Stepping Back in Time at the Upper Canada Village

(HEADS UP: This article is lengthy. But if you like local history and trivia, then this is for you. Happy reading!)

Ever since childhood, I have always been afflicted by a nostalgic bug. This strong fascination for all things old and ancient has made me into a bit of a history buff.

I buried my nose in books and spent hours watching documentaries about ancient civilizations, medieval tales, and accounts of gone-by days. I preferred visiting museums and perusing artifacts over shopping for toys at the mall. I favoured period films over blockbuster movies set in the current time and even became slightly obsessed with time travel-themed movies. I love looking at old paintings and antique portraits and wonder about the lives of the people in the images and what it was like to live in that era.

I remember spending my summer afternoons watching re-runs of black-and-white movies from the 1950s and 1960s instead of going out in the street to play with my neighbours. I would sit with my grandmas and grandaunts and pepper them with questions about their childhood and our family’s history. I remember being so excited about wearing an 18^th-century costume for a school play and wished I could wear it every day. I collected colouring books with vintage drawings, the ones with the Queen Anne-style homes and girls in Victorian fashion. I even re-arranged a corner of our living room to be my very own nook in an attempt to recreate the overstuffed look of the interior of these old-fashioned homes with the use of whatever items I found in the house – lace doilies, old vases, figurines, and frames.  

After many years of history classes – Philippine, Asian, the Western World, the Ancient World, the World in general - my fascination has only gone deeper. I still dig history books or novels with historical backdrops, still watch historical films and documentaries, still lose myself in historical exhibitions at museums, and still fancy time travel, if only in my imagination.

Our son seems to have developed an interest in old things as well, perhaps not as much as I did, but the curiosity is definitely there. He’d ask me about “the olden days” and request to view video clips of movies and documentaries that depict key figures or moments in history. And for a young child, he possesses such attentiveness when I take him to museums to look at artifacts from the past, be it the immediate past or the distant past.

When I first heard about this place called Upper Canada Village from a co-worker who accompanied her daughter on a school field trip, I had thought about going there. It wasn’t until the summer of 2018 that we found the time. My husband had not even heard of it, so I described it to him and asked if we could drive there one Saturday.

The Upper Canada Village is a heritage park in Morrisburg, Ontario, about a 90-minute drive south of Ottawa that depicts a 19^th-century village in Upper Canada, a province that was part of British Canada established in 1791 by the Kingdom of Great Britain to govern the central third of the lands in British North America.

Upper Canada encompassed the whole of modern-day Southern Ontario. The “upper” prefix reflects the region’s geographic position along the Great Lakes, mostly above the headwaters of the Saint Lawrence River, and contrasted with Lower Canada (present-day Quebec) to the northeast. It was the primary destination of Loyalist refugees and settlers from the United States after the American Revolution. In Upper Canada, they were granted land.

Originally part of the heritage preservation plan of the St. Lawrence Seaway Project, which required the permanent flooding of 10 communities in the area, the transportation of the heritage buildings from these places to Ault Park paved the way to the development of the Upper Canada Village.  It is run by the St. Lawrence Parks Commission and was formally opened to the public in 1961. Along with the “living museum,” the park also incorporates a memorial to the Battle of Crysler Farm which occurred during the War of 1812 on the lands submerged by the seaway project.

On our way there, our son asked me what there was to see. I told him that he would see houses and buildings from “the olden days,” meet people dressed in “the olden days’ style,” and see what life was like back then. He asked if we were going to see a movie or an exhibit and I explained that we will see it “live” because the village is a “living museum.” He couldn’t understand it at first, but when I said it’s like going to a “pretend olden days village,” he got the idea.

In particular, the village mimics life in a rural English Canadian setting during the year 1866. Featured on the site are 40 historical buildings, including several working mills and trades buildings. The complex also has real farmlands, where heritage vegetables are grown and harvested and livestock are kept. Gardens within the village also cultivate backyard vegetables and flowering plants commonly grown in these areas in the summer months.

As we entered the village, we were greeted by staff dressed in period clothing and we saw a few more strolling along the grounds. Then a horse carriage passed by with passengers in period clothes. My son exclaimed, “Look at the people! Do they live here?” I explained that they work there and that this is part of the visitor’s experience.  I also added that they are not just dressed up, but that they play roles to demonstrate and interpret aspects of late 19^th-century domestic arts, social life, religion, and politics.

We were given a map, so we decided that we were going to do this tour in an efficient way by going clockwise along the route to make sure we wouldn’t miss anything.

And let this serve as a warning for you, readers. Since we spent the whole day touring a whole village, and we took the time in each building, this is going to be a long piece. So, bear with me, please. But if you are a history buff like me, I am sure you will enjoy reading.

We started with Beach’s Sawmill, which houses a single, water-driven vertical saw in a simple frame structure, a typical example of a small country sawmill in the first half of the 19^th century.  It is operated by water through a millpond beside it that was created by damming a stream. The water was directed against a power wheel which operated the saw.

The costumed interpreters demonstrated how this worked and showed us how they saw log into lumber. They also explained the various uses of lumber in the community. In those days, early settlers had a constant need for lumber, not just planks for building their houses, but also wood for furniture, barrels, guns, wagons, and the like. In fact, the sawmill was often the first public building to be erected in pioneer communities. Today, Beach’s Sawmill produces planks and boards for use in the village and for sale to the public.

Next, we walked to Bellamy’s Steam Flour Mills, which, like the sawmill, are also powered by water. In those days, the principal agricultural crop in the province was wheat, which had to be ground into flour. When Samual Bellamy first constructed his flour mill in Augusta Township, there was an immediate demand for his services. His business involved receiving grain from his farming neighbours and milling them to their specifications. He kept 1/12^th of the ground for himself as payment which was the established law. The costumed interpreters showed us how the water turned the large stones which ground the wheat into different grades of flour. Today, this mill also produces flour used by the village bakery and for sale to the public.

I was reminded of my paternal family’s rice mill business. As a child, I grew up beside my father and my uncle’s rice mills, that they inherited from my grandparents. The milling process is the same, but our machines were not powered by water, and of course, we milled rice instead of wheat – the rice farmers brought their crops to us and we gave them back their grounds. We also sold different varieties of rice. We’ve closed our business when I was in high school, but it could have been an interesting place for my son to visit.

There is a Cooperage next to the building where barrels, casks, and other containers are made by fitting together wooden starves. The barrels are used by the mill next door for storing and shipping flour.

Beside the flour mill is the Asselstine’s Woolen Factory. The Asselstine family was involved in the manufacture of woollen material from the first quarter of the 18^th century, producing yarn, batts for quilt filling, blankets, tweeds, flannels, wool sheeting, and stripe carpeting. Prior to this, the time-consuming process of making clothes, from raising sheep to sewing cloth into garments, was done at home. By the 1800s, carding and fulling mills emerged to take over the laborious tasks of preparing the wool fibers by scouring and combing this wool and preparing finished cloth for sewing by cleaning, shrinking, and thickening the woven cloth produced off a loom.

