Beloved Muskoka

Joan E. McHugh 




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Summer, 1912


	My room is in a bit of a clutter with various pages of letters and photos lying about on my bed and the carpet. A box sits open on my dresser. I thought about my bronze medal. Could it be? I would like to see it again. But it might be lost. I burst into laughter remembering Mother in her eighties. She hid Arline’s teeth in the bottom of the cedar chest under all the linens. I think that caused more animosity than ever. Poor old Dad had to put up with a great deal from those two.
	I looked through pictures that were mixed up with letters, came across some old maps of parts of the Muskoka Lakes, when there it was, still in its flat hinged case. My Botany medal from Queen’s. How proud I was. The top of my class!
	And winning that medal most likely led to me being chosen by my professors to take part in a biological research project. It was 1912 and I remember it well.
	In the evening I must have drifted off still clutching my medal, was vaguely aware of someone quietly leaving my room. I didn’t have any idea if I had fallen asleep when I stirred and felt the warmth of the bronze medal in my hand. I was thinking of one of my favourite professors, a dear man.


***
	I received a long encouraging letter from Professor MacClements discussing possible subjects for research. My classmate, Cassie Ryerson, heard from Professor Prince of the Department of Marines and Fisheries and it came to light that both myself and Cassie have been invited to take part in a research project at the Biological Research Station at Go Home Bay. Those professors recognize our abilities and are not the least bit concerned with what the Varsity men will think. They would give in as graciously as they are able.
	So the suffragettes have won the day. It is a queer thing if two young women can’t live and work quietly in a research station without a chaperone.


	I want desperately to join the research team. At a moment’s notice I am ready to go from the time my classes are over. The circumstances surrounding my life are fast becoming in the way of my wishes.


	Mother had to go up North to run Ferndale as George made up his mind that he could no longer do it as he had for the past three years. It just didn’t pay. The family along with Auntie Beckwith counts on my help and Father was to leave for Winnipeg to paint the scenery for an opera house production. He expected to be gone for a month, maybe longer. Arline’s health had taken another bad turn and although our cousin Rita Beckwith would stay with her at home in Hamilton, it was always an uncertain situation with Arline.
	It’s horrid to wait but a lesson here, old girl. No one can be totally independent of other people and when your plans depend on another person one must take delay and disappointment stoically for such is life.

	
*** 
	How good it was to remember that not all was lost when I was unable to go to Go Home Bay that summer. . . Went up to Ferndale and house cleaned and cooked, completing chores almost without thought. People arrived unexpectedly and I experimented on them. Our cook arrived in June but went home sick in two weeks and Mother and I did everything ourselves. I felt horribly virtuous and self-sacrificing—quite heroic, quite like a martyr. But at least I was in Muskoka, taking every opportunity to tramp through the woods, once or twice even clambering up the rocky cliff behind Uncle Ernie’s house, to lie on the thick blanket of moss at the top and dream. How wonderful and peaceful this place was, enhanced by the blended fragrance of cedar boughs, juniper and fungi. The day was beautiful. I recall writing in my diary that day of having a queer feeling of rebellion against Science—a longing to just enjoy the sunshine and the birds without investigating and identifying – a sort of vegetative pleasure. I’ve always enjoyed soaking in the sunshine—lying on the grass and letting the ants crawl over me. A Science teacher with a tendency to dream is a poor thing and it is so hard for me to keep from dreaming.
	 I stood and looked out over the bay and saw Uncle Harry coming around the point in his canoe, undoubtedly bearing five or six large pike to serve our guests at tomorrow’s breakfast.

	Mr. Wodehouse, Roger, wrote to say that he would be employed in Toronto for a few weeks in the early fall before returning to Harvard. Seems odd to call him Roger, but of course it’s acceptable if we have established a friendship. As I am teaching in Weston we could see each other most weekends. He was quite agreeable. On occasional evenings we attended plays or wonderful concerts. What a marvelous thing music is. On Sundays, had some lovely times on the Lake, landing on Toronto Island, roaming over it just like in Muskoka, then row farther, sometimes up the Humber. Sometimes we saw partridges on the island. It was great place for us to be alone, to carry on never-ending conversations. And besides...





Copyright Joan E. McHugh








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