EPISODE 106 RACING DONW THE DON RIVER… TRAPpED UNDER THE THWARTS

EPISODE  106   RACING  DOWN  THE DON RIVER…TRAPPED  UNDER THE THWARTS 


alan skeoch
august 2020

Splashing through the Don River's momentary class 2 rapids. (Photo: Lake Ontario Waterkeeper)


” Suddenly upside down in foaming white water.?”  “What happened?”  That thought flashed through 
my brain  “My head is bouncing off the river bottom rocks.”  Wiggling I made a
sudden and sodden discovery, “I am trapped by he thwarts.”  Trapped by the thwarts.!!

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

FLASHBACK

The phone rang earlier.  “Mike here, Alan,  I have a great idea for a radio 
program.  We can do it live…from a  canoe racing in white water down  the Don River.”

“There is  no white water in the Don River.”

“Once a year the Conservation Society opens  the dam upriver so  that canoeists
can  race down the Don like it is the Frazer River canyon.  PADDLE  THE DON.
 The race is a money
raiser for improving the Don River.   We can do  it.  Are you  interested?”

“Sounds  exciting but I have one big problem.”

“Problem?”

“Yes, I fell off a  small cliff in France a week ago.  Bashed  myself up badly…cuts,
bruises  and  a broken wrist.   Surgery.  Wrist is pinned together with long spikes.
In a sling.   Bottom line is I  cannot paddle.”

“No need to worry.  You will be wedged  under the thwarts. SAFE.  A friend  and  I will
paddle while you record the trip  on tape.  CBC  mobile equipment.”

The concept intrigued  me.  I had been doing nothing much while convalescing.
The black bruises had turned  brown.  Stanless steel pins holding bones in place.
 The wrist was  in a  sling.  Truth be told,  I was bored.
Marjorie was not too enthusiastic though.  “Just think a live radio program from
white water on the normally lazy Don River.”

So it was  a go.  About 600 people gathered at the launch  point high up the Don River
below the dam.  Once the water was released  the lazy stream  turned  into a  raging
hurricane.  And the canoes  began  to be launched…quickly to get the full value  of
white water canoeing.  The field once full of canoes was soon emptied.

Our turn came, “Get in fast, we’ll push you off,” said a person who seemed to be in charge.
I wedged myself under the thwarts, pillow under bum.  Snug.  Mike got into the back.
His friend to the front and before we could adjust we were pushed off into the foaming
white water.  Mike would steer with the flat of his paddle.  At least I thought he would.

“Mike, do you know how to use the J stroke…to steer?”

So much noise…too much speed…not sure even a J stroke could rescue us.
We failed to get control.  Immediately we began to spin… to cart wheel down
the Don.  Horizontally. Best seen by a helicopter.  Dizzying to me… my thwart  was dead
centre of the cart wheel.  We came around  a  sharp bend  and there before us was another
canoe…green as I remember.  It was hung up on some rocks in the middle of the River. No
sign of a crew.  Then again no bodies piled on shore.  

As  we spun down the foaming flow there were other canoes in trouble.   Some beached.  Of  course
veterans of white water were whizzing buy in complete control.  Not us.  We were doomed . Spinning
Destined to pile up somewhere.  Hopefully on shore.  But that was not to be.  A huge roller
hit us broadside.  Then hung up on a rock. Tipped the canoe.  Water rushed in and over we  went.

Suddenly I was head  down in the  Don River.   I remember my head  bouncing on
the bottom stones.   It happened  so fast I had no time for fear or action.  The canoe
was still moving. Air trapped kept it afloat.  Sort of.  But I was looking through a haze
of fast moving water.  Odd  sensation.  It may  surprise you to know that I was not afraid.  I had no fear
of drowning as long as I could  get my body clear of the goddamn thwart.  Last man
aboard.

Underwater.  How long?  Not very long.  Suddenly a muscled arm grabbed me by the back
of the neck  and hauled  me clear of the canoe and back to an oxygen supply.  it was Mike.
A little embarrassed but relieved he had  not lost me.   My broken wrist was still in 
a sling.  And in the other hand I held  my pocket camera.

So all three of  us survived.  We even  waved as  other canoes  road  the white water
southward towards the Keating channel.

“What about the sound equipment…the recorder, microphones, cables..gear?”
“Gone…who the hell knows where.”
“We will have to figure out an explanation…that stuff cost CBC money.”

“What do we do now?”
“May as well continue…we held  onto the paddles…just need to pull the canoe
ashore  and drain it.”
“Are you up to finishing the trip, Alan?”
“No choice.”
“There is a portage a little way from here…mustn’t miss it or we’ll
be caught in a patch of  rocks.”

That portage point worried me but we pointed the canoe to the landing
point.   Mike and his friend carried the canoe while I followed…shivering.

The rest of the ride down to the catchpoint called the Keating Channel 
was uneventful.  The white water calmed itself down.   Maybe this is  a good
point for observations.    If we had our equipment the story would have
been delivered something like this.

THE LIVE RADIO BROADCAST THAT NEVER HAPPENED

1)  Good morning listeners,  today we are going to ride down the
white river rapids of the Don River.  PADDLE THE DON DAY. 
Only one  day each year does
the Don  River have enough water for canoe  racing.   Only  today
May 3, 2015.   Why?  Because today  the Conservation people will
open the upriver dam and  create a  sluiceway. 

 We are picking up
speed.  Keeping the  canoe straight.  To do otherwise would be
a disaster.  Exhilarating.  Smooth J stroking…heading where we want
to go.  Missing the big rocks that appear now and then.  Some other are
not so fortunate.  Beached.

2) Whups, looks like one canoe are in trouble, we just passed
a green fibreglass canoe that will never make the Keating channel.
Seems to be hung up on a  rock…maybe pierced.  No sign of
the owners.  No other debris.   No dead  bodies.



