Fwd: Sunny side rocesvales July 24 2019



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: Sunny side rocesvales July 24 2019
Date: July 24, 2019 at 6:35:47 PM EDT


DATELINE:  SUNNYSIDE: JULY 24, 2019

Now here is an adventure that anyone can enjoy…a trip to Sunnyside Beach, a Rock garden of incredible beauty,

and a fine dinner at the Palais Royale.  We did it on July 24, 2019 thanks to Carl Kirk and the Roncesvales
group.  Really phenomenal outing that anyone can enjoy. Park your car in the lot just east of Sunnyside swimming pool…lots of room

THREE DAYS AFTER THE AUCTON: A NEARLY BARREN FIELD

AMISH SCHOOL AUCTION…THREE DAYS LATER


alan skeoch
July 23, 2019

Three days  earlier this barren site contained  a couple  of thousand  people and as many cars, trucks, horses and buggies.  
But today it is a barren site


“Alan, where are we?”
“Marjorie, it has taken us nearly four hours to find this place even though I drove
here with Andy and Jack in less than 1.5 hours.”
“But where are we?”
“Somewhere in the centre of Amish Ontario…near Milverton.”



“Do you mean this empty field is where you spent last Saturday afternoon?:


SHORT days ago this  field was jammed with people bidding on the weirdest collection
of objets imaginable.  Today, three days later, the field  is barren except for the things
nobody seems  to want.



EARLIER
“I notice it is wash day…maybe these Amish folk can give directions.”


“And there it is Marjorie…sitting all  alone among the stubble and the footprints
of auctioneers  and  bidders.”
“Not another fanning mill, Alan, when will you grow up and know to stop…”
“Beautiful …right?




“Battered”
“140 years old,  bound to be bruised.”
“Does  it fit in the truck?”
“Not quite…needs to be rolled over.”
“How will we lift it?”
“Look what’s coming across the field…”


“Give you a hand if you want.”
“Wonder how we would get the mill into the truck without you”






“What make is it?”
“Looks like a Clinton made machine,…circa 1880 give or take…”
“Or it could  be a McTaggart…name long worn off by the grain and Calloused
hands…”



“Did you buy that thing…now that is interesting…a shoemakers anvil with
the shape of real boots made  of iron…interchangeable.”
“Where will we put it?”
“In the farm kitchen…looks good beside the stove.”
“How much did you pay for it?”
“Rather not say.  I paid $5 for the fanning mill though.”

“Let’s tale a few minutes to see what else has been left behind.”


A REAPER…WITH ALL PARTS…REPLACED  THE SICKLE AND CRADLE SCYTHE…TECHNOLOGICAL
WONDER IN ITS TIME.


HORSE DRAWN HEAVY HARROWS…WHEELED KIND


LOBSINGER THRESHING MACHINE…


REMEMBER WE BOUGHT ONE OF THESE 35 YEARS AGO…FARMER UP THE ROAD
BORROWED IT FOR HIS LAST THRESHING.  HE GOT INJURED AND HAD TO 
GIVE UP FARMING.  THE THRESHER WAS PROTECTED BY A TARP BUT THE
DAMN TARP ROTTED AND  SO DID THE THRESHER.  WENT TO SCRAP BECAUSE
WE HAD NO BARN TO KEEP IT IN. SAD.  MAYBE SAME FUTURE FOR THIS ONE.

FARM WAGON…ALSO LAND ROLLER

HORSE  DRAWN CORN BINDER


NICELY RESTORED MOWING MACHINE





POTATO HARVESTER


MANURE SPREADER


HAY LOADERS…ABOUT TEN OF THEM.

SIDE DELIVERY RAKE




HORSE DRAWN SET OF DISC HARROWS





“ALAN, TIME TO LEAVE…DO YOU  KNOW HOW TO GET HOME?”

“NOT SURE…WE WILL JUST DRIVE EAST AND CUT SOUTH…TAKE US A COUPLE OF  HOURS.



