MUSKOKA: Then and Now

ByLee Ann

This week I slammed up against some contrasts and realizations about Muskoka. Funny how that happened.

I was revising Chapter 3, which means I was deep in the 1860s of Muskoka and its first white settlers. The gruelling business of hacking out a place to live in a boreal forest. Scratching in seed around massive tree stumps that would take seven years to rot before they could be dug out of the ground.  Creating through strength of will and muscle some fledgling communities.

Then one evening, I turned to my latest issue of Muskoka Magazine to relax. This monthly periodical shares updates on what’s happening in the region, plus profiles on “Muskoka lifestyles.” Full-page colour ads for contractors who build exquisite lakeside getaways.  Villas available for fractional ownership. Festivals, cottage décor trends, and recreation options in communities mature enough to have a Heritage Foundation.

Slam.

Is this even the same place? Well, of course it is. But at the same time, a different world.

In the 1860s and 70s, people were trying to make Muskoka into something it is not. From a raw wilderness of forest, lakes and rock, white settlers came and tried to tame it into farmland, neatly organized into 100 acre lots. And for a while it seemed to work. In the early 1860s the farmers along the Muskoka Road produced an astonishing amount of crops, even in the worst soil Morrison Township had to offer. But once the forest’s thin layer of humus had been depleted, the farmers were left staring at the impenetrable granite of the Canadian Shield.

Thankfully, today, we aren’t doing that any more. We found out the hard way that only about 10% of the district is suitable for farming. The rest is Precambrian rock, lakes, rivers, and – once again – forest. These very elements are what we treasure about the region. Instead of trying to hack this wild district into farms, we go there to enjoy nature. And through the efforts of such organizations as the Muskoka Heritage Foundation, we try to preserve nature as much as possible.

My happiest realization is that Muskoka is a district known and loved for recreation rather than back-breaking struggle. The district’s residents have all its splendour in their back yards. People come here to play, to escape the city, to rest and enjoy seasonal family havens. For plenty of families, this has been a multi-generational joy. In fact, at exactly the same time the early settlers were trudging up the Muskoka Road, so were the first tourists. And of course, long before they arrived, the first nation people also enjoyed the area for its abundant natural gifts: game, fish and breathtaking beauty.

But experiencing the “Muskoka lifestyle” doesn’t come cheap. We are a long way from the free grant lands offered to settlers in the 1860s; Muskoka is now one of the most expensive addresses in Ontario. So imagine first these families of immigrants, many with nothing more than dreams in their pockets, trudging up the Muskoka Road in creaky wagons dragged by oxen. Then flash forward to glossy pages of designer cottages. This to me is the starkest contrast of all: an area once literally free for the taking is now far beyond the means of most people.

MUCKING ABOUT IN SENTENCES: Editing Chapters

ByLee Ann

On my whiteboard this week is a quote from writer Annie Dillard:

It’s a privilege to muck about in sentences all morning.

So true! I’ve been heads-down editing Chapters 2 and 3, after reading them out loud and finding out what needs to be changed. As part of the process, I’ve also incorporated the recent feedback I’ve received from my “friendly readers”: Jen, Lynn and Mr. Busy.

Most. Fun. Ever.

I mean, really. What a privilege: I’m wallowing around in 1864, a time when the pristine face of Muskoka was being permanently changed by axe blows. I’m reading the memoirs of a Muskoka steamship captain, trying to pull everything I think I will need before I have to return this book to the library. I’m hunting down 19th century population figures for Gravenhurst and Bracebridge, and discovering first-hand stories from several surveyors and settlers. 

Speaking of surveyors and settlers:

  • James Bridgland is still my favourite surveyor – he gets top marks for bluntness; says the Muskoka Road was “never  even tolerably good.”
  • Settler, newspaper publisher and Muskoka promoter Thomas McMurray wins for hyperbole. Everything he writes about Muskoka is suspect – he was just so darn keen about the place.

As part of the editing of these two chapters, I’ve had to do some more research. I’ve had to look hard at the Muskoka district, to understand where the rivers flow, where the rapids and waterfalls are and which direction the granite ridges run. All of these things, of course, affected the surveyors, road-builders and settlers. Luckily I’ve discovered that I like maps and geography almost as much as sentences!

