Blue Heron at 35

Three extraordinary booksellers (l-r) Barbara Pratt, Marilyn Maher and Shelley Macbeth – who owned and operated Blue Heron Books over 35 years – celebrated the store’s 35th anniversary Nov. 23.

Recently, I dropped into one of my favourite haunts in Uxbridge and asked a member of the staff if she had a copy of the new book by Philippa Gregory. After a quick dash to the non-fiction section, she retrieved Normal Women: Nine Hundred Years of Making History. She recommended it, something I always appreciate from staff members at Blue Heron Books. In fact, as I left, I offered the best compliment I could think of at the time.

“Lots of women making history at this establishment,” I said. And I meant it.

In Dr. Gregory’s nearly 700-page treatise, the author doesn’t focus on the obvious handful of heroines in British history – Elizabeth I, Agatha Christie, Florence Nightingale or Margaret Thatcher – but rather the legions of women who competed in jousts, designed ships, mills and houses, or enlisted in the armed services. (more…)

“Well aware” isn’t good enough

Volunteer firefighter with dashboard green flashing light.

Down from the 6th Concession I came, driving eastbound on Brock, this week. I slowed into the new 50 kilometre-per-hour zone. Then, I spotted him. A pickup heading the opposite direction with a green light flashing clearly on his dashboard. I pulled to the curb right away.

Then, a white SUV whizzed past me into the centre of Brock Street in a big hurry to make a left turn north onto Quaker Village Drive. An awkward moment followed, as the firefighter dodged the SUV. Finally, he passed en route to the firehall. I pulled up beside the SUV, still sitting in the left-turn lane. I honked my horn. She rolled her window down.

“You know that’s a firefighter trying to get to the hall, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “I’m well aware,” and off she sped into her left-hand turn, visibly ticked off at my scolding. (more…)

Do it locally, or lose it!

What 10 tons of tree did to our garage and car in the derecho.

It was the worst of times for us all. The May 21, 2022, derecho struck Uxbridge, Ont., from the Sixth Concession through the west end of town, across the railway yards, devastating homes, downtown apartments, Second Wedge Brewery and Trinity United Church among many places.

Power was out for days, phone service spotty, and just the goodwill of neighbours got us through. With our garage gone and my car crushed, I turned to my insurers, who told me my car was a write-off. They offered me a cash settlement for the wreck. I agreed. Then, the agent read me the fine print of my policy over the phone.

“The car rental clause (promising six weeks of rental,)” she said, “since you’ve agreed to the sale of your (written-off) car, it ends today.”

In effect, they had terminated my coverage seven days after the storm. (more…)

Finding the holiday spirit

Family Christmas tree hunting party. Dec. 17, 2023.

We’d wandered to the back of the back-40 last Sunday. Almost nobody was there. A bunch of the grandkids ran around as if it were the last day of school. My younger daughter and I walked in silence, scanning the horizon. She spotted one. I spotted one. Then my grandsons figured they’d found a tree. Eventually, I stopped and surveyed a likely candidate. “What do you think of this one?”

“Sure, Popou,” some of the kids said (calling me the Greek word for granddad).

But I waited for my older daughter’s youngest son to look and pass judgement. He smiled and said, “That’s good.” His mom, who usually decides, couldn’t join us this time, so the final OK fell to him.

“Let the holidays begin!” I said. (more…)

Tempest in a passport

Abandoned target range where 116th Battalion recruits honed their marksmanship for war in 1915.

Last April, about the middle of the month, I took a detour from my regular travels. I turned down a dirt road south of town, got out of my car and wandered into the bush. There, just a few feet into the woods lies a bunker containing the rusted frames of century-old shooting targets.

It was here young men, three generations ago, prepared to become part of Canadian wartime history. And as I imagined those young recruits of the 116th (Ontario County) Battalion, practising on their Ross rifles, I think of the photograph – at our township museum and depicted in our downtown mural – of troops leaving for the Great War in 1916.

Volunteers depart Uxbridge for overseas in 1916.