MOOREFIELD  FOR LUNCH


“STRANGE LUNCH HERE MARJORIE”


“I notice  you serve raccoon steaks…”



“Look at the bottom entry…’Bright Raccoon 732..”
“So?”
“So, if I ordered  a “Dull Raccoon  steak” would it be cheaper?”
“Five dollars….”

(not the truth…Bright Raccoon is their Wi Fi number…a joke.  We had  two pieces
of Rhubarb and Strawberry pie with a mountain of vanilla ice cream…”





alan skeoch
July 23, 2019

best of breed: SEQUJEL TO THE AMISH SCHOOL AUCTION: july 20,2019

AMISH SCHOOL  FUND AUCTION

JULY 20, 2019  MILVERTON, ONTARIO

BIG TIN BOOT WAS BEST OF’BREED’

Just for fun look at these pictures  with a sharp eye.  Look for what you think is
the best of breed…i.e. what you would want in your living room.

Lighten up!


Now this is just my opinion but if I  was  asked to choose the best of  breed in this 
auction I think the big tin cowboy boot would fill the bill.  it sold  for around $200
to a man of course.  I tried to catch up to him to get a picture but he was moving
as fast a Clint Eastwood in a shoot em up movie.  Maybe he was embarrassed.


Then I could be wrong.  This huge ‘man trap’ must have been used to trap bears long ago
when farmers were clearing the land.  These traps  are illegal I am told.  Bidding was
feverish.   I think a Democrat from the US House of Representative was the winning
bidder.  He hustled south.  No, I have no idea why he wanted the trap.   Fun to guess though.


THIRTY YEARS AGO we were  buying these dinosaurs of the harvest….thrashing  machines.  We even had a Lobsinger like this one.  Sadly the tarpaulin
we used to cover it from rain,  sleet and  snow was not up to the job.  Water slipped in and the wood rotted.   Eventually we hd to set it on  fire but there is
an upside to the story as a local farmer borrowed our Lobsinger for one last harvest.   That made us feel a little better.  Since then we have shrunk our tastes
to fanning mills, turnip pulpier, corn shellers, apple pulpers and  cutting boxes.


Hats tell a story.  The woman in black  is not Amish or Mennonite.  The boys clearly are.   The hats tell the one from the other.


This is my friend  Tom Schell whis is  an avid collector of hay carts…the kind that ran on track high up
in most Ontario barns.  They were used in the days when horses drew  wagons loaded with cured  hay
right into the barn threshing floors.  Then a massive hay force was dropped like a twin harpoon into
the hay load and by a  series of  ropes  and pulleys and hay cars  the loose hay was piled in hay mows.
Tom has done that….

Now Tom was also a collector  of fanning mills  which, when he downsized his tastes, he delivered the mills
to our farm.

Tom is a contented man.  Witness the smile.

 the Amish farms are neat and orderly….neat as a pin might be  the term although I don’t know the origin 
of the term.  How can a  pin be neat?


These pin up girl posters were a little out of place at the auction….too much leg showing.








We bought this elevated  water tough.   Single board  construction.  Tight as a drum.  
Of course it could also have been a feed bin.


alan skeoch
July 20, 2019


JACK IS A LAID BACK KIND OF GRANDSON: YOU BOUGHT WHAT?

YOU BOUGHT WHAT?

(JACK is a laid back kind of person)

alan skeoch
July 20, 2019

My grandmother regularly,  in the 1950’s, sent me poems by Edna Jacques that she
carefully cut out of the Toronto Star in spite of her advanced Parkisons’s
disease.   Today, july 20, 2019, I thought of her and was reminded of a snippet
from one of those poems

“If you put your nose to the grindstone rough
And hold it down there long enough
In time you’ll say there’s no such thing
as tails that wage or birds that sing.”

(I imposed the ‘tails that wag’ as I forget what Edna wrote but
the meaning is the same”

The reminder came from Jackson Skeoch, our grandson, who is  best described
by the expression ‘laid back’ but also he is unpredictable at times.  Today was 
one of those occasions.

