Madame Butterfly's Musings

Psychic Madame Butterfly

2015-08-14T23:34:00.001-04:00

Psychic Madame Butterfly

Sunflower Fields Forever!

2015-08-07T02:08:00.001-04:00

Sunflower Fields Forever!

'The Butterfly Effect' by Madame Butterfly (audio)

2015-04-25T13:39:00.001-04:00

Published on Apr 25, 2015

April 5th Guest Speaker at Barrie Spiritualists Sunday Service was Madame Butterfly. Michelle McGrahan Devlin is a Psychic, Healer,Writer, Storyteller, Teacher, and Champion of the butterflies, birds and faerie folk, her friends and Spirit Guides.
She will help us to connect with the true heart of nature.
http://michelledevlinmadamebutterfly....

Earth Day the Canadian way: A drum circle and bonfire in Innisfil

2015-04-23T00:14:00.001-04:00

Earth Day at 8 p.m. EST, we turned off all the lights in the house, even going so far as to unplug the TV. We grabbed our hand drums and tambourines off the wall and headed over to next door neighbour Gary's house. There in the backyard, at the end of the garden, his fire pit was glowing and crackling with a roaring fire, while the steady sound of drums could be heard from his CD player.
I had asked Gary if we could come and join him for Earth hour, as I wanted to drum for the worldwide drum circle I had signed up for on Facebook, and I knew Gary would understand. The fire was warm and toasty, and my son and I sat together on the bench while Riley whittled a stick with a beautiful bone pen knife that Gary had given him last summer, and watched the fire making pictures for us while we listened to the song of the drums, the voices of the native singers touching a chord deep inside, that spoke of ancient traditions and a deep reverence for the land. The passion in the voices of the singers made me want to weep, made my heart leap, filled me with both joy and excitement.
Gary wore his First Nations jacket and a cowboy hat. He has practically lived at the fire pit at the end of his garden, where he has built a "man cave" out of old pieces of wood and plywood. Ever since his heart attack, Gary says he can't sleep indoors. On all but the coldest nights he sleeps in the cabin, where a little space heater and the heat from his nightly fires keeps him toasty warm.
Inside his sleeping bag he says he doesn't feel the cold too much. His wife, inside the house in their warm modern home, has long since given up on trying to get him to come inside. He just likes it better out at the little cabin, where he can sit by the fire and watch the night sky and listen to his songs, he explains. And he can't breathe inside the house...ever since the heart attack, he can't seem to breathe so well when he tries to sleep inside.
Gary gave me a little leather pouch that had some sacred herbs inside, he explained, and told me to throw some on the fire. Asking Creator to bless Mother Earth and to help to heal her on this Earth Day 2013, we prayed for a day when we would live harmoniously with Earth again.
Riley, who at 9 is already showing signs of having some special powers, suddenly said "By 2025."
We wished upon the first star, Betelgeuse, which was twinkling up in the indigo sky as the moon rose up behind the tall trees between our houses. We drummed and sang until Riley got sleepy and I took him home to bed. It was a special hour, and was exactly what I had hoped it would be - spiritual, inspiring, and profound.
Happy Earth Day to all of you around the world and may we all live in harmony and peace! Namaste!

image taken from http://www.soundcenterarts.com/sacred-fire-drum-circle-drum-around-bonfire-opened-all-adults#.VThw1iFViko

'Starlight, Starbright' - Chapter One - '...First star I see tonight...I wish I may, I wish I might....have the wish I wish tonight....'

2015-04-20T23:50:00.000-04:00

I awoke with a start, heart beating wildly, eyes searching the gloom surrounding me. All was still. Crickets chirruped outside my window, through which moonlight floated, silvery soft in the warm summer air.

I rose silently and padded across the thick carpet towards the gentle breeze. The sky was dusted with stars that night, sparkling and twinkling with an unusual brightness. I looked at them for a long time, gazing at them, studying their patterns and positions.

They had always fascinated me, ever since I was a small child and had wished upon the first one to appear each evening. Their secrets held me in rapture and their power held me in awe. I loved them.

This night, however, was different. I was somehow drawn to them. My eyes were like magnets, unable to resist their pull. I could not stop looking, searching, studying.

They seemed to call out to me, they whispered to me, and caressed me with their light. I was drunk upon their brightness, giddy and laughing. They laughed with me, those stars. They winked at me like old friends. They were omniscient and they were omnipotent. They filled me and surrounded me. They were alive....

I will never know just how long I stood there. Seconds, minutes, hours, all flew past me, for the moment was timeless. I was still standing sentinel at the open window when the golden sun's rays found me next morning, chilled to the bone and pale with exhaustion.

I felt drained throughout my whole being, as though I had fought a war alone, or run a marathon. My mind was empty of all thoughts or emotions. It was nothing but blackness, dark as jet, and was filled with the white, blinding light of a single, giant star....

..to be continued...

Windrunner's Tale: The Prophesy of the Rainbow Warriors - Chapter One

2015-04-18T02:07:00.000-04:00

From the distant hill Windrunner could see the plume of thick black smoke coming from the tarnished fields. Keeping low, he ran towards them, his moccasin-clad feet skillfuly traversing the forest floor. He was, after all, an 'Indian' he thought, with a wry chuckle. If he couldn't sneak up on a bulldozer, then what the hell kind of native was he?

Up at the top of the hill he peered down at the scene below. A large convoy of trucks were parked in a row, each one carrying enormous black pipes...pipes for the pipeline that was already being built, meant to one day soon snake across the entire breadth and width of Turtle Island, carrying the thick, corrosive black sludge that would one day be made into oil. Windrunner wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but he knew that he had to stop them. He knew that the lakes and rivers would not survive the inevitable spills that would result, spewing corrosive black poison all over the sacred hunting and fishing grounds. He knew that this was his destiny. Ever since he was a young boy growing up his mother had told him about the prophecy of the great snake that would threaten to devour Turtle Island, and how a time would come when people of every colour and race would come together to save the world for the next seven generations. They would be known as the rainbow warriors, their coming foretold in ancient Cree prophesy.

