HELLO, do I have to be first this month again?  Come people write in!  A BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY Theresa ( Sullivan ) (use to be)
Love Aunt Patty.

Hi all,

Great pictures, John.  The view is quite different today -- the first official winter storm has arrived.  It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas!  Take Care all.....ME

You are so generous!  Ha!

Is this a web page for the Kingston clan of the Salt Lake area - box elder?  I am a university student working on research on polygamy, and breeding within families - I am researching the scriptures and the histories of biblical figures who were offspring of such circumstnces, and a study on why this is such a taboo in our country - I am not being judgemental, this is an ancient practice that is prevalent around the world, even today.

I am quite aware that royalty took part in this practice.  I am just trying to take the opportunity to explain these facts to fellow students, so that there is a better understanding on the matter.  I have no intention of insult, and was wondering if I may be able to get any input from one of the on the subject. You can reach me at gypsynomorejmg@hotmail.com. Thank you.
Jeanette Garcia, Pittsburgh, PA.

Definitely, the wrong site!!!

gypsynomore (on intention of insult) you could have fooled me.  Away with ya. Patty K.

>polygamy, and breeding within families<

Oh oh. We've been found out. Damn!

Mary W.

Well I never thought that anyone would confuse "THE CANADIAN KINGSTON'S" with inbreeders.  On another note, the weather in NW Ontario has been excellent - my supervisor and I got two rounds of golf in today ... another half dozen golf balls donated to the course. ha ha
Great pics John V.

I have thoroughly enjoyed your responses to whomever, regarding the inbreeding.  I can imagine Nanny Kingston's wrath!  It is a +11 degrees here today.  We are too busy in our house, Amy is in the community rep league for volleyball and travelling most weekends, Ed is teaching a course for Saint Thomas, on top of his regular work load and coaching the JV girls basketball team at the high school.  We meet in the driveway it seems.  Both Erin and Amy are home today with colds and sore throats.  I am waiting for the sun to come out, in many ways!  Can't wait till Christmas..

>and for my new one to activate, I have been informed I must leave this country and then re-enter again.<

What the hey? Why??? Oh well, sounds like it's a good excuse for a mini vacation. :-)  Happy Turkey Day to all those celebrating today.  Better go stuff that sucker!

Mary W.

Will sent me this last year.  I think you will enjoy this story.  David Adams Richards is a Miramichi boy.
------------
Merry Christmas from North of 60.

The Tale Of A Tree

Not long ago, Christmas in New Brunswick meant heading into the woods with an axe to get the family tree. Novelist DAVID ADAMS RICHARDS recalls the day he and his brothers could have failed that test of manhood, were it not for a mysterious child.

By December 23, 1973, we did not have a tree.  And it had been storming a week, with the intermittent snowfall that starts in November and ends sometime in April.  And there were two days left.  But, who was counting?  My brothers and I, in our early 20's and back in New Brunswick for Christmas, did not think hurrying was necessary.  Even though our mother did.

"Everyone seems to have their tree up now," she said to us.  She was right.  Still, we reassured her that it would be easy to go into the woods and get a tree.  The woods in New Brunswick is never far away.  And the trees are -- you guessed it -- in the woods.

Oh, there were a few "tree lots," but what were they for?  I mean, these were the days (long ago) when no New Brunswicker would ever actually think of buying a tree.  Buying a tree was tantamount to admitting failure as a man.  That was the way it was.

In fact until I was in my mid-20s -- being a slow learner in my formative years -- I did not know anyone in New Brunswick would ever stoop so low.  We had heard that once somebody sold an artifical tree to someone in a mall.

"I hear they sold one of those silver trees at the mall!"

"Made in New York!"

"Prob-ly!"

What more could be said?

Still, we could not put it off.  So on a blustery and freezing Dec. 23, after our game of road hockey, we set out to get the tree, my brothers and I and a little neighbourhood child about six years of age I did not know.  Perhaps a cousin of someone, who decided to come along just as the hockey game broke up.

But in those more innocent days, not knowing a child, or even who he or she belonged to, did not mean you could not drive about with them in your car all day.  The last thing on anyone's mind, good men and women naively thought, was injury to a child.

The only problem was the sub-zero temperature and the rising wind.  I sat behind the wheel of my sky-blue 1961 Chevy, with pins at the front so the hood would stay on (though it flapped continually), and away we went.  At the top of the lane, I made my decision.  We could have gone any place, even a few miles down river -- but I thought of someplace special.  I decided that we would go to the North Pole.

