, long overdue from a walk with the dog before sunrise. I trust I will return with a heightened sense of discovery, as it is seldom I arrive back at this doorstep without something new and exciting to bestow upon you.

WALDEN - MY TIME TO WRITE

I have never written well or often in the summer months. Maybe I’m a little like Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, who enjoyed painting Algonquin scenes from the fall to the spring but found the summer months too green, and without the dramatic contrasts he most admired about the lakeland vista.

I don’t enjoy the heat and humidity and I only own one small fan that is more annoying than refreshing. I prefer being outdoors, perched lazily on the lakeshore, or sitting comfortably beneath one of my wonderful maples in our homestead forest. This year the shade didn’t help relieve much more than the direct sunlight, as the humidity was impossible to escape. I did what they do in a lot of tropical countries, and got my work done around the property before late morning, when the temperature and closeness began to rise. I’d venture into the Bog with my mate Bosko, my canine companion, and we’d take a slow walk to nowhere in particular. It always seemed cooler down on the level of the marsh grasses and deep fern cover, and while the dog rolled on the hard-packed path, I’d satisfy myself by leaning up against the tree that has been my stalwart support for the past 20 years, its curvature perfect for my aching back. Dog and human spent a lot of time pondering this summer.....when would the heat end, and “I can’t wait for the chill of nightfall.”

It was one of the hardest working summers in recent memory, despite the hot climate, as there were many projects of homestead repair that simply couldn’t wait for completion. Most often the summer is when my wife (a teacher) and I, set out on daily antique hunts, searching for those evasive pieces to offer our customers......who have long known us in the profession, as folks who can come up with unusual, unique and even strange art pieces and primitives. This summer, we simply had to put it all on hold, except for travels locally. We’re pretty happy about improvements here, and new shelving to hold our thousands of books. Around here, moving one table or buffet, can displace about a thousand items on and within, and surrounding, so considering we moved about one hundred pieces of furniture at Birch Hollow, in the past two months, you must surely be able to appreciate the widespread chagrin of being obsessive collectors. We were the poster kids for a hoarding reality show.

As a writer, my biggest problem has been keeping old clippings, manuscripts and reference material. I’ve had to bring this volume down considerably, in order to have any place to sit and work in my office. I’ve even gotten rid of my small collection of old manual typewriters that I used up until a few years ago, before my son Robert got me to switch to the computer keyboard. Now he uses the old manuals in his recording studio, to get those historic sounds mixed with contemporary music creations by string and drum. What used to be my vehicle to creation, is now a sound effect device. Well, glad it could be of some use in this era of high tech everything.

I have found the Bog very peaceful this summer season, and I have very much needed it to ease the inner turmoil of change. I like commonplace, and even the change of the chair I sit in daily, is enough to throw me off my stride for a couple of weeks. I’ve had a plethora of new chairs around here, and much more, so when things have gotten too crazy for an oldtimer, ....well, I retreat, sometimes often........where my wife and curious neighours can find me standing out on the brink of the Bog, listening to the overhead owls and the distant loons, and the gentle wash of wind through the tall grass and ferns. These sojourns have been enough to soothe the savage beast within. Actually, it wasn’t all that savage, just disenfranchised from that stuffy, stale old way of living, my wife was determined to revamp. She was quite right, and I now very much enjoy the additional space and ease of movement, without fearing an askew stack of books may, at the slightest nudge, domino wildly across the parlor.

I will attempt to write more this autumn season, which by tradition, has always been my most creative time of year. I need my Walden, away from all this work and stuff.

