The Little Shack

There was another big rain last night which you could hear pounding on the roof. It reminded me of staying in the little shack at camp. There is a whole history to the shack that pre-dates me and I encourage others to share (if they dare), but I thought I would start with some of my memories.
When I was little, Rosie and Jim were the main occupants of the shack (at least when we came to visit.) It was exciting to be asked to come inside. The memories are fuzzy but I think there was a big metal frame bed in the middle and there seemed to be stuff everywhere (which has nothing to do with the occupants).
By the time we were old enough to start staying in the shack, it had been set up for multiple occupants – a bunk bed and a single. There was nothing fancy about it – wood floor, wood panelling walls and a peaked roof. In all these years, the screen door and the main door have not changed.

Staying in the shack was a rite of passage. It made you feel much more grown up. We were in our own little world over there. There was always stuff everywhere probably because there was no closet and just a small dresser and we were three girls who changed outfits multiple times a day.

Staying in the shack was much closer to camping then being in the main house. This had its pros and cons. Having to run to the biffy on a rainy night was not fun; sometimes you just held it in. Running to the biffy in the dark also meant risking an encounter with a skunk or the bear! There also seemed to be more mosquitoes in the shack then the main house – that screen door was not completed sealed. I hated the annoying buzz of the pesky mosquitoes in my ear and was obsessed with killing them all before turning out the light (we always tried to clean up the smudges on the ceiling).

But, the pros were big. You could hear every boat pass by; you could hear the creatures in the woods (well at least in your mind!) and you could hear the rain on the roof. There was nothing like the sound of rain on the roof in the shack. Not the big storms – that is a different story which I am sure Eliza will elaborate on. But when it was a gentle steady rain, the sound on the roof was melodic and soothing and put you right to sleep. It made the shack magical.

I arrived one summer to find the little shack all done up (I don’t think I would call it renovated). New panelling on the walls, carpet on the floor and a tiled ceiling. Moe was all about improvements at camp which you cannot fault him for. But with the tiled ceiling you could not hear the rain on the roof anymore. I still loved staying in there I did miss the sound of the rain on the roof and a small bit of the magic was lost.

Green Door

Green Door was # 1 on the billboard charts in 1956. The lyrics describe a nondescript establishment with a green door behind which “a happy crowd” play piano, smoke and “laugh a lot” inside. The upstairs of the boathouse at Headacher was dubbed “The Green Door”. I remember happy crowds, laughing a lot however the Head sisters did not smoke.

My first recollection of the top floor of the old boathouse is watching my grandfather (Henry Head) sitting in a rocking chair looking out the front window. It seemed he spent hours and hours up there. The scenery forever changing with the coming and going of boats, tugs pulling log booms, trains and sometimes rowers from the Kenora Rowing Club. I can remember how soothing the sound of the water was lapping against the dock and sometimes gushing up in between the deck boards.

The wallboard that covered the walls was warped with time and dampness and green in colour, hence the nick name of the Green Door in 1956. One needed to be careful around the walls as the paint would rub off on your clothing. The linoleum floor was green squares with black lines. At the back of the boathouse on one side there was a sink with cold running water. At the other side was a trap door to the lower part of the boathouse. Climbing down through the trap door was a challenge. As a little kid it was a special event under the careful supervision and watchful eye of Maurice.

The top floor of the boathouse was also over flow sleeping quarters. I remember the old metal frame beds with very thin dusty smelly mattresses on open mess wire “springs”. Even way back then there was a double bed that made up into a couch which was very uncomfortable. I do not remember sleeping up there. Now, I wonder how anyone could sleep up there.

I seem to remember there was at least one other room which housed things like bear skins and the old white canvas tent. The bear skins were dirty and dusty. Who knows how long they had been around. It didn’t seem to stop us from playing with them. I remember the tent very well. Once or twice a season there was great excitement when Dad brought out the old tent for a sleep out in the back yard or just play time. Please notice in the picture of Elaine and I how the old tent is black with mold. I couldn’t stand the smell of the old thing so sleeping in it was not something I enjoyed. The poor old thing also leaked and in those days the remedy was to put your finger on the drip and draw the finger down to the edge of the tent and the water would follow. It seemed to work for a while.