3) Some veterans  of rapids are rocketing past us.  No fear of speed and deadfalls.
Veterans of the river.  We are slower.  Being very careful.  What a grand day!

4) We beached  at the portage site perfectly.  To fail  would  have been
a disaster as  the Don River tumbles over a jumble of Ordovecian slabs.
Broad patch of shallow  water.  No deep water.   Had we missed the portage we would have
been smashed  up a  bit.

5) We are now in the water of the lower Don River once again.  Much
better…slower…restful.  Easy paddling.  Slight changes in the back paddle
and we change direction.  Easy.   

6)  We  are paddling the full 10.5 km through the heart of  Toronto.  Amazing
wilderness only visible  by canoe on this day.

7) Not really that pretty on close inspection.  There are 872 storm sewer outlets on the River.  Some hidden
in greenery.  Others blatantly obvious.  Add to that the 30 sewer outfalls and  the Don does not
seem  so pretty.  The water colour is brown now.  What makes the water so brown?   Smells a bit.
Some say the Don River had  so much bundle fluid was that it would catch  fire in places.
Overflow tanks fail more often than not.  When that happens  all kinds  of guck
gets in the river.  We have been using the Don River as  a sewer for 150 years  and just
now starting to clean it up.  The money raised  by this PADDLE THE DON experience
will provide $100,000 to help clean the river.



8) There are other living things watching us.  Rabbits, Herons, ducks, geese…

many with young.   Must also be foxes  unless they have been usurped by the new top
predators of the Don River…the coyotes.  Never saw any of them.  No doubt they saw us.

9)  Pictures of the Don River Valley at any time of year are thrilling.  Nature at its best
you might say .  But don’t say it too  loud.  Snow melts.  Heavy rains and meltwater flow
where opposition is least.  In other words  into the Don River Valley…into the River.
So many contaminants come with meltwater and spring rain.  Let me count some of
them…cigarette butts, de-icing fluid some of  which spills  each time your windshield wiper
tank is replenishedl,  dog shit left by those who care not, heavy metals that are not seen
but will be deadly to fish stocks, soapsuds  by the tonne, and as  many or more tonnes of road salt.
tire rubber, 
It all heads for the river.  Turns the Lower Don into a  stinking mish mash of things that float and
things that are water soluble.   Not nice.  But there is  hope.  Toronto is more aware of the need
to clean the Don and  signs  for the future are not as dire as they seem right now.

ETc. Etc.   THE RADIO BROADCAST THAT WAS NEVER MADE.

BACK TO REALITY.

Trash accumulating in the Keating Channel – the landing site for paddlers at the end of the course. (Photo: Lake Ontario Waterkeeper)
The Keating Channel  catches  everything including the odd dead body.

Not mentioned in my imaginary radio broadcast was the CBC  sound equipment that
must be tumbling down the Don River with the white water.  Bouncing like my head
did on the submerged rocks.

Another thing not mentioned was the fact I was soaked to the skin.  Freezing cold
by the time we  reached the Keating Channel.  We no longer talked to each other
by then.  When we boarded the shuttle bus to take us  back to our cars, we were
not talking at all.   Too embarrassed.  Too cold.  Too worried.

Back at the launch site I waited shivering for Marjorie to pick me up.  Soaked to
the skin.  Goose bumps.   Recovering from falling off  a cliff a few  weeks earlier
and now recovering  from a near drowning.   Cats have nine lives.  How many
do humans have?

May 3, 2015 had  not been a good day.   

Foolishly I thought the upside of the experience would make a good radio story.  I wrote
and  submitted a  script.    And waited to hear when we would play the tape for all to hear.
I have now waited five years or more.    Perhaps you can explain why.

alan skeoch
August 2020













EPISODE 105 LOOK WHAT HAPPENED WHEN MARJORIE ATE MILK WEED.

EPISODE 105   WHAT HAPPENED  WHEN MARJORIE ATE MILK WEED


alan skeoch
august 2020


A strange thing happened today.  I was  out in the back field
binding flax when I found  a nice patch of milk weed which
i also bound.

Marjorie thought the milk weed was fresh salad greens
so she ate it.

Look what happened.

Her next life she will turn into   Monarch  Butterfly.

alan



alan skeoch
august 2020

EPISODE 104 “WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE.”

EPISODE  104    WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE


alan skeoch
August 2020

John Myers, a friend, has asked me  several times to
tell him about my radio career …  with CBC radio.  I have not 
answered because the  story is long with many twists  and
turns.  You may  not want the full story because there is no
high drama.  Maybe  I can tell the story in point form best.
short form.

1) At the Thompson auction sale near Kitchener, Ontario around 1980, I bid
and  bought four threshing machines.  Beautiful things as big as
five ton trucks.  Historic machines  doomed  to be burned by
scrap dealers seeking  cast iron.  How could I explain this purchase
to Marjorie?  She is  long suffering and  never crushes  my enthusiasm.
 What could I do with 4 huge dinosaurs  of  the
harvest fields. ? 


MY radio career began with this threshing machine …. believe it or not.

I bought quite a few of them at auction sales…Was I insane?   No,  I managed
to turn them into an 300 page M.A. thesis  at U. of T.  Three departments…history, engineering 
and fine arts.  Loved it.  The engineering department shared my enthusiasm the most.
Where did I keep them?  Gave the best to museums.  Others are still in the barn.

2) The biggest was made in New Hamberg, Ontario about 1890.
It was in great shape.   Wooden construction, wood  wheels, lavish
folk art painting  done by professional stripers.  And  alligator for
instance was added to accent the sharp teeth of the thresher when
it tore grain sheaves to bits.

