"I worked hard for a dollar a

day..."

Easing back into the comfort of his well-worn chair he gazes towards the window, fond memories of the days gone by cloud his silvery-blue eyes. Seeing not the harsh turmoil of winter outside but envisioning scenes of his boyhood in that very yard, his friendly face glows with a warming smile. His weather- beaten skin and timeworn work clothes provide evidence of a long life of outdoor work as he sits recounting stories of life in lumber camps. Small in stature, yet with a hardy frame, he is a softspoken man of a modest nature who has an ~affinity for his seventeen year old feline companion.

The large red brick house he shares with his petite wife is tastefully decorated; carefully arranged furniture and knicknacks are a classic illustration of fine craftsmanship. The pale walls and aged piano host a variety of paintings and photographs, their images yellowed with time. Largely unchanged over the century the house is characterized by a faintly musty-sweet aroma and the faded colourings of its comfortable interior.

Greeted by a friendly smile and a welcoming handshake we begin our visit feeling at ease in his presence, and eager to learn more of Garnet Allan's story. Reminiscing about his early days in the lumbering era he takes us back in time to the traditional Valley way of life...

Garnet Allan

            "I was born August 22nd, 1905, right here in this house. It will be a hundred years old this coming year. This was the first brick house in this area from Deep River to Chalk River and all around. There was the odd frame house around but

  

not too many, they were mostly log houses. When my grandfather landed in this area, they came by canoe and they settled down at the river. The traffic was all by the river in the summertime, and the wintertime up the ice; there was no road. The original old road was used when the surveyors came in to survey the townships. This road that you came in on was named Allan Road, after my father, and McKinley Road down the highway was named after my grandfather.

As a kid I remember, if you had been sitting here then, you would have seen nothin' but horses pass. When I first

  

went to school there were times that I couldn't get past them. There was a string of thirty or forty spread out along the road. There'd be the loads going west and the empties coming east. Right down here where the Stewart house is, across from the Department of Highways depot (west of Deep River), there were a lot of buildings where my grandfather ran what was called a stoppin' place. There were stablings to keep thirty-two teams of horses over night. 'Course the traffic then was all horses and everybody had blankets and slept on the floor.

9

TAMARACK