The Auld Kirk

Another stop on our Doors Open tour on Saturday was The Auld Kirk, just outside Almonte. We've noticed it for three years now and always been curious, but it's never been open, so it was definitely on our must-see list.



As you can see, both the church and the setting are picturesque and attractive, and I suppose the name is somewhat enticing too. Since, according to the plaque above, the church has been pretty well unused since 1864, someone or many someones deserve an awful lot of credit for maintaining the place so well.



We were surprised at how tiny and plain the sanctuary was, but considering its Presbyterian (Church of Scotland) roots, I guess we shouldn't have been. The building is unheated in winter, so it's very hard to keep paint on the walls. That's Cuppa sitting in the pew trying to get a feel for the place and probably being exceedingly glad that she can visit it briefly in this day and age rather than have to attend dour services a century and a half ago. I tend to experience a bleak sadness just thinking about it.



The adjoining cemetery is quite large and has, obviously, served the area more effectively than the church itself. This photo certainly doesn't capture all of it, but I think you can see the markers receding into the distance.



Tidbits

• The Auld Kirk is an example of Gothic Revival architecture.
• The church originally served an area called Leckies Corners, which is long gone and began its decline after woolen mills came to nearby Almonte circa 1860.
  
• The land for the church and cemetery were purchased for the grand sum of 3 pounds, 2 shillings and sixpence in 1833.
• After the church was closed in the early1860's, it fell into disrepair but was partially restored after World War I by community members who wished to honour their pioneer ancestors.
• The building material is something called rubblestone and was brought from a farm several concessions over.
• These days, there is generally one service per year to honour the memory of those buried in the cemetery.
  

The Naismith House

Saturday was Ontario's Doors Open Day. While it is theoretically a province-wide event, I have only been aware of it since we moved here to Eastern Ontario. It's pretty well what it sounds like; historically interesting places are encouraged open their doors to the public. Today, we enjoyed and appreciated being admitted to a number of private residences.

We spent several very enjoyable hours in and near Almonte (pronounced Almont, with a silent e). While we were able to pass through several fascinating open doors, the one which I will describe here is of almost universal interest because it is the childhood home of the Canadian man who invented the game of basketball. However, I don't know if we are fortunate or unfortunate that he devised the game while living in the USA. While we lose the main bragging rights, basketball would likely have fizzled had it truly been brainwaved in little, old Almonte, and then there would have been nothing to brag about at all.



This (above) is the historical plaque that we found at the front of the property which you will see in the following photo. Apparently Naismith was born in this house (see below), but his parents sold it to his uncle and moved elsewhere. However, they died of typhoid shortly thereafter, so James and his two siblings moved back under the care of their uncle. Naismith continued to live here until he left for University of McGill at the age of twenty-three.

This view of the house and front yard is what we see now, 153 years after it was built, but it's authentic. Even the verandah, which had been lost to the ravages of time, was recently and faithfully restored from old photographs. While there has been an addition out back, from the front the house now looks almost exactly like it did all those years ago.



Autumn is moving in on us very quickly now. This last photo is a view from the back of the house. The hay has been mowed and the trees beyond are turning colour.



(The sketchy outline of the rest of the story is on the plaque shown in the first photo, but, in brief, Naismith moved to Massachusetts after graduating, and it was there that he developed a game which could be played indoors in winter with very little equipment.)

Foto Friday

Nikki Dee hasn't been well this week, and she hit a very low point of crankiness and irritability yesterday. So, it's good (for her) that I have a slew of good pictures proving that we've had happier times.

Such as when she became my personal trainer.



And oral hygenist.



Not to mention my comforter over a bad hair day life.



She reminded me to stop and smell the roses feel the leaves before they go away for the winter.



And to let my imagination soar.



I guess it wasn't such a bad week after all.



And I guess I'll forgive her for the horror that was yesterday.

