The Restrictions of Covid Lockdown Brought Many of us to Appreciate More Fully the Immense Potentials of Homes, Cottages and Apartments as Sanctuaries and Healing Places
I Developed an Enhanced Point of View About Our Own Birch Hollow During Pandemic Isolation
Suzanne and I have been sitting outside here at Birch Hollow, since arriving home after work at our antique shop, and as we have enjoyed many times this autumn season, we have sat back with our hot chocolate with marshmallows, and celebrated the completion of yet another business day. We find pleasure in the sounds of squirrels chattering in the maple boughs overhead, and quite appreciate the distance calls of resident owls, the intrusive squawks of the venerable old crows in the pines across the lane, and can even find solace when it begins a rain shower, as the droplets begin hitting the remaining hardwood leaves that now shelter us quite adequately. We have resided out here for several hours each day, jointly recognizing how truly healing it is connected to these enchanted woods of The Bog, and what we now call “The Wild Wood,” that raises our spirits at times when admittedly, business surges have worn us old folks out.
In my years spent as editor of the Bracebridge Herald-Gazette, The Muskoka Advance, and assistant editor of The Muskoka Sun, then for a short period, as an editor with The Gravenhurst Banner, Bracebridge Examiner, and The Muskokan, the most productive periods I’ve ever experienced as a journeyman writer, was when the respective publishers gave me the almost unheard of opportunity of working from home. Why? It was pre pandemic so why would this be allowed especially with general staff limitations and lots of work on the front lines of day to day newspaper reporting? Well, it all happened because of our expanding family, and the fact that it was entirely possible that I could write from home while looking after, first, son Andrew, and then, two years later, Robert. Suzanne had to go back to work as a teacher at Bracebridge High School, to pay for our mortgage expenses, and I just happened to be enormously prolific as a wordsmith when I was content with my work environs. Even as a “Mr. Mom,” with all the responsibilities that entailed, I was still in a sort of professional “Neverland,” because I felt remarkably less stressed and more creative with what I had to face as a feature writer. Working out of the main H.G. office for the first five years of my editorial career was nuts-times-ten, and it did drive me to drink, and drink hard. The responsibilities were huge and the management of editorial staff was well beyond my capabilities, but I have to thank my colleagues for always coming through and making me look far better than I was in actuality. But when I was afforded the opportunity to be a feature writer and editor from my home studio, I made a huge effort to increase my output without sacrificing material content and quality.
The only problem I experienced over the long haul, was that I didn’t have the best working arrangement in terms of open space in our first two houses; not really inspiring me to do anything that was not immediately required, which, by the way, was way more than I would have written at the newspaper office with all the fur flying as it often did between competing personalities on staff. In our third and present house, I worked for half a year for another newspaper company, and the only drag on my enthusiasm, was that to make deadline, after covering evening town council meetings, was that Suzanne had to get me out of bed at about three in the morning, so that I could invest at least three hours at the computer to wrap up what I had for that issue’s front page and beyond. Unlike my work for Muskoka Publications, where I could work through the day, the early morning shift proved to be too much to carry on for long, but a personality conflict cut my tenure short; after this, and a very short hiatus from writing anything at all, I began a hearty jag writing freelance contributions to some of the same publications, on my terms, and with total freedom to pursue stories I was most enthused to develop. In fact, from late 1990 until only a few years ago, I carried on my freelance contributions with the Great North Arrow and Curious, The Tourist Guide, both having large circulations, and benefitting very much from their prominence in respective publishing areas. The point here, as I drone on, is that the foresight of my earlier publishers, allowed me to work from my home studio, and the result was so profoundly positive, that I have never given it up since I was afforded the opportunity back in the late 1980’s.
Having the privilege of working from home, for millions of employees all over the world, during the height of the pandemic lockdowns, did give a new and somewhat exciting prominence to the place of residence, we have so often taken for granted as just a place to hang our hats, and rest our weary bones. Many home-bound employees found aspects of peace and quiet that proved quite stimulating and enlightening about the old adage of “home is where the heart is,” and “home sweet home.” So home renovations became of considerable interest and a good investment in quality living. Culinary prowess improved, as the kitchen became the jewel of homebound existence. There were positive attributes to being confined to home, whether it was a countryside cottage, a tiny bungalow, a condo, apartment, or geez, even a humble castle overlooking the moor in Scotland. We took a second, third and even fourth look at our living space, and if we had a little coin to invest, we added some adornments and items to perpetuate comfort, and by and by, home seclusion seemed a lesser restriction and more of an opportunity to expand expectations.
