Well, I really messed up my September 2nd column when, in the item I wrote about Cotton Beaver School being up for sale, I questioned whether the historical description in the real estate listing was accurate. It turns out that it was… as the schoolhouse’s owner, Claude Taillon, pointed out when he dropped by last week. And he should know. His father, the late Alcide Taillon, attended the school as a boy and Claude spent eight years at Syke School, graduating just a few years before it closed forever in 1965.
Like a jigsaw puzzle with a gaping hole, my account was missing some key data which Claude kindly provided by loaning me two reference books, including the definitive book on the history of one-room schools in this area: The Schools of the Glens. An impressive cooperative effort by the Laggan Book Committee, it was published in 1992 and edited by Marion MacMaster. The historical project set out to document the commitment of the region’s pioneers had to educating their offspring in the years from the early 1800s to the mid 1900s. Those who are fortunate enough to own a copy of this tome, no doubt knew immediately that I had erred. And I apologize. To minimize future schoolhouse-related errors, I ask readers to keep their eyes peeled for a copy of the book that I could purchase to add to my library of Glengarry history.
To set the record straight, Schools of the Glens clearly states in its opening paragraph on Cotton Beaver, page 354, “S.S. #2 Kenyon was the second school established in the township about the year 1835 on Lot 9 in the ninth concession.” The account goes on to detail the school’s convoluted history. The original building, which was constructed out of logs, was replaced in 1859 with a larger structure on the same site. Schools of the Glensthen recounts that “In the sixties the school was moved to the corner of Lot 7 concession 9. This site was used for one year and the building sold.” I can only assume that “in the sixties” was a typographical error, as the account suggests a new school was erected in 1860 on the east half of Lot 8, Con. 9 and operated for two years. I’m assuming this 1860-62 iteration of Cotton Beaver was a balloon-frame structure as the paragraph continues, “another(emphasis added) frame school was built on the present site, Lot 6 in the ninth concession.” It operated for 17 years until it was lost to fire in 1879. Rebuilt in 1880 on an expanded lot (the Trustees had bought an additional half-acre of land for use as a playground), it still stands today. The new school had all the latest mod cons: from blackboards, maps and charts to a flagpole and a dug well.
And thus concludes today’s lesson on Cotton Beaver or S.S. #2 Kenyon. Before moving on though, I think it’s only fair to point out that page 328 of Schools of the Glens states that Kenyon’s very first school, S.S. #1, nick-named Big Beaver, was first opened in 1842 “for four months, with an average attendance of 30.” If this is true, one wonders how the opening of Kenyon’s second school could pre-date the founding of its first one… by seven years. A time warp, perhaps? I guess that’s what makes history so interesting.
For the record, Cotton Beaver has passed from the hands of the Taillon family. It was sold almost before the For Sale sign that had been driven into the ground by County Road 24 had stopped quivering.
Winter cometh
Of late, the view from the top of the berm overlooking our pond contains the first disturbing hint of the changing seasons. Tucked into the foliage on the opposite shore – and reflected in the mist-kissed water at its foot – is a single maple tree in all its flaming autumnal splendour. As the daylight wanes and the soybeans say enough is enough and begin to yellow, my thoughts turn to the winter ahead and I begin to hoard material for the column I can use when news is sparse.
As loyal readers know, one of my favourite sources on life in and around Dunvegan in the 1930s and 40s is Ken McEwen, who grew up on Lot 35 Kenyon concession 7. Recently, I reached out to Mr. McEwen to see how he and his wife Chris were doing in these trying days of COVID and to draw a bucket of recollections from his well of remembrances. I’m pleased to report that he was able to suggest a host of paths… stories we will explore in the coming weeks. One that really caught my fancy was a narrative on rural life that demonstrates how, in the years just before the Second World War, the century you lived in (19th or 20th) depended on the season of the year.
