Tim Horton Xmas 2009

There was a young man from Nepeen
The busiest fellow we've seen
He gets into tasks great and small,
He's building Melrose Taj Mahal.
Michael says he can cut a fine brick
(But he'll sit by your bed if you're sick.)
If your icons are changed'
And all rearranged
You can tell Jimmie Watchorn has been !


He plays a great role at the Church
"Need a hand?" it's for Jimmie they search
He'll count the collection
Or supervise 'sound'
Convene the convention
Take poinsettias 'round
He'd hang decorations
Or sweep the front steps
And never leave folks in the lurch !


He's known by a number of names
You can call him Jim, Jimmie or James.
He'll answer your call
But there's no doubt at all
That 'Bompa's his favourite of names !




Theres one charact'ristic of Jim's
His car's closely related to him
They can carry five people
Or take a great load,
They can pass any vehicle
Seen on the road.
With radio popping
Go miles without stopping
But they just cannot pass any Tim's !

Shaking the hand of a Pope

On a sunny September afternoon in 1987, Ramara residents all along the sandy shores of Lake Simcoe sat, one or two at a time or in groups invited for a Pope-spotting party, all eagerly watching Strawberry Island, waiting for the arrival of Pope John Paul II.

The Pope had returned to Canada to fulfill a promise to visit the Northwest Territories. His scheduled visit to Fort Simpson had been cancelled during his 1984 Canadian tour because the airport was socked in.

As he had done on his first visit and again when he returned in 2002, The Pope stayed at Strawberry Island, which was then a spiritual retreat run by the Toronto-based religious order the Basilian Fathers.

Throughout the afternoon, helicopters hustled back and forth like harassed stage managers getting ready for opening night. Each time a chopper approached the island, folks wondered if this might be “the one,” but time passed and one after another the small aircraft came and went.

At last, a whole squadron approached in a tightly knit flight pattern, surrounding one helicopter just slightly larger and of a different colour. There was no doubt that His Holiness had arrived.

For my husband and me, that was all we saw of the Pope’s visit to Ramara, but it was as if our township was reciprocating the hospitality that had been extended to us two years earlier in Rome.

On Jan. 18, 1985, we had the honour of attending a private papal audience with the faculty and members of the NATO Defense College and their families. The college trains military and civilian members of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization in preparation for their work with the organization. As part of its international diplomacy, the Vatican maintains a relationship with the college, sometimes inviting members to sit in a reserved section in St. Peter’s Square for one of the weekly public audience sessions. From time to time, a private audience is granted to the group.

This occasion was organized with all the precision and protocol of a military exercise or a royal visit. As instructed, we were driven to a specified entrance in St. Peter’s Square where two Swiss Guards in their colourful uniforms stood guard. A third Guardsman led us up a steep staircase to a small but beautifully decorated auditorium. It was about the size of a country church, just right for our group of about 70.

The military members wore the uniform of their respective countries. The women were instructed to wear “sober attire.” Most chose black or dark colours and all the women wore hats with the exception of the ladies of Spain, who arrived bare-headed, and one French woman wore severe black from her toes to her elaborate lace mantilla. An English woman appeared very regal in a long cape of royal purple with a hat of the same rich shade on her snow-white hair.

When everyone was in place, a door opened in the wooden paneling and the Pope entered with his entourage, one of whom spoke words of welcome to NATO and to the college. The college commandant, Lieutenant General Franz J. S. Uhle-Wettler, responded with a short speech of appreciation for the invitation. He also presented a gift book for the Vatican Library in commemoration of the event.

After these introductions, the Pope, slipping seamlessly from one language to another, delivered a short homily and then, stepping away from the lectern, rubbed his hands together and said with a grin, “Now for the pictures.”

With cameras recording every moment, the German commandant and the three deputy commandants, one Dane, one Italian and one Canadian, and their wives, were presented to His Holiness. His comment, on seeing the Canadian uniform, was, “Ah, Canada! I liked Canada.” This was just four months after his 1984 visit.