This aspect of home comfort is important to Suzanne and I, because we had a head start preparing home as a work, and play space, soon after we were married, back in the autumn of 1983. Suzanne loves her kitchen and is an accomplished cook possessing thousands of vintage and out of print cookbooks, many being offered in our Gravenhurst antique shop; and as a home crafter, she has an assortment of vintage sewing machines, spinning wheels and of course one giant walking wheel, also for spinning wool. She repairs old quilts and she delights in crafting kitchen aprons and even doll clothing from remnants she is given by kindly patrons; as we always have some naked dolls awaiting their new outfits and scraps will work out fine.
For me, I have a much smaller work space, which is fine, because she reminds me frequently that while my writing desk isn’t terribly intrusive, my five thousand reference books are definitely in the way of just about everything, including her spinning wheels. Yet, over the decades, we have reached agreements yearly, on how to manage our space allocations, and live a comfortable and enjoyable life as two home professionals; when not staffing our antique shop, which does keep us occupied six days each week.
Since the pandemic restrictions however, we have worked a little harder to make Birch Hollow more suitable for our hobby interests, especially, and have found that there was lots more room for improvement, and much more for home comforts than we had previously thought about, prior to the provincial lockdown. When I noted in a recent blog that we have a homestead here in Gravenhurst, that is fashioned in philosophy, more so than as a “Wind in the Willows” style burrow, hidden in the forest, or along the river bank, we have indeed found our tiny, modest abode, to be a perfect host dwelling for the creative union we have only just begun; to co-op in print and photographs under the banner, “The Birch Hollow Antique Press;” which is our showcase of new feature material, as well as restorations of long antiquated editorial material I wrote decades earlier; that seem somewhat appropriate to more contemporary times. It is a marriage partnership in the creative arts based on inspiration we discovered, re-reading a favorite book of ours, entitled “Brown’s Weir,” written and photographed by Gwen and Wayland Drew, two incredibly talented folks who made this east coast fishing tradition a true work of Canadian literary art; Wayland of course the author of “Superior, The Haunted Shore,” plus other important Canadian natural heritage titles. In a memorial I wrote for the local press, after Wayland’s passing, many years back, I noted that “Brown’s Weir,” was by far my favorite book from his hand, and later, Gwen Drew confirmed to me, that it had been hers as well. It was our model for our semi-retirement projects, only hoping to be half as proficient and enlightening as Gwen and Wayland’s work and accomplishment, publishing “Brown’s Weir.”
We are sort of living in an imaginary burrow, if we can get you to imagine such a thing, completely outfitted for the comfort of its main residents, visiting family and friends of course. But when we cuddle up in the early evening, by the glowing old hearth here at Birch Hollow, and hear the windsong-rap of barren raspberry canes and lilac branches hitting the glass window panes of our parlor, forgive us for feeling warmly contented when there are still jobs to contend with; and the fact we are sharing aspirations and story ideas for upcoming work, as we have never aspired so fully in years past. We are in the illumination of our own Birch Hollow fantasies, and this we hope will be enjoyed in the published sense, when all these ideas, and new interests, come to fruition in the not so distant future, when ideas are penned permanent, and are shared with you, our dear friends.
It is all a delicious culmination of a life’s work for me, and a hearty collaboration with a kindred spirit, who has always been both my muse, my motivator, and my long suffering editor; and now we have a new tradition in progress of which we are very excited. We have been working on the restoration for hundreds of long-ago published stories and feature articles, that seem to beg a refurbishing to meet contemporary interests. Suzanne is the chief executor of my past credits; some that will make the grade, and others that will vanish into their own obscurity, because they were simply poorly written and without other redeeming merit. This is a working in progress, but one that is truly appreciated now, more than ever, as a home inspired restoration of the good old days, with new, and exciting opportunities. It is our “Wind in the Willows” time of life, I suppose, but we’re loving everything this renascence has to offer.
An Afternoon Saunter into The Wild Wood of The Bog here at Birch Hollow - A Solitude in the Embrace of an Urban Neighborhood
Suzanne has been busy taking autumn season photographs we plan to use for an upcoming video, and feature story, we’re both working on, depicting the pioneer folklore involving the deadly woodland beast, the “Hodag.” We will be featuring the story three days before Hallowe’en this year, with the video being released on the 31st of October, the third day of the short series that we actually began last year in part. The upper woodlands to the north of the wetland we call The Bog, is our own Wild Wood, like the one made famous in the book, “Wind in the Willows,” by author Kenneth Grahame early in the 1900’s. It is about twenty four acres, if memory serves, including the bowl of the wetland and water course, and it has offered the neighborhood a quiet respite since the Calydor Subdivision was constructed back in the early 1970’s. It at one time had legal access to the Muskoka Bay but somehow over the years, the Ontario Fire College laid claim to the property, which never sat well with residents who knew the subdivision from its origin. The province may face a push back at some point, when the Fire College property is sold off, and Calydor may once again lay claim to the small access to the wider Lake Muskoka. A few years back the Town of Gravenhurst attempted to declare our deed parkland surplus property, so that they could see it off for residential lots, as a sort of fund raiser for other municipal projects, including debt reduction and the construction of their new-then town hall. We rose in defiance as a neighborhood, and as a community in general, and demanded the town back off, and after a short skirmish, they did just that, with the promise of not revisiting the issue again. We don’t take this promise lightly, because this urban open space is an important habitat for creatures displaced from many other urban developments in progress, in the vicinity, as well as being an important filtering wetland for run-off destined to decline its way into Muskoka Bay, already a stressed portion of the Muskoka Lakes.
