The following is an excerpt from a published book:

Listen To Your Father

 After my dad died in Portland, in 1963, I went down to his musty basement, switched on a light to see a long bench covered with scores of boxes. I decided to go through every one. At some point I just poked my hand into a file in the middle of one box. It was the only piece of paper out of the entire collection addressed to me and never sent.

A letter to Gerald:

Son--the gifts of the gods are scattered for those who will.
Only the man who struggles attains the highest hill --
And strength must come thru effort -- I'll try, I'll try, I'll try has won life's greatest battles -- when the spirit says do or die.
And the gods of vision will whisper in an hour of despair
look up and on and forward for I am the One to care.
And a boy with hope and real worth is the pride, the joy,
the Best of Earth.

   Those words by my dad in his Spenserian scrawl are framed and and hanging on my study wall.

About my dad

 About two hours north of Toronto, Canada, was the sleepy little village of Severn Bridge.

     Once a lively commercial center in the mid to late 1800's, the only vestige of its former glory is a small tavern now.        

     When my grandfather homesteaded there around 1860 it grew into a town boasting a sizeable lumber mill about 300 yards from Grandpa's 5 acre parcel on the banks of the Severn River. It also had several shops, including Grandpa George's General Store and the Temperance Hotel, also run by he and his wife Jane.

 

        Jane and George Robinson

 Never having met either, my information is sketchy and I have to rely on bits and pieces my own father told me. That, plus some research I did when Elsbeth and I visited the approximate location of Grandpa’s homestead in 1986. A home on the property is occupied by Bud and Ann Clark, two gracious and charming people. These two total strangers invited us in, and offered a lot of help in the search for my paternal roots.

     Ann accompanied us to Gravenhurst, a small, historic town about 18 miles north of Severn Bridge. She took us to the town library for a dig into the archives. She even poked around a graveyard with us, looking for Robinson tombstones. We found the Robinson name all over that country — but no tombstones of relatives.

     Mrs. Clark also provided me with a copy of Green and Sparkling, which described the Severn Bridge area in the mid 1800's. Lumbering was the predominant industry, based around the majestic pines thriving in that part of Canada.

     The town of Washago, about two miles from Severn Bridge, would become the supply depot for the huge lumber industry to the north, after its own stores of pine were gone.

     “Lumbering was the supreme industry of earlier times.” Unfortunately, it was also the most wasteful and destructive, as many trees were left to rot or burn if they didn’t meet the rigid standards of the times. Lumbermen usually cut down every tree, taking only the best. The seemingly limitless forests were shown neither mercy nor good sense by the loggers of that era.

    The big drive was in 1880 two years after my dad was born. Pine logs were cut and rolled into the Severn, then floated to Georgian Bay. Some of the larger lumber companies employed a thousand men. More than eighty million feet of pine lumber

was shipped in one year by one firm, Dodge and Company of New York.

     There was no shortage of booze, either. Lumberjacks, flush with their winter’s take, could easily blow it all in a brief, madcap bender. One camp boss gave most of his pay — and his gold watch — to his timekeeper for safekeeping, warning him not to give them back until he was safely home in the spring.

      Grandpa George and his growing family lived within a quarter mile of the huge lumber mill.

The skilled millwrights, sawyers and merchants who thus settled the area included the Buchnams, Forsythes, Connors, Mackenzies and other familiar names.

     Their descendants still live in Washago, Severn Bridge and neighboring communities.

      This then was the picture of Severn Bridge, the home of grandfather Robinson. I got a thrill at walking the same turf dad and his family trod upon more than 100 years ago.

     Elsbeth was a great sport throughout the tedious search and a joy to have on the long journey.

Gerald "Jerry" Robinson has two books available for purchase. Something's Out There and Listen To Your Father. For more information on acquiring either book, contact the kenr@robinsonnews.com