About WI Women’s Institute is a local, provincial, national and international organization that promotes women, families and communities. Our goal is to empower women to make a difference.
The idea to form a national group was first considered in 1912. In 1914, however, when the war began the idea was abandoned. At the war’s end, Miss Mary MacIsaac, Superintendent of Alberta Women’s Institute, revived the idea. She realized the importance of organizing the rural women of Canada so they might speak as one voice for needed reforms, and the value of co-ordinating provincial groups for a more consistent organization. In February 1919, representatives of the provinces met in Winnipeg, Manitoba, to form the Federated Women’s Institutes of Canada.
The identity of the Women’s Institute still lies profoundly in its beginnings. The story of how this historic organization came to be is one that resonates with women all over the world, and is engrained in the mission and vision Ontario WI Members still live by today. CLICK here–
From childhood I have been fascinated with all different fungi. Being a child who climbed trees and would sit for a time and take in her surroundings, I was conscious of Nature and growing things.
I came from an Irish background and a grandfather that did instill the magic of the imagination. I travelled on many adventures with him, touring his workshop and watching him create his many talents and thoughts. Grandpa always found a lesson in everything he did and always shared his knowledge.
He was a man of many talents and one thing he did was make Dandelion Wine. He had his recipe which had been in his family for years. Come Dandelion season, he would be getting ready to pick his blossoms, he would ask if I would like to help. Out to the woodshed he went and picked up an old apple basket and away we would go,
It seems to me the best place for the blossoms was the green space by the railway track. We did have to walk the path at the end of the field across on the other side of Gardner Street. The field/bush had many things to be discovered and one thing I had noticed was the fungi growing on the side of the tree. Because my Grandpa was always so smart and had the answers, I asked him about it. As we were walking, we passed an old tree and there it was a charming growth on the trunk of the tree. When I asked about it, he said well you see that is where your leprechaun lives.
Now I did believe that this is where my interest came from. He explained that every little person had a leprechaun to watch over them, but they were hard to find, as they sometimes became invisible. They did not like to be found as they were always watching out for your well being. He told me if you approached the fungi and looked under it you might just find your little leprechaun sitting there. I do have to admit as we were on a mission for those yellow blooms from the dandelion, I did not get the chance to look.
I have to admit I never did find my Noisey O’Really in all my time of looking, although there were times I felt someone on my shoulder.
You know things do come back into your life again and teachings you received as a child do come back to be. When my nephew was about six years old he would come to visit for a week during the summer and stay at our home. He was a delightful child.
At the time we had a dog I would walk and Kevin would come with me on a tour of our walk around the block. One day on a tree by the spot between the sidewalk and the street there was a fungus on the trunk of the tree. It was much too close to the ground for me to bend and look for the leprechaun.
Like any Irish descendant, Aunt would pass the story on, and she told him that If he was quiet and did not make too much noise, he might find a leprechaun. It seems to me whenever he visited he would come on my dog walk. The only thing was the leprechaun also eluded Kevin.
I guess we were not quiet enough and I am still waiting to find my Leprechaun.
Trespassing is not considered appropriate. It is understood that if we are alerted by a property owner about an area that is owned by them that we will remove your post.We must keep the integrity of the location intact for those that wish to view later.7. Absolutely no vandalism or theft from properties is condoned. Please keep these beautifully abandoned properties in their slowly decaying state.
You don’t know me but I follow your posts in the various groups. I live in Beckwith Township and often take rides around the neighborhood. On one such ride I saw this on the side of the road on an old fence. It is located on the Brunton Side Rd. further along where the Beckwith /Montague border is. There is a farm opposite side with a large wooden gateway with a skull and some other stuff (also cool Lol)
Just wondering if you could shed some light on the significance of it relating to the area it is located. I took the photo of the Cross several yrs ago and a friend of mine recently jumped the fence and took the second photo. He did not want to venture any further inside the property as he was alone and probably trespassing. We know it’s religious significance just curious who owns the site etc etc. Any help solving this mystery would be much appreciated. Thanks.
Can anyone help?
The Via Dolorosa (Latin for “Sorrowful Way”, often translated “Way of Suffering”; Hebrew: ויה דולורוזה; Arabic: طريق الآلام) is a processional route in the Old City of Jerusalem. It represents the path that Jesus would have taken, forced by the Roman soldiers, on the way to his crucifixion. The winding route from the former Antonia Fortress to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre — a distance of about 600 metres (2,000 feet)— is a celebrated place of Christian pilgrimage. The current route has been established since the 18th century, replacing various earlier versions. It is today marked by nine Stations of the Cross; there have been fourteen stations since the late 15th century, with the remaining five stations being inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Wikipedia click here
I assume this is a nature walk for the stations of the cross.. I hope someone knows something about it.But please respect it and keep it safe.
