MORE THAN ELVIS & GENUINE HUGS

My friend, Martha, told me quite a while ago about an entertainer who sings just like Elvis.  She asked me if I would go to see him sing when he came back to The New Wild West, aka SCA.  I said that I might go and asked her to let

me know when he was going to be here.  Apparently, I also said that I would write about him in my blog.  Truthfully, I have zero recollection of that conversation, but Martha, all 80(ish) years of her, remembers and almost a year later coerces me into keeping my ‘maybe’ to her. 

Several weeks go by and Mary reminds me every time we bump into each other, which is fairly regularly, as we both have dogs and walk them mostly every day.  We make arrangements for me to pick her up on the big day, since her place was on the way to The Beam, an old barn which was converted many moons ago to a party room in North Park.

The concert is to start at 2:00 p.m. and finish at 5:00 p.m.  OMG, I thought to myself, how will I ever sit still for that long?  Also, I have found living in a community of silver heads, everyone just has to get where they’re going well in advance of whatever time it is they need to be there.  So, Martha instructs me to pick her up at 1:30, for the 5 minute (not even) car ride to The Beam.  Of course, I sometimes forget, it does take some silver heads a little longer to navigate the 3 or 4 steps out of their house and then up the longish ramp/stairs up to the venue.  I join the ranks of vehicles snaking their way up the incline and drop Martha off at the top, so she wouldn’t have to cane her way up all the steps.  That would have taken a while.  It was very cold out and the wind howling like a band of pissed off monkeys.  I wish I was Martha for a few minutes, after I park my car in the Outer Limits and run up the ramp, ducking around the cars coming down.  You just never know how well any of the drivers here in SCA can see.  I almost got smunched by someone just yesterday, when I was leaving South Park, by a man who obviously did not see the stop sign he had.  Sigh.

Elvis was already in the building when we arrive at 1:35 and Martha anxiously peers around the room to find her friend Wanda, who is saving us seats.  Not bad, three rows back from the stage.  I just know that we will be able to feel the sweat should Elvis choose to fling some our way during his performance.   We get settled and Martha introduces me to her other friend Sarah, sitting on the far side of Wanda.  

I’m a people watcher from way back and enjoy seeing the interaction, not only between people who live here in SCA and have known each other for a long time but also between Elvis and the people who have come to hear him sing.  Elvis is sharing hugs with abandon and obvious enjoyment and it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying the hugs the most. I have to say that I am a sucker for a genuine hug and wonder if I’ll get to share one with Elvis.

                       

       

                                                                             

                                                                                                              

Terry Chisholm, aka Elvis, spends the time before his show starts mingling with his obviously adoring audience.  He

doesn’t seem to notice me or the others capturing his image and if he does, certainly doesn’t seem to mind.  He is a man who appears to be in the moment with the people who have chosen to come and see him perform and there is nary a smart phone to be seen.  Actually, I did not see Terry whip one of those out at all, including during the intermission, where again, he chose to spend the time chatting with the people, sharing more hugs and snagging a coffee and a cookie (which were excellent by the way).  All that talent, beverages and great cookies and hugs, including one for yours truly, for just 12 bucks.  I’m thinking that sometimes it does pay to be old(er) and living here in SCA.                                 

The time just flies by and I think back to thinking how I would have to sit still for 3 hours.  I don’t think there was 2 seconds I sat still ‘cause Elvis, plus a bunch of his friends were definitely in the building.  Toe tapping, shoulders be-bopping to the music and rhythm and my entire body swaying to the golden tones and tunes of not only Elvis, ‘cause he brought company - Gary Puckett and The Union Gap, The Beatles, Kenny Rogers, Tom Jones, Roy Orbison and Englebert (who could ever forget him, with a last name like Humperdinck?), which brought back my teen years, to name a few.  Sigh.  I close my eyes and feel the pulse of the music and the passion of the artist saturating the words, the old barn boards just-a reverberating. Although Terry is described as a tribute artist to the legendary Elvis Presley, I have to say that I think Terry does it better. 

                       

© 2016 Phyllis Mahon - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES or content FROM THIS WEBSITE” without permission.

THE COLLECTOR

You know, I’ve often wondered why, when you have more than one ‘thing’, people like to think that you are now a Collector of that thing.  I figure, though, it’s because now that you Collect ‘something’, it makes it easier for those people to buy you gifts.  AND, of course, one day someday, because it’s a Collectible, it will (might) be worth lots of money.