After the formal presentations, the Pope moved among the rest of the members, seeking out the few children who were there. He laid his hands on their heads and gave them his blessing. The mother of two little boys remarked later, “I may never wash their hair again!”

Too soon the appointed hour came to an end. The hidden door opened and the papal party took its leave.

Among those invited that day, there were many, like ourselves, who were not Roman Catholic. In fact, given the diverse composition of NATO, it is likely that some were not even of the Christian faith. Yet there is no doubt that every person in the group was touched by the aura of that devout and gentle man. He stood before us clad in heavenly white garments but he kept his feet on the ground in a pair of brown oxfords.

It was an honour and a privilege to shake the hand of a Pope. Perhaps one day we will be able to say we shook the hand of a saint.

This article was originally published in the July/August 2011 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.

On land or at sea, happy Mother’s and Father’s Day

We are in the last few weeks of the academic year, when young students count off the days remaining until “no more pencils, no more books,” and nothing but weeks of lazy, hazy summer days in the offing. May and June have always been the best months of school.

They are also the months our society has chosen in which to “honour thy father and thy mother” on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. The greeting card industry, the florists and even the companies that make men’s ties are all going into high gear at this time of year. We are urged to take our parents out for a meal or at least give them a phone call to express our appreciation of their love and caring. After the card is sent or the phone call is made, we feel we’ve done all that’s necessary. But do we ever think back to the ordinary things parents do to make family life easy and fun?

Think back to family vacations and what made those days of summer so great. Was it camping, with the special smells of canvas and campfire smoke? Was it the family cottage where you went back year after year and found things just the same as last year, like the special feather you hid away on a closet shelf, or last year’s too-small bathing suit waiting for this year’s first swim?

Here in Ramara there are campgrounds and cottages galore where families can enjoy their summer fun. As we watch those families, it’s easy to see that although it’s a change of pace, there is still plenty of work to be done. It’s the task of the parents to see that the car is ready, the pantry is well stocked with groceries for those never-ending meals and snacks, the wet, sandy bathing suits are picked up and hung on the line and there is always a pile of firewood chopped and ready for those pleasant evening bonfires.

It’s all part of the joy of getting away from it all, but sometimes, if they are really honest, fathers might admit that it’s rather nice to get back to the routine of work after a spell of roughing it. And more than one mother has been heard to remark that she felt like kissing the washer and dryer and dishwasher when she returned from a vacation.

How wonderful it would be if every parent could have the opportunity to be a kid for a while, and relive the carefree days of childhood when every need is taken care of.

For parents of a certain age, with grown children and their cottaging days behind them, that carefree experience is now achieved on the water, with a cruise-ship holiday.

For a few days, every task is done, every need fulfilled. When you leave your stateroom, someone comes in to tidy and clean it. There’s no shopping or meal planning. Whenever anyone talks about a cruise, the two words one hears most often are “food” and “pampering.”

The food is plentiful and available around the clock, everything from exotic foreign dishes to familiar fare like omelettes, roast beef or a simple bowl of oatmeal. If it’s windy and rough, you can stay in bed and they’ll bring you their “high-seas” menu of clear beef bouillon, dry crackers and clear tea.

There’s no risk of boredom, with a seemingly endless list of activities to choose from. Or you can just relax on deck chairs and see the sea, enjoying cold drinks and snacks served by cheerful deck stewards.

So whether this year’s vacation is a cruise or simply a few days at the lake, may your family enjoy the holiday, and have a Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day together.

This article was originally published in the May/June 2011 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.

The party line

Line dancing provides physical, mental exercise, and it’s fun

Do you love to move to the music? Do you yearn for the days when Saturday night was dance night? Did you spend your Saturday nights at the Pav in Orillia or at Audie’s Dance Hall on Atherley Road or at the local church or community hall, wherever you lived?

Perhaps you think those days are gone forever. The Pav no longer overlooks Couchiching Beach Park and Audie’s has become Grover’s restaurant.

But if you still have the dancing spark, line dancing could be for you. You don’t need a partner and you need not go far from home.

