The Oaken Snuggery Part 21

 

Photos by Suzanne Currie

THE OAKEN SNUGGERY - PART 21

BY TED CURRIE

     I have thought to ask the Bosevelts about a strange little watercolor painting that hangs in a shallow and largely unlit section of wall here at The Oaken Snuggery. As I’ve studied all the paintings and assorted decorating sculptures positioned in this restored farm house, including some that I am told came with the property courtesy the previous owners, but this little gem has attracted my attention more than all the others, some being of the antique variety, including quite few Victorian era portraits. Mrs. Bosevelt assures me that these black and white images do not represent her or her husband’s ancestry but rather, were purchased from local antique shops for decorating purposes only. This strange watercolor showing two children playing by what appears to be the pond here at Rose Hill, may be a more contemporary illustration by a former resident of the farmstead. I suppose it could date back further, because the framing is certainly of the late Victorian period. I keep making note of it, in order to ask Mrs. Bosevelt whether or not it was one of the art pieces that came with the house, during the real estate purchase. In the last few days it has been bothering me, much as if I am being manipulated by spirits unknown, to believe that the two children in the drawing are the two wee lasses who are making sport of haunting this old South Muskoka farm house. When I study it and then look out at the pond, from the great windows here in the Great Room, that offers a panorama of the pasture and hillside pinery, it does look remarkably similar to the landscape depicting in this simple, nostalgic image of playtime. I must make a point to ask the Bosevelts at the next opportunity, for an explanation, as to where this tiny but vibrant art piece came from, because it is certainly haunting me at this moment, to the point I really want to believe it is the casual view of two children who became, in later life, two poorly behaved and uninvited guests of this otherwise charming and inspiring home in the Muskoka woods. I’m writing this down in my journal in order not to forget to ask the proprietors of this inn, to explain why the image is so important to this place, when there would be many other decorating options. It’s such a small painting for a big, big wall space.

     There is a warm drifting mist and a slight drizzle of rain this morning, falling over this rejuvenating landscape, emerging in vibrant green buds and heads of vigorous ferns popping up all around the pond that is the size of a small lake. It is a somewhat familiar Walden Pond that Thoreau might have found moderately fascinating, although there is no waterside cabin from which to observe pond life, while making copious notes about the allure of nature, with all its welcome intrusions.

     Since I have been lodging at The Oaken Snuggery, these past two weeks, plus a few days extra, I have travelled to every corner of the South Muskoka property, and searched every room and open space in the old farmhouse, curious more than anything else, about what has made the Bosevelt venture in the Bed and Breakfast business, so successful in only a matter of a full year of operation. It has received many exceptional reviews from guests, and coverage in a number of industry magazines, and of course a feature story in the local newspaper and its summer special edition. The only persistent negative attached to this pioneer homestead in the ghost hamlet of what was once Rose Hill, just north of the town of Bracebridge, has been the reported paranormal occurrences experienced by a half dozen guests of the country inn, but only representing three parties, being husbands and wives. Two of the parties wished to check out early because of unwelcome intrusion of apparitions, including one of an older woman rocking in an old chair in one of the unoccupied rooms. A passing guest, wondering what the noise was the vacant room, felt the urge to open the door to see for herself. The ghost vanished soon after being sighted, and the guests vanished just about as quickly, by early the next morning. None of those who had experienced the ghost(s) of The Oaken Snuggery had written any kind of negative reviews of the Bosevelt’s pride and joy, but it would be quite contrary to their business plan to have this happen at such an early stage of investment retrieval. I was there, as an amateur ghost sleuth, and writer, to make a preemptive strike, so to speak, by trying to identify the suspect wayward spirits, figure out by any means possible, why they, if there was more than one, were fettered to the reality of contemporary earth, long after their own demise. It wasn’t my task to rid the property of such inhabitations, or hauntings, better stated, by initiating an exorcism. Instead it was more the case, that if the old farmhouse was indeed haunted by one or more spirited guests, that at the very least, the Bosevelts would have a small guide book available to at least make the best of the house and property’s legacy, with a sort of soft sell of its haunted reputation. In short, if they couldn’t or wouldn’t get rid of the inmate ghosts, then they would have to work with them, to appeal to those guests with a genuine interest in residing at such a place as harbors the spirit-kind. It’s done throughout Europe, including well documented haunted castles, where guests pay extra to be a part of a paranormal encounter, if that is, one was to actually occur. The Snuggery is by no means loaded to the hilt with roving ghosts, looking to scare the bejesus out of anyone who lodges within. Just the same, if the ghosts plan on remaining part of the lodging chattels, then they have to become part of the revised business plan, so that guests won’t be able to get a refund if they cut their stay short, because of a rocking knitter, who should be anywhere else but amongst the living. I was in the pivotal position to soften the edges of this image of a haunted Bed and Breakfast so I not only needed more facts about the hauntings at present, but to as well, know how to write this into a story that would interest guests, and attract more, without understating or over-stating the level of haunting one might expect of a 118 year old farmhouse that has its own family cemetery.