Before the introduction of school buses and the wintertime ploughing of the back roads that made them feasible, the first big snow of the season put shot to wheeled traffic. The horse and sleigh of yesteryear was once again king. This was no less true for the residents of Skye and Dunvegan who, with the coming of winter, would once again turn to the century-old bush road that just happened to pass through the McEwen family’s barn yard as it wended its way to Maxville. Until about 1949, the trusty horse-drawn sleigh was the only reliable way to bring students to the village’s high school or transport milk to the Borden’s factory that I believe was right next door, where either MacEwen Agricentre or MacEwen Petroleum stands today. Here’s what Mr. McEwen’s recalls of the Dunvegan to Maxville sleigh trail. “By what route the sleighs came from Skye and Dunvegan is speculative. Presumably, they followed existing roads to the hamlet, then either south to the 8th Concession Road, or west from Dunvegan to then Bill Kennedy’s Side Road, now Blythe Road… south to the Three Bridges, and west along the 8th to our lane, lot 35 in the 7th concession.” The sleighs then travelled down the McEwen’s lane, through the barnyard, past their house and into their east fields. Mr. McEwen recalls that one winter during the war the drifts were so high between their barn and the house, that sleighs had to skirt the north edge of their yard, then turn sharply south to pass between the door of their porch and their water pump. “ It’s only a slight exaggeration to say we had to check for traffic before stepping out for a pail of water.”
The route continued, “south through the fields, into the cedar bush, over a small stream from a spring which never froze, past the maple sugar camp and hardwood bush, over a 30 or so acre field – which though cleared sixty-plus years previous was still called the ‘new land’ – and thus to the headline road allowance. This road allowance was in effect the western extension of the 7th Concession road west from Baltics Corners. After going west on the headline road from our farm through open fields, the winter trail went though Robbie MacKay’s bush, then past the Spooner’s sugar camp, out into fields swept by wind from the Arctic, across the Maxville fair grounds and into the shelter of the grandstand. Sleighs then kept to the back streets, as they were more snow covered and to stay as far as possible away from trains, of which horses were very frightened. We then made our way to Borden’s, at the west end of the village. After dropping off several eight-gallon milk cans at one door of Borden’s, we’d stop at an adjacent door to pick up empty cans, which made a handy receptacle for groceries on the trip home. Before heading back to the farm, we might possibly stop at MacEwen’s feed store to drop off grain for grinding, or pick up grist already prepared. On the winter run to Borden’s, which we had to make six days a week, cans were covered with heavy blankets to prevent freezing.”
When I asked Mr. McEwen how this winter trail had evolved, he replied, “The obvious reason for Skye and Dunvegan people to swing south through our place was to cut the corner. By the St. Elmo road, we were four miles from Maxville. But, angling through the bush and veering to the southwest was far more sheltered from the north wind, and cut roughly a mile off the trip. Traveling the bush road, especially through our cedars, was really quite cosy, assuming you were well bundled and covered with a horse blanket, which was transferred to the horse while it was in the shed awaiting the trip home. Not many people will now recall the bush road, but an old friend from my hockey-playing days, who now resides in New Brunswick, remembers it well. He used to hitch rides to the public school on the sleighs, as they conveniently, and frequently went along Alexander Street, passing by the Jubilee Rink and then the school.”
At the start of the 1950s, ploughed roads became increasingly common and the sleigh road through the bush quickly faded into the past. But the horse and sleigh still played a key winter role on many farms. As Mr. McEwen recalls, “Around ‘49 or so we bought… a 1947 Mercury half-ton truck, dark green, which had previously been licensed in Quebec. That was our work transport till I left home in ‘52. In the winter months, the truck was left at the end of our lane, and milk cans, sacks of grain, etc. were transported to and from it by horse and sleigh.”
If you’re having difficulties visualizing the route this winter trail took, I’ve done up a quick illustration superimposed over the 1879 Belden Atlas map. You’ll find it at the end of this post. It’s interesting to note that, on this map, there is a small cluster of buildings where Maxville will be established, but the village-to-be doesn’t yet rate a name.
Two-for-one Sunday
Don’t forget that next Sunday, September 13th, all roads lead to Dunvegan, so to speak. Rev. Jim Ferrier has asked me to remind members of the Kenyon and Kirk-on-the-Hill Presbyterian churches that, this week, the two congregations will have a combined service at Kenyon Presbyterian Church in Dunvegan. Worship will begin at 11 a.m. and all are welcome to attend. It could be a great way to kick off Grandparents’ Day. (Who knew we had a “day” of our own?)
-30-