 

    I managed to combine 2 collections in one

Think about it.  Companies subtly, yet invasively, perpetuate that Collector urge in people.  Cows, roosters, cars, trains, Mickey Mouse, thimbles, spoons, salt and pepper sets, rocks, stamps, beer cans and/or bottles and just plain old pop bottles or old bottles.  Coca Cola, Pepsi-Cola, KIK Cola. A & W Root Beer. Moustache cups, snuff boxes, perfume bottles.  It's endless and expensive.  AND, if you slip over the edge, just a leetle bit too far, you get to star on Hoarding: Buried Alive.

I remember as a rebellious teen, I took up smoking.  Hmmm, how to make sure my snoopy mom didn’t find the contraband?  I started collecting empty cigarette packages, of course.  I used my dad’s old, khaki coloured, metal army footlocker to store my collection in.  It didn’t take my mother very long to find my stash though.  I’m not totally sure how she figured it out but I’ve always thought that one of my three sisters ratted me out.  That was the end of that collection.

Tins used to be one of MY favourites and I had a lot of them.  It started out that most, if not all of my tins were for food stuffs; crackers, cookies, baking soda, Oxo.  Chocolate, of course, is a big one.  Quality Street is one of the prettier ones.

Then, don’t ‘They’ come out with small power tools in a tin.  Blew me away to see that and I actually have one.  It’s a dual purpose gift – useful and satisfies the tin collecting itch.

                       

Despite being determined to re-home my tins, which probably numbered over 100 (I never counted), slowly and surely over the 4+ years since I decluttered before moving, I have once again started ‘collecting’ things in tins or just the odd, interesting tin.  A few I actually saved when I was thinning out the herd - just a couple of my favourites.  Somehow, I think that by keeping just a few, it created the catalyst to still being a Collector.  Maybe it’s considered a soft addiction?  Hmm, I wonder if there is rehab for that?

                  

 I think the wire ones are trying to pull/push
 the plastic one out of the nest

Collecting anything kinda reminds me of the old wire coat hangers.  Didn’t it seem like all of a sudden you had hundreds of them in the hall closet, when just the night before, there were only 3?  What happens at night, in the dark, in the closet?  The wire hangers get together, maybe a ménage a trois, creating all those instant offspring which promptly come tumbling out of the closet as soon as you open the door.   AND, of course, they are so hopelessly tangled up, that they form, in some bizarre way, an abstract sculpture, which you’ll be able to sell on e-bay or Amazon for hundreds, if not thousands of $$$$$$.  You just know it will.

Have you noticed though that wire hangers seem to be disappearing?  Which will only add to the collectability of them, as sightings become rarer.  Maybe it’s the greenhouse effect?  My theory is that it’s the car manufacturers which have created this scarcity of wire hangers.  After all, as soon as ‘They’ changed the design of the locking mechanism on cars, to the now, new sleeker-looking design located on the side door panel, instead of on the top of it, even if you could find a wire hanger to try and slide through the miniscule window opening ‘cause you’ve left the keys in the ignition and locked yourself out, it won’t help.  You can’t even see what you’re doing ‘cause of the angle of the dangle and even if you could, there is no way in hell you’ll be able to hook it on the lock to pull it open.  I’m thinking that the car industry revamped the lock so that it would be harder for car thieves to use this time-honoured method to break into your car but I happen to know that car thieves used a jimmy, not a wire coat hanger.  It’s a lot faster.  Nowadays, they’re even more sophisticated and use modern technology to get a read on your wireless key signal, trap it and then pop the locks open the moment your back is turned and steal anything in your car that isn’t nailed down, including your new leather gloves, which was a treat to yourself and your kid’s french homework.  WTF?  I almost always lock the doors manually, thereby increasing the odds of locking my keys in there.  Thank goodness Roadside Assistance was invented.

We have come sooooooooo far from the lowly wire coat hanger.  And of course, along with the advances, comes the financial cost.  A car ‘key fob’ costs around $250.00 at the dealer.  Around $70.00 for a generic one.  Whatever happened to a ‘normal’ metal key, which you could get made at practically any store which sells hardware, for $1.98?  I used to have a couple of spare key sets (one for the house and one for the car) stashed outside, just in case.  Now I can’t afford to do that and even if I could, how would those electronic marvels survive the temperature fluctuations and extremes of our Canadian weather, even if sealed in a Ziploc baggie, secreted in a tin, then buried in the garden?  And then try to find it under 4 feet of snow.

