If my in-box is any indication, members of the Glengarry Pioneer Museum with an email address should have received a message asking them to renew their membership using the museum’s handy new online pay window. I did, so I clicked on the “view invoice” link in the email and followed the instructions to renew our family membership. I’m pleased to report that it’s as simple as pie. It’s also totally secure. PayPal, long a tried and true payment platform for online vendors, auction sites and the like, handled the credit card processing part of the transaction.
Not a member? Then I encourage you to become one. At just $20 for an individual membership and $30 for a family one, the cost of belonging is a real bargain. The museum’s new online system handles first-time memberships as well. Simply go to the museum’s web site — GlengarryPioneerMuseum.ca — click on the “Visit/Contact Us” tab at the top of the page and select “membership” from the drop-down menu.
As I mentioned last week, membership in the Glengarry Pioneer Museum is a win-win situation. A healthy membership base shows institutional and government funders that the GPM enjoys community support. It also helps maintain the museum’s charitable status. As well, as thanks for your continuing support, the museum offers you a number of fringe benefits. As a GPM member, you will enjoy: exclusive event pricing discounts; advance notice of all activities and events; an e-copy of Timelines, the museum’s spring and fall newsletter; free admission to the site and $5 admission for special events; a discount on rental of the William’s Pavilion; and a 10 per cent discount on gift shop items. On top of all this, you have the satisfaction of supporting the preservation of your community’s unique history.
Fijne verjaardag
If you’re a regular reader, you might remember my mentioning Wouter (Walter) Houbé back in March of 2017. As his name hints, Walter is of Dutch extraction, but not from the Netherlands. He was born in 1933 in Jakarta, the capital of the Dutch East Indies or the Republic of Indonesia, as it is now known. His father had emigrated there from Holland in the 1920s. When he was just nine, the Japanese Imperial Army invaded his homeland and he and his parents were taken prisoner. They spent four very hard years in a POW camp. At war’s end, the family moved back to Holland where they were scorned as colonial oppressors. By 1959, Wouter had had enough and set off for Canada. In those days, this country really was a land of opportunity. In less than a week after arriving, he landed a job at the airport in Dorval. Thirty-nine years later, Walter (now retired) and his wife Marie pulled up stakes and bought a farm in Ste. Marthe. And, when sheep farming became too much of a chore, they moved to Alexandria.
While I’m not suggesting it has anything to do with his longevity, Walter — who turned 88 last Saturday — still reads this column every week. He celebrated his verjaardag quietly at home. Which is no surprise, since he’s been a prisoner there since last February. (He and Marie obviously saw the storm clouds on the horizon and hunkered down early.) But it hasn’t fazed him. “This pandemic is nothing in comparison with my experiences during WW2 in the Japanese prison camp,” Walter’s email reported. “God has been very gracious to us,” he wrote. “In November… (Marie and I) will celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary.” Happy birthday, Wouter. And many happy returns.
Let there be light…
Like most first-worlders alive today, I have spent far too much of my life under the soul-crushing glare of fluorescent lights. I hate them. Always have. Always will. Unlike filament-based bulbs that emit light at the warm end of the spectrum, the phosphor coating inside most fluorescent tubes produces a much “cooler” light. While they are much more energy-efficient than incandescent bulbs, their efficiency comes with a number of potential health risks. A 2011 study published in the American Journal of Public Health reported that fluorescent lighting could contribute to eye disease. By emitting UV radiation outside of the safe range for our eyes, fluorescents may increase the incidence of cataracts and the growth of fleshy tissue on the conjunctiva by 12 per cent. As well, there’s the issue of flicker caused by the interaction between the alternating current and the mercury vapour. While subliminal for most, this rapid pulsing has been linked to migraines and even seizures.
I realize that, until a cost effective alternative can be found, fluorescent lights are probably with us for a while. Nevertheless, I’m pleased to report that, with the help of Dunvegan electrician John Herman, I was recently able to strike one small blow to end the tube-light scourge. The Dunvegan Recreation Hall is now largely fluorescent-free. The lights in the main hall, kitchen and entrance foyer have all been replaced with matching retro-look metal hanging lamps that boast energy-efficient LED bulbs. The industrial-look fixtures were chosen to echo the schoolhouse-type lights that probably lit the hall when the building was first electrified. However, we opted to stay away from the white glass globes of a true classroom lamp out of concern they would be susceptible to breakage. John also moved the hall’s light switches from their former hidden position to a more logical spot right beside the door from the front foyer. And he installed dimmer switches, so one can set the lighting level to match the mood: from a quiet dinner party to a raucous public meeting.
It was only when I dropped in to check on John’s progress that I fully appreciated the visual impact of this upgrade. As I drove into the parking lot beside the hall, I realized that our new lights were hung in the same spots that the original ones had been. With one smack in the middle of each of the double-hung windows, they make our hall look even more friendly, warm and inviting. Assuming, of course, we ever get to use it again.
Wolf River sightings
As I’ve noted before, I never can tell which column topic will set the phone to ringing. Last week, it was Wolf River apples. If you missed my piece, here’s the gist. Renowned for the size of the apples it produces, the Wolf River tree was developed by William Springer, a Quebec lumberman who moved his family to Wisconsin. In 1880, Springer exhibited a single Wolf River apple that weighed 1.3 pounds. I had heard stories of a tree on our property that grew monster fruit, but had no inkling the tales were true until a reader mentioned seeing a similarly-sized apple when he was growing up in the 1940s. That was on the 7th of Kenyon.
After the paper hit the streets last Wednesday, I received two more Wolf River memories. The first was from a 99 year-old reader who wishes to remain anonymous. She says she has trouble remembering where she set down her glasses, but events that occurred three score and ten years ago are as clear as day. When she read “apples the size of grapefruit, large grapefruit,” this soon-to-be centenarian immediately recalled coming across similar apples years ago in Apple Hill, of all places. And she knew their name: Wolf River.
A second call came from Yvon Ranger. While Yvon now lives in Alexandria, he grew up on a farm at the north end of St. Isidore and is no stranger to Dunvegan. As a lad, he used to have his hair cut at Yvon Leblanc’s barbershop. And the late Tootsie McRae of Dunvegan used to call him ‘MacRanger’ every time he worked on one of the nursing shifts she was supervising. Yvon had an uncle who farmed a couple of lots east of his family and that’s where he encountered the humungous Wolf River apple. All traces of his uncle’s farm are gone today, including the Wolf River tree, but he still fondly recalls its “une pomme, une tarte” boast. When I asked if he remembered what one tasted like, he said the flesh was firm, white and probably sweet. “I was a kid,” Yvon remarked, “I wouldn’t have eaten it if it was sour.”
From these few recollections, it suggests that this distinctive variety really got around, probably because of the novelty factor. Every era has its fads. If you recall coming across a Wolf River apple tree in your past, I’d love to hear about it.
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