During the past week says the Carleton Place Herald, a cat belonging to Mr. W. Devlin scratched a couple of the children, a very unusual thing with the pet animal. A day or two later the cat again showed ill-will to the family by biting Mrs. Devlin on the hand. The scratches on the children healed naturally but the bite became alarming and a physician was called.
The history was to prove that the cat had been bitten by a dog some5 days previous. The cat was destroyed and the animal sent to Ottawa for examination when it was found to be a pronounced case of rabies. Those affected are progressing favorably and no serious results are expected. In the meantime the authorities have taken all precautionary measures to stamp out the trouble, and all dogs are ordered to be tied up in the meantime.
In 1911, Philadelphia drug company H. K. Mulford announced a new rabies treatment kit that could be shipped directly to doctors and was simple enough that “physicians who have had no previous experience may successfully apply it.” The kit is a reminder that even the best medicine is of no consequence if it is not available and affordable.
The treatment consisted of 25 injections of rabies vaccine: three on the first day, two on the second, two on the third, and one each day after for 18 days. Each dose was slightly stronger, or more virulent, than the preceding, so that the body could build up immunity. Because the vaccine had to be “fresh” to be effective it could not be stocked by druggists. Subsequent daily doses were shipped directly from Philadelphia in a special Caloris vacuum bottle (not unlike your coffee thermos).
Today the post-exposure treatment for rabies consists of four doses of vaccine given over a two-week period. The injections are usually given in the upper arm.
1881 Census before he was married and he worked at a sawmill. His father’s name was Charles so he went by William
There is no date however based on some of the content it appears to have been published sometime between 1905 – 1910. It measures approximately 6 1/2″ x 11″ with 64 pages It was published by THE CITY OF OTTAWA PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT Information and Photographs include:
Panoramic view of Parliament Hill and Rideau Locks
I try to lay low on weekends, but once again Ben Weiss’s posting made me think of that era– so here is a piece I wrote years ago and seldom share.
I was Part of the French Revolution and I Forgot Linda Knight Seccaspina
Last year I wrote a blog on French Canada, and it seemed to rip open a box of memories that had been filed away in my mind for many years. I had actually lived through an important part of Canadian history and forgot all about it.
When Pierre Elliot Trudeau became Prime Minister in April of 1968 it changed Canadian history. The night he won I was at the Cowansville, Quebec Hotel with my friends and my father, who was a campaign manager for Jean Jacques Bertrand.
My French Canadian friends ran in and grabbed my arm for a night of celebrating. The feelings in the air were the same as when Barack Obama won in a 99% African-American neighborhood forty years later. My friends were thrilled that hopefully help was on the way for French Canadians.
My best friend kept teasing me, asking me if I was angry that a French Canadian man had won the election. Being Sally Sunshine all my life, I never take sides. Life should be about people working together, and not against each other. But, I was thrilled he had won, as I really liked him and hoped there would be no more taking sides. Even my stepmother and father were taking sides as she loved Trudeau also, and the conversation had gotten so unpleasant in my home that she had taped a giant poster of Pierre Trudeau to the living room wall. Sadly at one point, the people of French and English Quebec did take sides, and a revolution was born. Out of this unrest came the notorious FLQ (Quebec Liberation Front).
There were bombings, and declarations from them that called for a socialist uprising against those considered Anglo-Saxon imperialist oppressors. Yes, it felt just like the ‘play wars’ we always had in the lumber yard with my French friends as children, only on a bigger scale, and very real. They called for the overthrow of the Quebec government and the independence of Quebec from Canada.
At age 16, I started dating a French Canadian boy whom I will call Yves. His father had completely radical opinions about the English and did not mince words when his son brought home an English girl. It turned out that he had known my grandfather, and considered him one of the Anglo-Saxon imperialists, as he had money and what he considered “British airs”.
My father was equally concerned. Not that Yves might have some radical tendencies, but the fact that his hair looked a little long. This was typical of my father. Never worry about the important stuff, just make sure he cuts his hair. It certainly would be a travesty if people talked about it. It was all around town anyways that Arthur Knight had trouble with his oldest daughter.
