56 and counting!

Having a solid self-concept is paramount to a happy life ... ya gotta feel comfortable in your own skin! If that's priority numero uno, then having a few true friends would be a very close second, IMHO.

My oldest friend on this planet is Michael Tough ESQ. If you haven't guessed it already, he's the one with the 70's FRO! The others are my cousin Warren, in the vest, and my brother Mike, when he was still cute. Of course the Adonis on the left is yours truly.

I was introduced to Mike waaaaaay back in 1967 when my parents purchased a semidetached on Gaylong Court in The Big Smoke, a move prompted by my dad finishing his Med School experience at Queen's in Kingston. The house that would be in prime view if you looked out from our living room window was owned by Jim and Betty Ann Tough with their children Karen (age 8) and Michael (age 6), and since Mike was of similar age, we naturally gravitated to joint adventures on our dead end playground, along with a host of other similarly aged children who lived on the court.

We got up to a bunch of shenanigans during the 4 years of our neighbouring, and despite my then relatively young age, I can still conjure up some dusty memories that prompt a wide smile ... like 'Kick the Can'! We played that a ton!

Like all good things, that came to an end when my parents chose to move north to the then small city of Barrie (pop ~16000) in 1971, where my dad would begin to establish his soon-to-be famous career as the only Orthopedic surgeon in the area for a good many years, affectionately becoming 'Doc' to the thousands who were recipients of his boundless compassion. While I was excited to move into a new set of surroundings, complete with a whole horde of new similarly aged companions to choose from, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I missed my adventures with Mike.

It would have been easy for the story to end there, but it most assuredly did not!

Fortunately, my parents and his parents had forged a tight bond, especially since their oldest Karen was a tragic victim of a traffic accident, and were compelled to continue the relationship, an olive branch extended to Jim + BA to visit regularly. As you can imagine, the assistance my parents so willingly offered as Jim + BA as they navigated their grief was priceless. Since our new place on Varden Cresent in Barrie's east end featured a pool, it provided long afternoons of delightfully cool frolic as stories and beverages were shared of life's daily escapades spent in different cities. The Tough's would expand their family by adopting a cherubic-faced little bundle of joy Jennifer, adding a wee bit of estrogen to our testosterone drenched gaggle of ganders.

When the decision was made to move the Porter clan across town to Sunnidale Road in Barrie's west end, complete with pool and property bordering on the wilds of Sunnidale Park, the continuing visits created a whole host of new memories, not the least of which was the beginning of a 50+ year Civic Holiday tradition for our families. You see, my father felt that he wasn't busy enough ... he says with dripping sarcasm ... with his day job of stamping out disease and relieving suffering, so he joined the Barrie chapter of Rotary and quickly got dug in like a tick! At that point in history, one of the main fund-raising efforts was the annual Rotary Chicken BBQ, held during those years at St Vincent Park on the north shore waterfront of Kempenfelt Bay. While XY's manned the temporarily-built cinder block fire pits all day (photo at right), arriving home to pollute the pool with our sooty, sweaty, peanut-oil infused selves, the XX's stuffed hundreds of little cups with coleslaw to be included in the dinners. 

Truly teamwork at its finest! There were so many of us that my dad's pit was manned solely by our group! A thousand apologies for the crap resolution of the photo, but from L to R, that's my brother Rob, Doc, Mike's dad Jim, and the aforementioned Adonis.

Since we haven't yet figured out how to stop or slow the clock's eternal progress, the families grew by generations as grandparents greyed, the kids found partners, weddings and grandkids ensued, and the Rotary Club discovered that beer tents at the Annual Kempenfest Art Festival weekend were more lucrative, retiring the Chicken BBQ, but not our yearly familial rekindling. For those that recall our childhood home on Sunnidale, you're already aware that it featured a 12 car driveway ... not an exaggeration ... and the ensuing car lot appearance as 10 families invaded my parent's home for the day signalling to the neighbourhood that 'Doc' and the 'Dragon' were entertaining again. 

This photo is Mike's family at his daughter Rachel's wedding to Ian Brown. His oldest Sara is on the far left and youngest Rebecca is on the far right. His wife Trish is between Sara and Ian.