Today, this mill is used as a functional exhibit for the production of blankets and textile goods. This is the biggest mill of all three. The costumed interpreters showed us each step involved in turning raw wool into cloth and even gave us some wool samples. Across from the factory is small enclosure with sheep and lamb basking under the sun. We were even able to pet some of them.

We continued on Queen Street, one of the two main thoroughfares in the village, and stopped at the Broommaker’s House in a small log home. Since broom making was not a full-time occupation in the 1860s, it was a small trade done in the family home or in an adjacent farm building.

The village broom maker showed us the two styles of brooms that he makes – a round one in an older style, and a newer flat one – constructed from broom corn, a form of sorghum, grown near Sarnia. He also showed us his tools and machinery and proudly pointed to his impressive stone fireplace made of large hammer-dressed limestone rocks, as well as flagstone floors, both testaments to the skill of early Scottish stonemasons who settled here. He also mentioned that his brooms are sold at the village gift shop, if we were interested in getting one.

At the intersection, we turned right on Church Street. The first building we saw was Cook’s Tavern and Livery, a licensed inn and tavern owned by Michael Cook, a Loyalist of German descent from the Mohawk Valley. His business, which was then located at his riverfront home in Dundas County, served immigrants and visitors coming up the St. Lawrence River by boat and served as a stopover for stagecoaches and carriages travelling on the King’s Highway between Kingston and Montreal. It was destroyed by American invaders in 1813 during the Battle of Crysler’s Farm but in 1820, Michael used his war losses compensation to build the brick structure currently in the village.

On the first floor are the reception areas, kitchen, and bar room where patrons could drink, gossip, and gamble. On the second floor are the ballroom, sleeping rooms, and a retiring room. The ballroom was said to be used less for dancing than for political gatherings, lodge meetings, lectures, concerts, courts of law, or religious gatherings until the village church was built. If the inn was crowded, people would share bedrooms or sleep on straw pallets spread out in the ballroom. The retiring room provided a quiet place to sit and and relax.

At the back is an inn yard with a large drive shed that offered shelter for the horses and vehicles of travellers.  In return for sheltering their horses, it was customary for the traveler to buy feed and at least one drink from the innkeeper. There were several carriages on display there – two-wheeled carts, four-wheeled wagons, buggies, open and closed stagecoaches, and even an omnibus.

I told our son that in those days, there were no motored vehicles and everyone relied on horses. Railway travel, though already operational at that time, was very expensive. But as trains became more popular, traffic decreased on the roads which affected inns and taverns.  Most of them closed and reverted back to farmhouses. Those that remained opened mainly served the entertainment needs of the local community.

Behind the livery was a backyard with vegetable plots and a flower garden and further down was a horses’ stable. Apparently, the village is home to 20 horses, and not just ordinary horses, but our very own Canadian Horses. This breed was recognized by the Federal Government in 2002 as the national horse of Canada.

The first horses of this breed came from the stables of King Louis XIV of France in 1665. They quickly acclimatized themselves to the harsh Canadian conditions and eventually become known for their hardiness. They increased in number and by 1759, when New France was transferred under British control, new immigrants brought in different breeds of horses with them and interbreeding began to change their characteristics. In the early 1860s, several of these horses were shipped south to be used during the American Civil War, where many of them were killed.

By the end of the 19^th century, only a small number of pureblood Canadian horses were left and by 1978, when the village acquired its first Canadian horses, the breed was already considered endangered.

Now, the village does its part to preserve and protect this important part of Canadian agricultural history through its horse breeding program and by raising awareness. Most visitors have never seen this breed before and at the village, we were able to watch these Canadian horses doing a variety of work in the farm, operating a drag saw, driving several types of horse-drawn vehicles, and even pulling a boat.

And speaking of boats, we found the Tow Scow Dock behind the stables, where one can board the horse-drawn boat from this dock to the other side. In the 1860s, tow scows were used primarily to transport bulk cargo on the river and through the St. Lawrence and Rideau canals. We didn’t get a chance to ride this because as we arrived, we saw the boat departing. The ride is every 30 minutes and by the time we came back after seeing the other attractions within the village, we were too late for the last boat trip for the day.

We walked back to Church Street to check out Christ Church, a stately white structure built in the Picturesque style characterized by symmetry and balance. The only elaborate elements are the pointed Gothic window arches and the decorative trim on the tower. This is an Anglican church, one of the main Protestant denominations in Upper Canada during that time. 

The exterior simplicity continues inside with its plain wooden box pews (rented by wealthier parishioners in those days) and wooden regular pews (free for the rest of the congregation). There is a fine melodeon, a reed organ built in 1862, but there is no cross and no candles on the altar. Apparently, in the 1860s, they were not acceptable to this congregation. Protestant churches came through a period when the fear of images, relics, and religious statues was so severe that some denominations would not allow decoration of any sort in the church building or the homes of the faithful. As a Catholic used to the elaborate altars, statuaries, side chapels, stained glass windows, and religious artwork of a Catholic church, this Anglican church felt bare and stark.

Many settlers of this area were members of the Church of England which established a parish in Cornwall. Regular travel over long distances was difficult, so a wealthy miller constructed and gave this white frame church to the local Anglicans. This church served for many years as an important landmark for river traffic along the St. Lawrence. And like so many community institutions, this was the meeting place for families, particularly for young people seeking a partner. This was also where all important life events took place – baptisms, weddings, funerals. In fact, the first service conducted in this church, before it was completed, was the funeral of the donor’s wife, and a year after, his own.

Across from the church is the Lutheran Pastor’s Home. Aside from the Anglican community, many of the Loyalist settlers of Dundas County were German Lutherans from the Mohawk River valley in central New York State brought there by Queen Anne’s government to secure the area for the British.

The congregation of St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church built this comfortable home for their pastor, William Sharts, between 1842 and 1844. It was furnished and decorated in the style of a 19^th century Lutheran manse, but with a German Lutheran touch, most notably the books in the study and the engravings and pictures that reflect Lutheran religious and domestic themes. There is also a home office for the pastor with a separate entrance for parishioner visitors.

The home exhibits comfortable middle-class prosperity. It was everything I had imagined in a house from that period. But what I found striking was the size. Compared to today’s houses, it is relatively small both in square footage and headroom. One would wonder if the people from a long time ago were generally shorter than the people of the current generations…or if as a society, we have just been conditioned to supersize everything.

My boys found some interesting old-style tile puzzles on the dining table. They didn’t leave until they solved the biggest one. By that time, I was ready to pull them away as it was sweltering hot inside, and as we know, those houses are not equipped for central air conditioning.

We checked out the next building, a simple wood structure that was built in 1863 and served as the Ancient Brethren Masonic Lodge. Inside was a display of many original 19th-century Masonic items gathered from eastern Ontario and some materials about the history and role of the Masons in Upper Canada during the 19^thcentury.