As time went on I seem to remember playing up there. A great attraction was an old wind up gramophone. Now operating this was also a challenge. Great care needed to be taken when winding it up. If over wound, the handle would snap back at you. If you didn’t get your hand out of the way quick, zap you got hit. The handle would fly around backwards until it had unwound itself and then we would try again.

The top floor of the boathouse became the hang out for us as pre-teens and teenagers. We would sit up there for hours and hours watching boats, log boom tugs, trains and sometimes rowers from the Kenora Rowing Club.

As young teens we hung out up there with neighbourhood kids and the “young men” who worked at Coney Lodge as boat boys and grass cutters.

Later, we often hung out the front window waving at the locals whizzing by in their boats and more often than not, they would stop by to chat and join us “behind the green door”.

Canada Day Fireworks

Happy Canada Day! All across the country, people will be watching fireworks tonight. Whenever I was at Headacher for July 1 or any other holiday, we would always watch with interest to see what the Town of Kenora managed to pull off for a fireworks display. When we were in Kenora a couple of years ago on the August long weekend, the town put on a very impressive display; a professional fireworks show that was coordinated, multi-layered and lasted for about 20-30 minutes. It was not always the case.

When I was younger and spending summers at camp, the fireworks displays were on a much lesser scale. They were more along the lines of one burst at a time and pretty standard stuff. We would still ooohhh and aaahhh with enthusiasm as it was the spirit of the show that was most important.

There was one exception to these modest firework displays. One July 1 we gathered on the dock to watch the show. It started as usual with a few bursts here and there. Nothing fancy of course. After a long break between two bursts the show picked up speed. There were groups of fireworks going off, some were high, some were low and they were all colours. This went on for about 5 minutes before there was a break. A loud cheer when up all over the lake; it was the best fireworks show that we had ever seen in Kenora. We were waiting for more! We would wait in vain. That was it; it was over. 5 minutes of glorious fireworks display was all we got. Maybe the town was taking a new approach – bigger but shorter?

It was not until the next day that we learned the change in format had not been intentional. Nope, we had been witnessing a pyrotechnic boo boo. The firework barge had caught fire! Intentional or not, it was a great show and every time we watched fireworks at the lake we remembered the time the barge caught fire!

Hot Rocks

My first entry into the blog is about mothering, even though Mother's Day has come and gone for this year. I know that this may appeal more to the female readers of our blog, but Jim really understood what I felt about this topic, so I'm hoping that all can relate.
I am reading a book that I bought some time ago, but never read. Now that I am retired (?) I have finally gotten around to it. It is called Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnatch. I will be ready to pass this book along on February of next year as there is a reading a day to complete. It is fairly spiritual in nature. although not religious at all. Some of it I read and think, "Well, I'll never do that or that's kind of silly." But then other readings are bang on. The reading for May 13th, Honouring the Great Mother, was one of those and it moved me to tears. It is a section about Homecrafting, and Getting Your House in Order. Rather appropriate for us at the moment, don't you think? Anyway, I would like to quote two paragraphs to start.
"Many women I know share a seldom-expressed yearning to be comforted. To be mothered. This voracious need is palpable-and often unrequited. Instead, we are the ones who usually provide comfort, caught between the pressing needs of our children, our elderly parents, our partners, our friends, even our colleagues.
Though we are grown, we never outgrow the need for someone special to hold us close, stroke our hair, tuck us into bed, and reassure us that tomorrow all will be well. Perhaps we need to reacquaint ourselves with the maternal and deeply comforting dimension of Divinity in order to learn how to mother ourselves. The best way to start is to create-as an act of worship-a comfortable home that protects, nurtures, and sustains all who seek refuge within its walls."
Since Mom died and actually well before, I have struggled with allowing myself to be mothered by me or any one else. I am very much ready for that to happen now and have realized that building the new house is my permission to do so.
As we struggle through this patch of extremely cold weather and snow, my thoughts turn to Mom (and Dad too, as he always played a role in the excercise) and the hot rocks. The patience and caring they showed through the careful heating of those stones on the old wood heater, the wrapping of the stones in layers of old sheets (even though sometimes they were so hot, they singed the sheets that were on the bed) and then the delivery of those toasty warm stones to the bottom of our beds before we even got there on those chilly nights at camp was a gift beyond love. It was a lesson on creating the perfect environment for us.
I can flick on my electric blanket in the little house now (and that works unless we have a power outage), but as I plan the new Headacher, I am consciously throwing in little percs for me and those who "find refuge within its walls". I am having heated flooring in the main floor bath, and I hope a heated towel bar. May not be as good as "hair stroking" that we all remember, but something I can do for me. We are having Central Vac. And that allows me more time to do more for others.
I am so enjoying stories of gardens, canning, old clothes and bacon. I could go in any of those directions and probably will eventually. For now, I am going to enjoy bacon and eggs tomorrow morning Andrea, one of the camp specials. And I'll probably do a Granz and make a 1/2 sandwich with the piece of bacon left. Not quite an Amma sandwich, but close. How wonderful it is that everyone has memories of special people in their lives who for a space in time, makes us feel mothered.