“God bless our splendid men,” the sign over Brock and Toronto streets reads in the photo and the mural. “Send them safe home again.”

(more…)

Wildfires – as close as your backdoor

Road signs do more than help travellers find their way – they can be a fire lifeline.

I escaped to a remote Ontario lake for some R&R last week. And as a guest at a wilderness property, I tuned in to what Ontarians at their cottages on holiday have on their minds. I figured they’d probably be talking about how many days it’s rained or encounters with bears at garbage dumps or the cost of gas just to get there and back. One night my hosts invited over a couple of their friends and I learned just what is top-of-mind in cottage country.

“You know the Smith’s Bay Road sign on the main highway’s been gone quite a while,” their woman guest said. “That means fire crews won’t know where to find us.”

A few seconds of silence followed as her timely concern sank in.

“I think we ought to get the ministry (of natural resources) to replace that sign quickly,” she added. (more…)

Where have all our sentries gone?

Spruces, pines, basswoods and maples were Ronnie’s sentry trees on our street.

I remember a sultry afternoon in the 1990s, a few years after my wife and I and our two daughters had arrived and put down roots here in Uxbridge. I was sitting on our neighbour’s porch. The July sunshine beat down on Balsam Street North with all the intensity of a mid-summer heat wave. My neighbour, Ronnie Egan, had invited me to sit for a few minutes’ rest from cutting grass. We were both enjoying the shady respite, when she pointed to the Manitoba maple trees that deflected the intense rays of the afternoon sun from both her house and mine.

“Sentries,” she said. “They’re like sentries up and down our street.”

I noted her military terminology referring to the trees – she being a Second World War veteran of the Women’s Royal Canadian Naval Service – and wondered why she’d chosen that word to describe the mature trees along our street. (more…)

Not quite Oz

Victoria Day weekend storm came right up my street in Uxbridge.

About midday on Sunday, nearly 24 hours after the storm that hit south-central Ontario, a cluster of people came walking down Balsam Street North toward us. My wife and I were piling a wall of tree debris in front of our home. We must’ve looked like zombies dragging branches and brush to and fro. We suddenly realized the cluster of people was our three grandsons, our daughter and son-in-law from a few blocks away in Uxbridge. My grandson ran up and embraced me.

“Just wanted to hug you,” he said.

“Me too,” I said and for the first time in hours I felt human again. (more…)

A new assault up Juno Beach

Cpl Fred Barnard of the Queen’s Own Rifles.

It’s just 20 years ago I learned about the toughest battle of Fred Barnard’s life. On a spring morning in 1944, our Uxbridge neighbour (then just 22) found himself on a landing craft with the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada about to storm the Normandy beach codenamed Juno. He had no family in France that needed saving. He knew none of the German soldiers occupying those Norman towns and seaports.

Rifleman Don Barnard of the Queen’s Own Rifles.

Still, he’d felt so compelled by the call for Canadians to help liberate the French from Nazi occupation that he and his brother Don travelled halfway around the globe to join the D-Day invasion on June 6.

“Give ’em hell,” Fred had yelled to his 20-year-old brother on the same landing craft.

Then, moments later, as he dashed for cover, among the first Canadians to penetrate Hitler’s Fortress Europe, Fred faced a horrific dilemma. There, in the sea water not yet ashore, he saw his brother with a bullet hole in his chest – dead before he’d even reached the sea wall. (more…)

Bredin’s Bakery – more missing than the name

Bredin’s Bakery during Uxbridge’s recent sign-wars campaign.

They had just finished sprucing up the shop. Walls and trim were freshly painted. They’d replaced some shelving and hung a vintage photograph of family ancestor, Greg Bredin’s dad, who’d originated the business. And probably best of all, they’d re-framed and re-hung some of their favourite bakery puns.

“Sorry for being flakey,” one read after they remodelled. “We’ve been procrusti-baking.”

Some of their slogans were also strategically placed around the bakery counters and display cases, including, “Have you tried a Bredin donut? If not, we understand. They sell out within an hour and a half every Saturday.” (more…)