As told by Glennie and Diane Marshall

Sitting serenely atop the Gros Cap escarpment, Marsh Hall slumbers contentedly, all the while enjoying a magnificent view of the St. Mary's River basin and Whitefish Bay, a panorama which only God could create!

Yet for all the tranquillity many unusual occurrences have taken place. The following is an attempt to record three such happenings over some twenty-two years.

“A Scream In The Night”

As the warm breeze wafted gently through the open window, Diane and I struggled to keep from dozing off as Lloyd Robertson wrapped up the late national news cast. Suddenly, we both sat bolt upright - hair prickling on arms and neck as a blood curdling scream shattered the tranquil darkness.

Looking at one another with mouths agape but unable to speak as a series of screams ripped through the inky blackness of the forest below our home. Never before or since have either of us been party to such a tirade purporting the abject terror or excruciating pain of someone in great distress.

Regaining our senses Diane insisted we investigate. Grabbing our trusty flashlight (now down to one candle power) and a small hatchet (just in case!) off we stumbled in the darkness down the hill. Reaching the old road which can still be seen meandering through the forest, we stood gasping for breath as the eerie silence covered us like a blanket. Calling out in a somewhat timid and quavering voice we spoke into the night “Is someone there? Can we help you?” Our only answer was the crashing sound of some animal in the underbrush. After approximately thirty minutes of fruitless searching we clawed our way back up the hill to a fitful night of sleep. It wasn't until sometime later we would learn from someone more knowledgeable in local forest life that the source of our misadventure was either a pair of lynx or bobcats engaging in a mating ritual or a simple difference of opinion.

“The Tree That Fell Uphill”

We're getting a satellite dish!! Can you believe it?! Over a hundred TV channels coming out of the sky. After some deliberation, a site was chosen and realizing a number of trees would have to be felled to clear on unobstructed path to the sky, a call went out to our trusty neighbour lad, Jan. This sturdy sixteen year old just happened to be Marsh Hall's right hand man in 1983.

Arrangements were made for a Saturday work bee. As the trees began to fall, Diane decided a shopping trip was in order and left for the City. Everything went smoothly for the first hour. Then disaster struck. A particularly ornery birch refused to fall and became entangled in a four inch sapling which was bent in a perfect arch. Losing every aspect of common sense I touched the chain saw to the straining sapling. In the blink of an eye the young tree split with the roar of a rifle shot and whistled past my face so closely that it brushed the cap off my head. At the same instant, the still running chain saw was thrown into the air and came down across the back of my leather work gloves. Only after looking in a somewhat dazed and bewildered fashion was I able to determine Jan was okay and then to notice the jagged tear on the back of my glove. With great trepidation, I removed the glove only to be faced with a gusher of blood flowing from two gashes in my hand.

“Well,” I said to Jan, “It looks like I'm going to have to make a trip to emergency and get stitched up - but you will have to drive!” Now I was thinking to myself with a sixteen year old driving my V8 pickup I was more than willing to wager the house that our trip to the hospital would be faster than any ambulance. NOT SO!! My young chauffeur obeyed every rule of the road as well as taking the longest possible route to the hospital. In time, we got there and I was quickly sewn back together, bandaged and shot with tetanus.

Shortly thereafter, we found ourselves back at the scene of the crime. Now, however, I was encumbered with an arm sling and so it was that Jan would take over running the chain saw and I would mastermind our strategy and lean on the trees with a pike pole to make sure they fell properly.

One again, everything ran smoothly and trees were falling like ten pins until we came to "The Tree". Standing a short distance over the edge of the escarpment was a magnificent white birch reaching forty or fifty feet into the sky. After some hesitation, then the realization that yes indeed this tree must go as it stood directly in the path to a clear picture on the "tube". So it was that Jan, having carefully notched the down side with me providing a Herculean effort on the pike pole, began cutting. A perfect operation - within seconds the tree began to fall directly down hill. As Jan and I looked at each other with smugness, the impossible happened. Part way through its fall to earth our birch struck a huge oak. The sudden stop in downward momentum caused the butt end to break free of the stump and swing down hill until once again standing straight this giant tree stood as if planted.

Meanwhile, back at the stump site, Jan and I stood frozen, mouths agape gazing in disbelief as ever so slowly our tree began to fall uphill. “Oh, look!” one of us said through hysterical laughter. “That tree is falling on top of us!” We were too dumbfounded to move as it crashed to earth between us, branches slapping at our clothing. “I quit,” seemed to issue from our mouths in unison and gathering up our tools we clambered to the top of the hill muttering softly about finishing this job another day.

By the way, our television reception is stupendous.

“Old Yeller”

It was on a particularly cold winter evening in 1978 when a stranger appeared at our door. Diane was first to take notice of him and quickly drew my attention to the large yellow cat sitting placidly outside the patio door even though it was -25 degrees. He was a stranger to us and we could but wonder where he had come from on such a wretched night. A genuine dilemma was at hand. Marsh Hall already enjoyed the company of three feline residents thus an invitation to this scruffy stranger would surely evoke pandemonium. Compromise seemed to be the solution, but to accomplish this we must break the cardinal rule pertaining to stray animals: “Feed a stray and you will never get rid of it”. A bowl of food was gently passed through the patio door and quickly devoured. Then contrary to popular belief our visitor silently melted into the frigid night and was not seen again until the following winter.

This was to become a ritual over the next few winters. Always on what seemed to be the coldest winter night Old Yeller would appear at our patio door. Sitting patiently until noticed he would devour the proffered bowl of food then vanish silently into the darkness. Much to our surprise, those Marsh Hall cats did not challenge their mystery guest or cause a disturbance during his visit. They must have sensed that to aggravate this gentle giant might cost them some of their nine lives. Why this animal chose to appear at our door was a question we often asked. Perhaps he could feel our fondness for cats and felt safe in our company. Soon, however, misfortune would stalk our friend and once again he would turn up unexpectedly. It was a summer and the plea for help was much different. The day was sunny and warm and raking the front yard was a pleasure. Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood up, someone or something was watching me. Looking about I spied a large cat at the edge of the lawn. Could this be Old Yeller? On closer inspection I determined it was indeed our elusive companion. His appearance, however, was shocking. An eye was missing and grown shut, a large chunk of fur and skin stuck our from one side like a wing and a front leg was covered with a festering wound. Realizing something must be done quickly, I donned leather gloves, pulled out the cat carrier and approached Old Yeller. He offered no resistance and it was off to the vet. The leg found to abscessed was drained and bandaged, the offending fur removed from his side and an inspection of the eye determined Mother Nature had taken care of it. Back at Marsh Hall our guest was made one of the family, pampering the order of the day. Unfortunately, fate would intercede and make his stay a short one. A blood sample taken from Old Yeller revealed the presence of feline leukemia - a fatal disorder. The following week would see our guest coddled like the other residents. All too soon, lethargy and listlessness set in. Driving to the vet, a quiet sadness filled us knowing he would be put to sleep. To this day Old Yeller lies beside our home. Never again will he be cold or hungry.