By Bruce Davidson
For many years, my brother, sister and I pestered my mother to write down her childhood memories of the island on paper. Even though she was a good writer, for reasons unknown, she always put this particular task off… until one rainy day in her eighties, when she finally relented. On this, the 100th anniversary of my grandfather’s purchase of the island and the 15th anniversary of her passing, I would like to share her recollections of the early days. All the text in italics follows is from her scrawl, brilliantly deciphered by my sister, the hieroglyphics expert, which I hope you will enjoy.
How to describe my first glimpse of Snug Island from the eyes of a 7-year-old? I don’t think that I ever dreamt that 76 years later, I would be coming back with children, grandchildren and now my first great-grandchild. My father would be so happy that his spur-of-the-moment purchase of an unseen island in the Georgian Bay was still treasured by his descendants.
Mother, I’m not so sure. She loved it because of my father, but it must have filled her with apprehension navigating the rocks because she was lame. But she never, ever complained.
We landed on Snug Island at the lighthouse dock and were met by the “old man” Mr. Botrell. We stayed with him for several days. Those days were spent searching the island for a suitable and reasonable spot for a cottage, easy for Mother, looking west.
I remember my stay at the lighthouse was a happy one. The great thrill for me was climbing to the top of the light and watching Mr. Botrell light the light that would guide ships across the Bay. He had to do this manually, which meant he had to be in there at nightfall and early morning. He was a delightful gentleman with twinkly eyes. He was a widower with three daughters and one son.
I can’t remember how long we stayed there or the trip home. We must have gone by the ferry boat as the roads were terrible. I also recall the sad empty landscape of the mainland behind us. They had a terrible fire the year before that destroyed everything. So, all the growth we see today was after 1923- I remember the men of the area being called to fight the fires.
I should mention here that my dad heard of the island’s charm from his brother-in-law Nelson Froud, as he and his wife, Dad’s sister, used to camp here, and he said it was the prettiest island in Georgian Bay. I am inclined to agree.
The cottage was built in 1923 with just the living room, outdoor porch, woodshed, outhouse, and icehouse. In the early years, Dad liked the idea of using the place as a fishing lodge, where he could bring his business friends.
When we came back up here in 1924, we had a small cottage—the main room divided in half—the front half was the sitting room-the back divided into two bedrooms. The kitchen was the back of it all, and we had an outdoor spring and outhouse back away in the bushes. That was roughing it, but no one minded. I can so well remember the nightly routine of going out to the outhouse together. I can still see my Mother and Aunt Ethel and Aunt Aggie having serious discussions as they went to and fro at night.
We had duty chores—we always had to bring a pail of water up and some firewood. Then, once we had a hand pump, we had to pump so many times. My Uncle, Tom Jackson, paid us ten cents a day for being good! That was a fortune—70 cents a week to be spent any way we wished. Our choices were limited- candles from the supply boat or at the shop at Camp Franklin.
The supply boat, run by a grocer, came twice a week on Wednesdays and Sundays. It was a floating grocery store with shelves lined with canned goods and staples. Mother would just send her order in each week for meat, fruit and vegetables. He had wonderful meat, especially lamb. I remember once on remarking how delicious Muskoka lamb was. There was a prolonged silence. I didn’t know the other name for deer or venison was ‘Muskoka Lamb’ – not legal to be shot out of season. We also had delicious roast beef and loads of fresh fish- black bass, pickerel, perch and pike. The supply boat brought mail and took letters to mail.
Keeping food fresh at a cottage in those days was a real challenge. Our refrigerator was an ice box. It consisted of two separate sections. Food was kept in the lower part. The upper part held the ice block from our ice house. It was behind the cottage and filled with sawdust. Each winter ice was cut on the lake in large blocks and brought by horse teams with sleighs to the ice house and buried in the sawdust until the summer season.
It was a hectic job of being able to extricate those blocks of ice (they were heavy), wash the sawdust off by water carried by us or pumped, and put in the ice box. The melted water from the blocks travelled in a tube and was collected in a tray underneath the box. The trick was knowing when to empty the tray or have a wet floor.
The ice box worked well. Things were always cold and fresh. The fun part was being asked to go to the ice house and hunt through the sawdust for butter, milk and other perishables. The ice house was a fine gathering place for my cousins and myself to sit there on the sawdust and drink cold drinks.
I didn’t like fishing, but I did love to clean them. Mr. Botrell taught me how to do that. Many a night, I was on the dock, pestered by mosquitos, cleaning the fish with coal oil lamps. (My Uncle Nelson fished every day and always caught his quota of six. He gave us a lot).
My Uncle Nelson was the first person to have an outboard motor – 5 hp. I remember how angry my father was at this contraption that shattered the peace of the area. The poor man would be driven to distraction today with all the various types of watercraft that zoom around the Bay. My favourite boat of really old days was the rowboat that my Uncle Tom purchased.
When I look back at all the changes since my dad bought it in 1923 and the way this area is growing, I feel so very fortunate to have this lovely island and that my family loves it just as much.
Author’s note: As far as I know, my mother, Elizabeth Dawson/Lib Davidson, visited Snug Island every year from 1923 until 2008, a span of 86 consecutive years! In the winter of 2007/8, her health had deteriorated to the point where she needed oxygen, a virtual pharmacopeia of medications and nursing care. We tried to dissuade her from going to the island that following summer, but she dismissed our pleas: “If I don’t see my island this summer, I will die.”
After nearly a complete summer surrounded by family and friends, she was taken off the island in August by the Carling Fire Department. As was her manner, she thanked the men carrying the stretcher and apologized for putting them in trouble. She passed away a few hours later in Parry Sound General – probably just how she would have wanted to go. Her ashes are scattered in several of her favourite places on the island.