Windrunner knew that this was the time, and he knew that he was prepared to die protecting the land of his ancestors. He watched the activity below for a little while longer, his brow knitted over his dark brown eyes, his shiny straight black hair blowing in the wind. He looked like a young warrior, not so different from the ones who had stood here on this land just a few short centuries ago, before the white man came with his wholesale death and destruction. His strong chiselled jaw clenched as he watched the men below in their hard hats and orange vests scurrying around like ants. He wished he could crush the sinister black pipeline with his fist, and squinted and jokingly pretended to do so. Above, the sudden cry of a hawk jolted him from his game. He turned swiftly and ran, back to the place he called home, back to the small but tidy 'res' house where he had lived all his life.
Ever since his father had died from cancer he had been the man of the house, taking care of his mother and younger sister. They didn't have much but they had each other. Mom said the poisons from working and living downstream from the tarnished fields is what killed father. Windrunner had seen the fish with tumors and sickness, coming downstream, and he could feel it in the air too, could see the blackness settle over all things.
Windrunner had a way of hearing and seeing things sometimes, things that others could not see. Often these 'tellings' were whispered to him by the wind, and he would go run in the plains and fields until he understood what the wind wanted him to know. Now Windrunner needed to know what one young First Nations man could do to stop the onslaught of the black death snake. He needed to talk to the Great Spirit and to ask for guidance. There were rumblings from the North and the South of a great awakening happening, and a resistance movement that was growing, something as unstoppable as a grass fire on a windy day.
But Windrunner needed to know more, needed to decide what was the best course of action. He stopped running, his eye catching the flash of something yellow on the ground. It was a feather, as bright and vivid as the sunshine itself. Windrunner stuck it in his headband, and took it as a good sign, an omen of hope. He would use it later when he smudged, and asked for guidance from Spirit. Then he would give it to little Meggie for her collection, she loved bright shiny things so, just like the magpie she was nicknamed after.

Authors Note: This is Chapter One of The Prophecy of the Rainbow Warriors, a fictitious tale inspired by the Idle No More movement and the struggle of the Indigenous people of the world to fight government corruption and destruction of their lands. It is a work in progress - if you wish to read more please follow me here on http://michelledevlinmadamebutterfly.blogspot.ca/, FB, or Twitter.
https://www.facebook.com/michelle.devlin.142?ref=tn_tnmn
https://twitter.com/MmeButterfly1

MichelleDevlin is based in Barrie, Ontario, Canada.

http://communityarts.ning.com/photo/tar-sand-painting

20 X 30 acrylics on canvas. participatory painting with 60 people (kids to elders), a space of learning and dialogue about the devastating project of the tar sands in northern alberta. -FYI painting is available for anyone to use for future actions around oil sands, the land, pipelines, etc.

My Special Trip to Blackpool

2015-04-17T00:24:00.002-04:00

rip to Bla

'Oh I do like to be beside the seaside!"

My trip to Blackpool was a long time coming...thirty-two years to be exact, since I had last gone home, to the place where I was born. This time I was going to meet my real father for the first time, and I was more than just a little excited. We had been corresponding through letters for a couple of years, and a DNA test had corroborated the fact that we were, indeed father and daughter. Now at last we were going to meet face to face, and I was returning home to my birthplace, that raucous, raunchy, rascal of a town, Blackpool, Lancashire.
A holiday seaside resort known for donkey rides on the beach, cockles and mussels, and the famous Blackpool Tower, (a smaller version of the Eiffel Tower built 150 years ago), the town had long-since seen it's heydey. I wondered what it would be like after so long, whether or not it had changed, and if I would remember the streets. I had been a child of twelve when we left for Canada, but the memories were still vivid. Most of all I was excited to meet my father.
The flight left Toronto at midnight, and soon the dark cold Atlantic lay beneath us. Too excited to sleep, I wanted to see the sun rise over the horizon as we flew towards it, and after a while the clouds were lit by the most glorious colours of gold and pink. It had been so long since I had last seen England. I stayed awake the whole flight, until looking down I saw the sunny green patchwork quilt that was Ireland and Kilkenny below us. I was soon to learn that some of my ancestors had come from this place.
Landing in Manchester that morning, I must admit I felt a thrill of excitement as the plane's wheels touched ground. I was home again, back in my England. Although I adored Canada and it would now remain my home, the magical island where I was born would always be my homeland. And I would soon see my father face to face. It was almost too much to believe! I had waited so long for this moment. I couldn't believe it was really happening!
Walking down the ramps through the airport I wondered if we would recognize one another. Then suddenly I was walking through the doors towards the waiting room full of people - a tall distinguished white haired gentleman bobbed his head at me from behind the crowd, and I knew him at once. He stepped forward and I said "Hi Dad'. We hugged and then he bustled us off to the car without further ado.
The trip to Blackpool was just under an hour, and although I was exhausted from pulling an all nighter on the plane, I was still too pumped to think about sleep. As we drove on the highway my eyes were drinking in the English countryside and my father's profile. It was just like mine. I had always been told that I looked like my mother, but right away there were things about him that were like me. His hands were long and slender like mine.

As we approached Blackpool from inland I felt a huge stab of excitement when I saw the Tower for the first time. Part of it was scaffolded off for repairs - the season had not yet begun as it was still mid-June - however the elegant structure dominated the countryside just as I remembered it as a child. I couldn't wait to smell the sea and see the whitecaps once again. I was home at last.
The next ten days flew by, as Dad and I toured the English countryside to Burnley, the cotton mill town my family hailed from. There I visited the graves of my grandparents, saw the place where Dad was born, and learned more about my ancestors. My great-great-grandmother had been born Margaret Riley, but they called her Maggie, he told me. I was thunderstruck - my two youngest children's names are Maggie and Riley.
I spent a glorious day exploring downtown Blackpool and visited Abingdon Street Market, which was just the same as I remembered it. In the small street behind the market, and overshadowed by the church my parents were married in was the button shop that had been the house my Granny was born in.
Situated in the town's main square, it had become a charming little restaurant called the 'Five Cafe'. I was able to actually go upstairs to the very rooms where my mother's mother came into the world. Looking out the windows to the Winter Gardens and the Tower in the distance I was struck by the architectural beauty of Blackpool, the gorgeous facades and ornate ironwork of the buildings reminiscent of a bygone era.
This year Blackpool celebrates it's 150th anniversary of holiday-goers, pleasure-seekers and gaiety. It is my hometown, the place where I was conceived and born. How many of Britain's children had been conceived in this Lancashire town I wondered, where people once flocked to 'take the sea air'.
On my last day I walked along the beach, collecting some shells and bits of driftwood to take home to Canada. They smelled like home. As I passed through customs in Manchester the agent noticed the little bag of shells and sand.
"Some mementos from Blackpool beach" I explained.
"Oh Blackpool!" she exclaimed, "Gosh it's been ages since I went to Blackpool.'
"You should go" I told her. "It's still amazing."
And so it is. Blackpool will forever remain a special place, a place full of memories, smells, sounds, and laughter. The taste of Blackpool rock, the famous pink sticks of candy, is still as sweet as the first time I tasted it. And Blackpool, though older and wiser, like myself, still vibrates with it's famously joyful, thrilling, rollercoaster energy. As hometowns go, it's about as special as they get.

MichelleDevlin is based in Barrie, Ontario, Canada.

