Old Fort Reno

fort reno interior

Fort Reno – Officers’ Quarters, 16×20, acrylic on canvas ©2013 M.B. Hendry

A warm January afternoon sun in Oklahoma can fool this Canadian into believing Spring is just around the corner. Nearly 60F and clear skies made for a great day to visit an Oklahoma landmark – Historic Fort Reno.

ftreno11Fort Reno was at the crossroads of the American West, the Indian Wars, cattle drives and the eventual settlement of Oklahoma – the Boomer/Sooners making the Land Run one of the most famous (or infamous) settlement schemes in U.S. history. Oklahoma was Indian Terrotry until it was formally made a state in 1907.

‘Oklahoma’ is Choctaw for “red people”(okla=people, humma=red). Eastern Oklahoma was the end of the Trail of Tears and the Fort was eventually used to protect the ‘five civilized tribes’ (Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muskogee (Creek), and Seminole) at the end of the Indian Wars. Currently, over 50 tribes live in this state.ftreno12

Just outside of the town of El Reno, the town from which the Fort drew its name, most of the old buildings stand in various states of restoration. The commissary – one of the oldest buildings on the site and the officers’ quarters have been restored on the exterior. The Chapel built by German and Italian prisoners of war in the 1940′s is fully restored. The barracks/military hospital has been restored and is currently used by USDA.

ftreno23I spent the better part of 3 hours wandering the large complex of buildings and the cemetery containing the remains of both civilians, military and P.O.W’s. The cemetery was marked by a lonely grove of cedar and juniper trees at the top of a tiny hill amidst empty fields cast gold in the late afternoon light. The far western edge of the cemetery was segregated by a low wall. A step bridge gave access to a small group of P.O.W. graves. The majority were German, a few were Italian with evidence that their families had come to repatriate their ancestors as recently as 9 years ago.ftreno15

I took dozens of photos and set aside a few for references. A life on the move has been keeping me so busy it has taken until Spring to get the painting finished. It is a painting of the living quarters for officers at historic Fort Reno, viewed looking in from the porch.

Below are a few more photos from the Fort and the  Officers’ Quarters in particular and a link to their website.

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An old radio marked by German P.O.W's during WWII

An old radio marked by German P.O.W’s during WWII

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For my blog subscribers:

It think I have the problem corrected this time and if you got a duplicate mailing – not to worry! This was the last one and the new format with the full post should be the only one you receive from this point forward. My technical skills are rusty… Hmmmmm… Thanks for your patience!

Return from Ruin

If you receive this blog by e-mail you might get it twice – sorry for that – but it should only happen once and the prettier version should be the one you receive from now on. I am just working out the bugs of a new system and all should be perfect by the next email. Thank you so much for subscribing! If you are not a subscriber, you can sign up at the top right and choose between the newsletter or the blog or get both!

Enjoy the most recent chapter excerpt from my upcoming book.

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twilight

In early 2008, I was preparing for my first solo exhibition. It was only months away, nothing was working and I was starting to panic. What did I have to say? What was the purpose of my art?  The fact that I found myself asking these questions this late in the game made me wonder what I was missing. I decided to go for a drive to clear my head… I wandered the back roads east of Gravenhurst and Bracebridge in search of – something. I drove for hours up and down Muskoka sideroads.

As evening approached, the crisp afternoon –22C chill began to sink into deep January cold. Preparing to turn around and head home, I paused to enjoy the colours of the mid-winter sunset and found myself in front of an abandoned building.

Cobalt blues chasing twilight swallowed the last remaining warmth of sunset and winter’s shroud wrapped seamlessly over the landscape broken only by a few trees and the graying house. The season’s silence as deep as the snow, white curtains concealing the deep teal of a now cold kitchen with measuring cups waiting to measure the weight and volume of time.

cupsAs the light dimmed and the colours faded, I knew I needed to paint this place and tell its story. The painting “Twilight” was the beginning of not only a series of paintings, it was the start of a spiritual journey through the mysteries of our internal and external architecture – of the benign sorrows of life and death through the perspective of home.

The nearly ghost town of Uffington straddles the crossroads of a flat plain with very little Muskoka granite. The bush is reclaiming the dormant fields of all but Bruce Johnson’s farm where horses keep the scrub at bay. The hotels of the history books are long gone and over 50 years have hidden the schoolhouse under a mantle of residential occupation.

