There was a time I considered an early morning telephone call to be a positive occurrence. When young, it might mark the start of a safari to the jungle at the end of Finchley Street. Or a fact-finding expedition to the Woolworth’s in Snowdon. As time marched on, it might be a neighbour wanting to borrow the tractor or a client wanting to discuss a new project. However, as I approach the back door of life, these calls tend to herald the passing of yet another member of my shrinking cohort. Last week, it was a call from Ronna Mogelon down the road with the sad news that Peggi Calder had died.
As regular readers will recall, I’ve referenced Peggi on a number of occasions over the years. Most recently was on April 25, 2018 when I reported on her deservedly being awarded the Glengarry Pioneer Museum’s Volunteer Certificate of Appreciation. Ronna’s news came as a real shock. Just two weeks ago, Peggi had agreed to help me research an upcoming story. We were working on a land registry puzzle together. Knowing she had had some issues in the recent past, I asked after her health. She was a picture of positivity. Although, to be honest, Peggi always seemed to walk on the sunny side of life.
Every community, especially smaller rural ones, have a label for those who are not pure laine… from ‘offcomers’ to those who are ‘come from away.’ And while Margaret ‘Peggi’ Calder was not a born and bred Dunveganite, she was about as close as one can get. Peggi and her husband Bill chose to make Dunvegan their home 45 years ago. This move could have been attributed to the back-to-the land movement that flourished in the 1970s. However, I believe that Peggi had a rural soul. If Dunvegan hadn’t had the good fortune of attracting her, some other lucky region would have. And it would have been our loss.
For those of you who did not know this amazing woman or who had only a passing acquaintance, I encourage you to read the eulogy so lovingly written by her daughter Kathie. It can be found on the Munro & Morris web site. Here’s a brief excerpt: “Peggi was born in Paris, Ontario in 1944 at the Hamilton Place estate. Shortly after selling the family homestead in 1949 they relocated to Gore Bay on Manitoulin Island in Northern Ontario. It is during these years growing up that Peggi began to develop her love and knowledge of nature. In 1962, after a brief stop in Heron Bay, the family found themselves at a new home in Senneville, Quebec. Upon finishing high school and moving to Montreal to become an independent employed young woman Peggi met Bill. They were married in 1968 and bought a house in Pointe Claire, Quebec out of the city, where in 1971 they began a family. In 1975 Bill realized Peggi would not be settled and happy in a suburban home for long and they moved for their final time to a farm in Dunvegan, Ontario.”
My path crossed Peggi’s on many occasions and my life is richer for it. Nearly thirty years ago, she took my family on one of her wonderful Back 40 Tours… an educational stroll through our property with her pointing out fascinating facts about the flora and fauna we encountered along the way. It was such a hit with the kids that we had Peggi develop a Mother Nature’s scavenger hunt we used again and again with visitors. And when she was the president of the Dunvegan Women’s Institute and I headed up the Dunvegan Recreation Association, we negotiated the transfer of the Orange Lodge’s stewardship from the WI to the DRA. Last, but not least, I had the privilege of working with her as part of the Tamarack Creek production team for a number of years.
My favourite memory of Peggi goes back decades. It all started one fine summer day when she arrived home to find a turkey mauled in the yard. This was before wild turkeys had been reintroduced to the region, and it was a member of the flock Peggi was raising for gastronomic consumption. As Kathie recalls, “mom brought the squawking bird into the kitchen to clean it up and assess its injuries.” Unfortunately, the injured bird’s cries enticed the attacker, a fox, on to the back porch. There, bizarrely, it began eating a dead plant. Realizing in an instant the fox was not well, she ran to get the family shotgun. By the time she returned, the vulpine predator had two paws up on the screen door. Quickly deciding that fixing the door was a better option than allowing the obviously sick animal to pass on its infection, she shot it right through the screen. “I remember biking up to the house with a friend shortly after,” Kathie told me in an email. “When they saw the dead fox on the porch and the large shotgun hole in the door, they immediately turned and headed home. So much for my play date!” I think this Tale of the Rabid Fox sums up this marvellous woman’s approach to life perfectly. She was quick thinking, public-spirited, pragmatic and fearless. Terry and I will miss her greatly.
In the eye of the beholder
Last week, I talked about Empey’s Inn, one of a number of rest stops for 19th century stagecoaches travelling the King’s Road. Cornelia and Henry Empey, United Empire Loyalists and distant relatives of Tammy Johnston-Jodoin, established the public house in 1814. (If you missed the story and want to catch up, it’s posted on my Dunvegan-Times.ca blog.) I also mentioned the impressive stone house that her forefolks built on the north side of the road just west of the inn. The walls were 20 inches thick and the hand-hewn beams were 12-14 inches across. A separate kitchen with a fireplace and bake oven was added around 1850. And when the Empey Inn was eventually torn down, its timbers were salvaged to build a shed behind the stone house. The last members of Tammy’s family to inhabit what came to be known as the Thompson-Empey house were her great-uncles Clifford and Everard Thompson. Uncles Cliff and Eff, as Tammy called them, had lived in the house since the day they were born. While some rudimentary concessions had been made to modern conveniences, an “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” philosophy prevailed. Tammy and her cousins were fascinated by the privy out back.
In 1975, Cliff and Eff had had it with farming. They sold the family farm to a professional couple from Montreal and headed off to the Glen Stor Dun Lodge. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before renovations began on the old Thompson-Empey house. The new owners were skilled craftspeople and they moulded the property to reflect their lifestyle and artistic sensibilities. Once the major changes had been made and the decorating was complete, the new owners hosted an afternoon tea for Cliff and his six nephews and their wives. (Cliff’s brother Eff had passed away.) Tammy’s mom and dad picked up Uncle Cliff at the Lodge and off they set for the old family homestead.
The new owners were rightly proud of all the work they had done. All the exterior stones had been repointed. New heating, plumbing and electrical systems had been installed. And the interior was awash with antiques. For example, an antique carousel horse was hung on the wall of the dining room. And, when a small window was discovered behind the wall of the east addition, it became a showcase for antique baby booties.
On the way back to the nursing home, Tammy’s mom told Cliff that they all thought the house’s makeover was beautifully done and asked him what he thought. Uncle Cliff told her parents that he was heartbroken… he felt it was ruined. As Margaret Wolfe Hungerford wrote in 1878 in her novel Molly Bawn, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
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