Coming from a family of packrats- I have realized that over the past days, trying to sort through the “family stuff “ is going to be a huge project. I have literally thousands of photographs, clippings, books and papers to wade through. This is defiantly going to take years to complete. But, I am going to tackle it and get started…

For today though I am going to share with you some more of my memories at “Abbey Dawn”. It was such a magical place for me. Often during the summer months, when visiting my grandparents, Gramp and I would, in the morning, set-out through the wide screen door of the back porch, out along the winding driveway for the trek-up the big hill to the museum.

He would have his trusty walking stick in one hand and in the other, while we walked, you could hear the coins jingling away, as they rattled around in the tyrian purple coloured hand-knit wool sock (generally tucked into a Crown Royal purple cloth bag with a gold chinch rope). The money that clanged away as it was swung in the sock as we walked, was for giving change to the visitors at the museum.
My job during those walks was to carry the lunch and thermoses that Gran had prepared for us for our day up at the museum.

The museum was built back from the edge of where we call the ridge. The edge is a massive rock-top to the gorge (more on that in other stories) with a 'spansive'(wide sweeping vista) of the St. Lawrence River and beyond. On clear days one could see the United States across the water.

I remember at certain times of day, the Gananoque Boat Lines would float by and blow their loud horn and we would wave back, and ring the bell in reply. One time Gran and one of her sisters took me on the tour boat when they did this horn blowing right after they did a speel over the loud speaker about Gramp "Abbey Dawn" and its history. That was thrilling for me as I could just see in my minds-eye Gramp waving up on the ridge.

My memories of seeing the people arrive, park their cars in the lower parking lot and walk their way along the little pathway up to the site, listening to Gramp talk about what we were going to do and say, feeling excited about meeting new people and watching Gramp again “do his thing”. It was all such a wonderful adventure for me and I felt so grown-up being allowed to and expected to help.

The routine was generally about the same, Gramp greeting and welcoming everyone, introducing himself and me, explaining what the tour was going to consists of, talking about the reason for and the history of Abbey Dawn, taking the tour, amongst, showing and describing the numerous Native Indian artifacts while all the while meandering closer to the ridge. Finally getting up to the ridge and seeing Gramp spread his arms full-out to the position of his Native Indian name which was bestowed to him “Great White Eagle”, in full flight soaring over the vista. Every time I saw it I was mesmerized; he was a showman.

I, through all of this, was to keep my eyes on any young folk, keep their attention, relate to them, help keep them entertained while the grown-ups would do their thing, then as we left the ridge heading towards the museum the last stop tour stop I would gently herd the young folks attention towards the fun little goodies on and in the large deep dark wood and thick glass display cast which was just inside the left side of the double-door doorway. There, the pamphlets and souvenirs were on top of the showcase and the cash-sock was hidden underneath, and inside the case, were the very special small Native Indian items such as a small pouch, a pair of children's mocasines all beautifully beaded, a play toy and the long peace pipe. Also to, since "Abbey Dawn" was one of the first bird of prey sanctuaries in North America, there were the paintings by Allan Brooks that Gramp comissioned, and all the birdland information, about to.

a postcard dated Aug 1921

of a sandpiper on Gramp's hand, in prior years to Abbey Dawn

Some days it seemed like there were never ending groups of people filing through, and other days there would be just smatterings of visitors, and, in between giving the tours was my private time spent with Gramp, it all was so wonderful.

I suspect I have enough materials to open up my own museum. Among the thousands of things I have four years worth of scrap books of my grandmother’s. She made them while she attended the Ontario Ladies’ College in Whitby Ontario, starting in 1909, there are all the historical stories and information about other family members, newspaper clippings and scrap books, two years of letters of almost daily letters from my grandmother to my grandfather prior to when they wed in 1913 he had saved, peoples diaries, WWI and WWII family correspondence, all the material my mother saved from when she trained as a nurse at KGH in Kingston and following when she prepared to go overseas and her time and recordings while over there, and it goes on and on and on ...

oh yes, then there is the bell,

how the Royal Patronage came to be, the movie, the Robert Holmes memorial, and on and on the stories go.