The North Pole stream is north of Newcastle.  It is near where Christmas Mountain is, surrounded by little bitty mountains, like Dasher, Rudolf and Blitxen.  It would be no trouble to get a tree there, I said.

"Isn't that a little far?" my younger brother said.

It was an 80- or 90-mile round trip, but worth it, if you brought a smile to the gob of a child.  So off we went, the valves in the old Chevy ticking a mile a minute, and a huge plastic-carton-top cover on my gas tank.

The roads were ice and snow, and by the time we got to the Renous the wind had risen to gale force, and visibility was almost zero.  In fact it took everything I had to keep the car on the road.  The wind under the hood gave the car an element of lift, so going downhill we were airborne.

Our radio did not work, the thermostat was stuck and the going was getting rougher.  Then the carton cap came off my gas tank, and I had to stop and search for it.  Not able to find it, I stuffed a pair of white socks I had bought for my brother-in-law into the tank.

In retrospect, I remember that the youngster did not seem troubled by any of this.  Finally I decided, halfway to Christmas Mountain, that we were in a good enough place. "This looks like a fine place for a tree to be hiding."

My brothers grunted agreement.

"This is wonderful," the little boy finally exclaimed. "I've never seen anyone get a tree before!"

My brothers and I looked at him.  It became evident that none of us knew who he was.  I studied him carefully, for some sign of recognition.  He looked like a Foley, I decided.  He could pass for a Foley on a bad day.  But then couldn't he be a Matheson -- or a Casey?  Yes!  Perhaps a Casey!  His hands were folded on his lap, mittens pinned with big silver pins, winter coat buttoned to his chin.

"Where you from?" my younger brother asked.

He answered with grave and solemn earnestness.

"I'm afraid from Dublin, sir," he said.

"Afraid from Doob-lun?" my brother said. "Where in heck is Doob-lun?"

"He means Dublin," I whispered. "Ireland."

"Dublin!"

"Yes -- from Doob-lun. I'm here visiting -- me grandmom.  I'm Owen," he said, "and I've never seen anyone get a Christmas tree."

"Well, you're in luck," I said. "We're all like Paul Bunyan here -- you ever hear of Big Joe Mufferah?"

I tucked Owen's mittens over his hands, repinned them, and out we got, my brothers leading the way, plowing over the now-frozen snowbanks and into the by now dark, frozen woods, looking for a tree. We found one, 50 yards off the road, a fir tree about six feet tall.  A perfect tree, except for a slight crookedness at the base, and an overlapping bough -- but these were minor flaws.  And not flaws, really, for one might appreciate them as defects that heightened beauty.  In fact, I could already see it sitting in our living room.  I could see it trimmed, lights glowing.

"It will bring you great happiness and peace," the Dubliner said suddenly.

What a fine little boy I thought; all the way from Dublin, standing in the middle of godforsaken nowhere up to his bum in snow, and still thinking of peace.  His uncle was probably a priest, a melancholy man who drank a bit.  Perhaps his mother had died, or something, of -- tuberculosis -- and he had come here to be with his grandmother, I thought.

Everyone was silent, thinking about peace.  Or thinking we would take the tree home and, duty done, get back to drinking eggnog and playing another game of road hockey.

"How are you going to cut it down?" the Dubliner asked.

We were silent.  All of us kept staring at the tree.

"Don't you need an axe?" he asked.

So I went back to the car.  I searched the back seat, the trunk, and solemnly walked into the woods again.

"Don't look at me," I shrugged guiltily, when I saw them looking at me.  After the road hockey, we had all jumped into the car without thinking that the axe was leaning against the garage.

I watched my younger brother as he tried to break the tree in two with his hands. But it proved fruitless; the tree still stood.

"It's getting late," my younger brother said. "Mom expects to have some kind of a tree for Christmas; I think she'd be disappointed if we came back without one."

That was true enough.

"Put a ribbon on this one, to show we found it and we will come back," I said.

But no one wanted to drive another 40 miles just to come back to this spot.  Besides, no one had a ribbon.

It was decided that we would take a jaunt back to town to get an axe and cut the very first tree in the very first yard we came to.  We might even cut a tree in our yard.

"What about that pine in the back yard?" my younger brother said. "It's useless where it is -- it just keeps getting in the way when I mow the lawn."

"It'd look far better in the living room." I agreed. "That's the place for it."

"But how would we keep mom from knowing -- "

She would soon find out, if she looked out her kitchen window, that her favourite pine tree was in the living room.