Andrew, Jack and I were attending the massive Amish School Auction sale near Milverton,
Ontario.   Piles and piles of things.  Long lines of items  laid out on a recently threshed  grain
field.   Thousands of people.


“Jack, look at all the horses and buggies….”






“Seems everyone is out for a good time, Jack.”




“Lots of people here grandpa…all after the same kind of ancient junk you like so much.”

“Take a really close look, Jack…there is more going on here than just the auction…more
than the bidding wars for hay ladders, crocks, wagon wheels, roosters, horses, picks and shovels.”

“What else?”

“Look around…you will see.”

So Jack disappeared while Andrew and I were bidding and buying wood water trough, 
fireman’s reeled  hose cart from the 19th century, ancient anchors rescued from the
bottom of the St Lawrence river, barrels, pumps, a boat, boxes of plumbing fittings…etc.”

“Where is jack?”

“No idea.”



“I hope he notices those Amish girls…there is a reason they are all dressed up
in their brightest dresses.  This is a meeting ground.”

“Jack will notice.  He’s seventeen with a keen eye.”




“Where have you been jack?”

“Over with the rabbits…bought four of them.”

“You bought four rabbits?”

“Yep,  waved  my hand at a fly and the guy yelled  ‘Sold’…no cage…cost
me $12.  Nearly had a box full of pigeons as well. What can we put them in?”


“Did you say no cage?”

“Yep, what can we put them in…you must have something grandpa…how about
that $2 chicken crate?”

“Jack you make me laugh…all the time…maybe you can wheel one of my purchases…wicker
baby carriage and two old  saddles to the truck.  I will give you the cage.”

“Sure.”

“Did you notice the girls?”

“What girls?”

(He made that comment with the usual twinkle in his eye.  He saw them…and they
must have seen him.  Both sexes were dressed to be seen.)





“Grandma, there are four rabbits in this crate…see the shining eye of one?”



“Jack, you bought four rabbits?”  said Marjorie with hooping  laughter.

“Dad had to wait hours to get those cages.  Cost more than the rabbits.”

“Males or females?”

“How would I know, Grandma.”  And Marjorie proceeded  to determine the
sex of the rabbits…a very tricky thing to do…three males and one female…enough for a brood to come
along.

“What will Julie think when you get home with these rabbits.”

“Remains to be seen, Grandma….they will be company for the dogs.”




“Got them with the swat of fly, Grandma.”

alan skeoch
July 20, 2019


COYOTES ARE HERE TO STAY


COYOTES ARE HERE TO STAY

alan skeoch
july 2019

“Marjorie, the coyote is  here…right behind  you.”

“How do you know?”
“Saw him dance down the street as if he was Prince Harry”
“When?”
“Right now, 8.15 a.m. on July 16…Glenburnie Road, Mississauga…got a picture
quick…here he is…”



“Woody was barking his head off just behind my ear as we looked out the truck window.”
“What was  the coyote doing?”
“Eating what was  left of a dead squirrel that a car squashed.”
“Did  he hear Woody?”
“Sure…but did not give a damn.”
“Where did he go?”
“Ducked into the Lack place…(next door to us)…he was about 10 feet from
you as you came out our lane.”
“I think he knows me…loves me or hates  me.”
“Where did  you get that crazy, off the wall, idea?”



“Alan, do you  know what happened earlier this morning…while you were asleep?”
“Nope.”
“Well there was  quite a fuss on the street.  A man came jogging down Glenburnie with two full
grown Labradors…and right behind them came the coyote…almost at their heels.”
“A  coyote could  not pull  down a  Labrador.”
Alan, you were not there.  The man was scared…running.  He stopped to throw
two rocks at the coyote but the stones  did not phase the coyote one bit. He loped
along right behind them.”
“What did  you do?”
“I got in the truck and tried to put it between the coyote and the man.  The coyote
just circled the truck which drove Woody wild.  Barking like there is no tomorrow.”
Woody  probably remembers the coyote that tore a strip off his ass.”