Nearly a year and a half after first discovering the little farmhouse in Uffington, I was privileged to meet Tom Iddison, the son-in-law of the Flegers, the last family to own the old house. I was immediately struck by his calm and generous nature.  We spoke a couple times on the phone and in May of 2009, Mr. Iddison guided me through this beautiful, old family home.

Earl & Dorothy Fleger in the 1960's in front of the house.

Earl & Dorothy Fleger in the 1960′s in front of the house.

The house was built in 1900 as the Methodist Church Manse and was managed and eventually sold out of Church possession by Reverend Grover Livingstone, well known for his work and his stay as a patient at the Gravenhust Sanitorium. It changed hands a few times until Dorothy and Earl Fleger purchased it in the 1940’s after their Uffington Road burned down. The story goes that Earl was stockpiling his fuel during the Depression and the storage container caught fire taking everything, including their farmhouse on Uffington Road, with it.

The first floor was pretty much rotted out. Like many farmhouses of its era, it was built on the ground without a stone foundation. The carpet hung like a hammock and supported our weight in all but a few places. The teal paint on the walls was still in good condition. Measuring cups and a key holder still clung to their hooks beside the door. The stove was long gone and the stovepipe hole was stuffed with rags.

The house had electricity, but never indoor plumbing. Water came from a well that was on the highest point of the property and hot water came from a reservoir on the woodstove. Tom put in a water line to the kitchen for “Mom”, dug out after the town well was contaminated by an oil leak.

“If you look down the town well, you can see all the pipes that went to the different houses near the four corners. The ‘new’ well was actually the original one that was dug for the farm and abandoned when the town service became available.”

The Flegers loved to entertain. Many parties ran late on long winter nights and the alcohol would flow along with laughter and music. The lack of indoor plumbing in January had its drawbacks on a cold night. Once, an intoxicated guest wandered out in search of the outhouse, but never got past the porch. When Mrs. Fleger awakened in the morning for a trip of her own, she discovered one of her boots on the porch was full and frozen solid!

The front window farthest from the stairs was Mrs. Fleger’s room. The base of the window was still packed with rags to block out the draft and when Tom lifted them, we discovered a large gap. I cannot imagine living in a house during the frigid Muskoka winter without central heating, indoor plumbing and hot water. Mrs. Fleger lived there into her 90’s without any modern conveniences besides basic electricity.

Crystal's Room, 16x24, acrylic on canvas

Crystal’s Room, 16×24, acrylic on canvas

Mrs. Fleger’s granddaughter Crystal’s favourite room was darkly paneled and contained only a wardrobe and a single chair. The chair sat next to the window just out of the sunlight, with an old vinyl coat tossed carelessly over it.  By the door was a pair of her grandmother’s shoes that appeared to have been abandoned only moments before. I stopped for a moment to reflect on what we leave behind and wondered what it meant, if anything.

While working on the “Twilight” painting, I noticed how the sky was reflected in a tiny window above the porch roof. It was horizontal and very narrow. It created a small contrasting flash of warmth in the midst of the cool shadows of the wall. Back in the days before electric lighting, this little window lit the dark stairwell. A small bear sculpture with a thin strip of tarnished brass with the engraving “Agawa Canyon” sat on the little sill on the inside of the sidelight. When Tom lifted the bear, a void remained in the dust and cobwebs where the animal had kept vigil over the quiet passage of time. The house had been empty since 1999 when Dorothy Fleger was forced to move to town shortly before her death.

Sadly Tom Iddison passed away in July 2009, only a few months after we met. The property was sold to Pete Marchildon and Judy Veitch, a family with deep roots in Muskoka. The old manse is being restored as a summer cottage further back on the property. Only months before, the plans were to tear it down. Instead, it celebrates it 113th birthday on a real foundation and hopefully many, many more.

Muskoka’s Forgotten Places

This is an abridged chapter from my upcoming book of stories on a few forgotten old buildings and ruins in Muskoka. Please comment and tell me what you think and if you like it and you are not already signed up – please join my newsletter to find out first what’s happening with the book and to see new paintings before they go public.

Enjoy!