'The Magic That Saved Planet Earth'

2015-04-14T12:06:00.000-04:00

The Magic that saved Planet Earth

...In the end it was magic that saved the planet Earth. Oh, not hocus-pocus and abracadabra, but magic nonetheless...the real kind. Universe magic. The stuff that's always been there since the beginning of time, although time has no true beginning, and that's another part of the story. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I have been appointed as chronicler of the events that transpired, so I'll try to tell it as best as I can, though it isn't a tale that lends itself to easy explanations.
The Twenty-first Century was a time of magic - magic run amok really, and so nobody saw it that way, or recognized it for what it was. They called it science. But it was magic too - a kind of the magic that saved the earth, though it came damn near to destroying it. The human race found science-magic before they were quite ready for it - before they had come to terms with other gentler parts of the Greater Magic, before they were able to really understand the way the whole thing worked, and how delicate a balance was required. You see, they hungered for knowledge, as they had been programmed to do. They longed for more, always more.
What they weren't able to realize until it was almost too late was that it was all there inside themselves, everything they dreamed of and desired.

They were capable of anything and everything, but were too consumed to see it. But I jump ahead again. Forgive my wanderings, but this task is an arduous one, and I write with relief so great as to be overwhelming at times. It was so close at the end, so very, very close....and the entire balance of the Universe was at stake.
Everything depended on them, on their actions. Not that I ever doubted them, not really, although my Masters found my trust naive at times. It's just that I had worked so hard and for so long - eons and eons of guidance and teachings, only to be very nearly thwarted at the end - to see my work undone by the one quality that I had nurtured in them.
Oh the sorrow had it been so, the sorrow!
The greatest irony of all was that their truest virtue was also their worst flaw. That thirst for knowledge, for understanding their existence, and all that came with it, and that baser, darker side which is the burden of intelligence. But again, I digress. Let me introduce myself, and begin my tale again.
I am Akkurra, which means the Nurturer, and my task has always been to guide the men of Earth towards enlightenment. I was so appointed when the human race was first entrusted with the planet they called Earth, and were named protectors over it. Ah, it was Eden then, and always has been. Paradise was never lost, it was always there for those who chose to see it. But that's the whole point isn't it - so obvious it's like a slap in the face. It's all in the way you see it. Choices. Always choices.
I have been known on Earth by many names, for whenever necessary I have been permitted to take on my true form, though in the doings of men my names were many. Mahavira Buddha was my one of my names, and I walked the earth as the man known as Jesus. But I was limited, my influence could only be felt by those who wished to see it.
I was not to interfere in the development of man, only to illuminate a pathway they might choose to follow, if they would open their eyes to see it. But always, I was hindered by man's reluctance to trust in himself, by his resistance to the arduous task of self-discovery, and his desire to dominate his environment. Ah the price of intelligence - power - the greatest corrupter of all, and the most insidious and sly of enemies.
My role required the most infinite delicacy. I was able only to suggest the existence of the great True Laws of Equality, Democracy, and of Compassion and Respect for all Life.

And of course the Great Power of Love.
But always man's dark violent urges tested and tempted him. Always he fought his own strength, until he was forced to look into himself for the answers.
By the close of the millennia the world was in chaos. The planet was near dead, all but murdered by it's own most precocious inhabitants, the ultimate treachery having been committed. Worse than matricide, for Mother Earth nurtured many more than her human inhabitants, and while she may have been a strict mother, she was a mother of exquisite beauty and gentleness. She had given all of herself to her adolescent spawn, and they in turn had used her and abused her and left her gasping for breath while her death-rattle resounded through space.

It was an abomination. Species of incredible beauty and rarity were forced to extinction - creatures that existed nowhere else in the Universe, and would never be again, ever. They were powerless, as they always had been, to the human onslaught, they fell and died a million deaths with cries of fear and anguish. Betrayed! Betrayed! The cries of a thousand infants murdered by their parents could not have sounded again and again through infinity.
My Masters summoned me.

"Akkurra - friend. You have worked long and hard and your task has not been an easy one. Tell us now - for the planet Earth is in great peril - are your charges worthy of so great a trust? It seems they are unable to reach the Light, as you, and we, had hoped they might. Can we allow this to go on any longer, for the death throes of this planet will have far-reaching implications, and may even tear the fine-spun threads that weave the tapestry of the Universe. We cannot allow such a thing, for it is one thing for a planet to die a natural death...such is the way of things, part of the order of life. But the murder of a planet is another thing altogether. Such a precedent would send waves of abhorence through the ethers, that could resonate with greater and greater sorrow, until all of space and time would be filled with a terrible and irrevocable horror. The implications of such an act are beyond comprehension. We cannot allow it. The time for intervention is upon us. Speak, Akkurra, for our trust in you is complete, and the fate of humanity lies on your shoulders. How has it come to this?"

My sorrow was great.

"Masters - the people of the planet Earth are aware of their follies. Even now they are uniting to work to save their planet. They are realizing their errors and rectifying the damage. I have faith in their abilities, for they have the capabilities required - they are full of great hope and their capacity for adaption is well documented. They must be granted time."

"Is it not true that they have wasted and squandered the resources of Earth? Are they not responsible for the destruction of great species? Have they not treated that with which they were entrusted with scorn and contempt? The gift of knowledge was too great a responsibility for them. They have abused it, have become greedy for power and wealth. The wisdom you so carefully revealed to them they have repeatedly ignored, and twisted all truths to their own advantage. They are a threat. Do they not continue to murder and war, to plunder and pillage, to rape and molest? Is there not great and terrible suffering amongst them? Can we, in all conscience, allow this to continue?"

"But we must, my Masters. Have you not taught me by your own example to trust in the process of growth? How many times did you watch while I stumbled and erred, allowing me to understand and learn as I grew? We owe them that much! The time has come for their greatest test. They have reached their moment of truth and must face their innermost selves. Now is the moment of revelation, and with it, I promise, will come enlightenment. They must be allowed to face it, my Teachers, for this is what we have been waiting for all these millenia. They will not fail, though they falter."

"But the price...is too high...too great a price...."

"...We must trust them, trust in their essence, for they are beings of great joy and spirituality...they will find the way...they must!"

I could say no more.

What followed will be named by historians and record-keepers across the Galaxies by many different titles. Already the Andurans have dubbed it 'Boosjarus', the Moment, for they of that most revered and evolved planet were truly sceptical of the human possibilities. You see, the frightening thing about it - the thing that had us all doubting - well, except for me of course (phew!) - is that what was necessary for the survival of this species, their planet, and - at that point maybe even the ENTIRE UNIVERSE(!) - was an actual evolutionary jump.