Ceremony Photos

I finally have made the time to update my Wedding Ceremony set. While there are many parts of the weekend yet to be attended to, I think that's it for the ceremony, at least until I receive the one other batch that I am expecting.

Brush By Brush

I notice this house almost daily. It's one of those fine old Victorian types of houses that linger here and there.



To their credit, the owners have resisted siding it.

To my dismay, they are also taking forever to paint the thing. You see, this is our fourth September here, and there was scaffolding up in that very first September. It came down sometime before winter, but it was up the following summer and the next and this one just past as well. Oh they do make progress, but it's rather slow going, and I think I've only ever seen someone painting just once. It seems to me that it will take at least another summer or two before they're done. By then, it will probably be time to start all over.

I wonder if there will ever be a summer without scaffolding. Perhaps I'll miss it when it's gone.

It's all okay and not my business, but it's just something that strikes me as a bit unusual, so I thought I would share the photo and explanation with you.

And it makes for an easy blog.

And easy is good.

A Few Photos

In order to break my silence of the last few days, I'll post a few photos today. The first two are from a weekend walk at the nearby Mill of Kintail. The third is of the river in town and was taken last week.

I called this first picture Ancient Guardian on my Flickr site. Both Cuppa and I noticed that it looked something a crocodile head when we walked past, but I think it looks more mythological in the photo. You might want to see this one larger. Just click on it, and it will open in a new window (as will the next two).



The next photo was taken not too far away from the previous one. It is Indian River that you see.



The original of the next photo is quite large. I usually downsize photos that I upload directly to Blogger, but I forgot this time. However, it is more effective viewed large. While this is more or less true for all photos, it is more than less true for this one (all in this post in fact) where I have tried to render a bit of painting effect. Anyway, as I said before it is of our local river, looking west (more or less).

The Mystery of Memory

I am struck again (I say again because I know I posted something along this line once before) at the oddity of memory or of my memory at any rate. When I was at the jam the other night, I recognized many faces and could just about place where I seen every one. Don, on my left, I have seen at several jams, two workshops, and talked to briefly in the downstairs washroom about two years ago. I even recall what we said. To him though, I looked only vaguely familiar. On the other hand, he seems to remember every tune he's ever played.

There was the guitar player two down of my right; I have only seen himonce but I can tell you where I saw him, in what chair he was sitting, and what tune I requested when he asked. The guy to his right, I sat next to but one at a workshop in Almonte last June, and the lady to his right, I saw once at the same jam as the guitar player. I know it was on or near Robbie Burns Day because I remember her referring to it and leading in some Scottish pieces in homage. And so on. To all of these people, however, I looked only vaguely familiar. On the other hand, you may have noted that I didn't refer to any save one by name even though we went around the circle to introduce ourselves. However, while I don't do names very well, I'd be almost willing to wager that many of them will be able to call me by name if we meet again soon.

I don't know what it is with me and names, but I simply don't retain them very well. Just the other day, for example, Cuppa mentioned the name of the street just one over from us, and I immediately thought she was referring to the the one up from us. I feel kind of dumb when I do that ... and maybe I am. You'd think one should know the neighbouring streets after all because I do turn onto that one daily as it connects to mine.

My odd memory patterns also turn up a lot when watching television. We've watched countless mysteries, and while they do tend to blur and run together, I'll frequently begin to remember incidents and sometimes be able to predict them. This is while Cuppa is almost willing to swear that she's never seen it before. On the other hand she has a great memory for anecdotes or tidbits of information such as you should RICE a sprain, whatever the heck that means. Meanwhile, I sometimes do well with numbers. For example, I might be able to pick up a cookbook and go directly to the correct page (at least if I've looked at it somewhat recently).

I suppose it's down to learning styles. Some are visual learners while other brains respond to different stimuli. I still find it all remarkable, however.

Whatever the whys and wherefores, I still feel extraordinarily dumb when the name of the neighbouring street eludes me.