July 3, 1917 Leaving

July 3, 1917

I’m planning to leave this Sunday. At Winnie’s urging I need to settle my accounts with Shannon this week. We had agreed on rates back in April and by mid-July I would be getting about $100 on my loan. Since I was going to leave a week earlier than I had planned I thought it fair just to ask for $100 and not worry about the week. I have $13 in cash and $37 in the bank. So the total sum I have is $150, about a year’s worth of savings, after living expenses, for a worker. If I am frugal, I could easily live on this amount for a year, even supporting a wife and child. I recall Lismer saying that when he came to Canada, he only had enough for his fare and $5 left over. He quickly found a job, bought a suit on credit and he was on his way to being established in the New World. I was feeling good about the whole situation until I talked to Shannon.

“Tom, things have changed since we talked last April. I’m afraid the rate has gone up to $2 per day.” I was dumbfounded. A quick calculation revealed that by Shannon’s new terms, instead of receiving $100, I’d be owing Shannon $12.

“Shannon, that wasn’t the deal we made back in April.” I tried not to show my exasperation.

“Sorry Tom, those are the new terms. You can’t exactly leave it, so you’ll have to take it.” Shannon shrugged. I’m pretty sure he knew exactly the situation I was in, and I wasn’t in a position to bargain.

“Shannon, I need the loan settled. I’m planning to leave for out west mid-July.” I lied; I was going to leave a week earlier. I wanted to be out of the country before the bloodhounds got onto our track.

“Okay, Tom. I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll settle for $25 and get the money to you next week.”

I hate dealing with money, “Shannon, can you get it for me on Sunday?”

“I’ll try, Tom. Cash is short around here.”

I felt betrayed. I don’t care that much about the money. It was the going back on the deal we had made in the spring. But I hate conflicts too. I was never that good at dealing with my own financial affairs – not that I was incompetent. I just didn’t care that much. My older brother George managed my affairs when I was out West, and back in Toronto, Lawren Harris and Dr. MacCallum did it for me. I know the man of the household is supposed to take care of these things, but I fully expect Winnie to manage our accounts. She’s trained in such things and I believe that will be the success of our relationship. She worries about the numbers and I worry about the art. And we meet in the middle with fishing. I can’t think of a better arrangement with a woman than what I’ll have with Winnie.

After that episode with Shannon, all I could think about was fishing at Joe Lake Dam. I got my gear and went out back through the summer kitchen. Annie was in the kitchen making strawberry pies. The strawberries are ready, and Mildred had gone out in the morning and picked a few pints.

“Tom, you going out fishing?” Annie asked.

“Yes, Annie,” I replied.

“Well say hi to Annie Colson while you’re up there, ” Annie said. “Please tell her I’ll be needing some baking supplies: sugar, baking powder, flour and some molasses. I’ll send Shannon to pick them up when the next train comes in.”

There was no reason for Annie to tell me all this. The only reason I could fathom is that she sensed the tension and the only way to cut it was to talk about something mundane and trivial. That was such a Victorian way of dealing with personal crises. Much like a sergeant serving tea to a soldier shot in the stomach. Medically, it was the worst thing you could do, but the act of courtesy was really a shrouded act of denial awaiting the inevitable outcome. Annie realized I would be leaving soon.

I spent the afternoon at Joe Lake and caught nothing. Mark Robinson dropped by and watched me for a while. Mark’s son Jack also came along and I showed him a few casts and how to tie a lure. I talked about the “Big Trout” I was trying to catch. I told him that “Big Trout” was starting to get the reputation that he was smarter than the local artist. We fished for a while longer and from where we were fishing we could see the berm by the Shelter House. I told Mark that if the berm prevented either of his daughters from rolling into the lake then I had truly served my purpose here in the Park.

July 2, 1917 Ash Can

July 2, 1917

Last night turned out to be quite a celebratory affair. George Rowe showed up later in the evening. He had procured some fireworks and needed a willing audience. Lowrie came too. He had returned from Huntsville (I was not expecting him) and was George’s fireworks assistant (pyrotechnician, I think is the proper term.)