     I have walked a long way this morning, around the pond and the marsh at the far end, where the geese have gathered this morning, and I have only just this moment, sat down on a bench, the equivalent of a fallen pine, near the pioneer cemetery, to make these few notes about my stay so far at The Snuggery. The Bosevelts have been wonderful hosts and I’ve enjoyed meeting the several dozen guests who have lodge here since my arrival at around the first of April. The food has been terrific, the treats throughout the day nothing short of superb, and the accommodations have been both comfortable and spacious, even my room which is really the everyday office for Mrs. Bosevelt’s accounting files. I didn’t want to take up a full room for myself, and a smaller room with a fold-down cot was perfect for a wanderer like me. I’ve spent most of my free time either hiking all over the multi acre property, and lounging in the Great Room of the farmhouse, having the best view of any room at The Snuggery, to enjoy the panorama of what was once a Muskoka homestead of the late 1860’s.

     The property doesn’t feel haunted as if that counts for anything. I have seen and been touched by what presumably is a paranormal energy, but nothing that was in any way negative. Each encounter, as brief as it was, seemed to me more fascinating and exciting than fearful. I didn’t want to run away from any of the situations that casually came my way during these outings in this early spring setting of the South Muskoka woodlands. As far as being haunted, The Snuggery itself doesn’t exude and tangible aura of harboring ghosts or bandy legged wee beasties, and on each occasion that I did have an unearthly experience, there was no prevailing sense of dread, or any trace of negative energy, partly because the spirits involved seemed to only be the specters of two little girls of long ago, who had little interest in malevolent behavior. Mischief? Yes! But seemingly to make a point. To get our attention and enlist our mortal capabilities, to resolve what has potentially been a fettering worry that has continued from life into the afterlife. In psychic analysis, several of us who have reviewed all that has and continues to happen of a paranormal character, appears to have a distinct mission attached, possible the deceased making restitution for something unfortunate that happened in their lives, that was never adequately addressed before the separation between mortality and immortality. There are a lot of clues to chase down and much more to experience, but there is nothing dire attached to this investigation. Nothing even remotely sinister or dangerous, such that any of us here at the lodgings should worry about consequences whatsoever. As a haunting it is all quite benign if that is, one relates what is happening here to what is profiled in Hollywood movies, when it comes to nasty spirits seeking revenge. This would make a poor Hollywood movie, in this regard, and I suspect it will be a rather dull booklet when I’m finished, but then again, the Bosevelts will probably be glad of this softer aspect of owning a haunted Bed and Breakfast.

     The rain has begun to fall with much greater vigor now, and the mist over the water has moved off over the pasture, where it was disappear soon into the low shrubs on the hillside where it is wafting at this moment. I love the sound of rain as it tinkles off the surface of the pond, and as I have a hood on my jacket to keep my noggin dry, I am in no hurry to abandon this most alluring portal onto the old Muskoka homestead, that has so many enchanting qualities and quantities, such that indeed, the good Mr. Thoreau would have found much to write about, lodging at this particular vantage point. I might, during this vigil, sense that I am being watched by something in the woodlot at my back. I worry now more about a spring-hungry bear or rogue moose than I do a traversing spirit, about to upset my calming sojourn by laying an invisible hand upon my shoulder. I expect to see strange shadows moving about along the ridge to my right, and hear rustling on the slop to my left, and it would not surprise me thusly, to hear the very faint singing of merciful angels, guarding this cemetery in front, with all their heavenly powers to protect. Alas, as I close my notebook, and decide to head back to my lodgings, as the rain has begun to fall much heavier than moments previous, I regretfully can not claim to have experienced a single event or intrusion that was out of the ordinary for such a heavy place on earth. It is all so beautiful and oozing of solitude, but nothing that either adds or detracts from my story, about my stay at the haunted house that was The Oaken Snuggery.

     There is something powerfully alluring and spiritual about the sound of wind rushing through the overhanging pine boughs, that at times, seems a chorus of the deceased, singing of the intimate enchantments of nature that stimulate the senses, and haunt the solitude that seems overpoweringly lonely, and isolated, yet you are wishing a few yards of a habitation with its crackling fire and scent of the evening meal in preparation. The universe illuminates slowly as the wind relaxes its sweep over the hills and down through the valleys of this contrasted topography, having been one of the most successful homesteads in pioneer Rose Hill, the hamlet a short distance north of the Village of Bracebridge as it existed in the 1870’s. It is, of all things, a writer’s paradise, and since I have taken up residence here at The Snuggery, I have never been without a budding story idea, or poetic leaning, that encourages me to pick up this pad of paper to make copious notes. It is that essence of haunting and atmosphere that I most sincerely benefit from, on this somewhat strange adventure for a former newspaper reporter turned ghost sleuth. I must remember to ask the Bosevelts about the painting of the two children. It just seems to be more important to this place than its size and positioning reflect in earnest.