I digress.  So even when you think you’ve beaten back the demons of being a Collector, have you really?  Or, is the urge still there, waiting for you to forget that you’re not Collecting anymore?  It’s insidious.  Just when you think it’s safe to ‘go out there’ again, you know, deep down in your heart and that teeny, tiny little region of your brain, I think  the Amygdala, that it’s not.  It’s just like being an ex-smoker – that first drag after having quit for a while, whether days, months or even years, may make you feel a little sick but the second one is easier and by the time you’ve had 3 or 4 puffs on your friend’s ciggy, you’re hooked again.  You just won’t admit it for a while.  Soon you’re smoking OP’s (bumming off of Other People).  Pretty soon you’re buying your own again.  These days, I’m told it costs about $12.00 a pack.  I’m soooo glad I stopped smoking almost 15 years ago.  It’s the only way I could afford to buy a house and make the mortgage payments!  And buy my tins.  And my Mickey stuff.

                                 

DEATH OF A PARK

Taken July 29, 2016 - 2:00 p.m. - one of the main parking areas
for the Innisfil Beach Cruisers weekly event

Four years ago, attracted to Lake Simcoe’s shorelines and the serenity of Innisfil Beach Park, I moved to Innisfil from the GTA. After settling here, I frequently went to Innisfil Beach Park to walk, and enjoy its glorious tranquility. But things changed quickly and my enjoyment of the park didn’t last long. I believe that sometime around 2014, Innisfil Town Council issued a mandate to make this beautiful park the “hub” of Innisfil’s community.

That’s about the time The Innisfil Beach Cruisers car club (a private interest group) began using the park for their weekly meetings, in their current location. Beginning in May, every Thursday night for 20+ weeks, club members drive numerous vehicles (sometimes more than 125) onto a path intended for pedestrians and bicyclists.   After driving up the walkway, club members park their vehicles along the turf areas, abutting the path. When the club activity is finished, they drive back down the pedestrian path.  Traffic jams are the norm, since all the vehicles are leaving at the same time.

Concerned that this irregular park usage seems to be creating a lot of problems, I met with Jason Inwood, the Town’s Operations Manager, in early August 2016.  The meeting wasted my time as most of my concerns remain unaddressed. Still unresolved are questions around the health, safety and quiet enjoyment of the park for average park users and the pollution of our lake and park grounds.  There are increased costs to Innisfil taxpayers for parkland repair and maintenance and bylaw enforcement.  There is no clarity as to how the Town benefits from this particular use of the park. 

Jason Inwood had asked for a list of my concerns, so that he could be prepared for our meeting when he returned from his vacation.  It was e-mailed to him in a timely fashion but he wasn’t prepared at all.  Coincidentally, he just didn’t have time to review my questions and to this day, about 8 weeks later, has not answered most of them.  So many of the questions relate to the health and safety of the people who use the park and to the pollution of our lake and exactly just how the Town is benefitting by allowing our park to be used this way.  

Who is paying to remediate the turf areas after this private interest group is done with it?  There’s hardly any grass left in that whole area where the vehicles are allowed to park.  Has remediation ever been done? 

The negative effects of the club’s activities at their current location within Innisfil Beach Park are apparent: Vulnerable park users (the elderly, children, people using assistive devices, etc.) are inconvenienced and potentially endangered by vehicles encroaching into areas which are neither designed nor intended for them;

1)  Some club members impatiently rev their engines and/or sound their horns to intimidate pedestrians to clear the walking path as they enter and drive along it;

2)  Many club members park near the picnic pavilion, arranging vehicles right under the noses of the people trying to enjoy their meals;

People trying to enjoy their picnics 

                               


3.  Many of the club’s “vintage” vehicles spew smelly emissions and drip fluids onto the pedestrian path and turf areas, spoiling the quiet enjoyment of the park for picnic goers and other users, and polluting the ground;

4.  The traffic compacts and erodes the turf, and the grass is damaged and disappearing;Ground compaction from the vehicles parking on it damages nearby tree roots, adversely affects soil health and is conducive to soil erosion and polluted water run-off;

5.  Ground compaction from the vehicles parking on it damages nearby tree roots, adversely affects soil health and is conducive to soil erosion and polluted water run-off;

The picnickers were there first

                                                       

Notice the oil stains the geese have to walk through on their way to the lake?

             

According to the dictionary, a park is defined as: 

1. An area of land set aside for public use, as:   A piece of land with few or no buildings within or adjoining a 
town, maintained for recreational and ornamental purposes. 