At times, I do admit, I have become quite overwhelmed with it all, but now that I am doing what my wise father suggested to do of mapping it out, and my sister Kerrie suggested of setting goals and sticking to them, it seems to be a bit less daunting a task, just as long as I keep my focuse on the goal at hand...

Admittedly, my living room reminds me somewhat what "the stacks" look like in the basement of the old Queen’s University’s library, and my previously called linen-room, now, has turned into just a catchall, the rest of my place I have thankfully been able to keep (so far) relatively normal, but I can not promise anything in the coming days months and so on. Hopefully, as time goes on, I will learn and be better equipped to cope with this, but in the mean time, I will just keep chipping way at it. And along the way, I will keep you up to date on my progress

The City of Kingston, where I wa born and raised is on the edge of the 1000 Islands. Being one of Canada’s oldest cities it has much history which I hope to discuss over time, but the following will give you an idea of the the region looks like

public domain image obtained from Wikimedia Commons

You can see more by clicking on Boldt Castle

 1000 Islands actually consists of  1,800 islands; what is considered an island is any landmass that is above the water for 356 days a year and supports the growth of at least one tree.

Beautiful images of the 1000 Islands and Boldt Castle can been seen at http://www.yousaytoo.com/patricia/1000-islands/3722

Have fun and I hope you enjoy.

And until next time enjoy being alive.

This post has been submitted to "Show and Tell" hosted by Cindy at  My Romantic Home

photographer Klaas Tuinman

Here is my grandfather wearing his recital robe seated at his desk in his study in the lower house at "Abbey Dawn".

From the day he left the business-world and became fully focused on being a poet writer and bird protector, he vowed to never-again wear a tie; the trillium collar was one of his trademarks and was his formal wear. My grandmother made and hand-sewed each one of the collars on his shirts. There is a funny story which I will later share about Gramp refusing to wear a tie, but for now I am staying to this story.

Do you remember the movie "Miracle on 34th Street"? Well, you see for years Gramp used a walking stick. He didn’t have to, it was for show. It was not a cane per se, but instead was a well-worn-smooth straight walking stick with a metal wrapped foot, and today it is leaning up in the corner of my vestibule. Every year, around this time, I look down and see it there, smile and remember.

Gramp used to use that walking stick to get visitors, at the museum up in the ridge, to focus. When he noticed that for what ever reason visitors were not fully attentive or if the children were becoming cranky or such, he would slowly walk to the door way of the building, stand in the center and while he was still talking, the walking stick would start to swing, wider and higher, widerer and higher.

For some, it took longer than others, to notice what was happening- Gramp and that swinging walking stick. Then all of a sudden, he would slightly toss it up in the air and catch it on his chin. Moving back and forth keeping it in balance he would by now have most but not all peoples attention. Then, the walking stick, would seemingly all by itself, jump to his tongue as he was still balancing it, and then back to his chin. This dance would happend several times and now everyone in the crowd was mesmerized.

Watching him intently the crown was usually hushed, but broke out into clapping and Bravos’ when the walking stick seemingly leapt down into his hand once again as he continued talking; he then would gently bow to his audience with his pious smile and that devilish twinkle in his eye he had, and would proceed to direct them inside the museum.

He was a great showman and grandfather, and a man of the people. He loved his birds, Native Indian history, integrity, was moved to write, and, he was emotional, which in his own words was out of character for his Anglo-Saxon background.

With his white whiskers, goatee, long white hair, trillium collar, passionate personality and ice-blue eyes,  he was a compelling character. His command of oration was nothing short of gripping, his gestures drawing and entertaining, and his passion unmistakable! He truely savoured life.

The living at Abbey Dawn was not high-style to say the least, he left that lifestyle behind when he left Montreal and the business, to persue his writing and passions.

He was a controversial person many times; other than the Shriner's, he purposefully gave-up all affiliations (excepting family), leaving him beholdin’ to no-one or group. He was defiantly a free agent onto himself.

Over the years he would publicly take to task Government, organizations groups and/or individuals when he deemed it needed to be done. He was well known in the region (and in the Kingston Whig Standard) to be an avid unrelenting defender and one who would bring to task (and publically if need be) others who no-one else would dare to.