3)  I donated the machine to Riverdale Farm,  a  kind of 
salue to Ontario farm history located  in the heart of the
City of Toronto.  To get the machine to its new barn I
hired Gordon Hume and his flat bed  truck.  It was quits a sight
rolling up Parliament Street.  Heart of the largest city in Canada.
A  nostalgic farm! A  few years later Riverdale Farm
gave it back to me.  Imagine that. The nerve!  So I regave the machine to
Doon Pioneer village where it remains.

4) As chance  would have it a  CBC radio producer was having
a coffee break as  the thresher came by. Parliament Street studio.
 Or Perhaps  it was  noticed
by the host of Radio Noon, then David Shatsky.  Someone followed
the truck to the farm museum and asked “What is it?” “Who donated it?”
So my name reached decision makers at CBC/

5) “Would you drop by for an interview?”   I did and that interview
went so well that I was asked  to be a regular radio journalist with
a 5 to 10 minjute  slot each  Friday on Radio Noon.

6) I must have done  about 100 shows.  My 5 minute special reached
beyond Toronto.  Some covered Ontario.   Some were national. One 
even reached an  Inuit village in the Northwest Territories.   He was being
hounded by the local priest.  Scared.  Not much  I could do.
I know the phone call makes not sense but it was memorable.

CBC paid
me eventually.  Around  $100 a show.  Not big.  The cost of parking
took a big slice of the money.  Then the research and Union  dues took some as well.  I did
not care.  It was a joy to do the programs.  I learned a lot about 
communications.

7)  On my third or fourth show, my produce, Doug Coupar spoke to me
privately “Alan, your shows are terrific….”
When someone says that to you be prepared for the follow up word which
is ‘BUT’.    To repeat   “Alan, our shows are terrific BUT you must remember
that the  radio audience attention span is  one minute at the most.  Get your
big idea into that first few seconds  or you will have lost them.”  What
grest advice.    Cut the bull shit…get to the point right away.  That advice
changed  my whole approach to teaching.  For the better.  I began each
lesson with a big question.  Often  a questions to which I did  not know the answer.
Kids really got involved.  They often took over the discussion.
(i.e. Why did  John A. Macdonald allow  Louis Riel to be executed?  Why?)

8)  So I would race down to CBC on my lunch hours every Friday
to trigger ideas in a public forum.  My personal ego trip some  must 
have thought.  I loved it. Then race back to class.   On one of these trips I  was
startled as I opened the truck door. A tall thin man in running shoes had
jumped  on the back  bumper and then blocked my exit.  “I am going to
fucking kill you,” he said. Made no sense.  I had not hit him.  What should
I do.  I looked at my watch hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time for that
…I am late for class.”  to which the deranged mind  said “OK!” and  wandered
off.  Lakeshore Psychiatric  Hospital  had recently been closed.  I do  not
have a watch.

9) My tenure at CBC radio was quite long…maybe 3years or longer.
That is an eternity for a radio host and also for radio journalists.
One of the CBC personalities took me  aside  early in my career.
He gave  me some great advice as well. “Alan, remember this…we
all have a shelf life.”  WE ALL HAVE A SHELF LIFE.  Just like hamburger
and  cheese.  Being an on air personality was not a lifetime job.  At some
point a CBC exec that I would never meet would decide to change the
format. Get rid of that Skeoch guy…we need a new direction.”

10)  DAISY

One of my best stories dealt with our grest dog Daisy.
She died and I grieved her on the radio. One man phoned to say.
“I had to put over on 401.  I was crying.”  The studio was  empty
as I spoke because all involved got emotional.  As  did  I.

10)  So one New Years Day, I phoned the CBC to outline my special
program for the new  year.  I had a new  producer by then.
He was a hatchet man  The conversation was short.
“Just to let you know my plan for next week. I think…”
The hatchet man cut in fast.
“We do not need you any more.”

That was it.  The kiss off.  The guillotine blade was falling.  My shelf life
with CBC radio was over.  “Sorry, we  do not need you any more.”

alan skeoch
August 2020

P>S>  Not quite over. I did  occasional programs  when they needed
someone to cover a dead air space.  My second last program was such a shock
to CBC decision  makers that they never let it go on air.  So when
I tell you that story it will be fresh.  First time ever.  Next episode.

EPISODE 104 “WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE.”

EPISODE  104    WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE


alan skeoch
August 2020

John Myers, a friend, has asked me  several times to
tell him about my radio career …  with CBC radio.  I have not 
answered because the  story is long with many twists  and
turns.  You may  not want the full story because there is no
high drama.  Maybe  I can tell the story in point form best.
short form.

1) At the Thompson auction sale near Kitchener, Ontario around 1980, I bid
and  bought four threshing machines.  Beautiful things as big as
five ton trucks.  Historic machines  doomed  to be burned by
scrap dealers seeking  cast iron.  How could I explain this purchase
to Marjorie?  She is  long suffering and  never crushes  my enthusiasm.
 What could I do with 4 huge dinosaurs  of  the
harvest fields. ? 


MY radio career began with this threshing machine …. believe it or not.

I bought quite a few of them at auction sales…Was I insane?   No,  I managed
to turn them into an 300 page M.A. thesis  at U. of T.  Three departments…history, engineering 
and fine arts.  Loved it.  The engineering department shared my enthusiasm the most.
Where did I keep them?  Gave the best to museums.  Others are still in the barn.

2) The biggest was made in New Hamberg, Ontario about 1890.
It was in great shape.   Wooden construction, wood  wheels, lavish
folk art painting  done by professional stripers.  And  alligator for
instance was added to accent the sharp teeth of the thresher when
it tore grain sheaves to bits.