Eventually the clan outlived the homestead, my father passed, our kids became adults, and my mom sold the childhood homestead to take on condo life on Barrie's waterfront. Without skipping a beat, the Toughs declared that the tradition would not go the way of the Dodo, and Mike generously volunteered to host in the lovely hamlet of Belle Ewart. By now there were great grandkids joining the festivities, and Club Tough was every bit the theme park that Club Porter had been. What started with the chance meeting of 2 couples in 1967, the family trees have intertwined their roots, swelling the numbers, forging friendships stronger than the heaviest chains.

We're still having the 2023 version of our Civic Holiday meet 'n greet this August, of that there's no doubt!

Mike and I recently decided that we needed a boy's afternoon so a little golfing was in order, and since my amazing children Maddi+Chris and Keaton+Jessica had gifted me some free rounds at Silver Brooke in Lisle, we enjoyed an amazing ... sights and weather, not golf prowess unfortunately ... afternoon sharing stories from the past 12 months. Fortunately, our beautiful brides had loads of catching up to do too, so Joyce and Trish enjoyed the companionship of a Wasaga Beach stroll, far exceeding the 70 words a minute speed limit. The day was capped by a delightful meal, more stories, a few wobblies, leaving us with huge grins, sparkling eyes, and new memories.

Surround yourself with good people and life will be all you can handle!

Blessed, folks, that's the state of my life right now!

Hmmm

Canada Day 2023 has come and gone. In its wake, I've been pondering the 'state of the union' following a short video I stumbled upon while scrolling through social media. The video was centred on Canada, its annual celebration and it's history, with homage paid to the plight of the indigenous. Watching it, I was reminded of a talk that BNC Native Studies teacher, Drew Forsyth, was having with his class when I popped by to say hi one day while supplying at BNC. In his lecture, Drew was explaining to the class the curiosities surrounding some of the names of regions, townships, cities, and even provinces that stem from the indigenous origins.

If you haven't been inside an Ontario school (elementary or secondary) during the start of the day, you may not be aware that an acknowledgement to the area's indigenous is read. In that acknowledgement (see below), the Anishnaabeg are identified as the people that were directly impacted in this part of the world by colonialism during the early years of the Dominion of Canada. 

Simcoe County District School Board acknowledges that we are situated on the traditional land of the Anishnaabeg people. We acknowledge the enduring presence of First Nation, Métis and Inuit people on this land and are committed to moving forward in the spirit of reconciliation and respect.

The acknowledgement recognizes this land as Anishnaabeg, and are absolutely deserving of our acknowledgement. While it is true that the Anishnaabeg were the most recent indigenous peoples to occupy these lands as members of the Three Fires Confederacy, it is curious that there's no mention of the massive contributions of the people that came before them. In fact, the Huron-Wendat nations occupied this region for thousands of years up until 350 years ago, and are the reason that Simcoe County is a part of Huronia Region, a confederacy that stretched south to the Ohio Valley and Virginia, and thanks to an influx of Jesuit missionaries and their record keeping, explains the many references to the Huron and the settlement at Sainte Marie among the Hurons in Midland.

Once you gain a full breadth understanding of the facts, there's a lot of head-scratching. Thanks to a resource I found (CLICK), some clarity was gained.

Huron-Wendat
Coat of Arms

The term ‘Huron’ was a term used by the French to refer to the Wendat, and is actually not rooted in indigenous language, stemming instead from a demeaning nickname that means ‘boar’s head’ in French, a reference to the men's hair style, insinuating the appearance of ruffians. The H-W population was reduced by half from approximately 20,000 to 9,000, the result of ravaging epidemics of smallpox, influenza and measles 'shared' by French settlers living in close quarters with the nations. Being 'new' diseases to North America, the indigenous had no previous exposure and were ravaged by the infections. The Wendat were trading partners with their northern neighbours, the Anishnaabeg, as well as others across the Georgian Bay area, all of whom were allied with the French. They were at odds with the Iroquois nations to the south that were allied with the British and Dutch. The Wendat were recognized as the largest and most profitable fur trading partner for the French so when resources for the fur trade dried up, first in the southern regions inhabited by the Iroquois, and slowly moving northward, it prompted the Five Nations to attack the Wendat in 1649. 

