The Oaken Snuggery Part 29, The Conclusion

 

Photos by Suzanne Currie

THE OAKEN SNUGGERY - PART 29 A STORY ABOUT OUR RESIDENT GHOSTS

BY TED CURRIE

     I am most drawn as a writer and, I suppose, as a ghost sleuth, to the writings of Washington Irving. This will be obvious to readers of this story. It was his assertion, in his 1822 book, “Bracebridge Hall,” that while science had revealed much about life and times of the planet, and its inhabitants, whether flora and fauna or its human occupation, and mankind is well served by such fruitful investigations. In the field of botany however, Irving pointed out that advocates of the truths of what grows on the planet most often come then to dismiss what writers, poets, artists, and musicians have observed of resident enchantments of these same plants, meadows, pastures and mountain-sides. Not to suggest that truth be avoided to spare the delicious fantasies of fairies and assorted bandy legged wee beasties that frolic in the woodlands. Just that in some cases, the botanist, or scientist is overwhelmed by truth to the point nothing of the fantastic can exist without their express approval and validation. Yet, I have probably read several thousand well documented ghost sightings dating back several hundred years, and some of these encounters have been noted by highly educated and well appointed scholars, politicians, business leaders and historians, who can’t account for what they saw and felt as far as the haunting they were most familiar. Might Irving have been insinuating that the believers in superstitions, and ghosts in particular, should commune with scientists more thoroughly, to identify the bridge between the real and the surreal; the normal and the paranormal. The natural and the supernatural. I think thus, Mr. Irving would be pleased that this has been happening for some time, and it may one day be the case, science will be able to validate those of us who have, with keen senses, come in contact with those who have crossed over, meaning simply, the proof of life after death.

     I sense from events over the past month, that the ghosts of wee Francis and Cynthia Smith have decided I make a pretty good companion, to those who have crossed over. And they seem, at least by a succession of curious mischief that has happened here at Birch Hollow, in Gravenhurst, to have happily decided to haunt the Bosevelt’s “Oaken Snuggery” Bed and Breakfast, through the week, and our home at on the weekends. It has been a full month since Suzanne and I wrapped-up our ghost sleuthing at the Rose Hill property belonging to the Bosevelts. According to Mrs. Bosevelt, who I phone at least once a week, the visitations of the spirited lasses have greatly diminished, meaning her antique dolls have not been knocked over, and no books have been pulled off the library shelves or tossed heater skelter on the floor, as once happened when the ghostly activity was at a peak. Guests haven’t reported seeing anything unusual and that includes the occasional appearance of the old woman seen knitting in an unoccupied room upstairs, while pushing back and forth on an antique Boston rocker. It’s not to say that our tidying up of some property history satisfied the girls, making them feel their guilt had finally been resolved and their lives, I suppose, validated after all these years of trying, in the spirit-realm to attract attention to their misdeeds in life, that may have caused considerable carnage to the neighborhood, and potentially the loss of one of their friends, when God allegedly took the boy for his association with Cynthia and Francis, the sisters who had stolen two crucifixes during a prayer meeting in the late 1860’s. That’s a long time to feel the grip of guilt. As for the accidental death of Thomas Tucker, who drowned after falling into the Bosevelt’s pond, as it was back in 1873, it may be considered an act of God, but not a vengeful God, as the girls suspected, and accepted as a necessary burden of guilt, like a millstone, fettering them until death, and as it turned out, beyond the grave. We couldn’t prove, of course, that the girls hadn’t goaded the young Mr. Tucker onto the ice, as might be expected of child’s play and challenges, but with everything we had come to know, via research, and interpret through a myriad of appearances and clues provided by the Smith girls at their most aggressive, there is little to suggest the unfortunate death of the lad was anything more than spring-time misadventure; and who has not been tempted to walk on thin ice once or twice in a lifetime. Tom Tucker’s failure to recognize thin ice before he venture forth, was his death-wish, having nothing to do with Cynthia and Francis, who probably made every effort to assist their friend, and secure help from the owners of the property residing where the Snuggery is situated today.