In my world, that does not mean allowing 125+ vehicles to drive down a WALKING PATH every week, for 20+ weeks. 

A park IS NOT supposed to be used to trample on the rights of pedestrians, by allowing over ONE HUNDRED vehicles to be driven on it.  A few weeks ago, I was walking my dog at the park (during the private interest group’s event).  Being a dog, she has to stop many times to check things out.  I was on the path, getting close to the boat launch area, when a car, which I could clearly hear coming a mile away because of its noisy muffler system, drove up behind me on the walking path.  The driver HONKED his horn at me.  I’m assuming he wanted me to get off the WALKING PATH so he could drive further up to park his vehicle.  I spoke to the event’s organizer, Mr. Rick Winson, who seemed petulant when I told him I felt it was rude for that driver to blow his horn at me.  Pedestrians have the right of way.  Mr. Winson defended the driver by saying he was just “warning me that he was driving up behind me.”  I ask you – WHY IN THE HELL SHOULD ANY VEHICLE IN A PRIVATE INTEREST GROUP be DRIVING on a PEDESTRIAN PATHWAY in the first place, so that blowing its horn at a PEDESTRIAN IS EVEN NECESSARY? There is only ONE answer to the above – IT SHOULD NOT.

By-the-by, Mr. Winson just happens to have been on some committees with The Town’s Operations Supervisor, Nathan Robinson.  Let’s talk favouritism.  

There are many images and videos of this event, including a couple of videos which show someone using a mobility scooter, who has to get off the pedestrian path to let the vehicles go by. 

Why does this private interest group insist on holding this event on the lakeside, which necessitates driving over 125+ vehicles down a pedestrian path?  According to Nathan Robinson (Operations Department), it’s because Mr. Winson, the car club’s president and organizer, likes the lake view.

And so this private interest group’s 20+ weekly event was allowed to relocate (they used to hold the event near the tennis courts), jeopardizing the vulnerable and ruining the peace and quiet enjoyment for other park users, not to mention the ecological impact on the fragile park environment.

Signs at beginning of WALKING path

The Town Maketh The Rules
The Town Breaketh The Rules

I suggested, that since the resident’s parking lot has been changed to parking lot ‘D’, the parking lot by the snack bar (B) could now be used to hold the event.  It has all the amenities which I’m assuming the Town deems necessary to hold such an event; adequate parking and washroom facilities.  Oh and most importantly of all, according to Nathan Robinson, the view of the lake, that club organizer Mr. Winson demands. 

Parking Lot ‘B’ is ideal.  But, according to the Operations Manager, Jason Inwood, “It’s safer to drive a lot of vehicles down the path than to park in a parking lot.”  How does that even make sense?

A park is for walking, playing, picnicking, swimming, all of which we should be able to do knowing we are safe there and our health is not being compromised, along with health of our park.

   

 This is supposed to be our park, NOT a parking lot!

I find it disgraceful that a special interest group can usurp many other park user’s rights and safety, increase the taxpayer's burden, damage fragile parkland and pollute our precious watershed. The Town of Innisfil lacks the infrastructure and by-law enforcement to turn 68 acres of waterfront into The Hub of our community.

If members of the Innisfil Beach Cruisers truly respect the park as they keep stating, then how is it that they don’t realize what they are doing to our once beautiful park?  There are at least two other much more appropriate locations within the park in which they can hold their event.

Call Town Hall and voice your opinion (705-436-3710) or use the online form to express your concerns - http://www.innisfil.ca/i-want/contact-town-general-concern. According to Jason Inwood, a case file will be opened to address your concerns and staff will follow up with appropriate information.  

In the meantime, our beautiful park is dying.

Used to be a grassy area.  Now used as a parking lot for the Innisfil Beach Cruisers weekly event

Used to be a grassy area.  Now used as a parking lot for the Innisfil Beach Cruisers weekly event and a charcoal dump for lazy beach goers.

WATER RATS

This very long, so hot and dry summer brings back memories of the first summer I lived here, in the New Wild West. While I look back on it now and appreciate the novelty, at the time I was still finding my way in this unique biosphere I refer to as South Park. As the mercury in the outside thermometer creeps toward 100⁰ f, my mind drifts back to my now ex-next door neighbour, Deborah, about whom I will always remember …

Do you have a Nosy Posey living next door? I do. I would have thought that my Nosy Posey neighbour would be too busy, dashing here and there, to bother with my habits, in particular my lawn watering habit. Apparently, I’m wrong. 