George and Lowrie set up the fireworks a good 300 yards south of the Trainor and Blecher cottages. Far enough away from the cottages but more importantly, away from the chipyard, should anything catch fire If anything did catch fire, it would be close to the Canoe Lake dump, which Shannon sets on fire once or twice a year to get rid of the trash.

And sure enough, during the firework performance something did catch fire and we had to rush down the old Gilmour Road to put out a stump that was the unlucky recipient of a malfunctioning firework. Despite the mishap, it was all great fun and the fireworks were a spectacle to behold. I got to practice my Fire Ranging skills once again.

After the fireworks, I didn’t go back to the campsite but stayed in my room at the lodge. I don’t have many belongings there, most of my stuff is at the camp, but I have a few books in my room. Mostly books that have been lent to me or ones that I have picked up after a guest has left. Lawren Harris, the last time we were together, gave me his copy of “Art” by Clive Bell. He said it was a good read on art theory and that I should read it. I started it and read a good description on the aesthetics of art. He described art as being a form of lines, colour and a sense of space that invokes emotion in the observer. Bell also said that art has nothing to do with facts or representation – an immaculately produced drawing can have absolutely no artistic merit at all. Being a trained as a commercial artist, I knew exactly what Bell was getting at and I felt vindicated in what I was doing with my spring sketches. So far this is a good book and I’m glad Lawren encouraged me to read it.

Harris had also mentioned the Ash Can School. It was a group of artists down in Philadelphia. The group had only recently become known for creating “ash can art.” I am not sure what the name actually means other than they are trying to represent things as they really are – not some muddy or washed out pastoral pastiche. What this group of artists is painting in the city sound like what I am trying to paint here in the North. Harris said that this group would be good to fall in with, if I ever decide to go south of the border

So I have started to mull over the idea of going down to Philadelphia with Winnie. I’m not sure how long my funds would tide me through (once I got them from Shannon), but I am sure I could get along with the Ash Can artists. Philadelphia could be an initial stopping point before going further south and west. I think Winnie has some relatives in Pennsylvania. I doubt we would ever consider seeing them, but just the fact of having relatives close by might be a comforting factor for Winnie. I am also considering going to New Haven Connecticut, where my brother George is. He’s the head of the art society there, but unfortunately it’s my sense that the members there are similarly cut in the cloth as the O.S.A. members in Toronto. I am also sure that once I arrived there, George would implore me to ‘do the right thing’, the ‘right thing’ being whatever he tells me to do. When I meet up with Winnie, we can make up our plans and decide.

When I went out on the front verandah this morning, I noticed that Canoe Lake had a very strange haze on it. It wasn’t fog. It was a smoke haze from a distant forest fire. I have seen this before, where the haze would be blown in from hundreds of miles away. I remember the Matheson Fire from the previous year (July 1916). I was a fire ranger at the time, and  although the fire was hundreds of miles away, the smoke covered the entire Park and the lakes had the same eerie haze as Canoe Lake does now. I doubt the haze came from George’s misfired fireworks, but maybe George decided to a repeat his act at the Highland Inn and started a doozy of a forest fire. To my knowledge, the Highland Inn could be burned down to the ground at this very instant.

So I decided to spend the day at Mowat Lodge. There are about twenty guests. This keeps Shannon and Annie busy, especially to settle in the new one. I stayed in one corner and read Bell’s Art for the better part of day while thinking about my plans. Shannon and Annie could see that I didn’t want to be bothered, so they left me alone. The other big piece of business I need to settle with Shannon is getting the money I loaned him. I’m not looking forward to that discussion, but I needed to have it. I needed the money by the end of the week.

July 1, 1917 Dominion Day

July 1, 1917

Today is Dominion Day.

It’s the 50th anniversary of Confederation and Shannon thought it would be a good idea to have a celebration on the dock by the lake. Normally, the big celebrations only happened on Victoria Day, but Shannon read in the papers that Ottawa was marking Dominion Day as a special occasion and celebrations were happening in Ottawa. Not be outdone by the capital, Shannon decided to have another go at  his pageant, which had been a bust on Sovereign’s Day.