Then we wondered if we couldn't buy one on the sly.  In fact it might be considered conservation-minded if we did.  There were far too many trees being cut, and that would be our out. There were some for sale at the Irving station on the Boom Road.

But, we asked each other, how could we keep it quiet?  What a time they would have!  Three grown men off to get a tree, and having to buy one.

It might be possible to steal one, already decorated.  But we did not entertain that thought for long.

Owen listened to all of this with great serenity as we drove back out along the highway.  Having no radio, we asked him if he knew a Christmas song.  I was waiting for Jingle Bells.  But Owen, mittens folded, eyes closed, broke out singing O Tannenbaum in a voice that seemed straight from the Vienna boys choir.

After that we were a little dumbfounded.  And we remained silent until 10 miles from home, when I slammed on the brakes and yelled: "There's my plastic carton cap!!!"

I jumped out and ran, with the car still sliding behind me.  It proved a difficult carton cap to catch.  The wind had given it life, and five or six times I missed it.  But finally I was able to grab it.  I went back to the car, took my brother-in-law's present out of the gas tank (I would rewrap them) and placed the cap back on.

Turning, I saw Owen staring past me. "There's a tree over there," he said.

"There are many trees, son," I said. "The woods is a veritable cornucopia of trees -- "

"However, this one just fell out of the sky," he said simply.

I turned and saw a pinetop blow-down rolling back and forth in the centre of the road. It had not been there 10 seconds before.

"It just fell from heaven and landed there -- a second ago," the child said, amazed.  Anyone who has ever heard an Irish child say "it just fell from heaven" will know how I felt at that moment.

Owen and I walked over to inspect it.  It was a beautiful tree, about seven-and-a-half feet tall.  It had sustained no damage; all its boughs were still fluffy and intact.  In fact, it had just broken from the top of a large pine.  The only thing we would have to do was to saw the butt even.

Delighted at our good fortune, I tied it to the trunk of the car. "Thank God for the wind," I muttered.

"Yes," Owen said.  And off we went.

Now it was night.  The stars came out and the wind died down.   The town was lit up top to bottom, front to back, all the houses decorated, and soon ours would be too.

"Thank you for letting me help get the tree," Owen said. "I've never seen anyone get a tree before." Then our little Dubliner fell fast asleep.  We took him home, to where he'd said his grandmother lived. My brother carried him to the door.

We went back home.  With some sleight of hand about where we had found it, we put up the tree.  My mother loved it.  My father spent the night trimming it.

All that was long ago; both my parents now are gone.  The house is no longer ours, and most of the people I grew up with I no longer know.  My brothers and I get together when we can.  There is still road hockey on our lane, though the city council tried to forbid it and almost started a war, and kids still gather in droves to play there near Christmas time.

We still speak about a child we didn't know, who came with us to find a tree the wind blew from the sky when we had no axe -- of the carton cap stopping the car, so the child, himself, could light the way.  And we have come to the conclusion, over many rum and beer, that at the very least he was a kind and wonderful child from Dublin, named Owen, visiting his grandmom who lived two lanes from us.

Unfortunately I have never seen him again, and I expect now I never will.

Thanks, Mary R, for that Christmas story.  Our book discussion group agreed to bring Christmas stories to our December meeting.  I have a copy of the compilation of Christmas stories Walter Learning put together - Gifts that Last - Christmas Stories from the Maritimes and Newfoundland and David Adams Richards "The Gift" is in that book...I am sure some of you have seen the television movie they made from that story.  I think I will share the one you sent, Mary.
Love to all,
Brenda

---

Mary, thanks for that great story!  It sure sounds like it could have been written by one of my NB cousins...or Frank McCourt...or Jimmy. ;-)

Mary W.

Hi folks,

That story reminds me that the local paper (Miramichi Leader) is looking for stories from people from the Miramichi about spending Christmas away from the river. You may want to submit something to them. It would be great to have some Kingston representation.

>Geez, I was startin' ta think yis had forgotten all about me...<

JIMMY!!!!! Delighted ta see yer beamin' gob back on the Gill Net!  Whatcha been up tuh?  Still pourin' the mighty scotch down yer hatch?

Mary W.

Since that there John Vickers was supposing ta be the real Jimmy last time, I figure it tis my tern to take a crack at being that Irish cheating son of gun.  Glenfiddish scotch at that I'll have ya know there Mary, daughter of dear Ann Marie.  I've been minden me own businuzz like an Irish man should and still payin' the bills that I never spent in the first place.
Good to here from ya!  Jimmy

I can only wonder as to who our latest "Jimmy" is..:)  Two weeks and Florida beckons - actually NYC has had weather everyday between 60-70*F and it is amazing to have these temperatures here in December - it seems we break a record almost every day.  Can't wait to get away from the rat race however.  Life is so fast and so crazy here at times - I was telling friends not long ago that in the span of two weeks, I have witnessed a couple of freeway smashups involving cars rolling over.

