The
Squamidian
Report – Feb. 3/18
Issue
#819
Including:
From
Rosy
From Sus
More Stinks From Russ
From Lorne
The Ontarion
Hi
All,
Ok,
we
are now a month into our new agreement regarding this
letter and some of you have stepped up incredibly well,
but where are the rest of you that indicated a
willingness to participate? Just asking.
We've
been
having a lot of typical west coast winter weather,
meaning, endless rain on the coast and endless snow in
the mountains. To that end, last Saturday dawned the
usual rain in the valley but up at our place there was a
nice 2 or 3 inches of very heavy wet snow. The freezing
line had been a bit higher than us for the last while
but had dropped to below us. Therefore we had snow,
first snow at our elevation since that big dump just
after Christmas. There had been lots up higher as I'd
broken trail on snowshoes up at the gondola many times.
So, I fired up the old snow blower and cleared off the
drive. Way easier than trying to shovel the stuff. Then,
I headed for the gondola with the intent of being first
out on the trail again which is one of the pleasures of
life. Now, it had rained hard during the night at our
elevation before turning to snow so I didn't really know
what to expect. Right from just above tower 4, the one
at the top of that first cliff, on up the trees were
draped in massive mounds of snow making one wonder how
that could hold so much without falling over. As the
gondola cabin slowed and the door opened at the top I
was greeted by knee deep snow and a couple of the out
door workers digging with shovels and blowing with one
of their blowers in and attempt to clear the platform.
Wow, more snow than I'd expected. Cool, so to speak.
As
soon
as I put on my snowshoes and left the platform, stepping
up onto the snow I knew I was in for a workout. Crossing
the area normally packed hard I was sinking in half way
to my knees. As I entered the trail-head I wondered a
bit as to if I was biting off a bit more than I could
chew. The snow on the trail had been tramped down over
the past weeks, creating a walking path that like a
little canyon, with sides higher than my knees. In most
places the new snow had filled the canyon and often it
was hard to see where the path was. The totally flat
light didn't help, neither did the drifted areas. It had
been cold enough and windy enough for a bit of drifting,
something we don't see much of at lower elevations. I
found myself trudging along, resting often as every step
sank in deeply. (Without snowshoes I'd probably still be
there). The half way point is about where the
Chief
overlook
is and I debated back tracking rather than continuing to
break trail as I was pretty well pooped. Back tracking
and therefore taking advantage of the now broken snow
and the bit of compaction would be much easier than
continuing on, but, being stubborn and determined I
pressed on, trudging one step at a time. I will admit I
stopped more times than I can count to rest and catch my
breath. But the views and the fresh snow on the trees,
seen by my eyes first kept me going. Eventually, with my
chest pumping, I came back around to the bridge where
the path connects back to itself. Even though it was up
hill from there on back to the lodge, I was now walking
in my own snowshoe prints and it was much easier. About
half way between there and the lodge I met the first
people (besides myself) who were heading out onto the
trail. They were on snowshoes and of course found it
quite easy going, given the trail was now broken. I'd
have overstepped my boundary and turned them back had
they not been wearing snowshoes. When I finally trudged
out or the trees at the trail head I saw one of the
people in charge of out door stuff and strongly advised
the trail be open only to people on snowshoes. There had
been a couple of spots where I miss read the trail
location and even on snowshoes, had sunk in up to my
waist. They agreed and put out the word.
By
then
I was sweat soaked and pooped beyond belief and went in
to cool off and relax over a coffee. People are not
allowed to bring their snowshoes inside the lodge for
rather obvious reasons, and there is a rack outside
where they can be left, which I did. After resting and
drinking my coffee and of course chatting with all the
people I know, I headed out to ride down and go home.
Now here's where I got distracted. A brown rabbit was
running across the landing platform, scared and
confused. It was determined to go toward the lodge or
the lodge decks. (There is a 'resident' martin hanging
around up there, eating grouse and chipmunks etc and I
suspect the rabbit was fleeing for its life). I helped
the lift attendant chase it the other way, toward the
forest. Then, with my pass scanned, I stepped into the
cabin and headed down. Just as the doors shut, I
realized I'd forgotten my snowshoes. Bummer. Oh well, at
the bottom I'd have that attendant contact the one at
the top, and have her put my snowshoes in the next cabin
for me to retrieve. Not a problem, they all know me, I
know all of them. When I went into the lower customer
service office where you have to go to exit, I was
informed that I was wanted on the phone. The head of the
retail outlet at the top had spotted my snowshoes and
wanted to know if I wanted them sent down or wanted them
simply tucked away for me to get next time I was up. I
had them sent down as I usually get up there to go
snowshoeing before the facilities are open. Anyway, 12
minutes later they were down and I could head home where
I could collapse in a heap of exhaustion. I was totally
beat. Trudging is hard work.