Some historians argue that the Five Nations attacked for economic reasons, but their historians maintain that it was an attempt to reclaim numbers lost during the epidemics that had decimated their populations. The Five Nations moved into Wendat territory, dispersing the populations in this region. Some joined their attackers since they spoke the Iroquois language, some moved north to join their Anishnaabeg trading partners, some moved east to what is now known as Wendake (Quebec), while others returned south to Ohio and Michigan, later being dispersed as far south as Virginia in the US government's relocation policies.

The Five Nations remained in the area of Simcoe County for approximately 50 years, before the Anishnaabeg nations pushed them back south and settled in this territory. The Anishnaabeg have been in this region since the late 1600s, leading to their being credited in the land acknowledgement.

Land Acknowledgement problem solved! 

What about the obviously indigenous rooted names of Canadian cities and communities? Thanks to the site The Canadian Encyclopedia (CLICK) and Wikipedia (CLICK), I was able to find some explanation for other oddities that are not clearly understood by a large number of my fellow 'Boomers' because the history curriculum of our youth did not include these particular justifications ... or, at least I don't recall them.

Starting with our country, the name Canada comes from the word meaning "village" or "settlement" in the Iroquois language spoken by the inhabitants of Stadacona and the neighbouring region near present-day Quebec City in the 16th century. Jacques Cartier was first to use the word "Canada" to refer not only to the village of Stadacona, but also to the neighbouring region and the areas down the Saint-Lawrence River. The Mohawk word 'kaná:ta' and the Seneca word 'iennekanandaa' gave rise to the eventual English translation of Canada.

The province of Ontario is derived from the Huron word onitariio meaning "beautiful lake", or kanadario meaning "sparkling" or "beautiful" water. While there is no shortage of either in Ontario, it is again interesting that we take the name from the language of the Wendat (Hurons). For Ontario's easterly neighbour Quebec, the name comes from the Míkmaq word kepék, meaning "strait" or "narrows". If you look back one paragraph earlier, you'll recall that the name Canada stemmed from the Mohawk + Seneca language. The Míkmaq territory was more maritime so it is curious that they are credited with the roots of the name Quebec. On Ontario's west side sits Manitoba. its name derived from the Cree word manito-wapâw meaning "the strait of the spirit or manitobau" or the Assiniboine words mini and tobow meaning "Lake of the Prairie", referring to Lake Manitoba. In this case it makes sense because the Cree dominated the northern areas from Saskatchewan to the Maritimes.

There are hundreds of other examples, but I think I've made my point. If you're Jonesin' for the full list, CLICK here.

The name Toronto is derived from the Mohawk word tkaronto, which means “where there are trees standing in the water.” Interestingly, the word originally referred to The Narrows near present-day Orillia, where the Wendat and other groups drove stakes into the water to create fish weirs. French maps from the 1680s to 1760s identify present-day Lake Simcoe as Lac de Taronto. The spelling changed to Toronto during the 18th century, and the term gradually came to refer to the large region between Lake Simcoe and Lake Ontario that included the location of the present-day City of Toronto. As the English took over more and more of the land in the area, the name Toronto came to replace the name of York, the settlement we know it as now. There are plenty of others too, like Ottawa, Mississauga, Oshawa, or Etobicoke. Closer to home, Adjala-Tosorantio, Tecumseh, and Penetanguishine, but my personal fav Wasaga comes from Nottawasaga, Algonquin language meaning 'Iroquois' and 'river outlet'.

Coming full circle to the Land Acknowledgement, the Wendat (Remembering that the French nicknamed them Hurons) that occupied this region for thousands of years, subsequently succumbing to amalgamation with the Anishnaabeg or Iroquois after the Beaver Wars in 1649, leaving an obvious thumbprint behind with many members of the First Nations in the area. Although the historical references are convoluted and heavily influenced by European translation after generations of re-telling, this area adopted the name Huronia thanks to the French's insistence that the Wendat (Hurons) dominated the region, thus the area was named for them even though they weren't the people that colonization displaced.

I guess I have to confess that I either 

(a) didn't pay close enough attention to social studies' teachings or 

(b) the curriculum didn't include an explanation that caused me to question its validity, 

but either way, I felt a yen to understand a clearer picture now that I'm approaching senior citizen status. Granted, it's a very confusing situation, but that doesn't mean that I should shrug and walk away. 

If you already knew all of this because you were a better student than I, good on ya!

If you just learned a thing or three, good on ya!

Either way, I'd bet it was a good day!

You've got a friend in me!