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History of a Muskoka Ruin – Gold, Love & Loss…

Waiting - Michelle Basic Hendry

A long bend in the old road between Bracebridge and Gravenhurst sweeps wide around a mostly empty field then runs parallel to railway tracks, which still vibrate with passing northern trains. If you watched the train cars go by, you probably missed the ruin of the house Mr. Livingstone built. I drove by this old house for years and for the seconds it was in my sight, wondered about it, until one day the wondering became too powerful to resist.

My first visit was on a cool spring day in 2009. A vanishing rainstorm left a brisk, penetrating breeze in its wake. The brick house sat blind with its windows shattered or entirely absent, allowing the wind to wander through its rooms unrestrained. A gust moved a loose door, tapping and knocking on its broken jamb. The walls whispered and wailed as the air pushed through the lathe left exposed like an untended wound. The sharp roughness of peeling paint broke off in my hands and when the wind subsided, the house breathed its musty breath over me.

In moments of stillness, the house seemed merely awaiting the return of its owners. The house held its secrets close, revealing only small things I could not grasp or that disappeared as soon as I thought I had them.

Longing and loneliness hung in the air inside the walls of this beautiful house. I stood in the parlour when a rustling of the leaves broke the silence. I heard male voices involved in a boisterous and friendly conversation sound as if they were approaching the building. I went to the front hall expecting to meet some fellow explorers, but when I leaned out the doorway, the voices ceased there was no one in sight. My skin began to prickle and I wondered why I was really drawn here and if there was a story I needed to discover.

yellow door abandoned

Yellow Door, acrylic on canvas, 14×18, Private Collection © 2009 Michelle Basic Hendry (Click for a larger version)

While many farmhouses in Muskoka were very plain and practical, this house showed the artistry of an experienced and talented carpenter. Farming in Muskoka was often an impossible business due to the rocky terrain, so few would have had the wealth to build a brick farmhouse with so much elegant carpentry.

Who built this house?

Following the records, I discovered that the Stephens family, Richard and Belle, owned the farm for most of the first half of the last century. So I decided to see if any of Richard and Belle’s children were still alive. A chance conversation with a local historian led me to Elva (Stephens) Bowes. 90-year-old Elva was Richard Stephens’ youngest daughter.

Elva told me her hearing aid was acting up and I would have to write down some initial questions. After passing her my notebook, she paused, lit her cigarette and told me the story of Neil Livingstone and the farm that became so beloved of her family.

Elva Tells Me a Story of Gold, Love and Loss

In 1877, Neil Livingstone found a nugget of gold while digging a well in Gravenhurst near Gull Lake and set off a short lived Muskoka ‘gold rush’. It made him an instantly wealthy man and he purchased the farm at Kilty Switch on the road between Bracebridge and Gravenhurst. A carpenter by trade, Neil Livingstone emigrated from Scotland in the 1840’s and went on to build the original land registry office, the original town hall, the fire hall tower and was hired to finish a partially built Dominion Hotel in Bracebridge. The records showed that Livingstone applied to build the house in 1891.

Room with a View

Room with a View, acrylic on canvas, 24×36″, Private Collection © 2011 Michelle Basic Hendry

Gossip was not encouraged in Elva’s family home, along with the vices old Neil Livingstone copiously engaged, but she would overhear things as a little girl from time to time. She told me she heard them discuss a lady that was promised to Neil Livingstone would not have him because he loved to visit the bar at the Dominion Hotel all too frequently. His heavy drinking lost him his wife and, eventually his life. In 1903, he transferred the farm and the farmhouse he built to Peter Milne, the owner of the Dominion Hotel. The property was handed over in exchange for “bed, board and burial”.

What Elva told me next, surprised me…

Neil Livingstone never actually lived in the house. In early 1905 at the age of 84, Neil Livingstone died of pneumonia and Milne sold the farm and the hotel and took his family to Alberta. Richard Stephens took over in 1906.

Richard Stephens Takes Over the Farm

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Richard and Belle Stephens, 1943. If you have visited the house, you might recognize the wallpaper

Elva’s family had deep connections to the region of the farm and Richard worked hard to expand on Livingstone’s original 100 acres toward the family holdings in Stephen’s Bay. Stephens Bay on Lake Muskoka was named after Richard’s grandfather, who left County Tyrone in Ireland when he was 15 years-old. He eventually settled Stephens Bay with his family in 1865 on a Crown land grant, leaving a significant legacy, including a political one.

