A Dog My Cat Ramble - JT's Tales From The Trail

Jill Thomas is a rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who thinks it's funny how life leads you right where you need to be, however, the roundabout path.

On this day, I was sad with a side of grumpiness. It was a tragic time in my life, shortly after my sister was diagnosed with ALS. I didn't feel like rambling but reminded myself, "You are only one ramble away from a better mood," and put on my shoes.

I decided to walk to Ganges, Salt Spring Island's only sizable village. Given that the Salty Isle is as hilly as it is beautiful, it's an easy(ish) ramble from my house to town. I strode down Rainbow Road, cut through Garden Faire Nursery and Campground, and then weaved my way through the sun-dappled forest in Mouat Park. When I got to town, I headed into Centennial Park, the home of Salt Springs's famous Saturday Market.

To my delight, on the ramshackle waterfront stage on the park's edge, four local kids (dressed like they grew up in rural Tennessee circa 1930) were singing twangy country music. They were amazing.

Then I saw Mylene Sherrin sitting on the grass, so I sat down to watch, and she said, "You know Harry Manx is playing tonight." I didn't know. Harry is a local hero, beloved in the community for his music, which defies description. He honed his craft in renowned Toronto blues venues and then spent some years in India learning sitar with a master. His style is now a beguiling combination of both, which he calls "Mysticssippi." 

In April 2000, Harry wandered into the Tree House Café, which I'd bought the year before, with a guitar slung across his back, asking if he could busk on the patio. I said, "Yes, but I'm not carrying in the sound system."

I often let musicians busk on the café patio. I built a tiny stage under the shade of the heritage plum tree and kept a signup sheet under the cash register. I bought a rudimentary sound system, which I kept in the backseat of my pickup truck because there was nowhere else to put it. The day Harry walked in, I was too busy making tuna melts to pull it out.

I didn't hear him play that first day, but multiple people asked me who he was in the days following. They were gushing, so I sought him out and asked if he wanted to play more. Harry signed up for dozens of gigs that summer, sometimes playing multiple times a week.

He played songs that would eventually comprise his first CD called Dog My Cat. By the end of the summer, a couple of thousand other locals and I knew the words to every song. Stormy (now my hubby) and I met at a Harry Manx show at a local bar six months later, and a copy of Harry's Dog My Cat CD was the first gift I ever gave him. 

Harry became famous. He has received dozens of awards, including seven Maple Blues Awards, six Juno nominations, the Canadian Folk Music Award in 2005 for Best Solo Artist, and CBC Radio's Great Canadian Blues Award in 2007.

In the years that followed, Harry spent most of his time touring the world, but every year, he returned and did one show at the Tree House. The show got bigger and brighter every time. In later years, we had a booking agent, and getting a gig on our tiny stage was competitive. We published a schedule, and the locals knew it was Harry if the musician scheduled was TBA.

We sold the café in 2011 and hosted a party to celebrate the change of ownership, and Harry played. Before he got on the stage, I recited the words to my favorite song Only Then Will Your House Be Blessed to welcome the new owners.

Yeah, offer prayer, offer prayer well well
offer sweet prayer, yeah now,
to your uninvited guest
Oh, won't you, give em the right,
yeah yeah, to be welcome, through the night
only then, will your house be blessed
Yeah, turn your cheek, turn your cheek
well, turn your other cheek
may your mercy manifest
Oh, when the hawk and the dove
are flying circles round your love,
only then, will your house be blessed
Oh, let it go, let it go, well well, let it go go go
Let your sword of vengeance rest
Oh, do the, do the blind lead the blind?
Yeah yeah don't be cruel to be kind
Only then, will your house, woah, be blessed
Na na na naaaaaaa
Let it go, Let it go, Well well, let it go go go

Thousands of people came for the show, filling the alleyway and the rooftops of the buildings surrounding the café. Our liquor license was for 37 people, and dancing was prohibited by law, but hundreds were packed into the café patio. We couldn't have stopped people from dancing if we wanted to.

The next day, our quaint Ganges village looked like the aftermath of a frat party. Harry told me it was his last time playing at the Tree House. I felt both sad and honored.

I've seen Harry play many times since the Tree House days, but now he is a star, so he comes with stage crews, set lists of new songs, an accompanist, and a quiet, attentive audience. It's wonderful but different.

But on this night in the park, he was alone on stage. He played the entire setlist from Dog My Cat. Hippies twirled behind the stage; cherubic kids ran wild, and the ladies behind me would not shut up, just like at the Tree House.

Many of the café regulars were there, and more than one of them winked at me. We all look a lot older now, and Harry cracked a joke about aging hippies. We felt like a community. I sat ten feet in front of Harry on the grass, with an unobstructed view, with Stormy, who rushed down with a blanket and a sweater when I texted.

Harry opened his set with Only Then Will Your House Be Blessed—I think he did it for me. It felt like a sign from God, reminding me that there is always joy to be found, even in times of sadness. 

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