As humans, we crave affiliation, connection, and familiarity, so when we finally secure true friendships, the kind that can be placed on hold, seemingly indefinitely, and restarted with a nod, grin, or jab, we grasp those reins with a vice-like grip, and do everything in out power to ensure those in the circle understand their value. Like singer Randy Newman's little ditty You've got a friend in me, made famous as the theme song from Pixar's 1995 "Toy Story", we need to be reminded every once in a while that we can rely on some in our lives to have our backs. Building friendships like the ones we cultivated during my years at Barrie Central takes time, allegiance, and consternation, the roots running deep, the limbs spreading to capture the life-giving light of kinship, a longevity of decades the goal.

With the passing of Canada Day 2023, 16 bosom buddies marked the completion of the school year with an annual pilgrimage northward along the byways of Muskoka. Ox Narrows the destination, we rendezvous at the cottage of one of my bestest buddies, Ron Andrews, for the Barrie Central Boy's Cottage Bash on the forested shores of Kushog Lake. Marking the 11th time in 14 years (Covid, eh?), we push our familial responsibilities to the side to celebrate those cherished bonds, reacquaint with the like-minded, revisit the memorable, shine the lustre of the figurative chains that bind our collective. We inevitably find ourselves gasping for oxygen as our diaphragms spasmed thanks to gems of the purest hilarity like, as so eloquently offered by one of those colleagues, "monkeys discovering ice cream". 

I've written at length about my feelings and opinions stemming from my years at ol' BCC so I'll beg your forgiveness at the risk of repetition, but I arrived home in the Beach this year with a profound sense of contentment that I was a part of something remarkable, something that i'd wager very few high schools can lay claim to, and that connection spurred me to share thoughts surrounding it's glowing warmth. 

We're quite the eclectic bunch, if I'm honest.

Stemming from a wide assortment of backgrounds, talents, lineages, and experiences, the one unifying force is the genuine affinity we share for each other's company, the pure delight of proximity evident on the group's faces as we arrive in shifts thanks to the water-locked nature of our host's Muskoka oasis, his 'tinny' the only means with which to join in the festivities. Our highlighter-green tank tops, custom designed and produced, emblematic of both location and remembrance, easily identify the members of our cadre from across the water's expanse. Our group is a reflection of the high school halls that spawned us with stereotypical groups like jocks, techies, artsies, rockers, and academics represented, creating a gloriously Canadian Multicultural regiment of educational warriors, some retired, some still toiling in the trenches, but all a part of an exclusive fraternity that no longer pledges members with the wrecker's ball fate of our beloved alma mater.

Considering both the consanguinity and maturity of the group, the well lubricated gears instantaneously spin at dizzying speeds as the good natured scurrilousness of our banter results in belly laughs that echo down the lake with ferocious intensity. No one is spared, but all accept the barbs with a sheepish grin and a school boy giggle, the tables quickly turning on the tormentor as familiar themes of discussion are dredged from our grey matter. No topic nor persona escapes our collective, highlights and lowlights of our shared experience the logs that fuel the flames of our delight. Like any quality gathering, the fare is potluck with waves of deliciousness the target of delighted appetites that would never populate dietary recommendation lists. With each left to his own devices on choice of beverage and protein, the afternoon on the dock is punctuated by PHSSSST, MMMMM, and HaHaHaHa while the sun shines high in the horizon. With yet another glorious Kushog sunset, the complex smells of an assortment of BBQ fills the property and we are chased inside to escape the bloodthirsty of clouds of insects. 

The banter always extends deep into the wee hours of the night, some staying the course, others surrendering to exhaustion partly due to habit, partly due to the completion of an always hectic June. 

The morning after ALWAYS lives up to its name!

Buckets of coffee wash down the traditional breakfast hash and toast, cobwebs are swept out of the grey matter, sunglasses are worn religiously as antidote to the glare, and the conversations pick up right where they left off. Attempts at clean up are made but we all know that our steps will be retraced by Ron when we're gone, the inevitable result of 16 well lubricated old farts inside 900 square feet of shelter, and we struggle to adequately show him our gratitude for continuing to share his little slice of heaven with us. At the close, all that remains are the warm embraces and thanks for another epic night of friendship.

To my 'Brothers from another Mother', please know that your continuing allegiance means the world to me, and I truly hope that we will continue to celebrate our little fraternity for years to come.