I must admit I knew very little about the Free Masons, and whatever I knew was tainted by misconceptions derived from the portrayal of Free Masonry in popular media, particularly the Dan Brown novels and their film adaptations where it is associated with the so-called “New World Order” and “The Illuminati” intent on world domination and political control. There has also been a lot of distrust and suspicion against it that stemmed from religious and political opposition. In fact, there was a time when Free Masons were excommunicated from the Catholic Church, and their activities suppressed by the powers that be in the government. Some conspiracy theorists also propagate controversies and allegations linking them with mysticism and occultism and spread rumours about their supposed Satanic rituals and rites of passage.

However, they simply describe themselves as a fraternal organization that traces its origins to the local fraternities of stonemasons, which from the end of the 14^th century, regulated the qualifications of stonemasons and their interactions with authorities and their clients with three grades of medieval craft guilds - Apprentice, Journeyman or Fellowcraft, and Master Mason – and whose basic, local organizational unit is the lodge.

Their symbolisms are mainly, but not exclusively, drawn from the manual tools of the stonemasons – the square and compasses, the level and plumb rule, and the trowel.  The idea of their brotherhood descends from a 16^th-century legal definition of a “brother” which is one who has taken an oath of mutual support to one another.  In pre-Confederation Canada, The Ancient Free and Accepted Masons founded in Britain in 1717 was the most important of several fraternal organizations.

Such organizations met several significant social needs of that time. Free Masonry was a brotherhood whose teachings and behaviour mirrored the values of the institutions of society – the church, the school, the home, and the law courts. And even though the Free Masons were not “operative” masons, that is, earning their living in the stonemasonry trade, their “work” was to build a moral human being, much as stonemasons build a structure. It has been described as “a system of morality” and members have the moral obligation to assist, in times of need their brothers and the families of their brothers, as well as society in general. 

In the 19^th century, Free Masons responded with generosity to provide food, money, and assistance to the poor, the widows, the orphans, and the unfortunate people in their communities, ensuring the stability of the early social fabric when there was no social safety net yet. It was also a venue for men to meet socially (women were not allowed as members). In those days, membership included many church leaders, lawyers, judges, doctors, and other professionals and social leaders of the society, not to mention Prime Ministers both in Britain and Canada, and male members of the British Royal Family.

All these sounds so rightful and legitimate that I wonder why all these negative images of Free Masonry have overshadowed its fine points. I guess the lesson here is never to judge or make assumptions about something if we do not have all the background information.

We moved on to the next building, which was labelled, The Shoemaker’s House. This small log house, with a large wooden boot hanging above the door, was built by a Loyalist who was granted some farmland in Glengarry County. With one room below and a loft above, this cabin is typical of many settlers’ first homes in the early 1800s.

In this village, it was made to represent the shoemaker’s house, as most small 19th-century communities had a local shoemaker who worked from home. Shoemaking was a popular trade in the 1860s as a shoemaker needed only a small set of hand tools, a series of lasts (wooden forms), and leather hides to set himself up for business. Some shoemakers plied their trade by traveling door-to-door, soliciting business and taking measurements, then making the shoes in their home shops. They are to be differentiated from the cobblers, less-skilled tradesmen who were only able to repair shoes, not make them. The costumed interpreter at this shop told us that she specializes in men’s brogues, a common style of work shoe during the mid-19^th century. She showed us her tools and materials, then demonstrated the various stages of constructing this wooden-pegged, durable footwear.

At the very end of the street is the Tinsmith’s Shop, a small wooden structure filled with shelves displaying all kinds of household items made of tin, of course – pails, basins, oil lamps, scoops, candle sconces, pitchers, funnels, containers in all kinds and shapes, and even a bath tub! In the pre-industrialized era, most villages have a resident tinsmith, for they made most of the practical things needed at home and on the farms. And because they are inexpensive, they eventually became a popular replacement for pewter, wood, and earthenware.

At the back is the actual workshop with all the tools and equipment of the trade.  There was a costumed interpreter, the resident tinsmith, who told us all about this metal and its uses. In those days, the tin-plated iron came from Britain, shipped in large boxes to North America, already cut into thin sheets. Unlike blacksmiths who work with hot metals, tinsmiths do the majority of their work on cold metal, although they may use a heath to heat and shape the raw materials.

The tinsmith did a demonstration by constructing a tin can. After snipping the sheet in its desired size and shape, he used an anvil made out of a block of steel to flatten it. Then he rolled it and joined the two edges together by soldering. The joints and seams were sealed with the aid of a flux. It was done in less than 10 minutes. He gave some tips on how to keep tinware bright and rust-free then proceeded to make a small basin. My son wanted to watch some more, but since more people were coming in and the small space was feeling so crowded, I stepped out to get some fresh air.

I was just in time to see the horse-drawn boat approaching as it made its way back to the dock and I took some pictures. I waved at the passengers and they waved back. I also spotted a wooden lighthouse, but I didn’t think it was open to the public to visit.

When the boys were done inside, we thanked the tinsmith and he reminded us that should we be interested in taking home some tin goods, they are available for purchase at the gift shop.

Across from this line of buildings on Church Street is the Fairgrounds, where village folks probably gathered for community gatherings and festivities. At the time of our visit, there was nothing there, so we walked back to the end of the street where it intersects with Queen Street.

We visited the corner house called Robertson Home, a bigger timber-framed home painted bright yellow with a tiled roof and two brick chimneys on either side. It was an example of a prosperous middle-class family home in that period. The house originally belonged to Loyalist Jeremiah French, who constructed it in 1784 and enlarged it twice to accommodate his growing family, as well as to reflect his increasing wealth and position of influence in the community. He then sold it to his son-in-law, George Robertson in 1812, who also enlarged and renovated the house in 1820 in the Neo-Classical style. The house was continuously occupied by the Robertson family up to 1957 when it was moved to this village.

Inside, there were two costumed ladies who showed us the different rooms of the house and noted that it’s been furnished and decorated as if it were still occupied by the elderly George Robertson Sr., who became a widower in the 1860s and cared for by his devoted housekeeper. It features elegant Georgian furniture and 19^th-century porcelain. The house has a large formal dining room and a small study used for his intellectual pursuits and business activities. But the focal point was clearly the parlour with its hardly used furniture and its still-intact original wallpaper from England, authenticated as having been printed before 1820.

Around the house is a well-kept garden with pretty summer flowers and behind it is a small shed and an outhouse. Our son asked what an outhouse is and after I explained how things worked due to the absence of indoor plumbing in those days, he wrinkled his nose and said, “Yuck!”

We heard some music and saw that a small musical ensemble just assembled outside the house. They were playing old-fashioned music with old-fashioned musical instruments. A singer took center stage and began to sing in a pleasant soprano voice. We joined the small crowd that gathered around them and listened to a couple of songs before a horse-drawn wagon caught my son’s attention.

The wagon is an included attraction inside the village. It departs from Cook’s Tavern for a 20-minute loop along the village streets and makes a brief stop at Tenant Farm. My son just wanted to look at it. He was not interested in riding. He said he’d rather walk.  The wagon was followed by a cart pulled by a couple of mules. There was a teenaged boy in period costume leading them, but the stubborn mules suddenly stopped and refused to move. I guess they were too tired and too hot and wanted a break. An older gentleman came to the rescue and prodded them to resume their trek.