He also did not like the fact that his daughter was not dating a nice Anglican boy, and he told me to “kiss him goodbye”. In Quebec, the age of consent to marry was 21 and he would not allow me to marry Yves until I reached that age. Maybe he had the right idea as the marriage only lasted a year and a half, but I knew the only reason was because he had long hair and worked at Vilas in Cowansville. Not good enough for his daughter.
On October 15, 1970, more than 3,000 students attended a protest rally in favor of the FLQ. The FLQ then kidnapped James Cross, the British High Trade Commissioner, and when their demands were not met they kidnapped the Minister of Labour and Vice Premier of Quebec, Pierre Laporte.
When a CBC reporter asked Prime Minister Trudeau how far he was going to go to stop the FLQ he said,
“Just watch me!”
On October 16th, at 8 am I stepped out of my apartment building on Pine Ave. in Montreal what I saw was unbelievable. Prime Minister Trudeau had invoked the War Measures Act at 4 am, and military forces lined my street like there was a war going on. That’s when all hell broke loose.
The next day, October 17th, 1970, Pierre Laporte was found dead in the trunk of a car, strangled to death.
Living in Montreal during the time of the War Measures act was like living in a war zone. Soldiers halted anyone they felt was suspicious, and I was even stopped at the Greyhound Bus Terminal and asked for my passport. All they said was that I looked like someone who was on a list.
Of course I have been on lists all my life. For years, I was considered a threat to the Canadian population because of “those” Viet Nam War protests and I sold subversive literature in my store. Subversive literature would be the alternative music and radical fashion magazines that I sold in my store Flash Cadilac in the 70’s and 80’s. Thankfully, things have changed.
In the end of all this chaos: 453 people were rounded up, and some were given asylum in Cuba. The five flown to Cuba were jailed when they returned to Canada years later. Yves and I split up, and I have not seen him in 47 years. Most of my generation moved out of Quebec and went to Ontario after they graduated. They sadly left because of too many rules and regulations about language and cultural issues. I often wonder what could have been, I really do. I will always miss ‘Ma Belle Province’ –language issues or not.
Every second or third Friday night for a number of years CHEZ-FM DJ Brian Murphy could be found in my store Flash Cadilac talking to me for hours. I will never understand how we became friends, as we were different as night and day. But there he was sitting on a stool next to my cash register, and we always had hours to chat about stuff. Both of us had a love of music, but no one knew more about music than Murph. I loved to tease him about his love affair with Dire Straits, and he would in turn constantly mention my extremely bad taste in music. But sometimes he would admit that some pop music wasn’t all that bad. I wonder what he would have thought of BTS. Murph, I’m going to ask you that when I hopefully got up into rock and roll heaven, unless Hell is Gothic, and well, you know, I might enjoy that.
Brian was never there to shop, and seldom took interest in my customers (even the sexy ones) unless they mentioned music. I always had a Diet Coke or two for him, as he got thirsty discussing life, and sometimes he overwhelmed me with his knowledge. You could never have a 15 minute conversation with the music genius–his musical thoughts came in volumes. He would talk endlessly about his record collection in his basement which was floor to ceiling, as well as covering the stairways and hallways. Brian, you would be happy to know (in later life) I married one of “your tribe” who had 7000 records to get rid of in Berkeley, California to move here to Canada. I know you would have told him what was more important in life LOL.
After Brian was let go amid the big CHEZ-FM shuffle I wondered what he was up to when I no longer saw him anymore. When I read his obituary I was devastated and angry at myself for not reaching out to him and hoped to God his frog collection would be taken care of. He will always be the Sultan of Swing to me and so much more.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I wonder what Brian would have to say about a particular genre of music I’m playing. When he died CHEZ-FM posted the following on their website:
“Heaven has just welcomed its new music director.”
If tears could build a stairway,
And memories a lane.
I would walk right up to Heaven
And bring you back again.
The Brian Murphy Fund *Application and donation links found below* A Sub Fund of the Education Foundation of Ottawa and An Endowment Fund within the Community Foundation of Ottawa This award is in memory of Brian Murphy, host of CHEZ 106 “The Source” “Blues 106,” “Jazz 106” and other programs. He was known as one of Ottawa’s most original people. Brian will be remembered for his encyclopedic knowledge of musi
Please leave comments so I can them all here for permanent doucmentation… thanks
This is Artcetera, speaking from the home of Brian Murphy, host of CHEZ’S The Source, Blues 106 and Jazz 106 programs on Sunday nights. The shows reflect Murphy’s eclectic tastes in music, a subject for which he is wildly enthusiastic. He’s also a champion talker. Let’s listen in.) Now I’m going to get myself in real serious trouble with what one friend calls the jazz ayatol-lahs, and another friend calls the jazz weasels. Because really what jazz is, even though it has become in a sense an art form ta-dah ta-dah, is pop music. MOZART WROTE POP MUSIC, or adapted pop music. And nothing makes me angrier than the jazz ayatollahs or the jazz weasels, or the BLUES ayatollas or the BLUES weasels, people who are so structured in their musical taste.