3)  I donated the machine to Riverdale Farm,  a  kind of 
salue to Ontario farm history located  in the heart of the
City of Toronto.  To get the machine to its new barn I
hired Gordon Hume and his flat bed  truck.  It was quits a sight
rolling up Parliament Street.  Heart of the largest city in Canada.
A  nostalgic farm! A  few years later Riverdale Farm
gave it back to me.  Imagine that. The nerve!  So I regave the machine to
Doon Pioneer village where it remains.

4) As chance  would have it a  CBC radio producer was having
a coffee break as  the thresher came by. Parliament Street studio.
 Or Perhaps  it was  noticed
by the host of Radio Noon, then David Shatsky.  Someone followed
the truck to the farm museum and asked “What is it?” “Who donated it?”
So my name reached decision makers at CBC/

5) “Would you drop by for an interview?”   I did and that interview
went so well that I was asked  to be a regular radio journalist with
a 5 to 10 minjute  slot each  Friday on Radio Noon.

6) I must have done  about 100 shows.  My 5 minute special reached
beyond Toronto.  Some covered Ontario.   Some were national. One 
even reached an  Inuit village in the Northwest Territories.   He was being
hounded by the local priest.  Scared.  Not much  I could do.
I know the phone call makes not sense but it was memorable.

CBC paid
me eventually.  Around  $100 a show.  Not big.  The cost of parking
took a big slice of the money.  Then the research and Union  dues took some as well.  I did
not care.  It was a joy to do the programs.  I learned a lot about 
communications.

7)  On my third or fourth show, my produce, Doug Coupar spoke to me
privately “Alan, your shows are terrific….”
When someone says that to you be prepared for the follow up word which
is ‘BUT’.    To repeat   “Alan, our shows are terrific BUT you must remember
that the  radio audience attention span is  one minute at the most.  Get your
big idea into that first few seconds  or you will have lost them.”  What
grest advice.    Cut the bull shit…get to the point right away.  That advice
changed  my whole approach to teaching.  For the better.  I began each
lesson with a big question.  Often  a questions to which I did  not know the answer.
Kids really got involved.  They often took over the discussion.
(i.e. Why did  John A. Macdonald allow  Louis Riel to be executed?  Why?)

8)  So I would race down to CBC on my lunch hours every Friday
to trigger ideas in a public forum.  My personal ego trip some  must 
have thought.  I loved it. Then race back to class.   On one of these trips I  was
startled as I opened the truck door. A tall thin man in running shoes had
jumped  on the back  bumper and then blocked my exit.  “I am going to
fucking kill you,” he said. Made no sense.  I had not hit him.  What should
I do.  I looked at my watch hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time for that
…I am late for class.”  to which the deranged mind  said “OK!” and  wandered
off.  Lakeshore Psychiatric  Hospital  had recently been closed.  I do  not
have a watch.

9) My tenure at CBC radio was quite long…maybe 3years or longer.
That is an eternity for a radio host and also for radio journalists.
One of the CBC personalities took me  aside  early in my career.
He gave  me some great advice as well. “Alan, remember this…we
all have a shelf life.”  WE ALL HAVE A SHELF LIFE.  Just like hamburger
and  cheese.  Being an on air personality was not a lifetime job.  At some
point a CBC exec that I would never meet would decide to change the
format. Get rid of that Skeoch guy…we need a new direction.”

10)  DAISY

One of my best stories dealt with our grest dog Daisy.
She died and I grieved her on the radio. One man phoned to say.
“I had to put over on 401.  I was crying.”  The studio was  empty
as I spoke because all involved got emotional.  As  did  I.

10)  So one New Years Day, I phoned the CBC to outline my special
program for the new  year.  I had a new  producer by then.
He was a hatchet man  The conversation was short.
“Just to let you know my plan for next week. I think…”
The hatchet man cut in fast.
“We do not need you any more.”

That was it.  The kiss off.  The guillotine blade was falling.  My shelf life
with CBC radio was over.  “Sorry, we  do not need you any more.”

alan skeoch
August 2020

P>S>  Not quite over. I did  occasional programs  when they needed
someone to cover a dead air space.  My second last program was such a shock
to CBC decision  makers that they never let it go on air.  So when
I tell you that story it will be fresh.  First time ever.  Next episode.

EPISODE 103 MUSKRATS….PEST OR CREATORS OF OUR WORLD

EPISODE  103    MUSKRATS…PESTS OR CREATORS  OF OUR WORLD


alan skeoch
August 2020






IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS  ONLY WATER…THE GODS LIVED ON TOP OF THE CLOUDS





THERE were four to them cavorting in the swamp.  Young  kits.   Muskrat kits  that
I had no idea were living and thriving in a hidden swamp  on our farm.  Only  made
visible because I have been clearing  brush to get a better view  of the glorious
little swamp.   Once they spotted me they arched their backs and dove down.  
Muskrats can stay submerged for as long as17 minutes…longer than my patience
it seems.  I waited and  waited.  Were they some kind of  mirage?   Not so, their
home is likely under the submerged roots of some cedars and the four ran  home
to their mommy.

I was elated.  Our swamps, of  which we have four, seemed sort of  empty of late since
the frog population has  been  immensely reduced and  even the leeches (bloodsuckers is
a better word) have disappeared.   A  pair of Canada geese raise a  brood each year
but once the little ones are big enough, they disappear somewhere.

So  it was nice know the Muskrats have been thriving all the time.  But unseen.


THE SWAMP…UNSEEN  FOR 20 YEARS…NOW VISIBLE…AND ALIVE.


I  am partial to muskrats but the internet sure is  not.  The word ‘pest’ is used
a lot.  Why?  Well they can punch holes  in dams but more serious is the presence
of rabies and  other diseases.  Scary.  But the  presence of rabies  is  not
exclusive to muskrats.  So do  not get your underwear in  a twist.  The internet
goes  on to suggest poisons and  traps  to kill or capture the Muskrats. 