“Don’t make light of it Alan.  The lady next door said  three coyotes  surrounded her
when she took the baby for a walk.”
“The only coyote I have seen lately was the cute animal sleeping in the tangle of
weeds at the back of our lot.”
“He sleeps  there all day long…drives Woody mad…Lucky that half our lot is fenced.”
“No matter what you say Marjorie, I like the coyotes…beautiful animals…great dancers…
intelligent …survivors.”
“”Alan, they are predators.”


“Predators…Shmeditors…they are fascinating.  And they were here before we were here.   They have
a right of residency.”
“Dr. Hawrluk (local  dentist) opened his  front door yesterday and a coyote was standing there.”
“Maybe the coyote had a toothache.”
“Don’t be silly…”
“Coyotes do not have dental plans…rely on charity…but they have good teeth
normally…gnawing on squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and, if they are lucky, wayward cats…the 
gnawing keeps their teeth in good  shape.”
“Alan, stop that drivel…this is serious business.”
“Sorry.  Just trying to make the point that coyotes have become part of our 
urban landscape.”


“They move so fast…so delicatlely.   Look at the pictures I took…almost seem like mirages…like there
was no coyote present…just blurred images.”

(Marjorie, talking to Woody our dog, as she often does)_
“Alan would not say that Woody if that coyote tore a strip off his bum, would he?”

“Woody cannot speak our language Marjorie.”

“His tail is wagging…he agrees with me.”

“Woody can spot a coyote before we can…maybe the smell.”

“He does  not love those creatures  as you seem to do…proving
he has  a higher level of intelligence than you, Alan.”

“Probably true…”

alan skeoch
July 2019

FIRST SUNDAY IN JULY: OUR LIFE IS FULL OF LEAVES…ETC. JULY 6, 2019

AHH! THE FIRST SUNDAY IN JULY.

(Of all the Sundays of the year…52 of them…the first Sunday in July is the most dazzling to Marjorie and me.)

alan  skeoch
July 7, 2019

So let’s make a  game of it.  SEE IF YOU CAN FIND

1) Our farm attic  gothic window with stained glass and top hat boxes.  (easy…first p;icture0
2) Our front lawn in Toronto
3) Our big swam with water lilies
4) Our new crop of flax
5) Our other family farm with stone silo
6) Our wilderness trails
7) Our trip through Limehouse…cross RR bridge, up escarpment road
8) Our peculiar collection of shapes stuffed in the old green house
9) Our living room in the old  Freeman farm house
10) Our effort to grow milk weed for the Monarch butterflies
11) Our days of glory on the football field … yes, both Marjorie and i …she was
an SPS cheerleader but no picture
12) Our stuffed porcupine (on a beam, high above the guy in plaid shirt)
13) Our walnut trees
14) Our water trough vegetable gardens
15) Our favourite game on a board made by hand
16)Our  version of “The Tangled Garden”
17) Our almost forgotten International W6 tractor
18) Our abandoned  threshing machine hidden on a tree clad hill
(once belonged to Angus McEchern on farm next to ours)
19)  Our fanning mill, our pump organ, our wood wheeled wagon
20) Our recently refurbished cream separator
21) Our poppies that appeared without our knowledge but are welcome
22) Our gravel clad bridge between the two big ponds
23) Our old  three furrow drag plough 
24) Ourselves
25) Our old farmhouse beside our ancient walnut tree

IF YOU CANNOT BE BOTHERED…THEN JUST FLIP THROUGH THE PICS…THEY ARE RELAXING.

alan and marjorie









RAVENS…ARE VERY SMART THEN WHY ARE THEY NOT HOUSEBROKEN? JULY 5, 2019


IF  RAVENS  ARE SO SMART…THEN WHY ARE THEY NOT HOUSEBROKEN?

alan  skeoch
July 5, 2019

A pair of ravens have assumed they have the right to raise their young in our barn.   This year they chose
a portion high above our prop storage shed.  The nest is  huge, maybe 3 feet in diameter made of sticks  
so large it is a wonder the ravens could lift and weave them into a nest.