OF CONTEMPLATION AND PHILOSOPHY
At a time when Muskoka has been transformed into a safer haven, for the most powerful leaders on earth, it’s crossed my mind several times in the past six months of constant media scrutiny, criticism and debate, whether or not the dignitaries to our beautiful region on earth, will have any gentle time for contemplation and enjoyment of the hinterland environs during their brief stay.
From what I understand of their 24 hour or so, lodging in Muskoka, the answer is probably no, as there are far too many security impositions and intrusions, for anyone, citizens and dignitaries alike, to actually enjoy the very nature of Muskoka, that was the allure for the summit in the first place.
I can’t help but feel this is the biggest shortfall of the whole international event. Our world is such a precarious, dangerous place that we can’t even allow nature to intrude upon the business of world politics. Instead we finance a "Fake Lake" in Toronto, to impress the media, many who won’t be able to attend the actual Muskoka summit. There’s a bigger and better looking lake now at the base of my lane from the rainfall of a few hours earlier, and it’s a genuine Muskoka resource that I probably could paddle.....and it didn’t cost me more than a few coins of property tax. After the Muskoka immersion, these government representatives, will have only slightly touched on one of the most important global issues.....the environment that is so close yet so strategically and safely removed from the actuality of the magnificent location. As for Muskoka playing host, well, many important opportunities have been missed. The only thing that could have been further imposed, was a tinted glass dome over the entire resort community.
Instead for the money invested, it should have included a woodland hike, a canoe paddle at sunrise, a swim in a beautiful lake, and the chance to sit out on a dock at sunset, and see what Tom Thomson witnessed of a haunted lakeland in Canada.
I have already, this morning, seen and experienced more of Muskoka’s natural resources, than will be enjoyed by our international guests, in the northern climes of the district. First thing, I got a soaker in a puddle, that had formed on a path in The Bog,.....the result of heavy rain last evening, and I had a little slide down a small embankment when Bosko the dog took off after a squirrel, dragging me behind. I felt the chilled water droplets on my back when the wind blew the huge overhead maple leaves that held storm residue. I saw the cool mist drifting across The Bog at sunrise, and watched as several deer ambled across the path on the other side of the hollow. I enjoyed the gentleness of a less-humid morning in South Muskoka, and the shrill call of the Loon from somewhere near the lake shore; it was the kind of haunting that makes you think about life and meaning, and the precious observations and insights of all the country philosophers over this grand world, throughout history, who have been inspired by such wondrous places, such sanctuary, such joy in the midst of life’s complex and befuddling cycle.
While the iron clenched security plans, hands and weaponry that ensure our guests will be safe in our region, give us all a sense of a general insecurity about the world’s future, I will celebrate nature on their behalf......by immersing myself for work and pleasure in the environs of this beautiful region, because its importance to the soul outweighs all else in this mortal coil.
This is my celebration of Muskoka. It’s not one bit different than the respect I have always possessed for the nature around us......that so many ignore on purpose, until that is, our folly in its destruction makes us all the victims of neglect.
It doesn’t really bother me to be called "naive" or "unrealistic," because whether I am, or not, nature is our keeper, and that is fact. We don’t always appreciate this, especially when we’re more concerned about the re-creation of nature, for the photo-ops, and good publicity, than its welfare as a whole......which is always a lagging consideration in a world consumed by everything else.