Other random things I’ve learned this week:

  • The “surveyors’ chain” used by all the 19th century Muskoka Road surveyors was invented in 1620 by an English mathematician who was also a clergyman. I think you’d need some divine inspiration to come up with a gadget that synthesized two measuring systems, one based on the number four and one based on the number ten. This story may earn its own sidebar in the book.
  • The famous prize turnip (no, I’m still not sick of talking about it!) was grown in some of the worst land Muskoka had to offer. This success story doesn’t do anything to support the fact that it was desperately hard to farm in the Muskoka district. I’ll have to figure out how to deal with that.

Even with all the changes and additional research, my word count is still creeping up overall. Privilege and progress!

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BABY-BOOMER IN THE BLOGOSPHERE PART 3: Why Writers Should Blog

ByLee Ann

I’ve always admired columnists. You know – the writers of newspaper and magazine columns whose job it is to write reflective and informative pieces on current events or current social issues. People like Joseph Mitchell, a features writer for The New Yorker for 58 years. Or Joe McClelland, reporter and columnist for The London Free Press for 27 years. Or Anna Quindlen, Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The New York Times. Treat yourself: look them up and read their work. Here’s what you will find:

  • A theme. Each piece has a purpose and makes a point. It’s not a string of random thoughts.
  • Tight structure. Their articles have a beginning, a middle and an end. Paragraphs link to each other like pearls in a necklace.
  • Luminous, vivid prose. I can pick up any article by any of these columnists and find delicious phrasing that takes me right into the story. 

A good blog post is like a good column. It has all the above attributes. And I think writing a regular blog is fantastic practice for any writer. You can write to a deadline. You try for tight, purposeful prose that has a point to it. You work hard for words that sparkle.

And like a column, your blog has to have relevance to your readers, or they’ll skip over to something else that does. 

If your blog gives good prose and good value, you can build a following, work with your readers to develop an idea, even post excerpts of your book to get feedback before publication.

But above all, you can hone your skills as a writer. It’s not easy to write a good blog post – one that has the attributes of a Mitchell or McClelland or Quindlen piece.

But with this practice, I’ll get better.

ADVICE TO WRITERS: Read Your Work Out Loud!

ByLee Ann

I recently had the opportunity to read the draft versions of Chapters 2 and 3 aloud to some friends. As a writer, I’ve heard many times how valuable this is. Do I do it? I can’t remember the last time I read any of my work out loud, even to the plants in my office.

Of course I received valuable feedback from Linda and Maurice. They are very well-read and enthusiastic about my work, so they had lots of good questions, comments and reactions that I could make note of. They told me when they needed more detail. They were impressed overall with what they learned about Muskoka and its beginnings. And their best reactions were to paragraphs that I had re-written into modern language from 19th century quotes. That was great feedback. As much as I love 19th century lingo, I had removed those quotes from an earlier draft, thanks to advice from Lynn, Jen and Mr. Busy. (Thanks, guys, you were right as usual!)

But the real value of the read-aloud exercise was what I heard when I listened to myself read. I heard:

  • A story that was not as conversational as I want it to be. Parts were decidedly flat to my ear, lacking the energy and lilt of a story.
  • Too many textbook and/or formal and/or big words that were hard to say.
  • Too many sentences that I couldn’t finish in one breath.

Also, I found I had to interrupt myself sometimes to provide some context or background. Or to add some colour commentary. Of course, all these should be in the text. Some were, I hasten to tell you. But not all of them, and not all were exactly where they needed to be.

At first I was very upset and disappointed with myself, because of the gap between what I thought I wrote and what I heard when I read the words out loud. Then I realized what a great gift this experience was – especially since it happened so early in the process of writing. I can now edit these two chapters and punch up the style, translate words from formal to evocative and make the sentences short and meaty. And then carry that style of voice as I write the next chapters.

Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting all this in public… but I did promise to be honest about the process, so there you go. I’ll admit this in public too: I’m now going to read every page out loud. Please smile when you hear the sounds coming from my office and know that I’m writing a better book!

WHO GREW THE TURNIP: How Much Research It Takes to Tell a Story

ByLee Ann

I wonder if readers have any idea how much time it can take to write a sentence. I’m not talking about a sentence that is just well-crafted. I mean a sentence that is accurate and rich with detail. In a non-fiction book like Muskoka’s Main Street it’s really important that the stories I tell are not only well-crafted – by this I mean clear – but also correct and informative. 

SPOILER ALERT! I have this great sentence in Chapter 3: “Moses Martin, a 66-year-old Canadian, grew the turnip on Lot 9 East of the Muskoka Road in Morrison Township.”