A line dance is defined as “a choreographed dance with a repeated sequence of steps in which a group of people dance in one or more lines or rows without regard for the gender of the individuals, all facing the same direction, and executing the steps at the same time. Line dancers are not in physical contact with each other.”

Early folk dances in cultures around the world were line dances, observing the social customs that frowned upon men and women dancing together as couples. Today’s line dancing routines incorporate pop, swing, rock and roll, disco, Latin (salsa), and jazz. Among the most popular dances among line dancers are the waltz, the polka and the cha-cha.

Line dancing is a good aerobic exercise, but it doesn’t have to be a strenuous workout. You can go at your own pace, and take a short rest or a drink of water without upsetting the whole group. It’s a good mental exercise as well. You cannot be preparing tomorrow’s menu or worrying about Johnny’s school work while you’re dancing, or you are sure to miss a sequence and go “the wrong way.”

Comfort is the key when it comes to dressing. You need clothes that allow you to shed a layer if it’s warm. In footwear, some need the support of lace-up shoes, while others can dance in sandals. Your body will tell you which is best for you. High heels are a no-no. A sole that will slip is good.

This article was originally published in the March/April 2011 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.

On the doorstep of 80, in my mind I’m still a kid

A short while ago, I read a Chronicle article that touched my heart strings. It was not The Ramara Chronicle, but the Citrus County Chronicle, our daily newspaper in Florida. The writer, Fred Brannen, mused about physical appearance and how it affects our feelings. He told of himself as a young man who always appeared to be much younger than his actual age. His juvenile appearance was a real drawback in the early years of his career as a bank inspector. People made jokes about the bank hiring a teenager to check their accounts.

I could empathize with his feelings. I, too, used to appear younger than my age. I once made a long (but affordable) journey by train from Winnipeg to Washago (27 hours, sitting up all the way), accompanied by our three children, all of whom were young enough to travel for free. It was a challenging trip. Our carry-on baggage consisted of snacks, drinks and “quiet” toys, and we sat right next to the “Ladies.”

At one point, a new conductor came on duty and made his rounds. When he came to our car, he studied our little group and then announced to the rest of the passengers that, “These three children belong to this kid.”

In his article, Brannen went on to record that he no longer looks so young. He was recently dismayed to be asked if it was his father whose photo accompanied his column, and was nonplussed to be referred to in a conversation about “respecting one’s elders.”

He borrowed from the lyrics of a Bob Dylan song to express his views about aging. “May we grow up to be righteous, may we grow up to be true. May we always do for others and let others do for us, too. May we build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung, May we be forever young, may we be forever young.”

My Valentine and I have just celebrated our 60th wedding anniversary. We have had many special love songs over the years but it is only now, on the doorstep of 80, that we have been introduced to Dylan’s beautiful sentiments. A songwriter who writes such touching lyrics will surely understand and forgive if we change his words from “you” to “we,” thinking as a couple, as we have done for six decades.

Some of the rest of Dylan’s words form a suitable wish for family or friends, or anyone we love. “May God bless and keep you always, may your wishes all come true. May you always see the truth and see the light surrounding you. May your hands be always busy, may your feet be always swift, may you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift. May your heart be always joyful, may your song be always sung, may you stay forever young, may you stay forever young.”

It has been a long time since anyone referred to me as a kid. But like Brannen, no matter how I look to others, regardless of what I see in the mirror, in my mind I’m still a kid, and so is the boy who, a marvelous lifetime ago, took my hand in marriage and made me feel forever young.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

This article was originally published in the January/February 2011 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.

Canadian vets thanked

South Korean president’s letter expresses ‘warmest gratitude and deepest respect

On June 1, 2010, the 60th anniversary of the outbreak of war in Korea, the President of the Republic of Korea, Lee Myung-bak, sent personal letters to Canadian veterans who served in his country.

The letter expresses the “warmest gratitude and deepest respect” of the Korean people. It was the first time such a letter has been sent to the veterans.

One Ramara veteran who received the letter is my husband, Major General (Retired) Douglas R. Baker CMM CD.