We checked out Crysler Store, representing a general merchandise store in the 19^th century. This building used to be in the Crysler property, four kilometers away from the village, and was believed to be built in the 1840s, but its original purpose is unknown. The front porch was added later to reflect a common architectural feature of the 1860s.

In those times, stores like this offered a wide variety of goods and services to the community, including grocery items, food supplies, farm supplies, and more. They also served as a postal office and a pharmacy. It’s like a small version of today’s Superstore or Shopper’s Drug Mart, but a much homier one. It reminded me of our neighbourhood sari-sari stores in the Philippines (which literally means “hodgepodge” or “mishmash,” as they sell a little bit of everything).

The costumed interpreter showed us the goods she was selling – flour, grains, sugar, tea, soap bars, toothbrushes and tooth powder, porcelain-ware, pots and pans, herbs and spices, tonics and patented medicine, wooden toys, clothes and dress materials, sewing supplies, leather goods, tools, newspapers, and many more examples of items that were available at the time of the Confederation. The store was a feast to the eyes with all the old-fashioned items on display.

Storekeepers bought from wholesalers in Montreal and sometimes accepted locally produced items in lieu of cash. They also extended credit to the farmers up to a year at a time, as most farmers are only able to pay their bills after the harvest season in the fall.

Our guide also told us the prices of each item. My son remarked that they are so cheap, but our guide quickly reminded him how much the people were earning in those days, so the goods and services were certainly not that affordable relative to their income.

The thing that my son most remembered was the piece of trivia about the old-style toothbrush. Not only was it made of bone handles and animal hair bristles, but a single toothbrush was shared by the whole family because it was expensive. Again, my son said, “Yuck!”

Next, we went to the Bakery housed in a red frame building. This is a real operational bakery that makes bread in an old-style red brick oven twice a day. The bakers knead dough from the flour ground at nearby Bellamy’s Flour Mill. A hardwood fire is built in the red brick oven and once this is hot enough and the coals raked out, the baking pans are put in. The bread is baked by heat radiating from the hot oven bricks.

There was no more bread when we got there but the resident baker said they are sold at the Village Store. The restaurant at Willard’s Hotel also serves their bread. In the olden days, most people make their own bread at home, but bakeries such as this were necessary to produce bread in large quantities to sustain railway, canal, and other itinerant workers who were fed on the job. They also supplied bread to the inns for traveller’s needs.

Right beside the bakery is Willard’s Hotel. Originally built in the 1790s by Daniel Myers, a New York Loyalist whose family came from the Palatinate region of Germany, it served as his house as well as an inn. It was known to travellers as the “Halfway Inn” because it was centrally located between Cornwall and Prescott. It was purchased in the 1830s by John Willard, a tavern keeper from Montreal, who came north from the United States.

Today, the hotel is a full-service restaurant restored to how it looked like in 1850, at which time it would have been at the height of its prosperity. The use of contemporary prints, chairs, wallpaper and curtains reflects the desire of rural innkeepers to copy the elegant styles of the new large hotels in the cities of mid-19^th century North America.

Like many of the other houses in the village, the fact that the building required few alterations over the years is a testament to the high quality of building material available hundreds of years ago.

Costumed staff serve period-style meals such as Welsh Rarebit (old cheddar and dark beer cheese melted over sautéed mushrooms and onions on a thick slice of bread spread with grainy mustard), roast beef, split pea soup with ham, meat stews, roast potatoes, home-baked apple pie, johnny cake (corn meal muffin accompanied by warm maple syrup and whipped cream), or the classic British pudding (golden sponge cake with gooey toffee).

The restaurant also holds the Victorian tradition of afternoon tea. Though the menu was tantalizing, we didn’t have time for a sit-down meal. We only had a few minutes left before we had to run to the Miniature Train Station for a ride. I made a note to have a meal at this restaurant on our next visit.

The village holds special events during the summer, on Thanksgiving, at Halloween, and during the Christmas season, and they offer special occasion dining experiences. Perhaps we could go back here when there is a special event like their “Pumpkinferno Festival” in the fall, or the “Alight at Night” in December.

We decided we still had time for one more stop before the train ride, so we proceeded to Crysler Hall. From its imposing Doric columns to its manicured lawn, it stands out as the gem on Queen Street. It was originally built as a residence by John Pliny Crysler, a timber merchant, a Member of the Legislative Assembly, Justice of Peace, and County Registrar. He was the son of the John Crysler upon whose farm the Battle of Crysler's Farm, had been fought (part of the War of 1812).

This house was not typical of the houses of that period and with its sweeping circular driveway, cast iron fence, Greek revival architecture, and formal gardens, it would have been considered pompous by the other residents, but obviously, the owner really wanted to make a statement.

While the building’s exterior has been restored, the interior was modified to serve as a museum and venue for special exhibits. It showcases items that tell the history of Upper Canada and features the spectacular stained-glass window that once adorned the St. John’s Anglican Church in Crysler, as well as the stained-glass windows painted and fabricated by the famous Harry Horwood for the J. P. Wiser mansion of Prescott, Ontario.

But I must admit that at that point, what I appreciated most was the air conditioning. It was the only structure in the village (aside from the gift shop and the café) that was outfitted with this modern convenience. I guess it was necessary for the preservation of the exhibits. I wanted to stay there longer to get some respite from the brutal heat outside and the humidity that was killing me, but we had to run outside to catch our train.

The Miniature Train ride is included in our ticket price. It’s a C.P. Huntington locomotive service that was installed here in 2010 and named “The Moccasin” in honour of the real Moccasin train that played such an integral role within the community. The original Moccasin is recognized as Canada’s longest running named train, with operations from 1855 to 1958 on the Grand Trunk Railway between Brockville and Montreal.

This new train is a scaled replica of an 1860s locomotive featuring a fully accessible car. It runs on a brand-new track that travels a route along the St. Lawrence River through Crysler Heritage Park and Crysler Beach. Along the way, various war memorials, including the monument recognizing the United Empire Loyalists, can be viewed. They have also installed some special effects. At the site of the battle, the train stops, wooden soldiers rise and “fire” cannons. Riders also have the option of taking a longer loop which travels from the village all the way to Crysler Park Marina.

The ride itself was nothing too remarkable, but I welcomed the break from walking under the heat of the sun. Enjoying the view, feeling the breeze, and sitting under the shade was just what I needed after a long period of continuous village exploration. The train ride lasted 20 minutes. By the time we alighted, I was feeling refreshed.

We re-entered the village and since we were by the Village Store where the Photography Studio is also located, I went in to inquire about the pictorial sessions. This photo studio is far from the ordinary for it does not take regular pictures. It’s more like a “dress-up” shop where individuals and families can don historical costumes and pose like people did in the 1860s. The photographs are processed in sepia to give it an authentic 19^th-century look.