Now, the thing about evolutionary jumps that is so - well - unpredictable - is that they can't be computed or even anticipated. I knew we were due for the biggie, but in all honesty I couldn't promise anyone it was really going to happen - because the trigger point has to just occur, and then it's like a metamorphosis - just like the caterpillar to butterfly thing, but instantaneous.
It's almost as though all of the moments leading up to the trigger point become ancient history seconds after - as though fifty thousand years has passed in the blink of an eye and then suddenly there you are - in a new era - a new creature - better - more evolved - with a deeper understanding of all things and almost no connection to the immediate past.
Why do you think the 'missing link' was never found? Because there never was one. Humanity had made a jump before - but never one like this - oh no. This one was a leap all right, and it took mankind only a moment to achieve, although they had been leading up to it for a very long time indeed.
It was magic, you see, pure and simple, and it came from the minds and the hearts of man. And the trigger point? Joy. A joy so rare and uplifting and giddy as to approach nirvana. A joy of the greatest beauty and truth imaginable. A joy of transcendental heights that soared in the souls of all mankind for that moment - that wonderful moment of re-creation.
For a man had discovered - yes, through technology and science-magic, an exceptional and astounding new type of picture-taking - a new type of film that captured the essence of it's subject - the life essence. The film was sensitive to the emotional imprints of it's subjects, and captured not their physical selves, but their souls.

And in his first secret experiments with this new discovery the man set his equipment up to record the soul imprints that he might capture while filming the night skies. And later that night, in the watching of this film, he and his wife were the first to witness the heart-achingly exquisite colours - of the purest yellow and tender green, of a pink you could weep for joy at the sight of, of a blue that made your soul sigh. For this man had captured the inter-connectedness of all of the Universe on his magical reel, had witnessed the spark of soul-life in all things, both within and without the physical plane.
And it took the world, through the magic of modern technology, just afew hours more to see it too, and to soar at the sight of it.
For the love of it. Oh for the love of it.
And so the Earth was saved, and all the Universe with it, and the Light came streaming in.

The End

Author's note: I wrote this story in the summer of 1988, while at a cottage on an island up in Canada's Muskokas. At the time the story came to me as though from 'above', and I can only say that I now believe it was sent to me telepathically from the Pleiadians. This was long before we knew about DNA, long before the advent of the internet or social media. For those of you who know about the Ascenscion, and the contact with ET's and ED's you will know now that indeed the human race is experiencing an evolutionary shift. At the time of writing this story I was not sure how this shift would occurr, I didn't even know about DNA, nor about it's ability to change - none of us did. I could only write about the shift and the change, and so used the metaphor of a type of film that would change the world as an artist's device, if you will, as I was not able to fully understand, nor explain, how this change could happen. I remember as I wrote about the world learning of this film within afew hours of it's being discovered, and thinking that in the future this would be possible. Of course shortly afterwards the internet was invented, making this a reality.
I also remember wondering why on earth I was writing science fiction, a genre I had never really attempted before. I showed it to the people I was with that weekend, and at the time they didn't seem to think the story was logical, as how could humanity possibly evolve in such a way? It has been sitting in a drawer ever since. I am sharing it now, as to me, the fact that I wrote this so long ago, and the fact that this is exactly what we are experiencing now, is profound. Strangely, I found a site yesterday that described the Andurans as a highly evolved winged extra terrestrial race. Is truth stranger than fiction? ...yes I can honestly state that it is, and that sometimes, just sometimes, a little divine intervention may be at hand when you pick up your pen....so treat the act of writing with the deepest reverence, and keep the love and gratitude in your heart because it is a gift as rare and precious as gold. Love is all. God is love. Love is the answer!

Michelle McGrahan Devlin is based in Barrie, Ontario, Canada, and this work is copyright.

Pleiadian man image - couple image -http://soulsalight.com/simion/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/Pleiadian-image.jpg

evolutionary jump image-https://www.pinterest.com/pin/480055641503876462/

Ascended masters image- https://www.pinterest.com/pin/480055641503876462/

'The Butterfly Effect'

2015-04-12T22:29:00.000-04:00

Good afternoon my friends....I would like to tell you a story today about my dear ones the birds and the butterflies and fairies.

You see, the butterflies and the birds often come to me and whisper little messages in my ear, and sometimes they tell me things of very small matter, such as that it's going to be a breezy day today so please wear a scarf, or to put the kettle on as someone is coming to visit....and other times it is matters of great importance, such as giving me messages to go for a walk, where it turns out I may come across a person or creature in need of assistance...or perhaps will capture an inspiring message in the clouds...or simply put..I just may perhaps be called upon to save the world!

Well today the message is no less than just that - saving the world, and my little winged friends have a message for all of us here today. But I will first tell you the story, so to give you a better understanding of how very, very important YOU are to this story.

"Once upon a time, there was a lovely fairy named Pearl. Now pearl was a sea-fairy or sprite, as they are called, and she loved nothing more than to skim over top of the waves, then dive underneath them to the warm ocean bed below, where she would take care of the oysters and polish the beautiful round pearls nestled inside each one.

Her friends the starfish would come and play games with Pearl and her friends, and give them slides down Neptune's Gulch, until Pearl would fly home to the call of her father's trumpet at nightfall.

A great storm came one night, and Pearl awoke to find the shoreline littered with the still living bodies of her friends the starfish, as they had been washed up on shore by the enormous waves.

Frantically, Pearl and her friends began to work, trying to drag the starfish back into the ocean. But sea-sprites are very small, so their efforts were in vain, as the starfish were too soggy and heavy for the little fairies wings to carry.

Desperately, Pearl looked around the shore to see if anyone could help. A young boy was playing in the tidal pools nearby. Breaking the rules, which forbid fairies to converse with humans, as so few can see through the veil in this modern world, Pearl flew to the boy, and begged him to help save her friends.

Luckily, the child was one who knew about fairies, and he leapt into action, throwing one after the other starfish back into the sea. Bending, and throwing, bending and throwing, the boy looked like a dancer as he bent and threw, bent and threw, over and over and over again.

Soon the boy attracted the attention of passers-by, as families were now arriving at the starfish-strewn beach. They stood and watched, slightly mocking in their tone as they called to the boy,

"Young man, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"

The boy never halted in his purpose as he yelled back,

"The sun is up, the tide is out, and they will surely die if I do not help them!"

"But there are too many! the people responded, You cannot possibly make a difference!"

The boy listened politely, bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it in the sea.

"It made a difference to that one." he said.

It was then, and only then, that the people, realizing that the boy was right, started to run to help him with his task, and in no time all the starfriends were back in the ocean where they belonged. Pearl thanked the boy and returned to tend to her friends, and all was well in the world."

You see, the fairies and the boy knew something that the people had yet to learn. And that was the fact that even the most overwhelmingly insurmountable task had to start somewhere, with someone.

As the saying goes, 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with one small step'.

Well, today, the message that the birds and butterflies and fairies have come to share is this -

YOU are the one who will change the world, YOU are the one who will make a difference, even if only to one small creature, if only in one small way...it is still YOU who will do it!