And
then
it poured rain for 3 days. Oh well.
doug
****
From
Rosy
Doug,
I
thought you might want to include this in the next
Squamidian. Seeing as so many readers are musical, I
wanted to share this piece. Our church choir is just
starting to work on it. Very challenging but it is
hauntingly beautiful. The composer is Eric Whitacre, who
took inspiration from a Rudyard Kipling story about a
mother seal singing softly to her young pup. It's called
"The Seal Lullaby". Close your eyes and relax:
https://youtu.be/kxTghSZupv8
Rosemary
****
From
Sus
I
would like to say how saddened I am by Evelyn's passing.
I have very fond memories of Evelyn and even though I
haven't seen her much in recent years she will always be
in my heart. I miss Eddie too. What an amazing couple
who always showed their love for each other. I've never
forgotten the famous ice tea that seemed to be always in
their fridge, the welcome smiles, and comfortable
feeling being with her. I am happy she lived a long life
and had such a wonderful marriage and family surrounding
her. How could you wish for more!
Sus
****
More
Stinks
From Russ
Last
week
we featured two ‘nice’ stinks; new mown hay and the
appetizing aroma of cooking grains to make liquor and
beer at Seagrams and Carlings, and the pleasant memories
they triggered.
This
week
it’s gasoline and leather:
When
I
smell gasoline, my thoughts go way back to our dad’s
garage business, Brubacher’s Auto repair, in the village
of Centreville, on Highway #8, East of Kitchener. (Note:
Centreville, as a village no longer exists) I remember
being the ‘gas hop’ when I was maybe 12 or 13.
Some
of
you may remember those tall gas pumps, which held 10
gallons in a clear gas cylinder, and the colour coded
fluid had to be pumped up to the container by hand.
Pushing that long iron lever back and forth was hard
work for a kid!
The
price
of gas was about
25
cents
a gallon, and most ‘cheapskates’ would order one, maybe
two buck’s worth. Rarely did I hear “Filler-up”. I may
be wrong, but I think there were two Grades....with
Grade #2 being the cheapest.
During
WW2,
gas was rationed, and the ‘young bucks’ with access to a
car, but no ‘gas rationing coupons, would resort to
‘syphoning’(stealing) gas from some neighbour’s car. I
must confess, I did it too! Here’s how you did it; armed
with a small rubber hose (probably taken without
consent, from the horrifying enema bag which every
household used at that time), and a gas can, under the
cover of darkness, we’d sneak up on some innocent
‘victim’, and open his gas tank (rarely were they
equipped with the kind that you locked on with a key),
shove the hose down into the tank, and start sucking air
until you suddenly got a big gulp of gasoline, quickly
aim the running hose into your can, then SPIT! I never
developed taste for gas, but I actually enjoy a ‘whiff’
now and then.
Oh,
yes,
I should mention here, that during the War, ‘farming’
was considered an “Essential Service”, and farmers were
given a ‘perk’; farmers and only farmers were able to
buy unlimited quantities of their special blue coloured
gas for their gas-driven vehicles, and “woe unto those
caught using ‘tractor gas’ in their passenger cars”.
It
was
said, some car owners, in desperation, would pour
(filter) the blue tractor gas through white bread to
remove the tell-tale blue colour. Do you believe that?
This was during The Great Depression, and who could
afford to waste bread!?
“Leather”
I
love the smell of anything made of leather....I just
can’t afford to buy anything made from the skin/hide of
moose, deer, buffalo, lamb, etc., so if I go into the
newly opened leather outlet mentioned on CTV Kitchener,
the other night, called “Hides in Hand” I’ll be browsing
around until a clerk comes up to me and asks, “Can I
help you with anything?”
“No
thanks....just
‘sniffing’”.
My
first
exposure to “How it’s Made” was when I was an
electrician and doing a job at Lang’s Tanning, or
Breithaupt’s Tannery. The ‘cowhides’ would come in from
the meat packers, Burns or Schneiders, or some other
abattoir, loaded onto skids, and piled about 4 feet
high, awaiting cleaning/processing. The smell was
putrid!! I almost gagged! But the workers didn’t seem to
mind at all! At lunch break, they would ‘make themselves
comfortable’ upon the dirty hides and ‘chomp down’! They
say, “You can get used to anything!”
But
the
good smell of the finished product reminds me of my job
as a cop with KPD, also way back. We were issued new
leather police boots; I still keep a pair, never worn,
now 63 years old, I think they were made by Grebb Shoe
Co., our new leather gloves/mitts, made by the Huck
Glove Co., the owners; a pair of brothers, were the
nicest people you’d ever meet, if a seam opened up on a
glove or mitt, they would fix it right then and
there...no waiting. I particularly recall them always
‘unplugging’ our leather gloves; turning them
inside-out, and removing the inevitable ‘plug’ of lint
from the ends of the fingers, a very simple, but kind
act which was always appreciated.