So, like Kris Kringle in the movie "Miracle on 34th Street", Gramp stood his ground, held his stance, won … and left his walking stick behind as a reminder …

And oh ... how that old walking stick is treasured!

This post has been submitted to "Show and Tell" hosted by Cindy at My Romantic Home

Christmas Greetings from Abbey Dawn

This year, my Christmas decorations are going to be of Chistmasses of past. One such display is going to be my grandparents Christmas Greetings.

I do not know how far back the tradition went, but I have Christmas Greetings from my grandparants as far back as 1940 and I am sure there were others from earlier years, but so far I have not found any.

These Greetings personally designed by my grandfather Wallace Havelock Robb at Abbey Dawn, were sent out, yearly, to family friends and prominents alike.

Each year prior to the Christmas Season, he would set to task designing and having these specially printed.

A signal that Christmas was soon approaching was the day early in December my grandparents would take a special trip into town, together, to the main Post Office in Kingston, to mail out their Christmas Greetings.

The card-basket, that evening would be placed in it's place in the living room at Abbey Dawn. I remember each year during this festive season, that basket on the floor between Gramp's and Gran's chairs, across from the large fieldstone fireplace.

As the days peeled-away nearing to Christmas the pile of Christmas Greetings would mound-up to even overflowing and spill over. Gramp would sit with his wife, my grandmother, to his right, both holding hands as they always did while they were sitting in those chairs; she in her especially small high-back rocker intently listening, as any who where there also did, as Gramp read aloud the greetings received that day, from whom and what part of this world the Greeting came from.

HRH Prince of Wales Edward VIII was the Patron of Abbey Dawn (more on the history of Abbey Dawn and my grandfather in future posts) and the very special Greetings would be given their own deserving prominent place on the wonderfully substantial wood mantel that surrounded the deep and wide, floor ceiling, hand built fireplace, with it's tall andirons standing guard in front. Ahhh yes ... I remember it well, and very fondly indeed.

The following are scanned images of the actual cards, the first (1940) is one sided, the second (1957) is folded, showing  both sides, the third is not a card style with a flold, but still is two sided, showing both sides.

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The spelling of "Christmasse"  is an Old English spelling going back to at least the reign of Richard I in 1190.

To read about it click Here

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This post was submitted to the "Show and Tell" hosted by Cindy at My Romantic Home

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Over the next days weeks and months I will be writing my accountings of times at Abbey Dawn, and my writings about articles and photographs I possess today and the stories behind them. These, I will be posting in this blog;  about  my grandfather, his poetry and books, family history, and documented articles I will post in my blog at  "Abbey Dawn"

This, was found amongst the family papers from Abbey Dawn

Splayed out were teetering piles of papers and old photographs on the living room floor - I came across the following, on a aged and fragile sheet, crediting "Author unknown"

The Patter Of The Shingle

When the angery passions gathering
In my mother's face I see,
And she leads me to the bedroom,
Gently lays me on her knee,

Then I know I will catch it,
And my flesh in fancy itchings,
As I listen for the patter
Of the shingle on my britches.

Every tingle of the shingle
has an echo and a sting,
And a thousand burning fancies
Into active being spring;

And a thousand bees and hornets
Neath my coat-tail seem to sworm,
As I listen for the patter
Of the shingle, oh, so warm.

At a sudden intermission,
Which appears my only chance,
I say, "Strick gently, mother,
or you'll split my Sunday pants!"

She stops a moment, draws her breath,
The shingle holds aloft,
Then says, "I had not thought of that ---
My son, just take them off!"

Holy Moses and the angles,
Cast thy pitying glances down!
And thou, oh, family doctor,
Put a good, soft po(u)ltice on!

And may I with fools and dunces,
Everlasting mingle,
If I ever say another word,
When mother wields the shingle.

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Recently I’ve embarked on the journey of going through (as I refer to it) “the family stuff” and what a journey it promises to be; you are welcomed to follow along ...

Chick on you can click on Abbey Dawn  or go to http://elegancereclaimed-abbeydawn.blogspot.com/