Here’s what it took for me to write that one sentence.

First of all, as you, my faithful followers will know, I’m talking about THE turnip. The 16 kilogram mammoth prize turnip that was grown along the Muskoka Road in 1860 and paraded around as definitive proof Muskoka was a good place for farming. (Muskoka wasn’t, and isn’t, but that’s another story.)

I first read about the turnip in Muskoka and Haliburton 1615-1875 A Collection of Documents by Florence B. Murray. Surveyor J.W. Bridgland (my favourite surveyor who wrote all the blunt reports) mentions the turnip in his 1861 inspection report to the Commissioner of Colonization Roads.  Of course I wanted to include this in the book!

Then I found R.J. Oliver’s “Report on Free Grants on the Severn and Muskoka Road.” He was the government land agent in the district and he says he actually had the turnip in his possession! It’s a white turnip weighing, he says, 14.7 kilograms. Maybe it dried out a bit in the time it took for him to write his report, but never mind that. He also says the turnip was grown on Lot No. 9 East Morrison.

Ah ha! This sent me to Library and Archives Canada again, where I had already planned to go to look at the 1861 census. That year, the census consisted of a personal report – with names, ages, ethnic origins etc. – and an agricultural report, which gives acreage, crops grown, livestock held – AND the lot and concession numbers where people lived.

“Lot 9 East Morrison” means the 9th lot on the east side of the Muskoka Road in Morrison Township. Who owned that lot? Moses Martin, identified on the Agricultural Census. Who was he? A 66-year-old born in Upper Canada, living with his wife Catherine and four sons, all labourers: Moses Jr., 21, John 17, William Edward, 14, and Robert Henry, 12. They lived in a shanty – which is not nearly as fancy as a log house – on their 100-acre lot, where they also grew spring wheat and potatoes and made maple sugar. Oh, and they also had one pig.

Now I can write a sentence! And not just the sentence I got from an excellent but still secondary source, Murray’s textbook. A sentence that is rich with detail and one that gives information that I’ve never seen published before: the name of the actual guy who grew the famous turnip.

One sentence: about half a day of research, not counting travel time.

What do you think – was it worth it? Are you surprised at what it took?

WINTER WELCOMES MUSKOKA’S FIRST SETTLERS

ByLee Ann

What a spectacular winter season we’re having in Ottawa! The canal is open, the ski slopes are crowded, all the outdoor rinks are going full blast. The snow squeaks when you walk on it; snow pellets sting your cheeks.

With every waterproof boot-step I take, with every adjustment of my polar-fleece toque, I think of the first settlers on the Muskoka Road. 

They arrived in October 1859. The surveyors had driven stakes into the corners of their lots, but other than that, they had trees. And despite the glorious tinges of autumn leaves, the clock was ticking rapidly towards a winter some of them could not have imagined. Months of frozen isolation under feet of snow thrown down by screaming winds.

Shelter? Better make good use of that axe, my friend, against the old-growth forest. Clear out the underbrush first – saplings as tall as a man, standing in a tangle of grasses. Pile that over to the side of where you’ve decided to make your clearing. Hack down some of those giant pines – they’ve stood for an eon growing trunks so wide two men can’t reach each other from opposite sides.

Get busy. Make some logs and pile them, still barked and round, on top of each other, then scrounge around for some moss and – if you can find it – some clay to stuff in the spaces. Lay a few more logs across the top for a roof – remembering to leave an opening as a chimney, since you couldn’t afford to bring a stove. The fire will double as a heater and a place to cook.

You might use a blanket to cover that doorway, but chances are you’ll rip that down to wrap around you one frigid night. You want a table to sit at? A block of wood. A chair? More wood. Then for a mattress some soft, fragrant tamarack boughs.

It’s too late in the season to plant anything, so I hope you’ve laid in some salt pork and flour. You’ll be walking a kilometre or so to the Severn River for water to stir in with your flour to make bannock. Jackson’s store is there, but he’s just opened up and has to walk 19 kilometres to Orillia for supplies. Maybe he can sell you some wool stockings and moccasins – oh, and ask him for a buffalo skin robe, and some fur-lined gloves too, if you can afford it…

Can you imagine the bleakness of that first winter? Dark, lonely and freezing cold – and boring, with nothing much to do but try to survive into another day.

I think I’ll go turn on my gas fireplace and put the coffee-maker on. Maybe go for a walk later, with my gortex and thinsulate to keep me company.