Richard became a town councilor, and his father Thomas had been a reeve of Muskoka Township. Thomas, who had also received a Crown land grant in 1869 further down the Muskoka Beach road, lived out his last years with Richard and his family at their farm until he died in 1936 at the age of 90.

Thomas was settled into the parlour with a mirror rigged up so that he could see who came up the long farm lane to visit from his chair. I painted “Waiting” (above), wondering if this was the window by which he sat.

Jane Morgan, Elva’s niece, shared life on the farm:

“The farm’s outbuildings were two barns, a drive shed, henhouse, ice house, pig pen, a field for sheep, horses and about 12 cows.  Grandma used to have a vegetable garden, with peas, beans, carrots, potatoes, onions and tomatoes. The garden was behind the farmhouse.  In her perennial garden, she had iris, phlox, lemon and orange lilies, four o’clocks, wild roses, and purple and white lilacs.

Dad remembers Grandpa Stephens ‘pruning’ the tops of the pine trees:  he’d shoot them off with his .33 rifle, so the trees didn’t get too tall!”

The phlox still grow in Elva’s garden and in the gardens of Belle’s grandchildren.

Richard’s Death and the Slow Decline of the Farm

Farm work was grueling and took its toll on Richard Stephens. In 1955, while Elva was in San Francisco, her father died suddenly. He came in from the fields and Belle told him to take a rest before dinner. He never awoke from his nap.

Post 1940 (the porch has been removed)

The Stephens owned the property from 1906 until 1955. After Richard’s death, most of the farm was sold leaving only an acre and the farmhouse for Belle in which she would live out the rest of her life. After Elva’s mother’s death in 1960, the farm was transferred to a corporation and operated as a poultry farm. The house was occupied until the 1980’s.

Wading through the census information for 1911, I discovered that shortly after the Stephens purchased the property, Edward Cronin, the eldest son of a neighbour and 15 years of age, lodged with the Stephens’ possibly as farm labour. Elva has no memory of him, so he was, likely, gone by the time she was born in 1919. I wonder, from time to time, if it may have been the echo of Edward’s voice and maybe one of Richard’s sons coming in from the fields that I heard on that windy spring day.

The derelict house in 2009. It was demolished in early 2012 ©2009 Michelle Basic Hendry

Elva passed away in the summer of 2011 and is buried with her parents. I have yet to find the resting place of Neil Livingstone.

During my last visit, the whispers and intensity of this house seemed to have quieted and, as if satisfied, the house seemed to lean further toward Nature.

In 2012, more than 120 years after the first brick was laid, it passed into history.

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All of the paintings in this post were painted from this house between 2009 and 2011. Another painting from this house is here. More stories and historic photos will be in my upcoming book. Sign-up for my newsletter to be the first to know about release dates!

© 2013 Michelle Basic Hendry

The above text and images are the copyright of the Michelle Basic Hendry and may not be copied or reproduced in any form without express permission from the author/artist. All rights reserved.

Cycle of Life

redwoods

I was barely home from California when my grandmother’s brief battle with congestive heart failure ended. I heard her voice for the last time on a short call only a few days before she passed.

At 96, she was tired and told us many times that she was ready to go. For her, I feel relief; but for myself, I am blinded by grief. I don’t think I’ll ever see the world in quite the same way as I did before November 30, 2012. I hope that her presence in my life has made me somehow wiser.

Her story is an interesting one. It is no wonder I have such a rich interest in older people’s stories when I enjoyed so many of her tales of life in Waubaushene and Toronto from the 1920′s on. I might share a few in the near future about Hallowe’en in the 20′s and childhood in a house heated by a single wood stove… I think a 2013 project to formally collect them is in order. Hopefully I’ll have access to the pictures again soon.

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lighthouse alcatraz

The cycle of life is never more present to us than when we experience the death of a loved one. That cycle of life was very evident on Alcatraz Island and in the giant Redwood forests on the coast of California. The island is being revitalized by tourism amongst the decay of both prison and civil war buildings. In the Cathedral of Muir Woods, fallen giants feed an explosion of undergrowth where a new beam of sunlight breaks through the canopy to the cool forest floor. alcatraz cell

There is so much to share about California that I think both Alcatraz and the Redwoods deserve their own posts and paintings, so that may mean the stories will come in January with the art.