Largely herbivorous, Muskrats like our human gardens.  They are nocturnal raiders
whose presence can  be deduced by the tracks … four small feet about size of
a cat and a long streak of the Muskrat tail in between.   That may account for the 
anger some of us have towards muskrats.

SOMETIMES we forget Woody…he waits knowing we will remember him


Personally I think  these little beavers (related) are rather smart.  One late afternoon
a few years ago we were driving home and had to turn around  to go  back to
the farm.  Maybe  we forgot the dog, Woody.  That happens occasionally.  When
we drove in the farm lane, there was an adult muskrat on the pathway.  He or she
must have waited  all day for us to leave in order to get from one swamp to another…particularly
to the hidden swamp.

(I prefer the  term pond because it sounds  so  attractive.   But, that word,  implies  a wetland
that has been changed into a place for goldfish.   The word swamp  is  better…allows  for
wild things that are not controlled by human hands.)

The muskrat stopped,  looked at us, and then turned around and disappeared into the
mass of goldenrod that clothes  much of our open  swampland in summer.




Why  love a  muskrat?

A few years ago I wrote a  book on our indigenous people.  It was written with good  intentions
…to highlight their depth of culture and the wrongs that have been committed.  The book was
a failure.  Publisher went bankrupt the day  the book  came out.  And, worse, I was accused
of appropriating indigenous voice.   True.  I had not considered there was a danger in my main
protagonist using first person voice.  Writing exposes a writer to  criticism.  Painful always.

Which gets me back to the muskrat.

In  Mohawk legendary tradition the origin of our world is explored in a charming manner.
Elements of this legend are also found in other First Nations explanations of how
humans first appeared  on earth.   The Christian Adam and  Eve explanation is most
common to Canadians.  Would that the Mohawk explanation was equally familiar.

The legend comes down through the generations in spoken form. Thus  there
are changes since storytellers  often like to make the story ‘better’.

Yes, the muskrat will be featured.  Don’t get so anxious.

This is my interpretation of the Mohawk legend of creation.  The basic elements conform
to the tradition.   We are not dealing with something absolute.  Not Holy Writ you might say.

“In the beginning, the planet was  covered in water.  There was no land…no earth. All
water.  Above the earth was an envelope of clouds where the gods lived.  One day
there was an opening in  these clouds and a  woman we call  Earth Mother peeked
through the hole.  In order to get a better view,  she leaned  over too far and fell
through the hole.  She was  tumbling head  over heals through the sky.   A loon noticed
her and flew under her thereby cradling Earth Mother.  But the loon could  not hold her
forever.  The loon called out to the creatures below, particularly to the big snapping
turtle. “Can I let Earth Mother land on your back?”  The snapping turtle agreed and
before long Earth Mother found herself  standing on the top of the great snapping turtle.
Even though the turtle was  large it was not large enough to hold Earth Mother forever
so the big snapper called all the water creatures together saying “we need some mud
from the bottom below us.  If  we can get mud we can build a  home for earth mother
on my back.  

“So all the creatures  tried to get some mud…some earth.  The beaver dove down
as deep as it could but never reached the bottom.  Died trying.  So the otter then
tried but also died trying.  All  the water creatures tried and failed.  Then the big
snapping turtle turned  to the little muskrat who had been ignored because it was
so  small  and insignificant.  “Will you try?”  The muskrat agreed and dove down
deep deep down.  It was down a long time.  Had  it drowned  like the others?

“Then the little muskrat come to the surface.  Was ti dead or alive?  We do  not
know but there clutched in a little paw was  a  handful of mud  from deep below
the water.  When that handfull of mud was  spread on the great snapping turtles’
back it suddenly began to expand  and expand…got larger and larger until the land
we know of as our earth was  created.

“All this happened because of the lowly little muskrat had an ability to live underwater’
for a long time.  Without the muskrat none of us would be here.”

NOTE:  Legends  of human origin are common to most cultures.  But the First Nation
legends, particularly this one have some striking features.  The snapping turtle’s
back, for instance,  fits the modern scientific of plate tectonics.  The crust of the
earth is broken into huge plates that float snd clash. Below is a sea  of molten magma.
To me, the Mohawk creation legend has  another feature.  All the  creatures of
the world  helped Earth Mother survive.  Among the Mohawk the great Snapping
Turtle is given much  credit…but most credit goes to the tiny Muskrat. There
is a recognition that all the creatures have value.

There are other features to this legend which I will not explore because my
story is  about the muskrat but it is worth mentioning that Earth Mother was
pregnant when she fell.  She  bore two sons.  One was a good son, the other
was  a bad son. They fought. (as dud Cain and  Able in western legend)
The good  son just barely squeaked victory
but his victory is never secure.   Rings true to the Adam and Eve legend.  But
foremost in the legend is the role of Earth Mother.  Among the Mohawk and other
Iroquois women are given great prominence.  The Society of Matrons have been
traditional leaders and decision makers.   It took a long time for British and 
European ‘discoverers’ to understand that.

Bottom Line…Our family will not be spreading poison  to kill the muskrats nor
will be hiding leg hold  traps among the goldenrod.



alan skeoch
august 2020

P.S.   Apologies if my interpretation of the Mohawk legend  of  creation differs
from others.  Legends  come  from spoken traditions.  I am comforted  by the
fact that our Mississauga First Nations…now living on land given to them by 
the Mohawk people in the 19th century…that these people invited  me to speak
at their historical conference a couple of years ago.  They were a most gracious
and broad minded people.  We had a good  time.