A
shop on King Street, East(not far from ‘Old City Hall’,
I can’t remember the name) made our police ‘Sam Browns’
and leather belts( I don’t know who made our leather
holsters), the owner kindly consented to make a pair of
‘kid-size’ Police-type harnesses for our two sons, Mac
and Greg. They were Christmas presents...one of a kind.
Cute.
Finally,
if
you want to see an impressive line of leather goods, I
recommend a trip tp to The Old Hide House in Acton, as
they say, “It’s worth the drive to Acton”, everything
you can think of is ‘in house’, and it smells heavenly!
Next
week,
Segment #3, will feature, “printer’s ink”; and “coal
oil”
By
Uncle
Russ.
****
From
Lorne
Enough
snow
to need to blow. I have a shop heater that blows warm
air under the tractor that then rises and is trapped
under a cover that warms the whole machine making it
much easier to start in sub zero weather. So I proceeded
to clear the driveway then the public sidewalk. I
noticed a red red light on the dash that I had never
seen before. Thinking perhaps the light was saying put
me back in the shed. Instead, I continued. I thought too
that it was making more noise than usual but after all,
it was about -16. It turns out that the oil cap was off
and because of the pressure in the crank case, the oil
was being pumped out through the filler opening. Running
without engine oil is the death sentence for an engine.
I ordered a replacement cap but have no idea of the
condition of the engine. The plan is to add oil, block
the oil intake, start the engine to see if it will run
and hope it will. Failing that, a replacement at $4000
to $5000 or anew tractor at about $15000. Oh well, less
inheritance for the kids. Will keep you posted.
Lorne
****
THE
ONTARION
REPORT
Hello
everyone!
What’s
happening
with all of the people we love passing away?
I
just got a phone call today at noon telling me that my
good friend Frank Chatterson whom I’ve known since we
were 16 died in his sleep and was discovered in his bed
Wednesday morning. He had had a bad heart attack in 1996
that made him have to retire. The doctors told him then
that he would not live more than 6 weeks after the
attack. He fooled them all and made it another 22 years!
I hadn’t seen him since we were in a band together back
in high school. He went to Grand River and I was at KCI
and we spent a good year practicing in Steve Bender’s
basement on Ellen St. We finally played a couple of gigs
at the OSDC (Orthoscopic Safe Driving Club) barn at
Waterloo Wellington Airport and a couple of times at the
404Wing in Waterloo. After that, a couple of the guys
decided to quit the band so we just scrapped it
altogether. I guess we were 18 years old at the time and
when we split up and that was the last we saw of each
other for 31 years. I reconnected with Frank through a
mutual friend some of you knew as Clyde Guilmour. That
was in 1998 and Clyde took me over to see Frank one
Saturday morning at Frank’s house beside the Kitchener
Humane Society on River Rd. It was such fun to get
together a Saturday or two a month that we’ve continued
to do so at Frank’s ever since that first reunion.
If
you
knew Frank (Doug knew him, I guess from Grand River)
you’d never forget what a character he was! He was a
very unusual personality and a load of laughs to get to
know. At least once a month I’ve been seeing Frank and
for the past 18 or more years we’ve been in a lottery
group buying tickets for both 6/49 and Lotto Max draws
in one form or another each week. We’ve never won much
in a lump sum but have had loads of free tickets and
small cash wins the odd time. We sure had a lot of fun
talking about what we’d do WHEN we won the big one! LOL!
Well, that never happened but when I spoke with Dave,
Frank’s oldest son tonight on the phone he asked if he
and his brother Steve could pay Frank’s $20.00 for this
month and try one more time to win The BIG ONE as a
tribute to Frank! Of course I said yes and I’m seeing
Dave tomorrow to talk over our friendship of the past 20
years. Dave said, “It would be just like Frank to win
the big one from wherever he is now!” Wherever he is I’m
sure he’ll be watching the draws each week to see if our
numbers come up! I almost don’t want to win the BIG ONE
without Frank but I’m sure he’s still rooting for us to
win from his new resting place!
It’s
difficult
as you all know to lose a beloved family member and when
a friend is suddenly taken from your life it’s very much
like that! I’m sure that I’m not the only friend of
Frank’s that will miss our Saturdays at “The Peak” which
is what Frank’s house was known as since it is located
at the top of the hill at the end (or peak) of Guelph
St. The world has lost quite a unique person in Frank
and I’m sure he’ll not be forgotten for many years to
come. He was a good friend and an interesting man to
know and he will be missed!
God
Bless
you and your family Frank and thanks for being my friend
all these years!
That’s
it
for this week folks and I hope next week brings happier
content for the Ontarion! Thanks for tuning in!
Bye
for
now … Greg
PS:
Something
To Think About>
Following the Boy Scout’s motto “BE PREPARED”!
****
Have a good one..
the doug
The
Fine
Print!
The articles in these issues are the sole property of
the persons writing them and should be respected as
such.
|