. . . I’ve always gotten from certain people in the Ottawa jazz scene the ayatollahs, the weasels the feeling that they really can’t take me seriously when it comes to jazz. Why? Because I like rock and roll. (It’s me again. We’re talking to Murphy because May 24 is his 50th birthday, and CHEZ is dedicating the day to his music, and also holding a birthday party for him at the Penguin. The radio station is broadcasting from his house that day, and they’ve asked him to pick 125 to 150 rock songs, and they will make up the playlist for the station that day.) I just took a page for every letter and as songs came into my mind I started going through them … So you got a list that starts A’s: Allman Brothers, Ramblin Man and Animals, House of the Rising Sun. B’s: The Band, The Weight, The Beach Boys, Good Vibrations, here’s a tough one, Beatles, I’ve got two, Am The Walrus and In My Life. And I’ve got Bonzo Dog in here, which will probably come out, and this particular song means a lot to me: Urban Spaceman . . . (Music magazines spill on the floors of Brian Murphy’s house.
There’s barely room on the kitchen table for the breakfast he eats at 4 p.m. he doesn’t go to sleep until 8 or 9 a.m. He collects things in the shape of frogs, and frogs spill along the shelves of his living room in ceramic and plastic and wood. A frog quilt spills off his bed. CDs spill out on top of the thou sands of albums kept in the boxes in his basement. Books spill on his desk. Words spill out of Brian Murphy.) First of all, above all, I’m an entertainer. I’ve got to make people feel good. That doesn’t mean that occasionally I can’t stop and make them think about something or make them angry about something that makes me angry. But at the same time as I’m entertaining, I’m kind of teaching. I’m taking all of this lore, all of this knowledge, all of this listening, and sifting them through this particular body and mind, and what comes out is some kind of synthesis of all this stuff. (May 24 is also the 50th birthday of Bob Dylan.
Above Murphy’s basement sanctuary, where he goes to turn on a record and read some science fiction and think about the connections that run through music, above that sanctuary is a sign: ‘The Most Famous Album Never Released: Bob Dylan & The Band The Basement Tapes.’ Basement. Tapes. Connections.) Dylan was the wordsmith. Dylan was the man, the person who opened the words up for everybody. In a sense, Bob Dylan made poetry acceptable to the masses. What a horrible way to have to put it. (Murphy rocks from leg to leg, from subject to subject. He loves music of all kinds, he hates people who put it into pigeonholes, he wants people to understand . . . There are only kinds of music another line I’m going to steal and it’s been attributed to Kurt Weill and it’s also been attributed to Igor Stavinsky there are two kinds of music, good music and bad music.
Take your pick. . to understand something called Sturgeon’s Law, a law that says that 90 per cent of everything is trash. Mur phy’s Corollary puts Brian Murphy that at 95 per cent. So you shouldn’t be surprised … – -J Pop music is banal and all of those things, but! lot of it more than you realize is great music. It can move you. “I’d be surprised if a lot of pop music is bad- ‘ A lot of everything is bad. But when it’s good; -” we just ask Brian Murphy.) . Part of what I try to do is I go through life trying to find these perfect records. To me the ultimate compliment about a piece of music, no matter what its genre, is it makes you feel good to be alive.
As you know Thomas Quinn of Ferguson’s Falls led the four teams required to move this house down the frozen Mississippi River and Lake to its present site. Tragically there was a devasting fire that consumed a lot of this house in August of 2021. It is said at present that it is a complete tear down.
Today I talked to Harold “Ozzie” McNeely and he told me when he was growing up the move of this house was always in conversation. They used to go up to Ferguson Falls for business (live stock) and he remembers being shown as a child where the house once existed in that village. One of his teachers in High School was a Kennedy who owned the house as they too often spoke about this house. Ozzie said the house that was moved was very small and unlike the size it was at present. The home had an addition built on to the main small house in later years.