Eeewww Gross. What is that in my suit?

Anyone who has been swimming at Headacher in August knows what I am talking about. Those slimy green bits that fill the lake towards the end of summer – ALGAE. Some summers it is so thick that down the lake it looks like green pain rather than water! Not that it stop us from diving in.

Of course, you can’t just jump in. Before submersing yourself, it is best to sit on the end of the dock and using either your feet or hands, push away as much of the surface algae as possible. Deep down you know that this doesn’t really work but it sure makes it easier to get in.

Once you are in, you can’t really notice it too much, although it is probably not the best idea to be gulping water as you swim. Up to you whether you open your eyes underwater or not. I for one don’t.

It’s what happens when you get out that is the gross part… One glance down the inside of your suit reveals streaks of green slime sticking to your skin. If you happen to have an ample bosom most of it has collected beneath your breasts. You don’t want to think of the other places it may be lurking.

You need to get rid of it or you can end up with a nasty rash (just speaking from my personal experience). Typically, you have three choices:
1. Garden hose down the suit. This is a good option depending on how hot it is outside and how cold the water is from the hose.
2. The wipe down. You take care of the green stuff with your towel. This will only work for a day or two before you start to notice a ripe pungent smell wherever you go. You realize its you and your towel and you are due for a shower.
3. The shower. Sometimes, this is the only option. It seems to defeat the purpose of going for a swim to have a shower afterwards but for those of us with sensitive skin or those of us going out in public, it’s a must.

Despite the grossness and the rigmarole, a dip in the lake is somehow always worth it.

Stairs to Heaven

As I viewed this picture all I could think of was a stairway to heaven because if we didn't jump off & fly, it would be a hard fall. However when Elaine talked about the cottage as a safe haven, memories of rainy days upstairs cuddled under the heavy dark stiped blankets with red binding on the beds came to mind. Memories of hiding in bed under the same blankets thinking I was safe from the thunder and lightening.

Our Story Archive

Throughout this week, Rosie has been sending pictures of the old cottage demolition at Headacher. She expressed the mixed emotions that are coming with this project and how hard it is to see the old place go. My response to her was that the essence of Headacher will remain and all that is happening is that camp is getting a new dress and a new pair of shoes!

I was thinking about the changes on our way up to the farm today. The reason that the essence of Headacher will remain no matter what structures are on the property is because of the stoires and the memories. Nancy is our photo archivist but we don't have a story archive.

I have been toying with the idea of setting up a blog for awhile but did not really know what I would talk about. Big-city-lawyer-girl turned farmer/renovator came to mind but there is almost too much material! Today on the drive I had one of those ah-ha moments. We were listening to Spark on CBC and I was inspired set up this blog as our story archive. As the KM professional in the family, this probably should have occurred to me earlier but hey, better late than never!

Blogging is not that hard, as Elaine and Bruce have demonstrated with their wonderful postings from Vietnam. I am hopeful that the rest of us can pick up the blogging habit and build our family threads for the enjoyment of those of us reading them now and those of us who will read them in the future. The stories can be long or short, old or new, first hand or family legend and about immediate or extended family. Several of us have edit rights to the blog to add posts and stories. If I left you out and your story genie is dying to get out, let me know.

That's it. I am now unleashing the blog! Go forth and tell your stories...