My husband and I had an old-style picture done at a similar studio in Victoria, B.C. years ago. We wore 19^th-century clothes and hats, and we posed in front of a “Victorian parlour” set with my husband holding a cane, and myself, a parasol.  I was hoping we could have a family portrait this time with our son. However, the photographer told me they were already fully booked. They do only a total of 10 sessions a day and usually, the slots get filled up pretty fast as early as 9 a.m. I was so disappointed. So, here’s yet another reason for us to go back.

We resumed our village tour and this time, we took Albert Street on the left side that eventually leads back to Queen Street via Maple Street.

Our first stop was the Fire Engine House, a tiny wooden shelter on the corner of Albert and Church Streets. It was constructed by village artisans in 1992 to house an antique prized possession – the Queen Fire Engine, a hand pumper built in 1851 by George Perry and Bros. of Montreal and previously owned by the fire department in Lyn, a small village north of Brockville.

In those days, small villages and towns purchased fire-fighting equipment through the municipality, and they often bought these second-hand from larger towns and cities. However, it is not uncommon to hold fundraising events such as musical concerts, annual balls, picnics, or excursions to raise money for further equipment. As well, donations were collected from individuals or businesses whose businesses are at stake, such as mill owners. Often, they would play an important role in the construction of buildings that house fire-fighting equipment close to their business establishments.

Our son, who has always loved investigating fire trucks ever since he got on one during his daycare years, was fascinated with the huge bell and the metal pails attached to this pumper. He asked how this little contraption could control huge fires. I explained that in those days, the church bells served as the alarm system and that the firefighters got a lot of help from the village folks who use axes, pike poles, and ladders and that it was important to catch the fire at its early stage to ensure they could contain it. Once out of control, they became powerless as this little machine could only do so much. They just waited for either rain or a change in wind direction.

These firetrucks, however, were also celebrated in community events. They were showcased in parades with the firefighters marching behind them in their red shirts. Demonstrations were held by fire companies to display the prowess of both the equipment and their men. Washing and pumping competitions were also organized by neighbouring fire companies, to the great entertainment of the village folks. My son recalled the Disney book I had often read him at bedtime where Mickey and Goofy had to unexpectedly put to use an antique firetruck to deal with an emergency fire that Donald Duck accidentally caused at a community parade. Our son agreed that this antique firetruck looks like the one in his book.

We continued on to Albert Street. We kept seeing horse-drawn wagons and carts passing by and the dirt road was peppered by mounds of animal dung which our son expertly avoided. He told us that he could now tell the difference between mud and animal waste and he could even identify what kind of animal was responsible for it. My husband and I just laughed. We had only been there for half a day, and our son is already adapting to country life…in the 1860s!

We came across the Blacksmith Shop. This was originally operated by blacksmith Osias Joseph Bourbonnais on one acre of land he leased from Charles LeClair in 1879. His descendants sold the shop and all its contents to Upper Canada Village, and they kept this as the building that will represent the blacksmithing trade in the 1860s.

In those days, this was an essential trade in the community. The village blacksmith provided a number of services. His most important function was to create tools for himself and other craftsmen. And since that was the age of horse-drawn vehicles, he also shod horses and made, fitted, and repaired the parts of a wide variety of wagons, carriages, sleighs, and agricultural implements. He was also involved in the making, repair, and maintenance of mill equipment.

The costumed interpreter showed us the pride of the smithy – the forge, which is always kept hot. He demonstrated how a metal is heated and softened, transferred to an anvil, and pounded and shaped using different types of hammers. He made a horseshoe but mentioned he also makes hinges, weathervanes, and grill work for fences and railings. He told us that blacksmiths had their own “signatures” by way of the patterns they create on their work.

Today, the Blacksmith Shop still houses blacksmiths that practice the ancient trade and provides much of the current hardware needs of the village, including shoes for all their horses and oxen.

Across the street is a small log church named Providence Chapel. It was built in the 1850s and served as a shared facility for several Protestant denominations in the sparsely settled area and made available to any preacher who came. However, since the Methodists were the largest Protestant group in Canada West in the 1860s, it mainly became the Methodist circuit rider, thus the bare interior with only a high centrally placed pulpit that typified the Methodist approach to religion.

Apparently, its name was derived from a traditional story from the fundraising days of the early settlers. While they were raising money to build this church and the community expressed concern about having to endure more hardships and make more sacrifices without a guarantee of having enough, an old woman advised them all to just go ahead and begin the construction because “Providence will provide.” They thus called the chapel Providence Chapel. Aside from prayer and worship, this village folks also used this chapel for Sunday school lessons, charity concerts, and temperance meetings.

Next, we went to the Cabinetmaker’s Shop housed in a building that used to stand on the farm property of Captain John Loucks along the riverfront of Williamsburg Township. Its original use was unknown, but when moved to this village in 1957, it was modified to showcase a cabinetmaker’s workshop, complete with 19^th-century tools such as a foot-powered lathe, a mortising machine,  a wide variety of moulding planes, and small hand tools. Also on display are samples of his work – pieces of furniture, windowpanes, and even an old-fashioned coffin with an oval glass window.

With his long, white head and long, silver beard, the costumed interpreter reminded me of an impoverished Santa Claus who has lost his crew of elves and was doing all the work by his lonesome self. He was very knowledgeable about his craft and shared with us how it was like to be a cabinetmaker in the 1860s. He said that before the 1820s, there were very few true cabinetmakers in Upper Canada, but as the population expanded, wealth also increased among the settlers, and with that, refinement of taste evolved.

And so, in addition to crafting a variety of woodwork necessary for daily life such as window sashes, baby cradles, and spinning wheels, they had begun to custom-make finely finished furniture pieces for the drawing, dining, and bedrooms of their wealthier clients. And whereas in the beginning they just produced plain furniture consisting mainly of bedframes, chairs, tables, and shelves, they started copying the designs of the furniture brought from England by the rich settlers and later on incorporated the styles of the furniture from settlers coming from other countries until they became proficient in crafting more elaborate designs and creating their own distinct style.

The proliferation of water-powered mills made it easier for cabinetmakers to have access to high-quality wood. But as industrialization took flight, the quantity of furniture produced by factories and sold by retail merchants undercut their custom-made business. In the later years, they were only left with a handful of clients who still preferred customized pieces and who were particular about personal attention. And to stay in business, they also turned to assembling mass-produced parts.  

Our guide also mentioned that in times of epidemics, they were the busiest craftsmen, for the demand for coffins was high. Little did we know that a year after we visited this village, a modern pandemic, Covid-19 would erupt, shut everything down, and cause so much suffering and death.

We thanked the resident blacksmith for the wealth of information he provided and crossed the dirt road again to visit a couple of farmhouses.

The first one is called Ross Farm, one of the earliest buildings in the Village. This house is a survivor of the many single-roomed log homes built by the Loyalists along the riverfront. It is exceptionally large for a single-unit house and was later partitioned. It was built by Thomas Ross, of Scottish descent, who was given the land close to the present Ontario-Quebec border, and settled between the French on one side and the Palatine Germans from New York State on the other. Today the house, restored as a one-room dwelling, serves as an interpretive piece displaying domestic crafts like quilting and needlework.