For now, follow the links below to enjoy some of the pictures and feel free to ask any questions in the comments! Alcatraz was amazing and one of the youngest guards to ever work there was signing books the day we came…

To see more photos go to my Flickr page:

Half Moon Bay

The Beach at Half Moon Bay

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The warden’s house on Alcatraz Island

Painting Sinks – Time to Wash Up!

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I have a thing for sinks. I can’t quite explain it. (“Time to Wash Up”, acrylic on canvas, 12×16 ©2012 Michelle Basic Hendry)

This is my third sink painting and if I am allowed to have my way, there will be more. Each one is different and I have learned that because we sink lovers are few and far between, all but the first one I painted are on smaller canvases. And they all seem to end up leaning to the pink. This one isn’t really, but the light quality in the room offered a touch of it, so who am I to argue with a century of pink bathrooms? The original one at my family cottage was pink. My grandmother decorated them. Every bathroom my grandfather built for her was pink. Clearly, Frank Cooper’s mother had something in common with my grandmother. (below – Cooper’s Bathroom Sink © 2010 Michelle Basic Hendry)Cooper's Sink

The sink above is from the Sparrow Beach Lodge, but I did take liberties with the background colour, so I have not played up the relationship. I suppose the owners might recognize their soap dish? Unlike the other sinks, this one is still actively in use by the Rodak family. This sink is on the main floor of the castle of Sparrow Lake.

The Abandoned ‘White House’

abandoned house

Since my last post before the hiatus, I have more than accomplished what I set out to do. I finished five paintings, the last edits on the manuscript, a trip home and a trip to the Ozarks. Not bad!

I have learned that, for me, writing and painting are both necessary for creative fulfillment. I seem to get more accomplished when I feed both – although not at the same time! It swings like a pendulum and I try to keep up.

My friend and artist, Anita Stephenson, shared a book with me by the well known author and ‘writing guru’, Natalie Goldberg. The book is called “Living Color,  A Writer Paints Her World”. Goldberg talks about how she tried to stop painting in order to focus on mastering her first passion – writing. Through the process she discovers how much her writing is assisted by her other creative outlet and that the expression and tools of art help her to see into her writing.

What both of these occupations have in common is the need to observe – one with the eye, the other with the mind’s eye translated into words.

So I have a question for artists and other creatives out there – musicians, writers, performing artists:

Do you have a single creative passion? Or is your creativity fed like the system of a binary star – with two or more ‘feeds’? (Just to clear up what I mean – do you have more than one creative OUTPUT and do they feed each other?)

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So what about this painting? (Hidden, 8×10, acrylic on linen)

This one is of the “White House” in Ufford, Muskoka. Yes, the house in this composition is not white, but I think it is because the porch is missing. The walls above it and all around are white! Ken Veitch grew up in the is house and the story of my visit there is coming up in my book. There is a blog post on the visit from November 2009.

Route 66 ~ Part III

Bridgeport Post Office

Bridgeport Post Office © 2012 Michelle Basic Hendry

Highway 66 is the main migrant road. 66 — the long concrete path across the country waving gently up and down on the map’… ’66 out of Oklahoma City; El Reno and Clinton, going west on 66.” ~ John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Riding the older sections of Historic Route 66 is to become accustomed to the rhythm of tires as they thump across the seams of the concrete road. The trip west of El Reno runs parallel in many places to the Interstate where the traffic of the 21st century passes higher on the plain as if height reflected your place in time. Transport trucks silhouetted by the sun become as indistinct as the traces of old stops along the way.

Yukon's Best

Yukon’s Best © 2012 Michelle Basic Hendry

I live only a few miles from the historic highway and I often manage the more mundane parts of my new life along the edges of its domain. Storefronts of brick and tile, tin ceilings and sidewalks still line the road in Yukon, El Reno and Hydro. After a stop at the Ross Seed Company, we headed west and followed fields beginning to green with only a long string of power lines to break the horizon. Thump, thump, thump.

The concrete is curled in at the edges to keep water from washing away the soil. When rain falls here in spring time, it can be torrential. The bridge across the Canadian River seemed too wide for the gentle stream running over the sandy river bed, the deep cut banks alluding to the sleeping dragon below.