Occasionally, watching the Sandycove channel (yep, we have our very own TV channel), I notice that water restrictions are in effect, using the time-honoured tradition of odd/even water usage for lawns, car washing, etc. Upon reading the monthly newsletter, I see that newly seeded/sodded lawns are exempt. Yay! I can keep my lawn alive, I hope. I try to maintain the odd/even schedule as much as possible but there is the occasional time that I water on an odd numbered day, even though I live in an even numbered house.                                         
                                                                          

Well, don’t I get a call from ‘Julie’ in the SCA admin office about watering on an odd-number day. Tsk Tsk Tsk. We have a brief chat and I refresh her that my lawn is exempt since it’s new sod. There was quite the silence after that. Then Julie mentions that maybe I could water for only 2 hours per day instead of 3. Hmmm, I think to myself, how would anyone but a Nosey Neighbour know how long I water my lawn for? I’m sure that SCA personnel have more to do with their time, than to stand in front of my house and watch my sprinkler putt its way ‘round and ‘round for three hours. Has to be a neighbour – is there a Nosey Posey living on Marlin Court? I mention to Julie that if the water pressure was better, I could probably water for a shorter time. Another silence. We end our confab with me saying that I’ll try and cut down a little. I am a conservationist at heart, especially with water (a non-renewable resource) but unless SCA gives me something in writing, stating that they’ll replace my sod when it dies for lack of water, I’ll keep on watering, odd days or not.

Sad Lawn

                                   
A few days later, my suspicions about the Nosey Posey living next door seem to be confirmed, when she jumps out at me as I’m setting up the sprinkler. She startles me, since my back is to her house. She flings open her side door so hard, it smacks into the wall behind it and out she pops. She calls me by name, her tone reminiscent of Fran Fine (from the hit TV series, The Nanny - Fran Drescher in real life) and asks me if I know that there is a watering ban. I respond and acknowledge that I’m aware of the odd/even restriction.

“No”, Deborah states with a hint of barely contained, smug ‘GOTCHA’ in her voice, “there is a TOTAL water ban”. Must be late, breaking news. Apparently, it has just been freshly posted on the SCA TV news channel and Deborah can’t wait to tell me. 

                                   
Since I don’t sit in front of my TV every waking moment to watch the SCA ‘roll-around’, how would I know?  Gently, I mention that newly seeded/sodded lawns are exempt.  The look on her face is priceless.  “Exempt”, Deborah repeats with a glassy look in her small, rat-like eyes. “Yes, exempt”, I repeat. “Oh”. Deborah says, and retreats into her house, shutting the door a lot more quietly than she opened it. 

 All the pieces start to fall into place, at least in my mind, and form, which I believe, is a rather accurate image of a

Water Rat. There always has to be at least ‘One of Those’ in every neighbourhood, doesn’t there? I wonder if Nosey Posey will be taking a walk around the Court and informing the other non-conforming residents about the water ban?

I didn’t see her out there, but later, while chatting with some of my neighbours, I voice my suspicions about having a resident Water Rat on Marlin Court. They all seemed to be shocked to hear we have ‘One of Those’ living here. From their reaction, I know that I have leapt to the correct conclusion of just who ratted me out. I feel that I should take it personally, since she lives right next door.

I hope Nosey Posey gets a life and finds something more positive to focus on besides my lawn-watering habit. In this kind of close environment, I try to follow the ‘Live and let live’ philosophy. If what your neighbour is doing is against THE PARK RULES, unless there’s a direct and harmful impact on your life, why be a tattle-tale?

The next day, I see Rich walking his dog, Sherman and I meander outside to ask him if he was going to mow my lawn today, since it’s cooled off quite a bit. Then I mention to him that I know who my Water Rat is. “Who?” he asks. “Deborah”, I reply, jerking my thumb toward her house. His caterpillar-like eyebrows shoot skyward. He then proceeds to tell me how one of his neighbours is convinced that when he turns on his water, it affects her water pressure. That’s a new one on me, but real or imagined, she has ratted out that neighbour, who is referred to as The Mayor of Marlin Court. So, it seems that we may have a whole family of Water Rats nesting on our quiet little court.

               Who you gonna call?  RAT BUSTERS!!!!

QUART III - HOW MANY BERRIES DOES IT TAKE TO FILL UP A BEAR?