EPISODE 102 AN OLD MAN’S WINTER NIGHT … BESIDE THE QUEEN ELIZABETH HIGHWAY

NOTE:  THIS MAY SEEM A  LITTLE OFF  HE WALL…



EPISODE 102    AN OLD MAN’S WNER NIGHT…BESIDE  THE QUEEN  ELIZABETH HIGHWAY

A PLACE WE’VE ALL PASSED…WHAT WAS HERE  40 YEARS  AGO

alan  skeoch
august 2020

It took a long time to  find the picture.  Without the picture this story has
no meaning. 

About 40 years ago Was driving  along the North Service road just above the
big Ford  Assembly  plant.  Right beside the Queen Elizabeth super highway.
Winter time but getting close to spring.  A  place you have all seen because today 
there  are two glass and aluminum modern office buildings in that place.

Bu 40 years ago there was  a  barn.  Old style barn that had  never  been elevated.
Guessing  a date of  1850 or  earlier.   The barn looked bad.  Defeated.  Empty
Abandoned.  Doomed. Sad.  All to these.  So I pulled in to get this picture (below)
Attempting to record something that was about to disappear.

Just as I held up the camera an elderly man walked  out of the stable.
Was I trespassing?  No.  I was on the  road shoulder.  But he  walked
toward me  anyway.

“This had  been our farm for better part of a century, son.”
“Mind if  I take  a picture.”
“Go ahead.”
“It must be hard to part with .”
“Very hard.”

He  looked at me…I think he wanted to see  in my face if I really gave a
damn about him and  his former farm.  He must have seen something in me.

“You know son, I got a lot of money for this farm
but it means noting to me.   I wish I had it back.
I wish I could still farm.  What am I going to do
with money?

That incident has preyed on my mind for the last four  decades.
Every time I see those  twin  towers of glass and aluminum, I see
that old man.  And I hear him.

That, however, is not the end of the story.



THIS IS THE PICTURE…NOT MUCH, RIGHT?




Many years later we were driving up the access ramp on the other side of
the QEW.  Exactly across the highway from the old man’s farm.

“Dad…big fire over there.”
“Barn  fire.”

Sure  enough a large barn was engulfed  in flames.  Not much  anyone
could do but look.  And there was a crowd gathering   

Another of our Ontario wooden agricultural  cathedrals 
was being reduced to ashes.

Every time we drive along the QEW and  start to enter the curve 
down  to the Ford  Motor Company plant
I see both of these barns.

And  I hear the old man speaking about the meaningless of his
sudden great wealth.  





(This picture above is not the barn that was burning.  But it is similar.  So many are gone.)








Take another look while you read Robert Frost’s ‘An Old Man’s  Winter Night’




alan skeoch
august 2020

An Old Man’s Winter Night by Robert Frost

www.robertfrost.org/images/postquote.png); overflow: auto; background-position: left top; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat;” class=””>

All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him – at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; – and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man – one man – can’t fill a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It’s thus he does it of a winter night.

NOW EVERY TIME YOU TAKE THE QEW WESTWARD YOU MAY  SEE THE OLD BARN
AND  HEAR THE OLD MAN….EVERY TIME YOU SEE THESE BUILDINGS.

alan skeoch
august 2020

EPISODE 101 THE BEE YARD…TWO MEN IN SPACE SUITS

EPISODE 101   THE  BEE  YARD…TWO MEN IN SPACE SUITS…A DRONE WITH A CAMERA


alan skeoch
august 2020


Our son Andrew decided to raise  bees.  I do not know where  he got the
idea since  my experience with bee  keeping was an utter and complete 
failure for manY reasons.

My failure as a beekeeper:  About 30 years ago, maybe 40, I decided to become  a  beekeeper after buying a van load of old
bee hives, etc. at the Parker  Petit auction sale north of Toronto…maybe  near Beeton come to think of it.  All I needed
was instruction and a load of bees from an American supplier.  Getting the bees was easy.  Understanding  the bees  was
another matter. First mistake… I put good bees in old hives.  They got diseased and had to be burned.  Awful.  The worst part came
next.  Ed (deleted last name) was my bee instructor.  Seemed like a  nice fellow until he turned up at our house when
I was away.  His intentions were sexual and Marjorie was appalled.  She phoned me at PCI and I in turn phoned
Ed.  The call was  not nice.  I did not care if  his wife was listing.   So ended my beekeeping career.

Andrew, our son, will not make the same mistake.  His instructor is one of my lifelong friends.  He has been
beekeeper for 50 years.  Loves his bees.  And  loves helping youngsters willing to take up beekeeping.  It cannot
be a casual  thing.  Bees are one of the most organized living things on this planet.  They do not take well
to amateurs.

MARAUDERS ARE OUT THERE

Russ: “Skunks and bears have killed many
of my bees.  They  find them tasty.  The Skunks just scratch on he hive..like knocking at your door.  When  the
bees come out the  skunk eats each bee as you would a nice  sweet chocolate.  A skunk can eat a  lot of  bees.
The worst raid was  by a bear.   My bee  yard is near Orillia which can be bear country on rare occasions.
The bear just lifted the supers of the hive one by one.  Ate until his  gut was full then ambled away  leaving
my bee yard devastated.  I spent a couple of evenings parked near the hives  intending to get that bear.
The bear outsmarted me…never came back.”



SEE THE white/yellow pack of pollen attached  to this bumblebees back legs?


Sunflowers are immense.  But no bees.  No nectar.


The secret trial  to the bee yard.  I walked.   Russ and Andy drove.


Our fields of  goldenrod could be  saviours of Andrew’s bees.   Currently bee yard is located between
two fields of commercial soybeans.  Long past the flower stage.  

“How far will a bee go for nectar,  Russ?”
“Maybe 2 miles although they do not like the long trips.”