The house has a simple flank door and small windows, but it has a large stone fireplace. The costumed interpreter inside was making a Canadian-themed quilt and told us a little bit about quilting and how pioneer women saved every scrap of cloth available. Nothing was wasted or thrown away. Worn out clothing and blankets were recycled as linings or tops for quilted comforters. Often, quilt patterns were designed and passed on from mother to daughter. Women would also hold “quilting bees” where women from neighbouring farms would gather to do some quilt work and exchange news and gossip while working. Scraps of cloth were also used to make rugs. They were cut into long strips and were either weaved or hooked into rugs.

I told her how glad I was that I didn’t live in that era. Needlework is not one of my talents and the projects I did at Home Economics class in high school were very unremarkable. I would have been a useless homemaker, if quilting would be used as a standard…or my home would have the benefit of being decorated with mediocre-looking quilts and rugs. She just laughed.

We stepped outside to see the rest of the farm property for this was designed to represent a small farm with a small business, that of running a wood yard and the production and sale of split and corded stove wood for the villagers. There was a horse-powered drag saw that is used to cut logs into bolts that are then split by hand. Behind is a frame barn that shelters horses and beside it are outbuildings for poultry and swine.

The second farmhouse is called McDiarmid Home after the McDiarmid family who arrived in Canada from Scotland in the early 1860s. The two-storey log house was typical of those built where land was still being cleared. When this family came, the lots on the riverfront were already occupied, so they were obliged to seek land in the back townships. However, one can tell that this house was constructed with great carpentry skills as evidenced by framed front door and upstairs window. Today, this home is used to demonstrate hand processing of wool and other fibers.

In those days, early settlers had to be self-sufficient for their clothing and other needs, such as blankets and sacks.  Every house had a spinning wheel and a hand loom. Sheep were kept for the production of wool and were sheared in the springtime when they no longer needed their heavy coats. The wool was then carded and spun into yarn, which could be used to make blankets and clothing. Farmers also grew flax to make linen. The plant stalks were soaked and split open and then left out to dry. The fibres were then combed and spun into thread. Until the growth of the cotton industry in the United States, linen thread was commonly used.

The costumed interpreter was spinning some yarn when we got there. She showed us the different types of spinning wheels on display – some were very large and required the spinner to walk back and forth as she worked, some that had to be turned by hand, and some later models that had foot treadles, like an earlier version of today’s sewing machines. She said the spinning wheel was used for both wool and flax.

She also showed us a table filled with yarns naturally dyed in different colours. Beside each ball of coloured yarn is a bow with the natural dyes used – cochineal for bright red; apple bark, tansy flower, cedar bark, and Lombardy poplar leaves for different shades of beige; madder root for peach/light orange; onion skin for a mustardy shade; walnut for dark brown; Brazil wood for light brown; carrot leaves for green; indigo for indigo; and sumac, dandelion, and logwood for different shades of grey.

But as communities grew, production of wool and linen began to change. Carding mills were established to sort and clean dirty wool while spinning and weaving were still done at home. Eventually, as textile mills became common and they provided the communities with fabric in a wide variety of designs, home production declined.

The nice lady gave our son some time to play with the spinning wheels. I reminded him that these were like the spinning wheels mentioned in the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale. He has not seen the movie, Maleficent, so I couldn’t mention the scene where the king ordered his soldiers to collect all spinning wheels in the kingdom and dump them all in one storage room in the castle.

We bid her good-bye after a few minutes of playtime and checked out the next building which is the Gazette Printing Office representing a mid-19^th century commercial printing shop and newspaper office that publishes a weekly newspaper. The Gazette Printing Office was even opened by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II in 1976, but the building itself, a former general store from a small village in Roxborough Township north of Cornwall, date from the mid-1850s.

There was costumed lady in the building, but she didn’t talk much and left shortly for a break. I was a little disappointed, but hey, the lady had to have her break. It was hot inside and she’s probably sweating like crazy in her long gown and was dying of thirst from the heat and humidity.

I wanted our son to see what old-style printing is all about, so I just described what we saw as best as I could. I used to be the editor-in-chief of our high school paper, and our journalism teacher and advisor once took our editorial team to the printing shop to see how our school paper was created and published. I also have a friend whose family owned a printing press, and I used to hang out with him on the summer when he was asked to work in the family business. I got to see the step-by-step process of printing business cards, souvenir programs, school year books, posters, community newsletters, and school papers like ours.

We looked at the printing plates and type-setting tools on display. I explained to my son that the plates for each page of the paper were composed by the typesetters manually. They placed the lead letters one-by-one into columns to create the texts. It’s the same with posters and handbills, only the letters were made in either wood or lead. These letters were stored in cases and were arranged by size and style. Dampened sheets of cotton rag paper were placed onto the press one at a time to print copies which when dried and pressed flat, were ready for readers. That was a lot of work compared to the modern version of simply using computer printing software and pressing some buttons to get instant products. Times have changed indeed!

A copy of a local “Gazette” was also on display reflecting the life and times of the 1860s. In those days, local papers were literally the villagers’ “windows to the world.” They reprinted articles from national and international publications, but there were also local articles about their own political, religious, and economic points of view. A few sections were devoted to local news and a weekly serial fiction. A substantial space was occupied by advertisements, which were essential for the newspaper’s upkeep and bill payments.

Also on display were stationeries, books, school supplies, and wallpapers for sale. Printing shops sell these to supplement their income. Some also offered book-binding services. But apart from business, these printing shops also serve as training grounds for Canadian politicians. Apart from working in law offices, some of them begin their careers working in newspaper offices as well.

Behind this building and the McDiarmid Home is a red barn. While part of the village, it is not a representation of any mid-19^th century trade. Instead, it’s a modern cafeteria-style restaurant that serves hot and cold food and beverages for visitors. I was tempted to go there to buy an ice-cold drink but decided to just walk along and finish our tour.

Our next stop was the School House represented by a small log cabin at the end of the road. The sign said that this one-room school is similar to what author Ralph Connor described in his novel, “Glengarry School Days.”

In Upper Canada, many rural “common schools” built during the 19^th century up to the 1860s were made of logs and provided basic education which was free to all children, though attendance was not compulsory because if the children were needed to help at home or at the farm, they didn’t have to go to school, that is, until 1871, when the province of Ontario decided to make school compulsory.

Most young people attended these “common schools” for at least six years and left after completing a basic education in literacy, mathematics, some rudimentary science and history, as well as the most important Christian principles of morality and proper behaviour. Bright male children whose parents could afford it, could, at some point, proceed to “grammar schools” who prepared young men for further education and training in the professions of law, medicine, and church. Meanwhile, young ladies from affluent families were sent to private schools for young women that specialized in the arts and social graces.

Inside, it was dark and cramped. I imagine that in the olden days, it could be sweltering hot in the summer and bitterly cold in the winter. There was only one wooden stove to provide heat. There was a small teacher’s table in the centre with a quill stand, an ink bottle, a book, and metal school bell. Behind the table are a couple of bookshelves with old books, sheets of paper, and ink supplies.

