JUST LISTENING TO THE FALLING RAIN…..AND LETTING NATURE BE MY GUIDE

It has been an active winter of writing. I don't think I've composed more copy over a winter season, than I have this past seven months. My winter season writing jag begins after Thanksgiving, and carries on until spring chores force me outside again. The problem for me today, is that my body isn't what it used to be. I find myself hunching over this keyboard and practicing the poorest posture…..certainly contributing to a stiff back, stiff knees and a neck so rigid it feels as if I'm wearing a brace. I enjoy the work and I'm just glad to be interested in writing after all these years in the profession. It's obvious pain isn't going to keep me away from this keyboard.

This morning, it is wonderful to be sitting my cluttered, book-strewn office, coffee in hand, staring at a keyboard…..and feeling contented it has had a good winter-season work out. It is raining heavily outside, and the sound hitting the verandah roof, makes it seem so cottage-like and relaxing. I've always been lulled into subtle philosophy by such weather, and this morning, it is the perfect occasion to feel genuinely satisfied that the work over the past months has been successful. No I didn't write a best seller. Or even a modest seller. I don't want to travel around the world on a promotion tour, to sell such a book, if I had pumped one out! I like what I'm doing, with regional publications and my blog-sites which I adore. (I have five sites on different subjects). I don't have to jump on planes, and there are no real inconveniences at all….except for when I get too calm, and complacent, at this time of the year, when my body is beginning to heal itself from the work stresses. I could sit here for hours today, which is a professional danger, and not type one word on this beckoning keyboard. The rain is so wonderfully peace-inducing, that even the loon-shrill of a few moments ago, becomes startling and unsettling. I suppose most of all, I'm just pleased to have weathered another winter, and survived a touch of cabin fever….never missing much time at all, creating copy of all kinds for all uses. It's what any writer needs to feel. My summer season is the period I use to build interest in the next writing season….researching new projects and traveling all over the region as an antique dealer…..finding inspiration all over the place. It's an equally busy time of year in my professional pursuits, just not in writing.

This morning has been interrupted by work around the homestead. Domestic chores don't stop on account of rain. My daydreaming has ceased suddenly, when my son, just now, handed me a piece of paper that had fallen on the floor. It was a suggestion list left by my charming bride……with some expectations for the writer-on-hiatus.

And here I thought I could just sit here and listen to the rain.

SPRING PLANTING AND ALL THE PROPHETIC ATTACHMENTS OF STARTING ALL OVER

Suzanne and I have been working outdoors, here at Birch Hollow, planting new shrubs and annuals, amidst the natural ferns and wildflowers that arrive in bloom here each June. The lilacs were late blooming this year but as always, it's worth the wait. The old urban homestead looks so out of place, here in the suburbs of our town. We are very much rustic thinkers and if it wasn't for all the attachments of business, we would never have settled on the urban landscape. We surrendered to convenience.

We decided that, as much as possible, we would make the property work for us……as if it didn't inspire us, then it would serve little other purpose than a place to hang our hats and basic shelter. Since 1989 we have done our own thing, much to the neighbor's chagrin. We don't have a subdivision ruler, to show us when the grass is too long. We don't hire weed control folks to batter the landscape with chemicals, and we don't own a power mower, blower, or whacker. I have a push mower and a kind of scythe downsized for a small lawn and shorter grass. The dandelion police look at us with disdain, and we give them the "thumb" up sign, to let them know their objection has been registered.

Now don't think for a moment we don't care about our property. We just don't over-maintain out of boredom. We want enough grass to catch and reflect the morning dew. We want enough diversification of plants and shrubs, to reflect the nature of our region. We have raspberries and lilacs from many different locations in Muskoka, primarily Windermere, on Lake Rosseau, where we once had a family homestead and a Lake Rosseau cottage. Suzanne can see plants that her mother used to nurture, and see the lilac arch that she knew of her aunt's home in Ufford…..part of the original Shea homestead from the late 1800's. There are hundreds of plants and shrubs that were brought to our Birch Hollow property, because they reminded both of us, of what we experienced and enjoyed of those ancestral gardens…..Suzanne in Windermere, and myself in Bracebridge. We won't win any gardening awards because it is a hodgepodge of quirks and whims and fancies. I'm sure the local gardening experts pass our place and wish we'd simply surrender to decorative stone, versus trying to grow anything ourselves.