He said it took awhile, about a week, to move down the ice with teams of horses and the house’s port of entry to Carleton Place and High Street was Nichol’s wharf which is now Centennial Park. From there teams of horses and sleighs pulled the house to its present location through the snow.
I would like to correct some misinformation regarding the Kennedy house. My Dad, Douglas Kennedy , did teach at CPHS until 1955 when he went to Lisgar Collegiate in Ottawa to teach. There had not been any previous Kennedys in the house as he bought it from a Miss Campbell in the early 50’s. My siblings and l grew up in that house and were saddened to hear of the fire and the possible demise of our childhood home. Evelyn Kennedy Julian
Corrected thanks Evelyn!
Thanks Ozzie, and he also told me there used to me a small tunnel under the RBC bank was and where the safe was. Also, the Queen’s Hotel had/ has two basements and there was one tunnel to bring the beer out to the back parking lot.
Back in 2015, Carleton Place Coun. Linda Seccaspina profiled the unique story behind the home on her blog.
Known as the Kennedy House, at the corner of Flora and High streets, the home wasn’t actually built in Carleton Place. It was moved down the frozen Mississippi River from Innisville to Carleton Place during winter around 1900 by a large group of horses and men.
“Thomas Quinn of Ferguson’s Falls led the four teams required to move this house down the frozen Mississippi River and lake to its present site,” she stated in her blog post.
Carleton Place was the home’s third location. It was originally built in 1845 on land in Ferguson’s Falls–.READ HERE
Last week I wrote about Minnie Dunlop who used to run Darou’s Bakery on the corner of Emily and Bridge Street in Carleton Place. If you had no idea like I and some of the family did: Minnie not only baked her heart out, and ran that part of town like she was in charge, but she was also married to a former mayor from Carleton Place, Andrew Earl Dunlop.
Today, one of the family, Doug Caldwell called me and we had a lovely chat about the town of Carleton Place. He remembers the pool hall really wasn’t the place and Minnie often hauled her son Murray home by the ear after rescuing them from the evils of pool-playing. Oh the horrors! She was a no nonsense woman who believed in the theory that sliced bread was here to stay and purchased one of the first bread sliceing machines to stay ahead of the competition. Doug remembers her telling him to grab a stool and show Carleton Place how its done slicing the bread. He said he was pretty proud doing that job.
But Doug not only helped Murray, he helped Mike Muldowan at the chip wagon and when he got there early in the morning Mike would give him a large pail of potatoes to peel. I asked him if he ate his weight in chips for payment. He said, “You know I would have, but I remember getting silver coins, Mike never paid in paper!”
His mother Edna Florence Caldwell, was a hairdresser on Bridge Street and his grandmother, Mrs. Jamieson played the organ at St. James Anglican Church, and his two aunts sang in the choir. He also remembers the horse stables in the back of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church. The farmers came to church with their teams and sleighs and it was quite the sight as they parked. When they left they had to unharness everything and regroup, and mumbled and grumbled. But that was not the only place they mumbled in grumbled at St. Andrew’s. In the days that Captain Hooper’s house Raloo Cottage was going to be torn down the citizens of Carleton Place were not happy. Not happy at all! So I asked him,”Did they protest?” He said they protested the way they always did– complaining in front of the churches on Sunday!”
He also remembers every year the gypsies–(2021 word Romani) and would set up shop on the corner of Lake and Beckwith near where Nichols Planing Mill was. He said it was quite the event as in those days the stream behind it was quite larger than it is today.
So they mumbled and grumbled about the Levine building across the street, and they muttered about the new Fleming Funeral Parlour opening up on Lake Ave West. Because, that’s the way things were done. His grandfather, Will Jaimeson was a CPR railroad man and he did the Ottawa Brockville run which was a very prestigious run in those days.
Doug remembers being put on top of one of the L carts and having his Grandfather perform a steam show so to speak. His grandfather would holler to start shovelling the coal really fast and once the steam would get up to speed it was a sight to see. So he ran the smaller wheels and then the bigger wheels to show his grandson how much power that Locomotive had. Meanwhile the coal man wasn’t too happy and he would tell young Doug that his grandfather was showing off just because he showed up.
In the end everyone moved away after the war so the family could seek better fortunes, and on October 30th, 2021, the families are all reuniting once again at the Gastro Pub in Carleton Place for a salute to the “Jamieson Daughters”. It’s time for the family to reunite, celebrate and time for the younger generations to know their history. Family reunions are the place where you remember where you came from.