There is power in action. There is greatness in the moment when we stoop to pick up the first starfish, when we decide to act in the face of overwhelming odds. It may seem as though our task is impossible. It may feel as though we are all alone in our efforts. We may be mocked and ridiculed because of it.

Through the centuries there are countless stories of how people have been persecuted and even killed for their beliefs, only to be proved correct years later..but we remember the names of Galileo and Capurnicus to this day, not the names of their detractors, who have long since faded into the the dark abyss of oblivion.

"But what can little old me do to save the world?" you ask. "How can I fight the big Oil corporations who are poisoning our rivers and lakes, the bio-tech companies like Monsanto who are splicing even more poisons into our foods, the nuclear radioactive cesium now reaching our coastlines from Japan? How can I stop this? What can I do? How can I possibly make a difference?"

Well, there is mounting evidence that you can make an enormous difference, and the way to start is in your own environment, within your own home, with your own friends and family.

Have you heard of the Butterfly Effect? It is a scientific theory that maintains that a single occurence, no matter how small, can change the universe.

"The butterfly effect is a term used in chaos theory to describe how small changes to a seemingly unrelated thing or condition (also known as an initial condition) can affect large, complex systems. The term comes from the suggestion that the flapping of a butterfly's wings in South America could affect the weather in Texas, meaning that the tiniest influence on one part of a system can have a huge effect on another part.

The concept of the butterfly effect is attributed to Edward Norton Lorenz, a mathematician and meteorologist, who was one of the first proponents of chaos theory. Lorenz was running global climate models on his computer one day and, hoping to save himself some time, ran one model from the middle rather than the beginning.

The two weather predictions, one based on the entire process, including initial conditions, and another based on a portion of the data, starting with the process already part way completed, diverged drastically. Lorenz, along with most scientists of his time, had expected the computer models to be identical regardless of where they started. Instead, tiny, unpredictable variations caused the two models to differ."

That's right - tiny, unpredictable variations. Like you. And me. Like the six activists who bravely and 'illegally' climbed aboard a rig heading for the Arctic this week to protest about drilling for oil in what is arguable the last pristine ocean on Earth.

Like the fierce members of the Heiltsuk Nation in B.C. who recently fought and won against the Department of Fisheries by occupying their offices until they were forced to negotiate and put a halt to commercial fishing in their waters.

"But I'm not going to climb on an oil-rig or take on a Ministry - you say - that's not for me!"

OK - admittedly it takes a certain kind of bravery to take such bold steps - but even those of us a little fainter-of-heart can do their part.

Speaking of butterflies - did you know that the beautiful Monarch butterfly is in danger? Dwindling habitat and pesticides such as glysophates that have also found to have been killing bees globally has caused this amazing butterfly to dwindle an alarming 96.5 percent over the last few decades.

Planting milkweed in your backyard is a wonderful way to help the butterflies - my guides are asking every one of you here to help to bring the Monarchs back in this one simple way.

Milkweed is the plant that Monarchs depend on - it's the only plant they eat, and they lay their eggs on milkweed leaves during the summer breeding season. So...planting butterfly plants, flowers, not using Round-Up on your lawn...all these are incredibly important steps that YOU can take to make a huge difference in the world!

Did anyone else feed the birds throughout this brutal winter? My little flock of goldfinches, chickadees and Cardinals kept me company throughout the long months, often chirping their thanks to me throughout February when I had to keep on re-filling the feeders as they gorged on the oil-rich sunflowers that were helping keep them alive in the bitter cold.

So it's the small things that count...just as much as the big and bold actions...as world-renowned anthropologist Margaret Mead said:

"Never underestimate the power of a small group of committed people to change the word, In fact it is the only thing that ever has."

or even more simply put,

Change one thing, change everything.

The butterflies and birds and bees and fairies will thank you for it. And so will I!

Thank you.

Madame Butterfly

Milkweed seeds available for mail order at http://www.saveourmonarchs.org/

References:

Starfish Story adapted from The Star Thrower, by Loren Eiseley (1907 – 1977)

1st starfish image-http://www.whitelightrainbows.com/id7.html

2nd starfish image- https://eventsforchange.wordpress.com/2011/06/05/the-starfish-story-one-step-towards-changing-the-world/

The Butterfly Effect image -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PggnK1FC3o

'The Dancing Ladies'

2015-04-11T12:37:00.000-04:00

watercolour by Michelle McGrahan Devlin

"The Dancing Ladies"

Like a row of dancing ladies they sway,

In the soft summer breeze

Where they laugh and they play

Oh the dancing ladies they swing their soft hips

And bob their heads yes

As they blow you a kiss.

The sunflower ladies

Are sunny and bright

They whisper and giggle

and gossip all night.

How I love their bright smiles,

And their soft green embrace.

Prettty sunflower ladies

Draped in gossamer lace

Of a spider web dress-

They're a picture of grace!

by Michelle Devlin

This is a watercolour painting I did afew years ago to attempt to capture the delightful group of dancing ladies who never failed to entrance me. Each one was unique, each had her very own personality, and my amateur attempt to paint them did, I feel, capture the feeling of their movement and joyfulness.
If you have never tried painting with watercolours, I highly recommend you give it a try, and just make sure you find a subject that inspires you, preferably from nature. It is more about evoking the spirit of the subject, I believe, than any kind of technical exercise. Have fun with it! The wonderful thing about painting is that if you make a mistake - well you can just paint over it!
I hope my picture of the dancing ladies gives you the same cheerful feeling it gave me to paint it!

MichelleDevlin is based in Barrie, Ontario, Canada

Magical gardens: Wrought iron and pallets make beautiful bed-fellows in whimsical garden

2015-04-11T12:23:00.003-04:00

I sip a glass of blackberry wine and survey my garden.

One flower bed slopes comfortably like an old patchwork quilt flung on a feather bed, but is filled instead with flowers and vegetables.
Ornate wrought iron bedposts surround and protect the little patch, reminiscent of a Victorian tea, and make me feel like throwing a tea party.

A makeshift pathway winds through the beds, made from some pieces of an old deck. Tomatoes and eggplants grow between the slats of re-claimed wooden pallets, along with hot peppers, broccoli, leeks and parsley to freshen the breath.

I have to admit I feel an inordinate sense of pride and accomplishment.
Borne from a Facebook post I remember sharing in the depths of winter, (and wishing for!)... that showed a super nifty idea - skid gardening, which appealed to me as it means almost no weeding.... to another favourite oldy-but-goody idea using wrought iron bed frames for garden bed trellises, this spring I hauled in some dirt by wheelbarrow, arranged my skids and bed frames... Add some really neat decking (thanks to the next door neighbour) and Voila! We have created a garden sanctuary!

