The Serene Heritage Landmarks Most Often Forgotten When The Futurists Forge Ahead With Irreverence - as if Nothing Else Matters More Than GOING BIG!

 

Birch Hollow Photo by Suzanne Currie

     I was never forced to go to church as a child, not because my parents were atheists, or had any falling out, of which I'm aware, with formal religion. I was never forced to go to a cemetery, but I went of my own volition. In part, it was being denied the privilege of attending both my grandmother Blanche Jackson's funeral, and then, a few years later, my grandfather Stanley. I did want to know what this "death" thing was all about, but my mother insisted that her only son should remain a child for a few more character and experience building years; presumably to figure out why we are born, to later die, and then be the subject of a funeral and maybe even a ride to a cemetery in a shiny black hearse. What a morbid way to start off a post. Well, you don't even need to be able to read between the lines, that I have a long held fascination for final resting places, in the whole spectrum of urban, rural and family cemeteries, graveyards, and mausoleums. It all came to fruition a few years back when Suzanne, my research partner and photographer, and I, decided to survey as many of the graveyards and private burials sites as we could in South and West Muskoka. Even with months of work, we only managed to cover about two thirds of these important heritage sites. We also documented all the angel symbols, etched onto monuments, and the angel statuaries that are more frequently seen in the Catholic Cemeteries visited. Suzanne took many hundreds of photographs of interesting and unique heritage monuments, and plot adornments placed by family, and she also snapped many images of fallen, brush compromised, and broken tombstones that had never been repaired let alone restored. Many were so deeply covered in moss and related natural qualities and quantities, that you could decipher the inscriptions, that for me, the scribe, was disappointing, but I knew this in advance. Cemetery upkeep is expensive and church budgets in this regard can be pretty tight these days with maintenance issues for their respective buildings. It is eventually going to be necessary for more community involvement generally, in the financial sense and volunteerism, to keep these historic sites, which are all tributes to the Muskoka builders, of once, proportionally upgraded as one would expect of any heritage landmark. The chronicle of Muskoka's past is all here in these hallowed places dotting the countryside, and the citizens resting there, were responsible for what we brag about now as the Muskoka lifestyle, that is so heavily celebrated in real estate sales these days. In these rural and urban properties, neatly fenced, treed and flowered at this time of the year, and identified for the municipal ward, and or church, that has the particular responsibility for upkeep, are the row upon row of familiar names,  duly noted in the many published history books. It is a history lesson to walk through these peaceful places, where the hardwoods and softwoods wreath together, with century old lilac stands, and wildflowers thrive along the fence-lines.

     I can still remember wondering where the hearses were travelling, with the entourage of vehicles following behind, each with their headlights on, in the daylight, especially when the deceased in the lead car, was someone I knew. I had a number of childhood friends pass in childhood, and quite a few of us school chums would form a short honor guard on Manitoba Street, near the funeral home, to pay our respects the best we could from a distance. We didn't know how to mourn, because we didn't really understand what death was all about, and why our friend had met this fate when we were all fine and full of youthful energy. Most of us, had actually visited the funeral home where their bodies had rested for an upcoming memorial service, and not one of my mates, at the time, could register the truths of what we had witnessed at the side of the casket. We saw family members wiping away tears from their eyes, dressed in black, hugging each other, while we were dressed as you would expect of unfettered kids who hadn't told our parents of our intentions to visit the deceased in this unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar circumstances. And on each occasion, we did visit the cemeteries where these friends of ours had been buried, and when we saw the still grassless earth in front of the tombstone, and read the inscriptions, we still didn't appreciate all that was involved in this cycle of life thing. A few of us inspired nightmares, and quite a few vowed to never die, or attend a funeral home again, no matter what. We were untutored by our parents, and we took it upon ourselves to experience this sudden departure without any guidance or subtle warnings, about being compassionate and respectful of mourning families. It's because we didn't know about the finality of such circumstances. We knew our mates had either died of serious illness, been the victim of a swimming misadventure, and two others, having been killed when the tunnel they were building collapsed, pinning them under tons of wet earth.

     Each time Suzanne and I would visit a different cemetery here in South and West Muskoka, I always retreated a few moments to survey the properties, so visible unique to the host landscape, each possessing a mix of solitude, of pervasive peace, and historical actuality, that became the over-riding kinship between me and the providential, the hallowed ground sprawling out in front, so attractively appointed in monuments, simply representative,  to sculpturally elaborate, all being cradled in the bosom of the Muskoka landscape; its gentle intrusion of fern canopy and vividly green mosses, and soft cushion of grasses matured over centuries into a soothing velvet carpet, flowered humbly in pockets, and shaded by venerable oaks and maples, bordered by tall pines and sculpted cedars of district heritage. The scented breeze that washes down over the wildflowers and patches of sweet grass intoxicates the sense, and makes relevant the consuming ethereal mood, of heaven as it is on earth, and we shed a tear without being sad, or mournful for the departed. It is as much a joyful reaction to a beautiful place, that is so very relevant and living; a beginning versus an end, to understanding what has come before us, in this most amazing region in Ontario. These are the names attached to the past, yet relevant in the present tense, and equal in quest of the future, because they are the foundation names, and the security of strength in numbers, that the futurists will eventually come to appreciate, as being the stability every community requires to truly benefit, in human terms, from all changes deemed compatible in the well planned vein of progress. Here lie the makers of tradition in our Muskoka communities, that is non-negotiable when it comes to those who might wish to remake the district in their own images; based on their interpretations of what makes most money for their investments. It's just one of those oaths of office that Suzanne and I have taken, quite voluntarily, to serve and protect the provenance that we have been gifted with in Muskoka, as evidenced by the names on these gravestones, that remind us clearly, how much progress had been achieved by their expense of life and times, to make our rural neighborhoods, hamlets, villages, and towns not only vibrant, but long serving because the foundations were built right and strong for an enduring legacy.

     I can read a lot into a cemetery viewing, with my historical bent, but more so, I trundle along these well worn pathways mindful of the names inscribed, stopping frequently to acknowledge someone I knew, in years past, feeling a calming sense of reclamation thinking back to our past interactions, socially or on the sports field, golf links, or arena ice. I don't end my tour of these historic places in our communities, feeling sad, or in any way distressed, as you see, I've come a long way in appreciating what death is all about; and that there is a persuasive peacefulness and subdued enthusiasm, that there is such a generous offering of serenity for those of us who find stress and discomfort so abundant in this often harried existence. As I dwell for a time, before I enter the cemetery gates, I also pause momentarily on departure, to look back with affection, and respect, at what this tranquil place means in the grand scheme of historical reckoning. It is why I believe it is a better place to begin appreciation for our history, than a concluding visitation, simply because of what it offers in inspiration. These are memorializing sites, obviously, but they are not just the nurturing ground of melancholy. It is the clear human evidence that a good town has grown here.... because of their ambitions and initiatives, of which we still benefit so profoundly and profitably in this new century.

     Visit history. Take a stroll through a Muskoka cemetery.