“So what do you think, Russ…good bee yard?”
“The problem is getting these bees  ready for winter.  One hive is OK, the
other is weak.  We may  have to combine  them if Andrew  is to have bees 
next spring.”
“Can Andy  get any honey  this fall?”
“Maybe, but the bees have to eat as well…I would wait until
next year when the hive(s) might be stronger”


Russ, the beekeeper in Andy’s bee yard.  “Will the bees live or die?”

How  can you tell that Russ has been a beekeeper for a long time?  Look  at his  bee outfit.

The weirdest thing about this bee visit was that Andy and Russ dressed up like spacemen while all  I wore
was short pants and a polo shirt.  I  should  have been scared, I guess.  Neither Andy nor
Russ paid  any attention to my vulnerability  They talked bees…as  if I was  not there.

“What if  I get stung, Russ?”
“Bee stings could do you the world of good…my dad  said
they were good for arthritis pain…reduced the pain”
“I do  not have arthritis, Russ?”
“Well, enjoy the bee stings as if you do.”

“Alan, would  you pipe down.  Andy and I have serious  work
to do here.  Go out and take pictures of thistles.”



Thistle honey…a rare sweetness


“Andy, the success of any bee  colony rests with the female bees.   They do  all the work.
The male bees do one thing and then they are useless.  Most die.  The females keep a
few around but must get irritated  for the drones just flop here and there.  They do  nothing
except do a bit of breeding.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Meaning?”

“Women are multi tankers.  They do  most of the work around  home.  Men just hang around
and drink a beer or two…now and then.”

“Where did you get that idea,Andy?”

“From my dad.  Look at him right now.  He is doing nothing but taking pictures.  We 
are working.”

“But we are males too…drones. “

“Right, maybe we should  consider a  sex change.”






Marjorie and  the bee keeper’s wife, Anne…plus a friend.

“Russ, could that mask… above Marjorie and Anne…could the mask scare skunks away from
the bee hives?”

“Scares  me.”

We are awaiting the honey.   Humans  are such insensitive creatures.  Here we are prepared to
steal honey from bees  who have collected  nectar from millions of tiny flowers.   We are worse 
than insensitive.  We are greedy.   We give them back sugared water after stealing their honey.

How did that fox get in the house ?  Marjorie come and  get the fox our of here..


Russ and  I  have been good  friends ever since high school.  We spent our high school years
going on camping trips using our thumbs to get rides, then playing football for years in the mistaken
belief that girls liked the game and would therefore marvel at our skills of knocking  people down.
We were mistaken.  We did, however, marry roommates at Victoria College, University of Toronto.
That was one of our great achievements.




This is our son Andy and his wife Julie.

Marjorie and  her pet cow named Elsie.


Two beekeepers.   Andy has kept bees for 1 month.  Russ and his dad have  kept bees for more than 50 years.  “I still do not fully understand my bees even
after 50 years.  I do my best to keep them healthy.”

alan skeoch
August 2020

Fwd: EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE
Date: August 25, 2020 at 10:04:17 AM EDT
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>




EPISODE 99”  LAST FLIGHT OUT … ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch
August 2020




EPISODE 99   LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A  CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch
august 2020

PILOT  “Listen boys, I do not like this little lake
so do your work fast.  The water is going down
and  landing will get difficult.”

“Take less per load.”

“Possible but soon there’ll not be enough water to land.”

“These  are the last off our anomalies…we will work fast.
Come back for us in three days.:  (I do not remember this time line exactly)


The summer of 1964 was hot.  To many that means heightened fire  danger which was
true.  We had a no fire rule for much of the summer. But the real danger was the slow but
steady evaporation of water from the lakes.  A lot of water
was gone between June and September.  That fact is apparent in the photograph of
our fly camp (Episode 97).  Looks like the water has gone down five  feet or more.

Flight pontoon landings that were easy and safe in June became difficult and dangerous
in September.

This picture was  taken  in mid August.  Take a  look at the high  water mark on the shore.  Seems water had  gone  down about
four or five feet by then.  On  our last job the water level had dropped more.  Very dangerous for water landings and takeoffs as
we discovered.

It was our last job. 
we Were  finished. The crew had returned to Paradise Lodge to pack up.
Marjorie had caught the ACR to Sault Ste Marie.  “Meet you at
the airport, Marjorie…maybe around noon.”   My part of the job  was finished.  I had to be
back in school by the end of the Labour Day Week  End.    

The plan was neat.  We had finished work on an anomaly close to a small lake
south of our Wart Lake camp.  All that was left was a pile of gear….tents, cooking
goods, some wire frame cots, axes,shovels.,Coleman  stoves, fuel, etc.  I don’t really remember what was
in the pile of goods.   Maybe 200  to 300 pounds  of
euipment.  



“I don’t like this lake…too shallow,” said the pilot when he dropped us a few days earlier.

“And it will get worse.”

We did the job as fast as we could and had arranged a pick up.  Don’t remember much about the first flight
  but I do  know I was  feeling quite nostalgic.  This would be the last bush job of m life.  I knew that
and wanted to savour my exit alone. Crew out first.  The flight went
well although the distance from touchdown to the end of the lake was short.  

That was not the problem.  I did  not expect a  problem for I was  wrapped in
my memories of so  many bush  planes on so many lakes.  Mostly Beavers but a  few
Cessnas and one Seabee which was just a visitor being dropped off.  “Those 
Seabees are really dangerous.  Motor at the rear.  Pushing.  If the motor quits the
goddamn thing drops like a rock.  No ability to glide.   Cessnas  glide best.”

The Cessna 170 came in  at tree top level.  Had  to.  Landing strip of water was short 
as evaporation created shallows where  once  there was two or three feet of water.

The pilot cut power early and  the plane settled  down  harder than usual.  Bigger chevron 
of water.  And something different.  Slightly lopsided.  The plane turned  and  idled
its way to our landing site.  Slight slant.  Odd.

