Something Mysterious or Maybe Even Providential Got in the Way of the Very Small General Store For Antiques We Had Originally Intended for Retirement

Birch Hollow Photo by Suzanne Currie

     Even before our wedding, Suzanne and I had already thought about our retirement years. Even before we had a dime to invest in retirement savings, we were eagerly planning the wee business, that we hoped, would not only top-out our romantic aspirations to be a couple of loving antiques ourselves, but find a gentle, no stress after work way to earn a few bucks to beef up our government pensions. We didn't have a clue how we would get to this point, and the laid-back relaxation of being the mom and pop operators in a small vintage structure just big enough to hold a couple of old flat-to-the-wall cupboards, with shelves full of old pottery and china, a few other shelves good for Suzanne's out of print cookbooks, and another for my antiquarian collection of what I consider the classics of literature. Like Washington Irving, Charles Dickens, and a meaningful collection of Canadian regional histories I enjoy. There would be a few spinning and walking wheels, a couple of neat wool winders, and several long harvest tables for the general bric-a-brac every antique dealer must have in their shop for impulse buyers who help us pay the rent or make the mortgage. We call them "smalls" and they work like a charm as daily fundraisers.

     We could be found, on most days of the rolling year, working at small tasks, of cleaning and repairing our latest acquisitions, maybe rocking nostalgically in a creaking chair, or spinning some 78's on the Victrola which would be an absolute necessity to complete the ambience of the place. It would be a place that was welcoming but not overwhelming; comfortable but not so much that it would put us to sleep in our elder years. It would smell at times of old time coal oil burning lowly in one of our shop oil lamps, and there would always be the scent of candle wax and lemon oil used on some of the furniture pieces. There would most definitely be the sound of Suzanne's clashing knitting needles and the ticking of the Seth Thomas on the wall; the sound of the bibliophile turning the pages of the latest old book to make the rounds, and hopefully, the sound of the crystal clear ring of dangling door bells, when the next welcome visitor comes through that shop door with a clack and crack of wood against wood, and the footfall one expects next as a welcome intrusion.

     We had a model for our retirement shop. It was the former tiny general store operated by Falkenburg, Ontario's Ned Hay, that had been moved, in our time, from the historic railway stop north of Bracebridge, to Huntsville's, Muskoka Pioneer Village as it was once known. The simple wood frame structure dating from the late Victorian era, presumably, was one large and narrow room, with a few partitions for office and storage, and its inventory, which is still charmingly displayed, was mostly of fabric and items found in a millenary shop; meaning a pretty diverse inventory of buttons, threads, lace, ribbons, wool, knitting and sewing needles, hats, undergarments, blankets, bed sheets, and related cloth for dress making, as well as general home and kitchen accessories for home economy. It was the perfect shop for a low-key, easy to operate, easy to outfit, and very easy to enjoy business adventure. It was just big enough to be able to accommodate a half dozen customers at one time, comfortably, ten or so, elbow to elbow, and it was the kind of nostalgia mixed with history that we were already immersed in at the time we got married, and began planning, yes, for our much anticipated retirement with bonuses. The first bonus, would be to spend the balance of our lives together, enjoy the delights of vintage finery, and curiosities, and be able to visit, on our terms, with our customers who would hopefully feel as relaxed as us, and regale us with anecdotes and folk tales I might write into short stories for a site just like this one.

     So, what the heck happened with that plan? Well, it was one of those happenstance situations, when what was aligning in the starscape, wasn't aligning in the reality of the day, month and year. We set out with the right plan, from 1983, and in 1986 we opened our first wee shop in the living room of our home on Ontario Street just below Bracebridge High School, where Suzanne taught in the Family Studies Department. When we sold this house for one in the country, on Golden Beach Road, still in Bracebridge, we opened the second shop in the large garage, which was perfect for what we had in inventory and ambition. Then, after we sold this house, to move to a larger dwelling, we co-rented the third shop in our short history, in the former funeral parlor and furniture shop of W.W. Kinsey on Manitoba Street, where we remained for close to six years. Then we moved the shop back to Gravenhurst, Birch Hollow, and we ran both an on-line business and participated in a wide variety of antique and collectable sales, thusly keeping our costs down but visibility up. Then, after years of working from home successfully, we decided to join our sons who were renting several rooms in the former Muskoka Theatre building, on Muskoka Road, which allowed our family to consume more vacant space in the building as business increased, and other tenants moved on to other better suited facilities. That provided even more space to rent, and after less than a decade, we had taken up quite literally, every inch of this wonderful old building having such a storied past entertaining the good folks from Gravenhurst.

     But, we could probably put quite a few Ned Hay sized general stores inside this cavernous building; and arguably, we have, just without the extra woodwork to clutter the place up. What was supposed to be a gentle, comfortable, easy-going retirement lifestyle, while still earning a few bucks doing what we enjoy, has turned into a mega business which includes the music enterprises operated by both sons, Robert and Andrew. Now, it's hard to write about our honest feelings here, and not appear as ungrateful brats, who are complaining about success while others, especially after the Covid lockdowns, are not faring so well. Yet, at some point in your own lives, you have watched something you're nurtured along from infancy, turn into a behemoth before you had a chance to turn off whatever was juicing its expansion. It wasn't like we couldn't have applied the brakes, or insisted on remaining small "just cause," but honestly, the market demand wagged the Currie family as if it was weightless. In the past three years, we have seen an incredible increase in business, and its relentless demand on the four of us to perform the high wire act, seven days a week. We often work on display restoration, repairs, and reconfigurations, on Sundays, and even through the lockdown, we would be manning the shop for curbside pickups which actually accelerated on Sundays for matters of convenience for customers. Online sales were strong, and we made many trips to the post office, to ship records, books and sewing machine parts literally around the globe, despite the throes of the pandemic. But gosh folks, we are not bragging about this, as Suzanne and I both plan to hit the porch in a few moments, to settle down to a warm Birch Hollow evening without the most often pleasant duties of running the shop. Robert was having a pint at the local brewery to come down, and Andrew is still working on some guitar repairs at the shop to catch up for the coming week. Yes, we are gainfully employed and this is what we hoped for way back when; it's just the fact that we overshot our needs a tad, and created a business, like an ocean liner, that won't cease in momentum, or stop on a dime, when the navigator might so desire.

     Suzanne and I wanted a small business to conclude our working lives, and that's not entirely out of the question yet. There might be a day when we opt for something a little smaller, with a smaller audience to visit, and less demand on stocking the shop to the ceiling, in order to have something for everybody; which by the way, is one hell of a task these days with limited opportunities and such diverse customers with wide ranging collecting interests. If this still sounds, (if read aloud) and reads a tad on the whiney side, I suppose it is a little of that, and of minor regret, that what we really wanted, turned out to be so darn successful....and so very, very big.

     I can still hear the gentle tap, tap, tap, of Suzanne's knitting needles clashing nostalgically, as she sits behind the counter, awaiting the next influx of customers, but I don't believe she can hear the sound of the pages of my book over her own pleasing din; but that's okay, because that alone reminds me of the dream of a business, once, still in essence exists, just on a grander, noisier scale. But none the less, we thank our customers at large, for making our business as big as it is, for the entire Currie family, that does very much appreciate how good we have it, and how overjoyed we should be, knowing we have a similarly good future, knock wood, just down this well trodden old road of our own antiquity.