Between the in and out of morning sunshine, spherical particles of rainfall glisten on the balcony chairs and railing. The humidity is rising while the cornstalks urgently fill the last vestige of space among them. The tanned grounds keepers – with intermittent pauses for chatter – loudly hum and buzz along the grassland boundary of the property restoring it to manicured perfection – though it, like the difference between a good and bad haircut, is two days. It is a sultry summer day in July.
Coming back this afternoon from the golf club – where we had settled briefly for a cup of black coffee – we summarily concurred how lush the appearance is at this time of year. We also agreed that the Appleton Side Road is a splendid drive.
Our calendar has of late been a record of accomplishment. The little that has endured or been added is welcome. For the moment I am solely devoted to this sultry summer day. The routine cathartic exploits have once again succeeded to fulfill their exiguous need. I was for example initially reluctant to return on the Appleton Side Road after this morning’s coffee outing; but the negligible commitment to habit preserves my sense of duty – for which, by chance, I added a full container of washer fluid. My agenda is commensurately languid.
My brother-in-law – ever industrious – reminded me of my ancestors’ involvement in what was once considered a great Canadian enterprise; namely, fox ranching.
Serendipitously the subject of fox ranching and fur buyers unwittingly arose over coffee this morning when Dr. Michelle asked me about my commitment to Almonte from my introduction here almost 50 years ago on another sultry summer day in June of 1976. I gleefully explained that at that time I had occasional social outings with Patti Flesher of Pat Flesher Furs notoriety. Patti – who now lives in Palm Beach, Florida – was never one to mince her words. She pointedly asked, “So when are you coming back to Ottawa?” I told her then – and I repeat it now a half century later – “Never!” It was my singular delight to reiterate this account this morning (as I have shamefully done so often with both Patti and her sister Suzie whom I continue to count among my dearest friends after all these years). Their parents were also famously kind and generous to my family. Izzie Flesher had a passion that competes with my own for a well maintained automobile.
My mother’s collection of furs included a “chubby”, an almost circular fur worn strictly for fashion, a bulb of fur from the collar to the waist. Having had my own full length racoon fur coat I can testify to the utility of the apparel in Canadian winter.
You’ll forgive me, dear Reader, if I retract from the dialogue surrounding the business. As an unrepentant carnivore I have trouble accommodating the differences. By comparison my family history with the production of maple syrup is far less deniable. The elixir continues as well to this day to be a foundation of elemental delight and exuberance. I am pleased during my career to have been associated with the Fulton family in Lanark County.