WORK AND MY WALDEN WALKS
Most recently I have been terribly pre-occupied with work, and then there was a flood here at Birch Hollow, when a pin-prick hole developed in a pipe, leading from the hot water heater, causing a book, art and paper collector a " fit of temporary insanity," getting everything away from the wave of nice hot water. Fortunately it happened at a time when all our family members were preparing for bed, and we caught it before there was too much damage. Even in a short period of time, most of the floor was soaked by this tiny spray of water. It has taken almost two weeks to dry out.
On top of this I opted to help a fellow historian edit a book of stories, inspired by his own Muskoka homestead, where he and family have reverted to simpler times, and lesser conveniences that we possess at Birch Hollow. They don’t have water taps as such, but they do have a pump handle. And they don’t have electricity, which by today’s standard in Canada, is pretty much unheard of, unless you happen to be a trapper or prospector in the far north.
His interesting book is a mix of fact and fiction but the background of both is the "roughing it in the bush," chronicle of a new century. While I have great admiration for these hardy souls, when I read the story collection, I can’t help clenching my teeth about all the dire consequences they face daily, with bear and moose, frozen water and isolation. Of course, having suffered greatly from a pin prick in a water line, I’m probably a terrible candidate for the complete homestead lifestyle. Of course, as my colleague notes so eloquently, throughout the book, the environmental joy far outweighs any disadvantage. I agree whole heartedly. It must be marvelous waking up each morning, and staring out at a beautiful pine forest and blue sky, and not hear the sound of earth movers and jack-hammers, too familiar and intrusive in my urban world.
I live more like Thoreau, I suppose, than my friend, because I’m always in close proximity to civilization’s new age conveniences. Thoreau’s sister, I believe, used to deliver fresh baked goods from the family kitchen, out to his humble cabin on the shore of the legendary Walden Pond. I don’t have a cabin over in The Bog, across the lane from our house, but I’ve got plenty of cookies nearby to fuel my latest hike through the pinery.
I haven’t edited a book in awhile, and I’m pretty rusty. As the editor of the former Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge, in the 1980's, I used to work my way through a mountain of hard copy (paper submissions) every week, and I resorted to the non-computer way of handling my latest editing challenge.....preferring instead to have a real manuscript in front of me, versus staring for hours on end, at a wavering computer screen. I’m not sure if my author friend will appreciate these pioneering contributions to his new book. Maybe he won’t be able to read my edit marks, which were passed down through decades of newspaper tradition. The scribbled-on pages actually looked like a wee bit of folk art from the golden years of the community press.
I talked with the author about nature, the other day, and wondered if he felt the same about it all, as when he originally planned his exile into the hinterland. I questioned whether he paid attention to those magnificent sunrises and sunsets, the first winter snow upon cedar boughs, and the first wildflowers of the spring, with the innocence of discovery he had commenced homesteading in the first place. He was admittedly surprised I would ask that question. As I venture into the forest daily for my own respite, I can return later to this office above The Bog, and sit in a comfortable office and write away in relative comfort. Of course I don’t exclude the fact that some time in the day, a water pipe might spring a leak, or I’ll need to replace a board or two on the back deck, or need to improve the drainage of rain water away from the building’s foundation. These are standard to any home owner. But I believe my life as a wanderer and a writer is easier, in many ways, than the survivalist who has to deal with life threatening issues from the get-go each day, based on what he doesn’t possess. As for a response about his appreciation for nature, it was a rigorous rebuttal, that in fact, his was an intense relationship based on his own appreciation of sanctuary, environmental resources, and a farmstead heritage, and the relationship with each sunrise, sunset, each season and every natural event, was the patina of lifestyle. I was the one separated from immersion by choice of convenience. I wasn’t living in a rustic cabin on the moor. I was living in climate controlled luxury on the knoll above nature, in his eyes and opinion. He wasn’t wrong.
Editing through the book was an adventure that for a few days, did keep me tied to my office, yet I have thought about his observations about nature as a close companion, in my recent hiatus periods out, looking affectionately over The Bog.....and I do think some philosophy has rubbed off.....and I’m always eager to find new insight, and a clearer way to look at something that has perplexed me. I thanked him for letting me have a week peak at his tome, and the chance to get another opinion on our precious nature.

WALDEN FOR ME - LET BUSINESS BE
As I noted recently, my aimless, enjoyable wandering through the Muskoka woods, had been unceremoniously interrupted by the reality..... commerce has its place....just as the forest and bog holds me spellbound, our business accountant occasionally gets on her high-horse and demands that I work for the luxuries (of wandering) I enjoy.
Over the past two months, business has been trumping just about everything else, and while it has been very much profitable and rewarding, as it has involved my passionate relationship with antiques and heritage items, all work and little play has been difficult to tolerate.....especially with beautiful weather and a lovely forest beckoning. I am so clearly reminded of the words written by David Grayson in his well known book, "Adventures in Contentment," where in his early days of "back to the farmstead" living, having left the urban stresses behind, he couldn’t seem to cast off the necessity of working long hours, being in a hurry to get things done, and to always have nice straight furrows at the end of plowing. Until one day, wiping sweat from his brow, he looked up at the beautiful valley sprawling out to the horizon, and was instantly amazed at what he had been missing about country life.....and life values generally. He had been so jaded by urban habits and necessity, that even in the hinterland, he was living the urban lifestyle of hurried pace, and reckless avoidance of real life and health issues.
I tried to explain this to my life partner, who is also my accountant, and she balked at the suggestion she is a taskmaster....but did agree that it was simply necessary to employ the cycle of economy, unless of course, one wanted to starve and be cast out of our present homestead by the fine folks who loaned us money in trust.
I have joyfully embraced the Muskoka woodlands again, this time having pacified the bean-counter, that our business is deserving the same attention as these forest inhabitants, trees and ferns and squirrels and well, you know. I’m just a little more determined now to fit it all in this remaining spring-time, before winter puts me closer to work than play.