Born in Toronto, Baker has deep roots in the Sebright area. His family returned to Sebright and then to Orillia in the mid-1940s. He first put on a military uniform as an Army Cadet at Orillia Central school in 1944. He continued his keen interest in the Army Cadets throughout high school at Orillia Collegiate and was appointed commanding officer of the corps in his Grade 12 year.

During those years, Baker enlisted as a gunner in the local reserve battery of the 45th Anti-Tank Regiment (Grey and Simcoe Foresters). In the summer of 1950, he was sent to Camp Shilo for officer training with a view to attending the Royal Military College that fall. That was the road not taken.

Instead, when the Korean War broke out, the young officer cadets were given the opportunity to volunteer for active service and receive a reserve commission. Some of the cadets chose to do so and their training intensified until November. They became members of the 2nd Regiment, Royal Canadian Horse Artillery and were sent by troop train on their way to the West Coast for embarkation.

Their baptism of fire came early on the morning of Nov. 2, when their troop train collided head on with an oncoming passenger train in an isolated area near the Canoe River in B.C.

In an instant, the young men were faced with the task of putting into practice all the leadership training and skills they had just acquired. In the chaos of escaping steam, shifting wreckage and the ever-present risk of fire, the rescue efforts, finding survivors and caring for the injured, fell to those who were there, some of whom had never seen a dead person.

Seventeen soldiers and four train crew lost their lives in that incident.

After just a few days in Alberta to regroup, the troops boarded another train to continue the journey west for further training in Washington State and eventually to the port in Seattle. There they embarked on a troop ship for a rather nasty non-stop crossing of a very stormy Pacific, straight to Busan, South Korea, and then into the war zone.

The tour lasted one year, after which Baker returned to Canada to be trained as an artillery observation pilot. He pursued his career as an artillery officer, moving often with his family back and forth across Canada and several times to Europe. His career involved command postings at every level interspersed with military studies and administrative positions.

He achieved the rank of major general and, in 1981, was awarded the CMM (Commander of the Order of Military Merit) which is the military counterpart of the Order of Canada. His final posting was to Rome. Italy, as deputy commandant of the NATO Defence College. He retired to Ramara in 1988.

Old soldiers are reluctant to speak of their wartime experiences. They saw their duty and they did it, no thanks expected.

However, a word of appreciation is an unexpected pleasure. Over the recent past, there have been a few of these unexpected moments. The first was when a young woman representing Veterans Affairs Canada came to the Baker home to explain about the new benefits and plans for veterans. She began her remarks with an expression of “sincere thanks for your service to the country.”

Soon after that, a new family moved in down the street. One day, when the general was out walking, the young man approached and said, ”I understand that you are a veteran.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” was the reply. The young fellow snapped a smart salute and said, “I’d like to say thank you for all that you veterans have done for the rest of us.”

An even more touching event happened when granddaughter Becky went to Korea to visit a friend she had met at university. The girl took Becky to meet her grandmother, who had lost her husband in the war. The old lady made an impassioned speech asking Becky to be sure to tell her grandfather how much it meant to the Korean people that the Canadians had come to help them in their troubles.

Now, the Korean President has made it his business to obtain the current addresses of surviving Korea veterans in order to pay tribute to the Canadian veterans for their courage and commitment.

He refers to them as “our true heroes.”

Every year in November, the poppies remind the rest of us, “Lest we forget.”

The veterans can never forget.

This article was originally published in the November/December 2010 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.

They followed the trees

Pine-stump fences and cedar rails are among the remnants of the local logging industry

My father-in-law, Frederick C. Baker, was born in 1906 in a log home on the shores of the Head River. His family were pioneers in the Sebright area in the mid 1800s. The family oral history tells that Fred’s maternal grandfather, Robert Young, was the first white settler in the Sebright area and that he lived there for several years before discovering the lake that bears his name, Young’s Lake.

