When I reread last week’s piece on the snowstorm that hit Eastern Ontario and Western Quebec fifty years ago last Wednesday, I realized that I had failed to provide the proper context. It’s true the one-day accumulation from the March 4th blizzard of 18.9” (followed by another 11.9” a few days later) was significant. However, the missing piece of the puzzle was that this was on top of the 122.7” recorded at Dalhousie Mills to the end of February, which brought the total to 153.5” or almost 13 feet, or 3.9 meters, for those unfamiliar with the Imperial measurement system.
One man who remembers the storm vividly is local farmer Laurent Souligny. If you’ve ever driven the back road from Dunvegan to St. Isidore, you’ve no doubt seen the Souligny name on a number of impressive poultry barns along that stretch. Back in 1971 though, Laurent was farming on Athol Road. If you were travelling west from Highland Road, their farm was straight ahead at the first big bend. The Soulignys were active in the Dunvegan Recreation Association and part of the DRA’s Red Cross backyard swimming program. They and three other families — the Trottiers, McIntoshs and Leblancs — kindly volunteered the use of their in-ground pools. The day of the storm, Laurent’s wife was in the maternity ward of what I assume was the Hotel Dieu hospital in Cornwall and he was snowbound on the farm, unable to visit his wife and their new baby.
Tapping Dunvegan Gold
In addition to feather farming, the Souligny family is also into cash crops and, for the last four or five years, maple syrup production. Their sugar shack is located on Blyth Road about half a kilometer south of Dunvegan Road. While they have just recently started harvesting and processing the sap from this impressive 70-acre stand of sugar maples, Laurent and his brother have owned the property since 1980. In fact, they bought it around the same time Terry and I moved in east of Dunvegan. Designated Lot 30, Kenyon Concession 8, they own three quarters of the original 200-acre allotment. Theirs is not the first maple syrup operation the bush has seen. In fact, when they were constructing their state-of-the-art building, they came across traces of the one the Kennedy family, who owned the property from 1868 to 1965, had probably built. After purchasing the bush, Laurent ran into the late Alistair Campbell who had grown up on Lot 28 to the east. He distinctly remembered helping his uncle as a teenager collect and boil the sap.
As you drive west from Dunvegan, it’s not hard to spot the Souligny’ sugar bush. With the leaves gone, the tangle of horizontal plastic vacuum lines look starkly foreign against the verticality of the bush. So few things in nature are horizontal. In all, 30,000 feet of plastic tubing connect 6,000 taps to the central collection point. While the system eliminates the tedium of emptying sap buckets by hand, it’s not as effortless as it sounds. In the off-season, every centimeter of tubing must be kept filled with alcohol to inhibit the growth of bacteria. Then, before the start of the new season, the lines must be carefully flushed and thoroughly rinsed. And each year, 6,000 new tap holes must be drilled in the trees and the spouts inserted. And every five years or so, all the spouts have to be replaced so as to minimize the risk of bacterial growth.
Last year’s cool, gradual spring made for a very good maple syrup season. In total, the Souligny operation produced 2,700 gallons of top-quality maple syrup. The majority of this was packaged in metal drums and sold to a wholesaler in Vankleek Hill. However, 400 gallons were sold through the Souligny Sugar Shack’s retail farm gate outlet under the brand name: Dunvegan Gold. To date, there has been no formal advertising. It’s all been strictly word of mouth. Which seems to be working. If you want to buy some of their delicious 2020 crop, Laurent told me they have 500 ml left. To be crystal clear, that’s not 500 bottles. They have just one single 500 ml bottle left on their shelves. When I asked about maple candy and maple butter, Laurent said they have all the equipment. What they’ve been lacking is the time. They hope to add this to their product line soon.
This week, I hope to have the opportunity to watch their operation in person as they fire up their production line. I’ll report back to you on Dunvegan’s sweet spot in next week’s column.
Will Power to Ben Gay
This past winter, Terry and I have finally started downsizing. Our daughter has hinted we won’t be allowed to pass on to our just reward until we’ve cleaned out the new basement, the barn and the old house. Given the cold weather, we chose to start with our basement. We’re about two-thirds done and have sent a whole whack of paper and cardboard to recycling, donated numerous seldom-used items to St. Vincent de Paul and dropped off boxes of children’s books and games to a young family in the neighbourhood. We’ve also taken the time to go through the treasures we’ve collected over the years and stow them away in plastic tote bins that are safe from the never ending stream of mice that choose our home as the place to meet their Maker. Snap!
In a box of memories we brought back from my late mother’s apartment, I came across a typewritten note from Spenser Pincott. Spenser and his wife were life-long friends of my parents from the time they met while living on Finchley Street in Hampstead. I don’t know who composed the typed portion of the note, but I don’t believe Spenser did. He was the wrong gender. It was simply signed, “As requested… Spenser.” It obviously meant a great deal to mom, as she hung on to it for so many years. The note is intended for old folks. So younger readers are excused, if you wish.
“Remember, old folks are worth a fortune, with silver in their hair, gold in their teeth, stones in their kidneys, lead in their feet, and gas in their stomachs.
I have become a little older since I saw you last, and a few changes have come into my life since then. Frankly, I have become quite a frivolous old gal, I am seeing five gentlemen every day.
As soon as I wake up, Will Power helps me get out of bed. Then I go to see John. Then Charlie Horse comes along and when he is here he takes a lot of my attention. When he leaves Arthur Ritis shows up and stays the rest of the day. He doesn’t like to stay in one place very long, so he takes me from joint to joint. After such a busy day, I am really tired and glad to go to bed with Ben Gay. What a life!
P.S. The preacher came to call the other day. He said at my age I should be thinking about the hereafter. I told him, oh, I do, all the time. No matter where I am… in the parlour, upstairs, in the kitchen, or down in the basement, I ask myself… what am I here after?”
Spenser was an amazing model maker who blew my mind as a child with the huge three-storey dollhouse he made for his daughter. Every single item in the four-bedroom home was a product of Spenser’s fertile imagination and incredible skill. This was a time before miniature furniture and other dollhouse accessories could be purchased online. The model house even had working electric lights in each room.
Once, when we were passing through Perth on the way to a rented cottage, we dropped in on Spenser. His wife Joan had died and he lived alone. The highlight of the visit was a tour of his basement workshop, where the dollhouse that had impressed me so many years ago was still on display. I’m sure my son wasn’t as captivated with it as I had been. Nevertheless, it felt good to explore it with my imagination one last time.
If you’d like to see Spenser’s work, he made a scale model of the Perth town hall that I believe is on display in the Perth Museum, located downtown on Gore Street.
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