Ornamental bottles and decanters that I have been carting around in boxes for years and that thankfully nobody actually purchased in my last yard sale sit ontop the skids, peeking through the plants with flashes of gold and crystal, adding a touch of glamour to the whole scene.....

An old fishbowl is my 'water feature' as I laughingly call it, complete with a mermaid castle and a floating solar ball inside it. A slightly dented old tiffany lampshade sits atop the stump of the tree that was hit by lightning last month, and looks magical when lit from within by candlelight.

Fairies adorn the garden, and a tiny china tea set lends a whimsical touch...yet practical too as the bees and butterflies come to drink out of these diminuitive cups and saucers.
Solar lights twinkle as dusk falls, lighting up the garden one by one with magical rainbow hues, while tea lights amongst the cabbages and coriander create enchanting shadows.
Windchimes tinkle in the breeze, hanging from the old walnut tree that shades the garden, along with a blue blown glass ball and star shaped ornaments that twirl in the breeze.

What do we make with our hands these days? I watch the tomatoes grow, breathe in the sun-drenched air. Today I can tell you with great joy that I made a garden with my own two hands as I sit back on my reclining chair, inhale the scent of the fresh green herbs and the flowers, and bask in the glow of a sense of accomplishment.

In the fall we will have pumpkins and ornamental gourds to decorate the house with, but for now I will listen to the drone of the ciccadas and perhaps dream a little dream as I doze in the warm afternoon sunshine.
'Just living is not enough,' said the butterfly.'One must have sunshine, freedom,
and a little flower.

gardening quote by Hans Christian Andersen

Michelle Devlin is based in Barrie, Ontario Canada

Madame Butterfly's Musings: "Diaries of A Nostalgic Muse" - 'Rural tales of history and hauntings'' / Column 1 / The House On Ewart St.'

2011-02-11T00:22:00.000-05:00

Madame Butterfly's Musings: "Diaries of A Nostalgic Muse" - 'Rural tales of history and hauntings'' / Column 1 / The House On Ewart St.'

Madame Butterfly's Musings: 'How To Beat the Winter Blahs!'/"Bedknobs and Broo...

2011-02-08T01:09:00.000-05:00

Madame Butterfly's Musings: 'How To Beat the Winter Blahs!'/"Bedknobs and Broo...: "February's winds howl and blow outside, sending drifts of snow across the sills and doorframes. Even the cat doesn't want to go out and play..."

'How To Beat the Winter Blahs!'/"Bedknobs and Broomsticks"/The Tickle Trunk/Column Three

2011-02-08T01:05:00.001-05:00

February's winds howl and blow outside, sending drifts of snow across the sills and doorframes. Even the cat doesn't want to go out and play today, the birds and squirrels are huddling in their dens and there's nobody to chase.
Living in rural Caada can be isolating in these conditions, and even though most households are fully armed with an arsenal of electronic equipment and games, children can become cranky and go 'stir-crazy' if too much time is spent on these sedentary activities. Hours spent watching TV or focusing on electronics can cause eyestrain and irritability, and is a contributing factor to childhood obesity.
But what to do when cabin fever sets in, siblings start squabbling, and the all too familiar battle cry, "Mommy I'm bored!" is taken up? Offering to find work for them to do such as cleaning of bedrooms, bathrooms, shovelling of walks can quickly quell such complaints. However when even that won't quite do, there are many tried and true ways to create magical worlds of make-believe in your home that will whisk your children away to the realm of unstructured creative play.
Blankets and bedsheets can be draped, hung, and strung over practically anything from chairs to bedknobs to well...broomsticks! In fact the building of such a fort is indeed a veritable lesson in physics, not to mention co-operation. As long as parents help a little and keep a supervisory eye over the safety of all building projects - kids will do some crazy proppings of lamps to keep a sheet in place... once the stage is set, you can take a step back and let the children's imagination come out and play!
'The Tickle Trunk' is inspired of course, by Mr. Dressup, Canada's beloved television star from the 1960's and 70's. Which of us doesn't remember the thrill of watching each day to see what he was going to pull out of that trunk?
Mine is an old black trunk that I bought at a garden sale and painted with yellow moons and stars. The interior lid has photos taped all over it, memories of dress-up days gone by with the kids.
Collecting costumes for your tickle trunk is easy - there are lots of great thrift shops everywhere, and yard sale season is coming soon! Old clothes make great candidates too...outdated ties, scarves, hats, purses and shoes wiill keep kids happy for hours playing make-believe!
A child's work is playing - it is through this process that they make sense of the world around them. Playing house, re-enacting fairy-tales, pretending to be animals - these activities teach empathy, compassion, and trust.
Old boxes are also great for building forts and creating costumes. If you can get your hands on a fridge box then you are very fortunate indeed - they are good for weeks of fun until they inevitably fall apart after one too many assaults on the castle!
Use your imagination - add some face paints - make some paper masks...a sock puppet or two....the fun is endless! Before you know it the kids have been playing happily for hours, the tv is still off, and the house is filled with the happy sound of children off on a great adventure!

Just watch out for the sharks in the bedroom...quick quick get on the bed - it's a pirate ship!

Madame Butterfly's Musings: "The Dragonfly"/ Chapter Two/ 'The House On Ewart ...

2011-02-02T10:01:00.000-05:00

Madame Butterfly's Musings: "The Dragonfly"/ Chapter Two/ 'The House On Ewart ...: " It was one of those crisp sunny days in fall when the maple leaf trees are in their fullest golden glory, a..."

Madame Butterfly's Musings: Great North Arrow Newspaper, January 2011

2011-02-02T09:57:00.000-05:00

Madame Butterfly's Musings: Great North Arrow Newspaper, January 2011: " &n..."

Great North Arrow Newspaper, January 2011

2011-01-31T22:52:00.000-05:00

This is my column in the newspaper!

"The Dragonfly"/ Chapter Two/ 'The House On Ewart St.'/ as published in Great North Arrow Jan 2011

2011-01-24T01:32:00.000-05:00

It was one of those crisp sunny days in fall when the maple leaf trees are in their fullest golden glory, and Cookstown was busy with antique shoppers, sightseers, and tourists. I had heard that there was a 'spiritual' shop called the Dragonfly recently opened in the quaint little hamlet, and thought I might find some information on what to do to help one deal with well, spirits. The new house we had just purchased seemed to be, shall we say, a little 'busy'. There were sounds of babies crying, kettles whistling, boots tramping outside in our bunkhouse, Tall Tales Cabin, where the ice-cutters had once stayed years ago when the Belle Ewart Ice Co. had harvested ice from the lake. Now we rented it to ice-fishermen from Michigan and Toronto, who were beginning to give reports of some rather odd sounds and experiences also. The tramping boots had been heard by several men, who said it sounded as if they were all coming in together, a whole bunch of men 'tramping in' as it was repeatedly described. One could hardly help but imagine the old work crew coming in from a day out on the lake, their whiskers turned into icicles, their woolen clothing damp from labouring all day hauling huge blocks of ice out of the lake. The clanging sound of iron keys, the laughter of men's voices...all these were heard by the fishermen out in our bunkhouse, the Tall Tales Cabin. The old yellow house on Ewart Street, the bunkhouse, even the forest around the property, where the long-forgotten railroad tracks lay covered with vines and wildflowers...it was beginning to appear that they were all quite haunted!