A costumed guide representing a teacher explained the layout of the school room. On her right is the girls’ section and on her left is the boys’ section. Each section is furnished with a long wooden ledge for writing and three wooden benches for the children to sit on. There were small slates for writing, though the students also bring their own “copy books” for copying texts from permanent notes or books.

On one side of the wall is a slate board and on the other side, some old-fashioned charts and writing easels with maps and poetry written on them. There was a wall clock above one of the shelves and some framed pictures and drawings. Beside the entrance is a small nook with cleaning supplies – broomsticks, mops, pots and pans. The children were expected to help with the cleaning and maintenance of the wooden stove during the winter months. Outside was a small yard with a wooden swing hanging from a tree. This is where children spent their recess time, but again, boys and girls played in their own areas. There was also an outhouse behind the property.

The teacher gave an overview of the curriculum, mostly basic rote-learning of a set body of knowledge based on the curriculum provided by the local school superintendent and adherent to the approved textbooks. These were to be mastered or memorized to pass the oral examinations conducted by the superintendent at the end of the school year. As for discipline, it was reinforced by the threat of physical punishment or the use of guilt and public humiliation.

My son ardently listened to her. My husband even asked questions about the good, old days of going to school in the 1860s and the teacher kindly provided all the answers. I think that visit gave our son a new perspective on his own school life and taught him how to appreciate the educational quality and learning opportunities available to the young people of their generation.

As we exited the School House, we turned right on Maple Street to check out the Union Cheese Factory, which was an actual working cheese factory that represents the hundreds of rural cheese factories found throughout Ontario during the latter part of the 19^th century. This particular building and project, was a gift to Upper Canada Village in 1964 by the Canadian Dairymen’s Association to mark the 100^th anniversary of the first Canadian cheese factory located in Ingersoll. This village factory is an actual cooperative that makes cheddar cheese for local sale and export.

I got excited as I love cheese! But the costumed interpreter told us that cheese production is only from Tuesdays to Fridays, but that we could purchase some cheese from the Village Store. She kindly showed us the 19^th-century cheese-making equipment that they use and explained to us the 19^th-century cheese-making techniques that they employ. She also gave us a brief background on the cheese industry in Ontario.

The settlers of Upper Canada used to make their own cheese using home-prepared rennet and their own supply of milk. By the 1860s, an increase in milk production led to the emergence of privately-owned and cooperative cheese factories where the dairy farmers of a district could bring their own milk to the factory on a regular basis and the cheesemaker would make and store the cheese until it aged properly.  This allowed the farmers to share in both management and profits. Canadian cheddar was made here and exported to Britain as well. The operation of these factories also led to the breeding of dairy cows, which we saw a lot of around the farms. We thanked the lady and made a note to get some cheddar from the Village Store before we left.

The next stop was Loucks Farm, a small compound that represents a typical progressive farm in the 1860s. It is named for the family that owned the impressive stone farmhouse that originally sat on the banks of the St. Lawrence in Canada's Dundas County. The Loucks family was descended from a Loyalist of German ancestry who settled in the area after the American Revolution.

Inside is a collection of farm buildings including several barns, a hired man's house, and animal pens. The farm is meant to showcase the affluence of many pre-Confederation farm families who developed improved breeding stock, bought the latest agriculture machinery of those times, and built cooperative cheese factories to turn their excess milk production into dairy export products for domestic and international consumption.

There is also a tour of the main home and gardens available to visitors, as well as demonstrations of typical farming tasks of the era performed by costumed interpreters. The guide said that children are welcome to help out either with the milking of the cows or with leading the new-born calves around the barnyard. Our son, however, was not interested. He said he already did those things at the Canadian Museum of Agriculture which we had visited twice. He did not want to see the main home either. Apparently, it boasts of an impressive square piano in the parlour, substantial dining room furniture, and luxurious fabrics and wall papers that were the envy of every mid-century Canadian housewife, but we decided to skip the tour.

A few steps away from Loucks Farm is the Tenant Farm, a smaller and more rudimentary operation compared to the former. The main house is much smaller with no fancy sitting room and still uses an open hearth for cooking. The farm utilizes a yoke of oxen instead of more expensive horses and the farmer owns fewer cows and does most of his farm work by hand instead of by machinery.

In Canada West of the 1860s, approximately 15% of farmland was operated by tenant farmers. By this time period, there was a shortage of good, cleared farmland in the south of the province and the government tried to encourage a new generation of pioneer settlement in the unpopulated counties of Muskoka, Haliburton and Renfrew. For those who wanted to farm but did not want to leave their home territory, tenancy was an alternative.

Between 1855 and 1866, in the area around Upper Canada Village, there was a 90% increase in the number of tenant farmers. Much of this farmland was owned by several large landholders who recognized the potential profit in owning large numbers of farms and renting them out to tenant farmers. Many tenant farmers, however, dreamed of owning their own farms and tried to save the money to do so. Unlike farmers who owned or inherited their own land, tenant farmers only spent what was necessary on maintenance, equipment and general improvements. Thus, tenant farms often appeared to be run on a poorer level than their owner neighbours.

Across the Tenant Farm is the other Tow Scow Dock at the end of the canal and as you cross the canal, one could see the Signal Tower. Towers like this were used during the War of 1812 to transmit naval military codes along the frontier. And because this was before the time of Morse Code and the telegraph, they used a system of balls and pennants.  Visitors can climb to the top to enjoy the view of the St. Lawrence River, but we decided to skip this.

Not far from the tower is a red building that houses the Family Activity Centre. It is described as a place where visitors can try their hand at 1860s pastimes like popular board games such as skittles or krokinole, and crafts such as hand-carding wool, sewing pin cushions, drawing on slate boards, or writing with a quill pen, as well as outdoor recreational activities. One can also play dress-up in mid-19^th century costumes from hoop dresses, button-flap pants, and fancy hats, as well as construct something using old-fashioned tools . We skipped this as well. We did not have much time left before the village closed.

We turned again and went back to Queen Street to see buildings on this section of the road that we had not yet seen.

The first one is the Dressmaker’s House, represented by a small stone house. This house was originally a rear addition to Crysler Hall. It was originally owned by Geronimus Crysler, brother of Colonel John Crysler. Constructed sometime in the 1800s, it was afterwards used as the kitchen wing of John Crysler’s Classic Revival home in 1846. The house is an excellent example of masonry techniques used by veterans of the British army when they worked on bridge and canal construction in the 1820s.

Inside, we admired the stone slop sink in the kitchen’s east window, but as typical of the houses in that era, we had to stoop while going upstairs to check the bedrooms. The ceilings were built so low and most of them were sloping. I guess it was the practical thing to do in those days to conserve space and maximize heating.