Grandfather Young did not start out as a lumberman. His occupation was to ride what was locally referred to as The Pony Express. He travelled on horseback from the County Town of Whitby, bringing the mail to the Atherley area. As a sideline, he often carried small items for sale to the families along the way, like a country pedlar. It was his custom to break his journey with an overnight stay with a family near Uxbridge. Eventually, he married the daughter of the house, one Elizabeth Ann Smith, and brought her to live in Sebright.

Lumbering was the business of the day, so Young became a lumberman. He saw an opportunity to take advantage of the lumber being harvested and he built a sawmill in the village. After the trees had been cut, more settlers moved into the area to begin farming. Here was another opportunity, so Young established a cheese factory to use up the excess milk. While I could find no document to support it, the family’s oral history suggests it was Young who, in the late 1870s, donated the land on which the Sebright Church and its neighbouring cemetery are located. His gravestone is to be found in that cemetery.

Around the turn of the century, one of Grandfather Young’s daughters, Mary Alberta, married another member of the brotherhood of lumbermen, Charles Baker. Baker was a “timber cruiser,” a specialist in the field of lumbering. It was his task to go out by canoe and assess the potential of new areas for harvest. One of his favourite stories was of finding an area along the Head River where there was a single magnificent black cherry tree. The land was for sale, so he made the purchase, cut down the tree, took it to Orillia and sold it to Rolland Boat Works to be used for one of the beautiful wooden boats that were built there. The profit from the lumber in that one tree was enough to pay for the land on which it had grown.

Charles and Min, as she was called, lived in a log home near the Head River bridge. They raised a family of three boys and three girls. Their son Fred was the only one who followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather to become a lumberjack. Fred had attended the one-room school in Sebright, where his duties included carrying wood for the furnace and carrying water from the nearby spring for drinking. With only one teacher for all grades, it was also the duty of the older students to coach the little ones with their reading and arithmetic.

Only a few years later, Fred went to work in the bush. Lumbering was a hard and dangerous life. Not only did these youngsters have to learn to use the risky tools of their trade, but they found that there were horses to be handled, falling trees to be avoided and, perhaps most perilous of all, riding the logs that were floated down the river, dodging hazards, breaking up log jams and always avoiding what they termed “widow makers” of one sort or another. At the end of the season, when the young men came out of the bush with high spirits and full pockets, there were rivalries with the town boys and hijinx that are perhaps better left to our imagination.

After a few years of life as a lumberjack, Fred decided to head for the city for a change. There he met the love of his life, Caroline Hudson. Carrie was born in London, England and had recently emigrated to Toronto with her family. They were married in 1927 and started a family of four boys.

Fred’s heart never left the country. He loved the outdoors, fishing, hunting and spending time in the familiar woods. Carrie was a city girl who for years complained that they never went anywhere on holiday except “Sebright, Sebright, Sebright!”

Their young sons shared their father’s views and enjoyed carefree, barefoot summers with their grandparents— in Sebright. One of those boys, my husband, now nearly 80 himself, can still remember those summers and the huge piles of sawdust left from his great grandfather’s sawmill. Nowadays we can still see remnants of the logging industry in the pine-stump fences and cedar rails in the area.

Near the end of the Second World War, the family moved back to Sebright and lived for a year in a log house without electricity or indoor plumbing. That was not Carrie’s best year.

The boys, however, thought it was great. They attended the same one-room school that their father had attended and one of their duties was still to carry water from the spring. That spring still flows today, but it now bears a sign saying that it is contaminated and unfit for drinking.

None of the boys continued in the lumbering tradition, but Fred never lost his love for the joys of nature. He was a gentleman of the old school, one who always removed his hat indoors and, if ever one of the boys use an expletive or any rough language, they’d hear a sharp rebuke: “Watch your language. There’s ladies present!”

Fred was a wise man, quiet and well-read. He was a great confidant and if he ever gave advice, it was carefully reasoned and spoken with kindness.

He often asked me when I was going to write my book. I know he wanted me to write of the family history but I was young and busy and impressed with academia’s insistence upon empirical evidence and documentary proof. How sad that I wasted the opportunity to record the tales and recollections that this wonderful man could have shared.

This article was originally published in the September/October 2010 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.