     On the 30th of April, the Bosevelts, with Suzanne and I, went down to the pond, dazzling in the afternoon sunlight, and in a quiet ceremony, with very few words spoken, took the fused crosses, and as a latent memorial to Thomas Tucker, Mrs. Bosevelt, who had the most experiences with the girls, of anyone else at the farmhouse, threw them out toward the middle of the pond, where the accident most likely had occurred that day in 1873, one hundred and forty-five years earlier. It was also said by Mrs. Bosevelt, that it is recognized today, by all who live and work at this Rose Hill property, that Francis and Cynthia Smith were not responsible for young Tucker’s death, and that they, by taking the two crosses from a church service, were additionally not responsible, in God’s benevolence, for the accidental fires that claimed to pioneer cabins, being used at the time to house Sunday prayer meetings. As well, any misfortunes that may have happened to the Smith family, including the young deaths of the Mr. And Mrs. Alfred Smith, was not the result of the actions of their daughters, bringing about any kind of revenge upon their well being. Just behind us, Mr. Bosevelt, a hobby woodworker, had set in place a small park bench for guests of the Bed and Breakfast to lounge while out on a gad-about of the property, dedicated to the memory of Thomas Tucker who had drowned in the pond accidentally on April 30th, 1873. A small brass plaque was screwed onto the backboard engraved with this information. Just behind the bench, Mrs. Bosevelt had just recently planted a newly acquired lilac bush in recognition of two wee lasses who had known this property intimately so, back in the 1860’s and 70’s, when they ran wild through these fields and uplands, disappearing into the evergreen forest, taking turns hiding from each other, and skipping flat stones found along the shoreline of this beautifully reflective pond this hour, as they must have witnessed it a thousand times as children.

     The Bosevelts accepted my month’s labour in the form of a manuscript, that was composed specifically for The Oaken Snuggery, to be offered to guests of the Bed and Breakfast, to prepare them for the potential of a ghost encounter, assessing that it would be better to prepare lodgers, instead of having them frightened by a sighting or something that could only be the handiwork of the sisters at their recreation. The story is more a tale of intimate enchantment, than a tale of a haunting that might parallel those perpetuated by castle ghosts and old manor house hobgoblins. The girls are not malevolent in any way, and should they make themselves known, from time to time, at The Snuggery, it is infinitely better that guests treat them with the same cheerful respect, as we all have, during the month of our intensive study of the old farmhouse and its acres of Muskoka countryside; finding it emotionally peaceful with Walden Pond solitude, yet brimming with natural curiosities and richness, that makes the stay here all the more enthralling.

     It is unfortunate that an accidental death occurred on this same magnificent corner of heaven on earth, but strange enough, the ghost of Thomas Tucker has not remained earthbound, having accepted his fate, one might suppose, that it was his fault that day, when fate reminded him his luck had run out. The wandering spirits of Francis and Cynthia were just making sure that their childhood friend Thomas, would have his eternal place in this natural paradise, as he felt of it, with great zest for adventure, during his brief but fulfilling life. But one day, it is possible, in the intense light of a spring dusk, when the sun glow sets fire to the surface of the pond, that the three children will again make an appearance in this hollow of pasture, in the ghost-hamlet known as Rose Hill, Ontario. Then, as the sun gradually settles below the line of tall pines on the hillside, their tiny images will fade into antiquity once more, to enhance the folklore of an enchanted, storied region.

     Is it the case then that “The Oaken Snuggery” has been exorcised of its spiritual entities. I can only hope not. The Bosevelts concur. The true peace and goodwill of the place, respects their residency in the eternal sense of inhabitation. They have made it a “storied place,” and in their heavenly presence, goodwill shall prevail upon one and all, who call The Oaken Snuggery their home away from home.

     I bid you farewell, and thank you so much for visiting.

     Suzanne tells our friends that we talk to dead people. It’s true, and we get answers, but one thing is for sure. We don’t get invited to parties. There is still a stigma attached to the belief in the “fantastic” and the kind of entities that defy rational explanation, yet we find it entirely rational to communicate with ghosts, like the two wee lasses we met at The Oaken Snuggery, in beautiful Rose Hill, Ontario. They asked nothing of us, except to be recognized for the state they currently reside. I think the Bosevelts will find the atmosphere somewhat more calming and inspiring with these now subdued spirits. I feel comfortable now, closing this chapter, that was if nothing else, heartwarming and very non-ghostly.