March 26, 1917:
I went deep into the bush today. Shannon said he wanted to get the ice blocks before the lake ice got too rotten. I said I’d paint in the morning and come back by noon to help out. Turned out I didn’t get back until 2pm. I didn’t pack a lunch and returned hungrier than a bear. Annie had some stew on the stove for me and after a bear’s filling, I needed to take a nap. I wasn’t out there to help Shannon much before 4pm.
But I got a good sketch in and was in pretty good spirits. Regardless, I let Shannon down, but I was hoping my good disposition would rub off on him.
Anyway, Shannon had Lawrie Dickson and George Rowe already to help him out. They needed the money, and more importantly, the booze. Despite the booze they’re good fellows and I get along with them well. They’ve made their reputation with Shannon. He hires and fires them regularly. But the extent of the Canoe Lake labour market is limited and they’re assured of regular employment by Shannon, whatever the foul-up. As for me, the occasional itinerant and mostly unreliable artist with little money. I have the dubious distinction of being both guest and labourer.
Shannon’s a few years younger than me. He’s thirty-four and Annie is thirty-two. They married young – Shannon was twenty and Annie was eighteen. They have a daughter Mildred, she’s thirteen now. She’s one of the few children here in Mowat. She’s in Grade 8, one of ten students at the school by Potter Creek. If she wants to go to high school Shannon and Annie will have to send her to Kingston. On the weekends she helps with the chores, boiling and washing the guest linens.
Shannon came here a few years ago to help wind down the lumber village of Mowat. The lumber was pretty much gone and the equipment was taken and moved elsewhere. The hospital closed down and Shannon saw the opportunity to turn it into a resort and a post office. The Grand Trunk Railway had just opened the Highland Inn, Nominigan, Minnesing, and just up by Joe Lake, Algonquin Hotel.
We artists discovered Mowat Lodge in 1912. Before Shannon could shake a stick at us to shoo us off, he had more artists staying at the lodge than he could bear. Truth be told, he enjoyed our company because we weren’t very discerning about the lodgings. We joked that whatever wasn’t good enough for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (he stayed at the Highland in 1914) was good enough for us. So long we had a place away from the bugs at night we were happy. But the real gem of Mowat Lodge had nothing to do with Shannon’s charms and the rustic experience, it was Annie’s cooking.
Then the War hit, and things took a turn for the worse. Tourism dried up. Grand Trunk Railway got into financial trouble. Camp Minnesing after only two seasons was shut down. It was empty once again last summer. The way the War is I doubt it will open this summer. And to top it off, Prohibition was passed. Prohibition hasn’t yet stopped Shannon, George, or Lawrie from imbibing without prescription. Mail order liquor shipments from Montreal are still the way to go.
I’ll have to make a point of visiting Lawrie and George. They live in the shacks on the mill property. Lawrie managed to get himself a Victrola so it’s worth the visit. He said it was a gift, but I was suspicious that there was an alternate means of acquisition. I’ll never question. One should never look a gift Victrola in the mouth.
Tom Thomson's Last Spring 