Thump, thump, thump.

Yellow flowers

Yellow flowers in Bridgeport © 2012 Michelle Basic Hendry

Several ruins rose up on either side of the highway and the road to the near ghost town of Bridgeport split like a Y as if the expectation upon entering and leaving the the town is that the visitor is only ever passing through. Less than a mile up from 66, the crossroads of Bridgeport is marked only by the decaying post office. Steel bars still protect the postmaster’s window and images of a man with sleeve protectors sitting behind it in the semi-darkness invade my thoughts. A neighbouring dog comes by to see what we are up to and get some affection. He looks like a cross between Lassie and the Queen’s Corgis and he follows us down the street past abandoned houses.

The remaining residents live an array of double wides and in the homesteads still viable. Broken sidewalks lead down a street where furniture sits on the porches of houses close to collapse. Wildflowers grow over the edges of what might have once been a tended garden.

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Posing for the camera © 2012 Michelle Basic Hendry

People are quietly inside their homes and the welcoming committee was left to the various animals, including a young horse who wandered to the fence wondering if I had a hostess gift?

As we walked back past an old church and the walls and foundations of some other unknown place, we became aware of the scent of spring’s green on the brisk breeze and wondered what this year will bring. The wind whipped up dust filled sheets from time to time and the grit in our eyes and on our teeth reminded us of why Oklahoma has so many ghost towns. After traveling a bit further down the Portland concrete road, we made a quick stop in Hydro and turned around in search of refreshment.

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The POPS stand on Route 66 © 2012 Michelle Basic Hendry

Heading across Oklahoma City seems a bit extreme to get a pop, but then Arcadia, OK has the most choices. Nearly 500. On a warm February Saturday evening, the “POPS” stand is crowded. We picked some unusual flavours – Spruce Beer, Cotton Candy and Creme Caramel creme soda.

One last stop was to the famous Round Barn, restored by the Hampton Inn hotel chain. I looked at how complicated the building of this amazing structure would have been and I was left wondering what motivated the builder to do it?

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Round Barn © 2012 Michelle Basic Hendry

The sun was nearly set when we hopped back on 66 and headed home. That sounds strange when I say it. We are the migrants now and Oklahoma is the end of the line for many. The irony is that some are riding the road east from California.

As Oklahoma faces another possible drought and the oil boom keeps the economy buoyant, one has wonder about the tides of time and what they bring in and what they leave behind.

Sad News

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Elva Stephens Bowes (circa 1940's)

The world is a little less interesting this week…

Last weekend, Elva (Stephens) Bowes passed away at the age of 91. I had the privilege of meeting her in late 2009 and we spent the afternoon talking about the old Livingstone/Stephens farm. She welcomed me into her home that sat on the very edge of the original farm property and she shared her family’s stories. Elva was a warm and sparkling personality in a tiny package, full of vigour and very independent. I visited her a on a couple of occasions and each time she gave me a hug before I left.

Elva’s favourite flowers were a pink phlox that originated in her mother, Belle’s, garden at the old house. They are beautiful this year and grow in the gardens of Belle’s grandchildren. If you look for the thread – it is always there.

The original farmhouse has changed hands many times and it is rumoured that it will be torn down before the end of the year. It is the end of an era, for Elva’s family and for Muskoka. She will be greatly missed.

Change is a gradual thing. Like the movement of earth, most of the time it seems almost imperceptible until, like an earthquake, the whole world seems to turn on its ear. Eventually all those who remember pass on and history disappears. Thanks to Elva, her father’s farm and Neil Livingstone’s heartbreak will not be lost to history.

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Waiting (red chair), 16x20, Private Collection, (from the Livingstone/Stephens House) © 2010 Michelle Basic Hendry

I have been enriched for knowing Elva and many of her remarkable generation that have opened their lives, their family homes and history to me. The paintings and all of my work in the series is dedicated to them and wouldn’t exist without them.

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I am planning to take another short hiatus from the blog to focus on the Muskoka book.

In a few weeks, I begin the search for a farm that was once my great grandfather Kennedy’s. My current residence puts me in easy striking distance of the Simcoe archives and the area the farm is supposed to be. Anyone with experience in genealogy and knowledge of the Barrie/Midland/Wyebridge area – your help and comments would be greatly welcomed! Stay tuned…