“Hit a fucking deadhead.  Ripped the pontoon…goddamnit.”

Submerged  objects terrified bush pilots.  Often they took a run at landing
then circled.  Looking for objects.  Like dead heads…old submerged logs or
trees  sometimes angled upwards.

“I’m going to pump out the water while you load.  Could be tricky.  Put 
load  as far forward  as you can…need the weight for extra  lift.”

Took no time at all.  Ignition. And we worked our way to best takeoff  position
and he gave it full power.  We flumed our way down the lake with an increasing
slant as the pontoon filled with water.   Fast but not fast enough.  The far shore 
and  tree line got closer and  closer.  “Can’t make it!” and the pilot cut power and  the plane settled.  Slightly off centre.  And close
to shore.  Too close.

“Dump the load on the beach.  We’ll try  once more but empty.  Got to get off
this fucking lake. “  He cursed and  pumped out the pontoon water.

“There.  Let’s give it another try.”

He taxied down as far as he could without getting tangled in weeds.  Then
we were moving.  The pontoon filled with water as we went full throttle
down the lake.  Far shore became the near shore.  No lift yet.

“Move your body  forward…gut more lift.”

Then we had liftoff.  To me it seemed  just in time.  Seemed we were
just skirting the swamp and  maybe touching tree tops  Not true of
course.  Imagination played.

The rest of the flight was easy.  In an hour we had landed at Sault Ste
Marie where Marjorie was supposed to be waiting.  I had said noon but
we were late, very late. She was not there.
Her turquoise VW beetle  was in the parking lot but no sign of 
Marjorie.

Then she walked into the holding lounge from the aircraft side.

“I pretended to be  sick.”


“A man offered me a tour of the city from his plane.  I did  not
know he was just a pilot in training.  Scared me near to death.
Only way we got back on the ground  fast was I pretended  to
be about to vomit”

And so  it ended.   Our days of mining exploration were over.  They
ended with a bang.

alan  skeoch
August 2020

P.S.  I know this sounds hard to believe.  Writing from memory
can result in exaggeration.  So here are the simple facts
of that last flight.

1) Water levels had  fallen dramatically (see picture)
2) Pilot did hit something and punctured one pontoon.
3) I  watched him pump out the pontoon
4) We failed to get liftoff on our first attempt and jettisoned
the cargo on the beach.
5) Second attempt was just barely successful and I remember
the pilot asking me to lean forward.
6) Our baggage?   Do  not know what happened.
7) Marjorie did take a joy ride that scared her enough to feign vomit
8) This  was  not my final job.  The next summer we flew to Merritt
B.C. on a short seismic job.  But this Paradise Lodge job was
my last bush  job.
















EPISODE 100 BEST CROP IS FLAX…FOR THE MOVIE INDUSTRY

EPISODE 100    BEST CROP IS FLAX…FOR THE MOVIE INDUSTRY


alan skeoch
August 2020

“OUR best crop is Flax.”

Friends  and relatives often ask us what do we grow on our farm.  I have 
a standard answer…”Flax”…followed by fragment of explanation…”for the movie  industry”

Now that makes us,  Marjorie and  I, sound like big time farmers.  The truth is less exalted.
Our flax  crop needed  a little high powered marketing before we reached the big time.
Big time?  What a load of  hot air.

We  grow about an acre of flax which fights for existence in a 
field  full of  weeds.  Flax  is  tough and succeeds here and there.




But to get rentals.  Yes, rentals…we rent our flax.  It is  not a consumable unless the mice
get at it in the seed  ball stage.   Our flax never reaches  the seed ball stage.  We harvest it
just after the beautiful tender blue or purple flower drop their petals.  Less  attractive to mice.   That is
our little trade secret.  Do not copy.

Harvesting about 100 bundles of flax.  Not a truckload.  Maybe two  wheelbarrow loads when its bound
with binder twine and looped for hanging. Then the flax  is ready for the sales pitch.



“What you  people need is a load of our flax to hang here and there
in your movie…maybe a market scene or a murder scene.   Hanging
flax can make things mysterious.  Your camera can  move on one side
and presto … you have mystery.”

“Let me  demonstrate”



“There are 44 bundles  of flax now hanging in the workshop.  Our target each year is 100.  
the rest is left for the field  mice or winter  birds.   We are generous farmers.”


Please do not look closely at our harvest.  I would  prefer you not see the binder twine looping system.  Just look
at the pretty blue or purple flax  flower.


We diversify our crop rentals with a bunch of hanging tobacco.  The trouble with
renting tobacco leaves is that some never comes  back.  I suspect the movie
crews like to  roll your own .   Who cares?  Loss is just the cost of doing business.



Now  suppose you want the aged effect.  Well we have a supply of  aged flax…brown.  
Some of it is in the ball stage because we were too slow in harvesting.  That gives 
the flax and even more mysterious appearance.


“Our flax is hand harvested.  This dump rake is just a prop to make us look mechanized.”

“Can you find the flax among the weeds?…look for the little balls”

alan  skeoch
August 2020

p.s.  Do not call in the next couple of hours.  We will be in the back field
hand harvesting and bundling.   

Note from Alan…ON MY 99TH EPISODE

HI,
SOME of you actually read these Episodes. Some of you do not because your lives are full or you think I am a jerk…or both.
I just sent Episode 99.
Why am I doing this? Several reasons but foremost is the fact that many of you are stuck in isolation and I felt these stories might break the boredom. Another thought is the stories might trigger your own memories and thereby make the tedium less onerous. Maybe you might even record moments in your lives that were memorable.
Another reason is that I hoped my grandchildren might read them and see their grandfather and grandmother in a different light. Not sure they even read them sadly.
alan august 2020
P.S. I am not finished. The stories will keep coming.