I found the doorway to the Dragonfly nestled between an art shop and a store that sold old military stuff and tin soldiers on miniature battlefields. The bell tinkled my entrance, and I arose up a flight of stairs into a shop that smelled like pure nirvana - a mystical combination of exotic scents and sensuous aromas, while soothing music filled the air. Crystals sparkled in the windows, refracting the autumn sunshine into a thousand tiny prisms when I gazed into them. There were books and tarot cards, incense cones and gemstones, but nothing that looked like it was for getting rid of ghosts. The store was busy on this lovely Saturday afternoon, and I browsed surreptitiously while checking out the sale help. I had to decide which one I could ask about the ghosts removing powder, or hopefully some sort of spirit remedy which they might know of. My next stop was going to be our Lady of Perpetual Martyrdom for a vial of holy water, at this point. My eldest son had awoken last night to a bizarre array of hieroglyphics being displayed over his bed, as though shown on a projector on his wall. He said they were changing and moving at high speeds and it scared him so badly that he couldn't move to come and get me. This was beginning to get a little alarming, and my Mother had actually been shaken awake by, well, something, on her last visit. I had to take action!

It had become quite apparent that the owner of the shop was the lady with the long brown hair, a petite soft-spoken woman, who was very busy helping customers. I knew by her nod of acknowledgement that she would be right with me, but still I was startled when a voice broke my reverie as I stood gazing into a crystal ball.

It was showing me nothing.

"Can I help you?"

Her eyes looked directly into mine. One eye was brown and the other one was blue.

"Wow" I said, "Nice eyes"

"Thanks" she smiled, "How can I help you?"

"Well..." I launched into my story. "I think I have a spirit, maybe afew in my house." I told her,

"Is there anything you can suggest?"

She looked at me but didn't at the same time, and then she said,

"Yes, you do...the spirit of a woman."

I nodded. "Yes I think so too - I checked with the Land Registry Office in Barrie....I think her name is..."

"Harriet" she said.

"Yes Harriet" I gulped. "Harriet Stone"

'Yes it is she who oversees the house." she told me, her one blue eye and one brown eye looking out towards the perfect autumn afternoon.

"You do not have to fear her, for she likes it when you and the children are home. It is the rest of them she can do without."

I thought about the old man who had told me that the house had been a brothel back in the day. And Harriet must have run it all. No wonder she wanted peace and quiet now.

"Yes she seems to try and wake up people who are visiting and roust them off."

She had done the same to Randolph when he came in from a long trip on the road.

"Yes, she likes you and the children only in the home...it was hers for a very long time, and still is...and she loves it, and stays with the house to protect it and to protect the children. You have nothing to worry about from her." she said.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"No it's the demon attached to the Indian burial ground behind your house that should concern you."

I gasped. "I'm kidding" she laughed, "however you do have some negative energies in the house....to be expected in a house that old...take this smudge mix, a combination of sweetgrass, cedar, sage and lavendar, and light it in an abalone shell. Then use the feather of a bird, preferably an eagle, to 'smudge' the house, while going from room to room. And firmly tell all negative energies to leave....or you could use holy water if you have any!"

I returned home, armed with smudge mix and stones of jet to put over the doorsills, as well as eagle feathers to waft and incense to burn. And from that day on we lived quite peacefully with Harriet Stone and all the ice-cutters too,

Next edition - the naughty ghost in South Simcoe Theatre plays a prank on me!

Madame Butterfly's Musings: "Diaries of A Nostalgic Muse" - 'Rural tales of h...

2011-01-19T18:48:00.000-05:00

Madame Butterfly's Musings: "Diaries of A Nostalgic Muse" - 'Rural tales of h...: " 'Don't bump your head!' warned the real estate lady, as we left the charmingly gabled..."

'Preview' Chapter Two of "The House On Ewart St." - "The Dragonfly" Great North Arrow January 2011

2011-01-19T14:47:00.000-05:00

Breaking news!

Queen's Park Archival History Library now subscribing to Great North Arrow Newspaper!

The Tickle Trunk / Column 1 / "The Good Old Days"

2011-01-15T13:49:00.000-05:00

January's bright sunshine is shining through the kitchen window, reminding me of winter days gone by when my eldest son Liam, was a little boy. This January 8th he turned 21 yrs old, and my thoughts turn back to days when we first moved out of the city and into the rural lakeside community we still reside in, in an effort to return to a simpler lifestyle. As I watch the shadows of the pine trees lengthen slowly across the back garden, shedding gorgeous purpley-blue pastels across the fresh fallen snow, the afternoon visitors to the backyard include the flash of a bright red cardinal, the swoop of yellow finches and the tat-tat-tat of a persistent woodpecker high up in the birches. Blue jays and doves come too, and rabbits and squirrels, for whom we leave fresh peanuts in their shells on the porch railings. My Maggie has a 'way' with them, having befriended a squirrel named Nugget when he fell out of a treetop as an infant and landed in her hair. She, having saved him, was of course responsible for him now 'for life' as it goes with such things, and so he would henceforth come to see her from that day, whenever she bid him. Treats were left daily for his enjoyment in the old stump in the backyard, and he would reward us with gifts of nuts on the doorstep.

Children are often able to communicate with animals, and vice-versa...can we ever forget the time the Blue Jay sat on Krissi Priestman's head, but that is a story for another day. However we must all remember that the birds can see us humans scurrying around all day beneath them, and they can see other things also, and that we must remember to listen to them, as they are often-times bringers of news and heralders of great events, but we humans have forgotten how to listen. The Crows and Ravens are known for this, and I have actually conversed with them upon occasion. It is not as difficult as one may think - just try it sometime when you see a big black crow up in a tree above you. I assure you if you ‘caw’ at him he will cock his head, and fix you with a beady eye, and ‘caw’ right back.

Birds are falling out of the sky dead all over the world right now, and this is because of the fact that humans have not been listening for a very long time - look at the honey bees being killed with the pesticides and so on....the whole biosphere is hurting, and we are all hurting too because of it. And yet we all want the same things for the world, and for each other, and it is the simple life and the beauty of nature that I think we all yearn for the most. It is a terrible Catch-22 we exist in these days, caught in the rushing onslaught of world news, technology, survival, yet all of us longing for the traditions and the simplicity of 'the good old days'.