Suzanne and I are both historians. We have an historic property. Not because it is an old place…….but because it is a composite property possessing many of the landscape values we adore, vestiges of places we once lived, and memories we are reverent of, for what they give us each day…..when we poke our heads out the door, and see and smell the magnificent lilac blooms, and see the contrasts of flowers and leafy canopy, holding the silvery morning dew. Suzanne, a knitter of considerable accomplishment, will sit out on the deck, overlooking what we call "Fern Hollow," and create her hats, mitts, gloves and the occasional sweater. I will sit in my office, with window open, absorbing this splendid view, enjoying the cool air penetrating this inner sanctum. We will both enjoy this place for what it doesn't have. And celebrate it rigorously for what it does have…..and while it is always confusing to our neighbors here, I think they're getting used to the artsy-fartsy old hippies living next door.

We never stop the mission to add more local plants and wildflowers, specifically, to the mix here at Birch Hollow. We might find an interesting flower at roadside, or on a countryside stroll, that simply must come home with us. We will undoubtedly attend a church or farmside sale, one day soon, that will offer up some plants with a little provenance attached. We like those the most. Being able to quilt together a plant culture, from family gardens all over our district. Getting plants from an old homestead, long over-grown, is still our greatest passion. They mean something to us, as historians, and we are grateful and respectful of all these yearly additions. It does make us feel better to live here, amongst the plenty of the hinterland. Suzanne is inspired to knit because of the surroundings, and I am never at a loss for words, looking out on to this small but thriving garden property.

We don't conform. Never have. At least not when it comes to planting according to Hoyle, or the horsepower we are required to have in lawn maintenance equipment. We just shake our heads back at those who shake their heads at us. Live and let live, we say.

MUSKOKA AT ITS MOST HAUNTED - IN THE MISTY MORNING

It was one of those chilly spring mornings; a day with promise.....the rain has finally ceased for now..... there is great potential for a comfortable, nurturing warmth, with a long stretch of sunshine forecast.....encouraging the buds on the old lilacs to emerge toward that eventual burst of bright color, and alluring sweet fragrance. This morning has a sliding veil of mist that passes over The Bog, enchanting the landscape, stretching out to the tall pines and leaning birches, ghost regiment mustered on the far side of the basin. It is a poetic scene, that any bard would find worthy of a verse or two, an artist with easel, a vibrant, storied paint board, depicting the poignant but gentle ease from morning to evening. It is a wonderful experience, to watch this white mist tumble across the Muskoka moor, and over time, see the powerful beams of light tunnel through the canopy, revealing the heavy dew on the fuzzy fern heads, poking through the past autumn’s leaf cover......the cover that still crunches under foot.

Most folks never see this haunted, tranquil vista, as by the hour they rise from slumber, most of the spring mist will have drifted off into the sill leafless woodlands. They will miss this significant transition of the moment, this hour, the season, and will read an account, such as this, and wonder about all the fuss. It’s just a lowland with a fringe of forest on the upper side. In my vintage, you see, we still held some respect for mystery and magic, enchantments and legend. I don’t believe this to be a legendary place, but this morning had the kind of gyrating shroud, one might expect would, in the morning breeze, writhe like a dragon, through the trees and ferns of Robin Hood’s Sherwood Forest, or bathe the sullen, venerable hardwoods, along the embankment of the Hudson River Valley. This is the kind of morning that reminds voyeurs that reality and the supernatural intertwine; part of the fantastic merge between observation and expectation. It is for the imagination, this morning, to celebrate the nuances of cool spring mornings; sense with an open mind, the sound of those myriad, tiny, silver cataracts of water, running lower and lower through the bogland, toward the lake.......and the golden sun of May, that make this such a wonderfully fictional place.....at the same time, as the written page......taken from reality; I live each day here at Birch Hollow.

THE MUSKOKA SEASONS - EXPLORATION AND ADVENTURE - A GREAT WEALTH

Washington Irving is by far, my favorite author. His stories of the Haunted Hudson River Valley, the fictitious Sleepy Hollow, and the legendary Headless Horseman, and so many other memorable characters and situations, have always inspired me, and encouraged a revisiting of our own region.....that I also consider a very enchanted and mysterious place on earth. In case you didn’t know this, the name Bracebridge, was taken from the book of short stories written by Irving. Postal Authority, William Dawson LeSueur, thought so highly of Irving’s work, that he borrowed the name when an application was presented from the citizens of North Falls (now Bracebridge). Not liking the name, he awarded the title “Bracebridge” instead, connecting the town to a huge amount of literary heritage.....without making much of a fuss at all. Irving had only just recently passed on, by the year 1864, when LeSueur named the new post office, and it was meant to be an honor to the pioneer community. It just missed the mark unfortunately, and has never really become the tribute it should have been.....if the historian / literary critic / postal authority LeSueur, had bothered to submit a little attached history.

In future blogs this coming year, I would like to explore reasons I believe Muskoka has a lot in common with the Historic Hudson, not just by name and writer alone. Please join me for some interesting adventures, and expeditions, in-and-about our very haunted and enchanted district of Muskoka.