The plan was simple, but the burden of the plan fell on Annie. First, an outdoor dinner at noon on the dock,  followed by a canoe regatta. Initially, the dinner was to be held on the verandah of Mowat Lodge, but since there were no screens, and the horse stable was close by, there would be a problem with the flies. So the decision was made to relocate down at the dock. This meant hauling down tables and chairs over 200 yards, so we loaded up Shannon’s wagon and brought them all down at once. We set up the dining for about twenty.

Down at the lake, Mowat Lodge dock is a rustic affair, pretty much in keeping with the rest of the Mowat Lodge concept. It’s about six feet wide and twenty feet long. I helped Shannon put it out in early May. To get better depth beside the dock we lined it up to to be parallel with a rocky outcropping. To easily access the the dock we had to put down two pine planks that connected it to the shore. It had to be accessible by women in dresses – you can’t have them clambering over rocks. There’s a primitive shed just up on the shore. It’s where the paddles and outfitting equipment is stored along with the canoes. Back in 1915, I help Shannon to build this too. It was only after we built it, that we discovered it was poorly placed. It obstructed the view of the dock from the verandah back at Mowat Lodge. All that you could see from the verandah was the shed, it blocked the view of the dock and only the most southerly tip was visible. As such, you couldn’t see if anyone was on the dock itself. This made for some inconvenience because it was difficult to signal back up to the Lodge to indicate if you needed something. Shannon didn’t think this was much of a problem. He had heard that  wireless radios were coming soon. Maybe he could install one by the dock.

We brought down two fireless cookers. Shannon had procured these devices earlier in the spring. Fireless cookers had become the fashion since the rise in fuel costs. Early in the morning, Annie had  heated beans on the stove (soaked overnight) and started a large pot roast. When these were well on their way about (about 10am) she transferred the contents to the cookers and we brought them down to the dock. The principle of the fireless cooker is simple and elegant. The pots are inside an insulated box of fire stone and asbestos. The box is then filled with hot cinders from the stove, and the cooking continues. The best thing about the cookers is that we can retrieve the hot food without traversing the 200 yards back to the Lodge. In addition to the hot menu, Annie had prepared rhubarb sauce, bread and butter sandwiches and rice pudding with raisins for for dessert. It was going to be a fine dinner.

The sun was out, it was cool and the wind was brisk, but not so brisk as to blow everything off the table. The wind was also strong enough for a regatta. We planned to use the canvas canoes that were outfitted with sails.

To start the dinner, Shannon had asked a favour of me. Earlier in the week, the papers had published a song that was to become the new national anthem. It was titled ‘O Canada’ and was going to be used to officially open the Golden Jubilee celebrations in Ottawa. It was also going to be performed at the Westminster Abbey religious service to honour Canada’s contribution to the war. So Shannon asked me to practice the song. I didn’t have my mandolin, so I borrowed a guest’s Gibson. The melody isn’t hard to learn. I found it rather plodding, but I guess it is an appropriate difficulty level for those who don’t sing. Similar to Amazing Grace – not the most beautiful song on its own, but when sung together as a group, it has power.  I asked Charlie Scrim to make copies of the lyrics. He wrote out ten copies.

O Canada, our heritage, our love

Thy worth we praise all other lands above

From sea to sea throughout their length

From Pole to borderland

At Britain’s side, whate’er betide

Unflinchingly we’ll stand

With hearts we sing, “God save the King”

Guide then one Empire, do we implore

And prosper Canada from shore to shore.

We sang the song at the start of the dinner. The effect was not only powerful, it was magical. I played through the melody two times, then I sang it solo for everyone to get comfortable with the lyrics. Then we sang it together. We looked at each other and realized that this was to be the song of Canada. The after silence was a golden moment. Shannon began to unload the fireless cookers and the ones with baked beans fell off the side of the dock into the water. We had the pot roast for Dominion Day and the shore minnows had baked beans for the rest of the week.