The vegetable garden.

We think the area behind the barn once held goats as it has a mound of earth and rocks in one corner. Come the Spring it's going to be the place for growing vegetables so on Saturday I had a happy time deconstructing the manure pile and creating a flatish area of enriched ground.

Once it was done Charlie rolled all over it, probably due to the raccoon and porcupine bits distributed on the ground. That was quite cute so I didn't photograph it.

Still, for those who need cute, here's some more doggy tolerance:

More insufferable cuteness.

Tiny kitten in the presence of much larger dog.




This is all getting far too warm and fluffy for a blog of rough hewn neo-country folk. Perhaps we'll get some pictures of tilling in manure on the weekend.

Old Time Animal Therapy.

Charlie had some sort of mishap with his paw. This called for a herbal remedy and so, in the age old tradition, he got a poultice Saran wrapped to him.



It's a messy business and bits of remedy get scattered all over the house







but the good thing with a herbal poultice is that you can always eat the content.

Still sanding.

We're losing the weather so there's real danger that this is as far as the decorating will get this year. Shame to have half the deck sanded but at least the walls are done.





We can reinstall the whimsical bits when they're finished.



So, if it starts snowing tomorrow, we'll have three of four walls done. I'd really like to make some more progress on that deck though. Maybe I can sand in thermals.

More cuteness.

Mother and babies. (Pardon the state of the table).

Melancthon, Then and Now

Y'all knew that you wouldn't get away without a history lesson from me for too long, didn't you? This area's history is just too interesting (okay, so I think every area's history is interesting) to not dig around and learn about it when I get the chance. So, welcome to the first installment of the Dufferin County Then and Now Going Country Historical Perspective Series. First, some background. Melancthon township was first surveyed by Hugh Black in 1825. Being a Catholic, he named what he considered to be a God-forsaken wasteland after a most distasteful fellow: Phillip Melancthon, Luther's second in command. To be fair to Mr. Black, Melancthon was a very different place back then. It consisted entirely of swamp and bush ( that's what the natives call forest). Lewis Horning was the first settler in Melancthon. We'll get to him later. I will take this oppurtunity to point out, however, that he was an American.

Our first location of interest is the town of Melancthon, as much as there ever was one. Here we see Melancthon station and the elevator. Melancthon town started as a hotel, built by Michael Shoaff. The CPR (a railroad) and the Toronto-Sydenham Road necessitated many stopping points along the way for travelers. Why they chose that location, I do not know. A blacksmith arrived, as did more hotels. A sawmill and shingle mill were built in 1877 by James Sloane.

There isn't much of Melancthon left anymore. Some farms, and some fields. After the local timber was cut, only the railroad kept the town going. Improved rails, and improved roads made even that rest stop unnecessary. When the railroad closed, there was little reason for anyone to stay.
This is the old Melancthon station.

This is the only real building left at the corner that was once Melancthon town.

Next, we head to Corbetton. Like Melancthon, it started as a rest stop for travellers. James Corbett farmed and ran a hotel and tavern. A sawmill came, as did more hotels. This is a view looking east across the railroad tracks. The furthest building is, I believe, the old Corbett hotel. Notice the lack of trees and the vast spaces. That land had been heavy forest (er, sorry, bush) 20 years prior.

This is the same view, taken today. More trees, but you can still see the building pictured above. Those faint lines in the road were once the railroad tracks.

This is that building, close-up. I would have stayed to take a better picture, but the locals started to get restless. I'm not sure why Corbetton has survived when Melancthon hasn't. As late as 1973 it still had churches, a bank, and a school. Now it is only homes.

And on to one of my favourite photos, of Redickville. It was named after George Redick, a farmer, and, you got it, a hotel keeper. In its prime it had several hotels and a general store. I don't know if the picture below was taken in its prime. Any town with cows wandering down the streets is an okay town by me, though.

All that is left of Redickville now is a store. To our shame, we have never been in it.

And finally, to the jewel of Melancthon, Hornings Mills. Hornings Mills was first settled in 1830 by none other than Lewis Horning. And did I mention that he was an American? Mr. Horning was a virile man, producing 15 children. Little record is left of what Mrs. Horning thought of all this. In his later life, he recruited settlers to join him in the creation of a sawmill and a town in what was then an unsettled (okay, okay, except for those pesky Indians) wilderness. Speaking of the Indians, in 1832, four children, one of whom was Horning's, were kidnapped by the Ojibway. By 1834, Hornings Mills had nearly been abandoned, due to settlers being frightened and moving away. Even Horning left. The only family that stayed was the Silk family, whose homestead was on the land on which those SOBs Chinodin are now proposing to erect two windmills. But that is an issue for another blog entry.