We chatted quite a bit with the costumed interpreter who played the role of dressmaker. She was sitting by a big table that had dress material, sewing supplies, dress sketches, a dress sample, photographs of women in fashionable mid-19^th century dresses, and manuals on dressmaking.  She talked about the role of dressmakers in the community in those days. She said that while women usually made everyday clothing for themselves and their families, they would go to the village dressmaker to make them clothes for special occasions. They were also the fashion consultants, advising women about the latest trends in Paris, London, and New York.

But apart from being fashion gurus, the dressmakers were vital to their own families’ economic situation. Unlike the businesswomen who operated local stores or factory employees or wives who helped their husbands in the farm, the dressmakers plied their trade from their own homes and collected cash for their creations.

She showed us more samples of dresses in the downstairs bedrooms, and she emphasized how those were all made by hand. In fact, it would take a dressmaker an average of two weeks to finish a fine dress.

I mentioned to our son that my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law were both seamstresses, but during their days, they worked with sewing machines. I sure am glad I didn’t live in that era. Though I learned how to sew and do some other fancy needle work at my home economics class in high school, it was clear from the very beginning that I was not blessed with the talent and skill necessary for becoming a great dressmaker, unlike my late mom, who at least exhibited some skills in crocheting.  If I were a homemaker in the 1860s, my family would have been the worst-dressed citizens of our village.

We went to the next-door house, which was the most attractive abode on that street in the style of a neo-Grecian cottage with brick walls and wrap-around porch. It was the Physician’s House, which made sense. Due to the social and economic prestige attached to the profession, it is but befitting that the village physician owns a beautiful and comfortable home. However, this building was actually not the home of a physician, but of a cattle rancher from Aultsville named Michael Urias Cook, who first bred Holstein cattle in Canada. His house was moved here in 1957 and restored and furnished to look like the home of a 19^th-century physician.

Inside was a lavishly furnished home with a room reserved for seeing patients, though in those days, the physicians were more likely travelling around the countryside, seeing sick people in their own homes or delivering babies. There were medical instruments displayed on the table, and of course, my husband had to examine them and check with the costumed interpreter if they were sterilized. Of course, the answer was “no” because the first medical use of antiseptic sterilization did not occur in Canada until after 1867.

I took a picture of the old-fashioned medical contraptions. My husband said we should send it to his best friend who is a medical doctor. We also found a sheet of paper called “Medical Tariff” dated 1866 that had a list of all kinds of medical consultations and services and the corresponding fees and signed by a list of medical practitioners from all across the regions. I took a picture of that as well to be sent to his friend.

The physicians appeared to make a good living in general, though in practice, they seldom collected their fees. In those days, a single visit by a doctor would cost a working-class family a full day’s wage. Hence, they usually called a local doctor only in extreme need. Otherwise, they resorted to self-medication since inexpensive and harmless patent medicines were available at the local store. Other alternatives were consulting home medicine books or seeking advice from trusted neighbours.

Most physicians of that period treat various ailments by performing common remedies such as bleeding, blistering, or using emetics and purgatives to rid the body of poisons. Surgery was confined to the removal of tumours or amputations and since there was not sterilization, infection was a common risk. This is one other reason why I sure am glad I didn’t live in that age.

Physicians also doubled as pharmacists and dentists. They prepared and dispensed their own medications even though there were pharmacies in cities and larger towns. In rural areas, physicians pulled teeth though there were licenced dentists in cities who could probably have saved those teeth with gold or silver fillings.

In the kitchen area, we found a large metal tub which my son thought was a cauldron. I told him that it was actually a bathtub. “What? People take a bath in there?” he said in astonishment.

As we left the house, I reminded my son how lucky he is for the present-day medical and dental advances he’s been enjoying, most especially because he was born a preemie. Could you imagine if we had lived in the 1860s and I had the same condition when I was pregnant?  We are blessed indeed.

We walked past Crysler Hall and the rest of the buildings that we had already visited. My boys said they wanted to go back to the Pastor’s House to play with some more old-fashioned puzzles (since I pulled them out of there earlier that afternoon). I told them I’d be heading instead to the Village Café conveniently located in the Village Shop to enjoy a cold drink in an air-conditioned room. We could meet afterwards at the Village Shop. They village was closing in an hour and the store, half-an-hour after that.

As I crossed the wooden bridge over the canal, I stopped to watch people feed the koi fish with breadcrumbs. It was feeding frenzy at its best. It seems the resident fish are used to being spoiled by tourists this way. Most of them look almost like blowfishes in size.

I found a comfortable seat by a window at the café. I bought a bottle of peach-flavoured iced tea and finished it in one gulp. The café also sells sandwiches (the specialty is the melt-in-your-mouth grilled cheddar cheese sandwich with both the cheese and bread locally produced in this village), soups made from scratch, pastries, cookies, freshly squeezed lemonade, specialty coffee, and an assortment of beverages. I wasn’t too hungry though. I just wanted to rest my tired feet and enjoy the cool breeze from the AC.

When my boys came, we looked around the shop for a bit. They sell a wide variety of quality Canadian crafts (dinnerware, jewelry, accessories, toiletries) and reproduction items (tin ware, yarn, blankets, paper, wood carvings). There were books and toys for children, and the usual souvenir items in heritage themes (shirts, caps, socks, magnets, keychains, bookmarks, mugs, etc). We just bought a keychain for our son for his collection.

We wanted to buy bread baked there but they’d run out. There were still some cheddar cheeses but we didn’t get one because we were afraid it would melt in the heat during the drive back home. Their pantry offered other locally made food products such as teas, spices, jams, marinades, maple salt, apple cider, and apple butter from Smyth’s Apple Orchard, home of the McIntosh apples. We didn’t get any though. We are not big cider drinkers and our pantry at home is still fully stocked with items that we have yet to go through.

As we walked back to the parking lot and left the village, it felt like we were crossing a time warp and stepping back into the 21^st century. It had been a good “time travel” afternoon for us and we certainly gained some insights into some of the joys and challenges of living in the mid-19^th century. Life back then could be difficult and certain things were inconvenient, but it was far simpler and more centred on family and community-life…things that we often take for granted in our modern existence.

We also learned a lot about Canadian history. As a B.C. transferee, I began to have a deeper appreciation of Ontario, my new province. I realized that its history is synonymous to the birth of Canada, being one of the original provinces that formed the Dominion of Canada upon Confederation in 1867 and that its pioneers went through a long and difficult period of economic and political challenges.

I think our son had a lot of takeaways from this short trip. Apart from a hands-on history lesson, he realized that each time period is unique and that the hardships and rewards that spring forth from every single one of them, as well as humanity’s efforts to adapt to change, make the most of their circumstances, and triumph over adversities, have greatly contributed to our evolution as humans.

On the drive home, I asked him if he thought he would be able to live in the 1860s. He said that he probably could, despite the absence of the modern conveniences he is used to. He added that not all things modern are good and that certain aspects of life were better in the 19^th century.

Sometimes, I wonder where my young boy’s wisdom comes from.  In the seven years that I have known him as his mother, I have come to the conclusion that he is somewhat of an old soul. He is a child who relishes the present and is fascinated with the future but has a deep respect and appreciation for the past. And I am glad we brought him to Upper Canada Village.