Gone

A wicked wind blew through our area this past weekend, taking down many tress, and to my dismay, the big red barn at Swords.

 

 

 

The sound that mammoth structure must have made while coming down...well, I can't even imagine.  Huge, pounding timbers and screeching metal.  The wind that day sounded like a freight train through the trees; the barn coming down would have been other-worldly.

 

 

 

I visited Swords today to see the fallen barn.  As I walked all around it, I felt my heart heavy in my chest.  I'm sad to see such a landmark go.  It makes me think of the life the barn once had, the purposes it served and the lives that depended on it.  This barn held stories that I don't even know, and beyond that, was a permanent marker in many people's mental maps of the area.  Driving through Swords now, one might not even know such a thing as a massive red barn ever stood there.

 

 

 

I'm reminded of the importance of telling stories - connecting with those around us who know the local history of where we live.  I feel a connection to this place that I haven't felt in any other place I've lived.  I think that's because of the accessibility of it's history- it's still on the surface, so to speak, and I can visit and wander in it.  I am also connected to several people who can tell me stories of days gone by.  That history holds an importance that goes beyond words, deep into the heart and soul of the people that have lived, worked and loved here.  Beyond that, it stretches to the present and future generations.

 

The big red barn at Swords is just a old structure that gave way to time and the elements, sure, but to me it represents so much more.

 

 

The Old Logging Trail

This morning we set out for a hike along the old logging trail behind my in law's  house.

 

The trail was (and still is) used as access to the woodlot, and about twenty years ago was logged commercially.  The ruts you see in this picture were created twenty years ago.

We supplement our oil heat with wood, so the trees back here are of interest to us.  Rick and his dad cut selectively, only taking trees that have come down on their own, or are old and dying.  There are some very old trees here, some far too large to cut down.

Running parallel to the trail is the small river that connects the beaver ponds.  We were beyond the second beaver pond when I heard water rushing.  I made my way toward the sound and could see farther up where the water opened up into yet another beaver pond.  We didn't go much father than this, but there is still plenty of exploring to do.

Swords School

The school is located approximately one kilometre south of the general store. As with most schools at the time, it probably housed grades 1 - 8 in one room.

As mentioned in a previous post, Maple Lake Station was established in 1894 when the Booth Railway brought lumbering to the area.  Ludgate Lumber Company put up the general store and three workers' houses directly to the south of the rail and in 1904 a school was built to service the children.  Maple Lake Station became Swords in 1925 to avoid confusion with another Maple Lake Station.

The building of the school was funded by a Mrs. George Waugh.  The school closed in 1936 as a result of decreasing attendance, but reopened in 1941 when attendance increased.  The school closed for good in 1958 and left in the care of the Maple Lake Club.

I wandered up there yesterday morning with my son, Henry.  The schoolhouse has been restored and is used as a community centre today.  Remnants of it's past life still exist though.  On the south side of the property, near the border between lawn and forest is the water pump.  I imagine children lining up at it on hot late spring days to get a drink of water. 

Behind are the outhouses.  One has been saved and restored for present day use, labeled "womens".  The other has been left to it's own slow decline into the earth below.  Beyond the outhouses is an expanse of forest.

I'm glad for the restoration of this building.  I believe it crucial to maintain and keep history alive in this way.  What else is left, after all?  After all who remember are gone, who's left to tell the story?  Sites such as this live on to pique our curiosity and make us dig deeper.