They are smart birds.  They know who we are … recognize our faces …and make raucous greeting sounds
when we have the nerve to peek into the drive shed  which they have claimed as theirs.

I wish they did not feed their young  baby birds plundered and  murdered from other birds but we, as humans,
do the same.  Seems that chicken has become a main course for all of us.

But the ravens are a problem.   How do I put this delicately?


Notice how perfectly they keep their feathered bodies.  Very neat.  Like tuxedo class of humans.  Right

But they are not perfect.


“Listen, bud,” quoth the raven, “Mind your own business.  We live here now.”

“Well, Mr. and  Mrs. Raven, your chosen home could do  with a toilet.  Instead you have used
all my prize rental goods as if it was a place to slather with your excrement.”


The farm is  quite pretty…complete with a hand made field stone silo dating back to 1870



Yet look what the ravens have done….


Could be worse, I guess, as the Ravens could have chosen the farm house for their summer home.


This has become their rearing shed…sadly.


Seems they also use their own nest as a toilet.


Now I must face the clean up…Yuck!


I do not know why WOODY love me? No big reason to do so.


I DO NOT KNOW WHY WOODY LOVES ME

alan skeoch
July 2019



I do not know why WOODY love me, but he does.

He has no special reason to love me unless being taken for 
granted is a reason.
I do not spend a lot of time petting him as others do.
Even strangers  give him more attention than I do.
But he love me.
How Do I know that he loves me?
He waits at the bottom of the stairs each morning for me to descend, his  tail thumping
the floor or the wall.
And then as my foot touches the bottom step he leans into me…body tight and tipped,
tail whistling in its own created wind.
Ah, I know you think I feed him and that food is the love  trigger.
But I only feed him occasionally, maybe four times a  month.
Every other day Marjorie feeds him.
She also brushes him, walks him, doctors him when he has a sore paw
or an oozing coyote tear.
But he loves me.
Loves Marjorie as  well but she has earned his love.
I have not.
Yet he waits beside my truck lying prone on the green grass
anticipating a ride to nowhere in particular as long as it is with me.
And when I drive in the lane alone, Woody rushes out to
the drivers  side with his nose tight to the crack where the door will open.
He does this  every time I come home alone.
I might rub his  forehead  a bit but otherwise do not go crazy with affection.
But I know he loves  me.
Sometimes  he goes crazy when I pull in and he starts to run around
in big circles, all four feet in the air such is his  speed…he runs in great loops
around trees and buildings always  arriving back close to me.
He wears his joy in ways such as this
And when he disappears  and I call him with frustration in my voice
I always find he is just behind me…silently padding along as I search
for him with impatience in my voice.
Woody does  not like to be bad but he can be bad at times,
especially when we fail to keep the garbage high off the ground
or when a pound  of  butter is  left tantalizingly balanced on the edge
of the kitchen island.
He  will steal…temptation becomes just too great.
And when he steals and I get angry Woody drops to the floor
Rolls over on his back 
Offers his life
And rolls his eyes
Which makes discipline seem an invitation
For me to raise my voice in anger.
But he loves me still.
Why?
On two occasions I have forgotten he is with me at the farm
And driven part way home before reaching my hand behind me 
in search of his paw on the bench seat.
Most times that paw is present.
But twice, maybe more, it has not been there
And I have stopped, cursed, turned around and retraced my way.
Only to find Woody waiting for my return curled up on the farm porch.
He loves me…trusts me…with little reason to do so.
Love is one of the great mysteries of life on this earth.
The decision to Love is  a force more powerful than any other…stronger than greed,
anger, pride, self-obsession…
Love is irrational I think
For Woody has no earthly reason to love me so much.
I have given him no reason to do so.
And yet he loves me.
He does not expect me to change.
He does not want me to change.
He loves me as I am.
Why?



alan skeoch
July 2019