The Good Old Days belong to every generation, however, and it is important to remember that our own children will one day look back on this time - their childhoods - as 'the good old days'. It is up to us, as parents, to make sure that it is indeed that - and to do our best to shelter them from some of the horrors our modern world has to offer.

Playing outside - plenty of fresh air and exercise, playing games other than video games, such as Scrabble, Chess, Charades, any of the old card games and board games, Monopoly, Clue, as long as you are all sitting around facing each other and having a laugh - these are the stuff memories are made of! Most families are struggling right now, as the recession slowly seems to be coming to an end, and money to 'go out' is scarce.

Does your town have a toboganning hill? Ours does, and in fact we held Liam's 6th birthday party on it, a fact I was reminded of as I stood atop it the other day with my little 7 year old son Riley. His face was glowing as he and his buddies raced up and down the hill, and we shared an amazing moment of bonding together on the one excursion downhill I accompanied him on, as my extra weight carried us almost into the pond! Hilarity ensued, and we all had a wonderful time - and some exercise - before enjoying our hot chocolate and marshmallows. And yes I had to take an aspirin afterwards - mature Mom that I am - but it was worth it, for the feeling of gratitude I felt for being alive and blessed with happy healthy children.

You will find us on the big hill every chance we can get for the rest of the winter - hope to see you there!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!-(ouch!)*-

'The House On Ewart St' photos

2011-01-12T11:05:00.000-05:00

'Madame Butterfly"

2011-01-12T01:19:00.001-05:00

"Diaries of A Nostalgic Muse" - 'Rural tales of history and hauntings'' / Column 1 / The House On Ewart St.'

2011-01-12T00:48:00.000-05:00

"Don't bump your head!" warned the real estate lady, as we left the charmingly gabled attic bedroom of the old house in Belle Ewart, Innisfil. The landing was narrow, and led to a very steep wooden flight of stairs. Randolph and I were looking for an old Victorian house as we attempted to become a blended family, his daughter and my son had known each other back in Kindergarten, and now we were a couple. He loved old farmhouses, and I had always dreamt of a big old house with lots of charm to raise my three children in. This seemed a perfect place for us - close to the lake in the quiet hamlet of Belle Ewart, and it had history!

The agent explained to us that in the olden days this had been a hotel where the ice-cutters had stayed. As we stood at the top of the stairs discussing the house's history, I suddenly felt a presence on the ceiling above us. Shaking it off as we started down the narrow flight, the agent led the way.

As I stepped down Randy touched my shoulder from behind.

"Do you think this place is haunted?" he asked me.

"Why? Do you?" I questioned.

"I think there was something at the top of the stairs" he replied.

I gulped "I know - I felt it too".

"Aw...probably our imagination...she was telling us about the old ice-cutters n'all."

Randy wasn't the type of guy to be fanciful like that.

'Yes, probably...I'm sure you're right!" I replied, reassured by his masculine practicality.

Later that day, the offer was accepted, and the big old yellow house in Ewart Street was ours. It was an amazing deal, and with a huge property surrounded by forest, and a guest house that was a full apartment, it had great income potential as well. We soon had the 'bunkhouse', as we called it, outfitted for rental to the ice-fishermen who come to this lake every winter in droves from the USA. We called it 'Tall Tales Cabin", and soon had it regularly rented throughout the winter months. Randy was a long-haul trucker and was gone for weeks at a time, so I was in charge of the bunkhouse.

My first night alone in the house I was awoken by three very loud knocks on the wall over my bed. I literally jumped out of bed. I went down the staircase to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of milk. I stood uncertainly at the door to the kitchen, looking straight up the narrow staircase. The kitchen lights dimmed three times, then went out completely. I turned them back on. They flickered up and down.

I glared at the light and said out loud 'Stop that!".

Three loud knocks suddenly came from, of all places, behind the refrigerator.

"Rap, rap, rap!"

Loud and clear.

Then the lights went out.

The next day found me down at the Land Registry office in Barrie, looking up the history of the house and the land is sits on. To my great interest I discovered that we were the 27th owners of this property, the first being James Ewart, the owner of the great Belle Ewart Ice Company. Old timers in Toronto can still remember the horse-drawn ice trucks with their gold lettering, 'Belle Ewart Ice Company' , coming along city streets, delivering the huge blocks of ice to every door. Stamped 100% pure, Lake Simcoe ice was shipped in railway cars as far south as Michigan and Detroit.

Going back to the 1840's the house changed several times until a Henry Stone purchased it in 1880 Ten years later in 1890 he sold it to one Harriet Stone for one dollar, 'for love'. I stared at the writing, in fountain ink, written by a long-dead hand of some cleric of Olde Barrie. The year was 2002...so it was written 112 years ago. It was a little unnerving to realise that my house was indeed, very old and full of history! My eyes scanned down the page - Harriet seemed to have owned the house for the next 50 years! Not until the 1940's did the house change hands again, strangely every year throughout the war they seemed to have flipped it amongst family members - some kind of tax dodge I figured. Jewish names. Now I wanted to know more. More about the strange old house on Ewart Street, and more about some of the strange sounds and feelings we were getting in the place. Once we heard a kettle whistling...the old fashioned kind, not like our electric one at all. Then a baby crying - we heard that more than once. Footsteps coming down the stairs...a ladies' mules with that 'clip,clap,clip,clap' sound.

"Like a lady of the evening might wear" as my mother described it.

Picking up my mail at our local rural post office in Lefroy one blustery fall day, an elderly gentlman in line happened to overhear me mention the house address. "Oh so you're the ones bought the old Tremblay house?" he smiled.

"Nice to see it getting fixed up again. I knew the previous owners. Fell into terrible disrepair - holes in the ceilings and floors and such. Man was an alcoholic. "

The gentleman introduced himself and I recognized his name as one of the earliest settlers in the region. Yes, he remembered the place from when he was a little boy even, he told me. He had grown up here. He remembered when the place used to be a brothel.

"A brothel?" I gasped.

"Yes, they used to bring the girls up on the train from the city...for the ice-cutters you know?"

He gave me a knowing wink.

Lefroy was in fact an old train station, and the derelict old tracks ran directly behind our house... ON our property! We had discovered them when walking in the woods behind us - they led straight to the lake. These would have been the tracks that led directly to the huge ice warehouses for loading. They packed it in enormous blocks into the railcars lined with straw to stop it from melting, then headed south.

"So...OK..." I thought, as I headed home to the big old yellow house on Ewart Street,

"So Harriet was a Madam and I live in a haunted old brothel ! Good grief! So much for calm quiet country living! What next?"

I had to learn more...

Next edition: The Psychic in Cookstown tells me about Harriet.