Hornings Mills recovered, though Horning himself, and his wife, were too haunted by the loss of their child to ever return. By the 1880s it boasted "two flour mills, two saw mills, a woolen mill, a planing mill, a shingle mill, a tannery, a basket factory, a hardware store, two general stores, two blacksmiths', two shoemakers', two tailors, two wagon makers, a butcher, and a baker, as well as a hotel, a doctor, an undertaker, three churches, and a public school." At one time it was in contention to become the county seat of Dufferin county. It's population peaked around 1900, however, and though irresistably charming and cute without even meaning to be, (don't you hate it when towns try TOO hard to be cute?) it is now primarily only a residential settlement. Here we have what is described as a "bird's eye view" of Hornings Mills. This was clearly named by someone who has never stood on top of a real mountian looking down on a town. We'll let that slide, though. Not everyone can be from Colorado. Here we see the main street looking north.

And the same view, today.

Innit cute?

A long-time resident of Hornings Mills, Tina Fawcett, used to tell a story about being taken by her father to see an old Indian man who lived nearby, named, I suppose appropriatley (or perhaps insultingly?) Indian Joe. That man told of a legend of great treasures that would come from this earth, these sandy hills we now call home. That legend actually sparked a minor gold rush, though of course it came to nothing. Now, facing the prospect of windmills, gravel pits, and subdivisions, one wonders just how much Indian Joe might have known.

On a brighter note, a man named Polley was in the original group of settlers that Horning brought to the area. He was the man who first owned our little plot of heaven, in addition to about 1000 other acres. This, we think, is the creek named Polley's creek, which runs through Hornings Mills.
Our next installment of this series will be the ever-charming township of Mulmur. Keep watching for the exciting saga of Honeywood!

All historical photographs courtesy of the Dufferin County Museum and Archives. Sources for historical information: History of Hornings Mills, LH-162; Department of Public Records and Archives Press Release, June 28, 1968; History of Dufferin County, by Stephen Sawden, printed by the Orangeville Banner.

Kittens being cute.

Not much to say. One climbed out of the drawer. The others haven't yet.









People who have had enough cuteness today might not want to click on these:

A logic puzzle.

In school we were often faced by puzzles involving crossing a river with some peculiar assortment of animals and objects. We dealt with something similar on the weekend. Suppose you want to go on a trail ride. You have two horses and three riders, one of whom is autistic and cannot be counted on to walk for any great distance. You have a dog who could use a walk but who is not reliable in the presence of traffic. You have a trail but it starts across the road.

At Anna's suggestion we decided to share a horse between the neurologically typical riders, one riding, one walking, changing halfway. This allowed the other horse, Austin, to be led in a halter. The person leading Austin could use the other hand to lead Charlie across the road on a leash. All fine and good if you're nimble.

Ready for the off.




Across the road, dog unleashed. We've only the one dog so this is the best we can do to prepare the horses for running with a pack.



The rider indicates pleasure by hooting and hand clapping.



some reluctance here and there on the part of the horse



but in the main the ride went well



even if hooking everyone back together to recross the road is a bit of a trick



Back. And relaxing. That dog does tempt fate alarmingly though.

Fuzzy and fluffy kitten picture.

Enough with tractors and potential injuries!

Their eyes are open now and they're trying to walk, when they're not dozing. Their legs won't quite support them but they can do a couple of wobbly steps. Their mother washes them roughly with her tongue squashing them to the floor. They're loud when removed from their mother and all but one have developed an actual meow; the slowest one still has a lamb like bleat. Their personalities are coming out. Some are calm and quiet, and some are nervous and shouty. All have high foreheads and the faces of aged Asian men

In the neighbour's backyard.

The neighbour called wanting something done with firewood and the tractor. I've often told him just to use the tractor but touching another man's tractor is not, it seems, something traditionalists do.

I followed him into the woods behind his house.



What he'd done was to fell a couple of trees that had died, they had been close to the house but on a steep slope. He'd pushed the trunks down the hill and cut them in half. Now he needed them pulling out to the road so he could cut them up and haul the pieces up for the fire. He chained one to the bucket




and I pulled it backwards out of the woods.



Note that the ground is far from flat and a tree trunk must weigh as much as the tractor. There was some alarming tilting involved, operating the bucket control tended to tip the tractor as much as lift the log. I wonder just how many lives have been saved on farms since tractors have all had roll over protection systems (the metal loop over the operator's head).



We got the logs out and all weekend the woods rang with the sound of axe, sledge hammer and splitting wedge. There were numerous offers to come and get some exercise but none proposing a firewood donation so I just kept on with the house staining.

Where we had gone in with the tractor was originally a trail they used for horses. He suggested that we could ride out that way and into the fields so as to get started on a loop without having to cross the road. Last night we tried it. If there was once a trail it's now well overgrown. It was a pleasing ride though, we took the horses into an unfamiliar wood, one we didn't know so we couldn't guide them with confidence, and asked them to climb a steep hill through the trees with fallen brush underfoot. They did that with no problem so we then took them across some fields with frightening groundhog holes, along a road where a loud ride on lawnmower was operating and past two loose dogs, one very close to us. Several vehicles passed us, some wide and slow, some quick and close. The only thing that fazed Austin was a herd of cows a hundred yards away. Nothing bothered Dixie. Very pleasing. It's different to be out and about on a horse than in an arena, even if you're just walking rather than jumping, as there's so much to be aware of, to walk past such a range of spooky things without incident was a real confidence builder.