The interior of this urban Wild Wood, is so amazingly peaceful and oozing of solitude, that one can get lost in its resident enchantment; the hazy canopy drifting through the tree-tops gives a welcome sense of seclusion, but a near heavenly respite from all the other urban conundrums, heard and seen around the neighborhood. The sounds of leaf blowers and jack-hammers pounding, even on a Sunday afternoon, are muted and eliminated in its overwhelming beauty and autumn trappings, and it is the kind of place old poets reminisce about in their own sentimental verses, as being as close to paradise as one can actually get in life. It is a place of meandering, almost invisible paths, interconnecting in the shadows; arteries to nowhere in particular, that have not been trodden-down yet by too many feet; not thoughtlessly abandoned by those seeking a kinder, gentler place, to wax poetic themselves. There are thousands of photo opportunities for Suzanne, who is fascinated by the startling pop-up of so many magnificently sculpted mushrooms and fungi, doting the landscape close to the fairy dances that occur in sweet fictions, when the moonlight bathes these precious woodlands in the wee hours of the night. It is easy to be lulled into imagination’s folly, and to sense the presence of woodland spirits, or in the strange almost mortal transformations of owls observing the trespassers from overhanging boughs; the focus of the venerable old fox that crosses further up the path, turning its head to keep us in view; the two squirrels and a trim looking crow, not quite a raven, study our progress, and no doubt ponder the purpose of such an intervention in their home forest. There are chickadees flitting about, and three blue jays squawking from the barren branches of a leaning birch in the encroachment of the bogland, and we have seen a half dozen chipmunks in the most southerly platform of pine forest with its several vintage oaks, and all the while, there is the very distinct feeling that even the smallest of insects has picked up the vibration of intrusion, and may be hopeful we don’t set down the sole of a shoe on their inhabitation; or rest the camera bag on their path forward just now. Life is teeming here, from minnows and frogs, salamanders and cranky toads, water spiders darting about, and a few garter snakes slithering in the tall grasses on the embankment above the babbling creek, with its crystalline cataracts in miniature. Yes, there is much to photograph in this so called Wild Wood, where Muskoka is well represented by what it doesn’t possess; and what it gently eases into the heart of its voyeurs, of a most passive yet almost contradictory stirring of the traveller’s heart, that such a thriving woodland still exists in the area where contemporary urban interests have made such a gouging imprint on Mother Earth.
Suzanne and I are romantics about such things as Wild Woods and unscathed wetlands where life in all its forms can thrive, in this pleasing reality of life taking care of life, death taking care of death; and all the live long day, transitions occur that we are not aware, except for the atmospheric changes; and that of night and day, rain or not, frost, possibly, a windstorm, or a gentle autumn breeze; snow, maybe, ice, soon to be, falling painted leaves this moment creates a natural kaleidoscope design on the water of the tiny but deep pool that is darkened by the rough wood bridge that spans the hollow; and connects to a walkway resting on the soul of The Bog at its very centre of life. There is now, in the lessening light of late afternoon, no distinguishable sound other than the soft settling of these newly fallen leaves landing all over the forest and lowland landscape, and it is a most desirable haunting for the sentimentalists, Suzanne and I, who were children of nature in our respective youths; who were never bored hearing these subtle but unforgettable sounds of one beautiful season in decline, the heralding of yet another on the cusp, of turning this spirited woodland into the mirror of a Robert Frost poem; Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.
We can watch this all unfold from our front windows at Birch Hollow, where we have long found comfort and inspiration, patiently studying how the seasons transform both The Bog and the companion woodlands only a few meters down our laneway. It is at Birch Hollow, that we feel most connected to Muskoka’s folk lore and most prosperously, its undeniable inherent magic. From this reality we enjoy daily, we can only ever prosper as watchers in the Wild Woods, and enjoy the allure of this most pure amalgamation of what is so good about living hand in hand with the nature around us.
Suzanne has taken hundreds of photographs this afternoon for our upcoming story on “The Hodag.”
From this most comfortable burrow above The Wild Woods, please enjoy our special Hallowe’en series of feature stories of long lost folklore, tales of hauntings, strange-goings-on, and curious other accounts of the lesser known qualities and quantities of this most amazing region in Ontario.
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