WALDEN INTERRUPTED
It wasn’t much different in Thoreau’s day either. There were lots of distractions, like work for example, that took the author away from his cabin at Walden Pond. Canadian painter, Tom Thomson, was always being interrupted by necessity, and would have to guide in Algonquin Park to raise money to support his artistic endeavors, which never became particularly fruitful until after his demise in 1917. Although it’s a pretty long stretch to put myself in their shoes, and their circumstance of which they were both quite successful, I too have succumbed to necessity and conventional thought. While I quite enjoy ambling away on this forest path, daydreaming of all sorts of fantastic eventualities, over the past while it’s been work heaped upon more work. Enjoyable pursuits mind you, and in the field antiques which I adore but none the less, a practical period for an impractical thinker. I’ve been glued to this keyboard for more than a month, working our online business which has certainly been a global enterprise recently. We’ve been shipping Canadiana and advertising memorabilia all over the world. True enough, business has been good.
I have finally cleared a little portal on my furniture-stacked porch, so I could set up my summer office, where I work frequently past midnight in the glow of a treasured old oil lamp, I rescued from a Muskoka farm auction some years back. I love sitting out there, looking over the lush ferns and wildflowers of our Birch Hollow, and then across the lane, The Bog and woodland, that truly makes this place an oasis within the urban jungle of even rural Ontario. I am enthralled to hear those faithful Loons that have been haunting this lowland for decades, and the Owls hooting away in the halo of mist and shadow on cool spring nights. I will sit and write for several hours and feel as if it had only been minutes. After a winter of hugging the hearth, it is truly amazing to be afforded this horizon of new growth, and regeneration of fern and flower, the sprays of lilacs now weighing down the boughs.
From mid December, when my father Ed suffered a stroke, ultimately ending his life later in January, to the work-load of an estate we were asked to sell for the family of a Toronto Minister, it was a season largely missed by pre-occupation. Although it wasn’t much of a winter, by Muskoka and Canadian standards, I do feel bad about missing my hiatus periods, writing this journal....which of course is based almost entirely on the escape, even if only mindfully, into my Walden....this adjacent bog and woodland that has been my source of inspiration for the past twenty years or so.
I have again been venturing into the awakening woods numerous times through the day, and finding all sorts of inspiration from what is considered commonplace to others in this neighborhood. There are fewer trees in some quarters of The Bogland, due to the powerful wind storms that have pounded over our region in the past few weeks. There are more birds chattering in the tree tops than I’ve seen for years, and there are at least three Owls residing in a small acreage, trying to find enough to eat. The Loons have been more numerous and closer to our homestead than in years past, and although I haven’t taken a scientific count, I do believe there are more this year than in the past two. We haven’t seen our area wolves and coyotes yet this season, and we hear that a bear has been visiting a neighbor’s bird feeder for snacks. But it is all very restorative to the weary soul, and I’ve vowed to reduce business a tad, to get out and meet the demands of property and appearance, which admittedly my wife prides moreso than another blog entry for her writer husband.
Get out and enjoy what Muskoka has to offer......and it is magnificent. Stop and enjoy the view. It’s a healthy thing to do.

WHEN BUSINESS CALLS - EVEN WHEN THE THOREAUESQUE BECKONS....

I must offer an apology for my lethargy as of late. It has been very much the case that business has come before pleasure. And while it is true that I garner great joy working in the antique profession, nothing can trump my forays in writing at Birch Hollow. But as the accountant in this household is currently of the opinion we should balance the books, it was necessary for awhile to put other, more enjoyable pursuits aside.
We have had the privilege of selling off a considerable quantity of interesting Canadiana, antiquarian books, old paper and some wonderful advertising nostalgia. Now we are close to completion and we can honestly say that the past six weeks have been exciting and well worth experiencing. There just hasn’t been much time for anything else, and seeing as I have for long and long subscribed to the philosophy of dear old Mr. Fezziwig’s (Dickens, A Christmas Carol) belief, that "money isn’t everything," I do intend to happily return to my cherished blog sites, of which there are numerous, and pen copiously once again. As a poor writer I shall continue following this life-long path.
Today the forest canopy is filling in, and the lilac buds are growing ever more significant, ready soon to burst into bloom. The ferns are poking their heads up through the soil and our patch of trilliums has almost doubled from years past. There are a few blackflies but not so bad.
Once again, my apologies for this rather unanticipated but profitable hiatus.