  

So funny that my concern about bears hanging out in our neck of the woods is dead on.  My lips twitch into a half-smile as I remember the look Yvette and I shared when Shane told us about Baby bear having a nap in the birch tree.  It might be funnier but I can tell Shane and his dad, Sam, are really uneasy ‘cause they don’t know where Momma is. 

Yvette and I had decided I should go on ahead since I walk quite a bit faster than her and Sofie, to try and see if my car was okay.  It would be awkward to get home without it.  My spirited walking pace slows a bit as I get nearer the spot where I think Shane and Sam spotted Baby bear.  I’m not too sure exactly where Baby is, since there are a heck of lot of birch trees in these woods.  As I start around the curve in the trail, I hear a low growl.  My heart is in my throat and my breath takes a hitch … luckily it’s the silver truck inching its way down the path toward me and it’s packed to the rafters with Yvette, Sofie, and a young couple, who are all crammed into the back seat of the silver pick-up.  The winter tires have been wedged in between all the stuff in the bed and are quite secure there ‘cause there isn’t much wiggle room for them to move.

Shane’s driving now.  Dad Sam has look-out duty.  I was never so glad in my life to see that silver bullet come to a stop between me and the birch trees.  The back door flings open and everyone squishes together a little more to make room for not-so-slender me.  Sofie is panting up a storm on Yvette’s lap, spit dripping from her little pink tongue in a rivulet.  Yvette does not look too impressed with the dripping but the alternative would be worse – walking and taking her chances with Momma bear finding her on foot.

It isn’t too much further to the parking area and I heave a sigh of relief when we get within eye-sight and I can see my well-seasoned 12-year old Toyota Echo is unscathed.  Apparently Momma and Baby bear preferred the forest’s fare to the delectables in my car.  Thank goodness.  I’ve heard about people’s cars being torn apart by a determined Makwa (bear in native Algonquin).

                        

    

                                    Exactly what I’m afraid of!

We finish jouncing and bouncing our way down the trail about another half mile (about a kilometer) and finally pull into the grassy parking area.   I waste no time opening the door and all but tumble out. The young couple, who have introduced themselves as Carrie and John, locals who frequently visit The Tree Museum, heave a sigh of relief as they peel themselves out of the wedge.  Yvette manages to get the door on her side open and has a tenuous hold of Sofie as she gingerly tries to keeps from touching the side of the truck to keep her outfit clean.  I did mention that she’s a bit of a Diva, yes?  Even when fleeing from bears.

                                                                               Carrie & John

                                                              Our heroes, Sam & Shane are camera shy! 

                                                              

Finally we’re all out of the truck, stretching and searching pockets to find tissues to wipe our sweaty faces.  It’s warm today and excitement has amped up the temp, along with all the body heat generated by being wedged together in the back seat.  Now I know what a sardine feels like. We all start talking at once, as an adrenalin rush kicks in, now that we know we have out-witted the Shash (Navajo for bear).                                                                             

 As we calm down a bit, we introduce all of ourselves to each other and share a little about why, where and how we all came to be there and phew! isn’t it great to be alive?

Then, weirdly, the unmistakable haunting strains of a bagpipe drifts down the path towards us, trailing on the warm autumn air.  A preternatural calmness falls over the 6.5 of us (the half is for Sofie, The Wonder Dog), and I’m thinking in balloon words, ‘Huh?  A bagpipe?  Where is the hell is that coming from and more to the point, who in the hell is playing it?’

             

We all stare with astonishment, as a man dressed in full Scottish regalia, comes striding out of the very same trees we had just fled from, a bagpipe being pumped vigorously and belching out a melody which reminds me of the opening bars to Copperhead Road. 

   

                                            Pat The Piper

All of our mouths drop open simultaneously, our eyes riveted.  The piper realizes he has company and he takes his lips from the mouthpiece of the blow pipe and stares right back at us.  It’s a Gravenhurst stare-down!

It seems Pat (who lives in a town Down Below) arrived at The Tree Museum after Sam and Shane started bouncing their way down the trail looking for the people from two parked cars.  No one knew about Pat until we heard the music.  It turns out that he is piping at a local wedding and took some time to walk the beautiful woods and practice a little before his gig.  Maybe, just maybe, the wailing music spooked Momma and Baby and they skedaddled deeper into the forest to escape what surely was the freakiest noise they’ve ever heard.

And, hmmm, I wonder what Pat’s wearing under that beautiful kilt?

And yes, I still want to know how many berries it takes to fill up a bear, even if it’s  just a Baby bear.