Mary R. I purchased an Adams Richards book at the Toronto airport a couple weeks back and it is all set on the Miramichi - I am thoroughly enjoying reading it.  I plan to take a couple more of his books to Florida when I go.

Greetings of the Season To Everyone
JOhn V
p.s.  The Gill Net Lodge recently celebrated its third anniversary...:)

Erin looks BEAUTIFUL!!!!  I hope you had a great time, Erin.

We went to Bridgewater, NS on the weekend to visit JoAnn & her crew.  It was a great time.  JoAnn and her family took Rebecca to see the Nutcraker Ballet in Halifax on Saturday.  It is one of those things that she well remember always as a highlight. Bye for now....ME 

Re: "Stop byer's"

John, I am unfaniliar with this term, "stop byer".   However, John, I am quite sure there wasn't a Kingston born that would ever stand for such a derogatory term.  Men have been killed for saying far less than what you have implied.

A bootlegger or poacher we might stand for, but not a "stop byer". There are some stories that have alluded to the Kingston clan as having the odd bootlegger.  To be fair, and in an unbiased way as all Kingston's are, God fearing the Truth as we are, it might be said that some Kingston's were simply ahead of their time - Isn't it true that the province of Alberta privatized liquor stores in the 1980's, 40 or more year's AFTER the first Kingston stood up to political and legislative pressure to right a wrong.  A politicial and social outcast at the time, by today's standards, that Kingston "bootlegger" could have applied for political refugee status, and have been granted full Canadian citizenship standards..... that's the problem with today's youth - they don't know their Canadian history and its heroes, for certainly that Kingston was a hero among heroes.

As for "poacher", I think it's true that, in generations to come, New Brunwickers, Canadians, and the global community will come to realize that the "Kingston fishery resource management" system is what has kept this valuable resource alive. It's time the truth came out.....what some people have called "poaching", I want to share a secret that was told to me many years ago - it was expressly forbidden to reveal this secret, but it's time the truth came out.  As you all know, the salmon go upriver to spawn (have sex and make baby salmon), and as you know, the salmon range in age and marital status.... and that's the secret...some of the salmon aren't married and we all know spawning before marriage is expressly forbidden (even though it's tremendous fun).  We, as Kingston's, take only the unmarried salmon (the fornicators)... in our selfless way, we "cull the herd" from weakness, creating a superior breed of salmon.

"Ahead of their time" and "selfless" are the trademarks of Kingston name.

Merry Christmas to all,

Tom
P.S. As a result of being "called out", and after having replied, I should now have the option of calling out another "heard from many times before, but haven't seen lately" GillNetter.... and my call is for "Stephen Kingston".

Season's Greetings!

Whew!  Another year almost over.  Hard to believe it goes by so quickly.  Here is hoping you all took some time to savor the better things in life in 2001.  The following holiday note contains references to Sybil, hockey, and Mary Catherine Gallagher – with that warning, please continue!!

JV, I attached some pictures.

Life in Ottawa has definitely been interesting!

· I am still at BitFlash - the software industry has been hard hit by layoffs and my company has been no exception.  While there are days I yearn for some semblance of security, it would take the right situation to make me move on to the next opportunity (or bankruptcy - black humor, but such is life in hi tech!).  As my wife often tells me, “You put too much into that place to walk away now.”  Hopefully, things will turn right in 2002.  If not, time to do something else.
· Giulia is still at CHEO, having switched back into Pediatric Echocardiography.  It is very challenging work and Premier Harris makes it even more so some times.  She really enjoys this field and she will be writing her certification boards in the coming year.
· Then there are those children....
· Spencer will be 8 in February.  He has a good life - active in hockey (as is his Dad as Assistant Coach), school goes well (an amazing teacher can have a huge impact on a child and I have witnessed that this year), and is busy with friends and his - Mon (Poke and Digi) when not being consumed by his social calendar.  His parents are thankful for his sense of humor and that he is a good older sibling for his sisters.
· Mia is the penultimate middle child.  School goes well for her, is playing ringette and has just finished her first dance class (rave reviews from Mom and Dad at her recital).  I have been thinking of changing her name to Sybil (given her angelic and demonic character changes, you never really know who you are dealing with - every day a new adventure).  Overall, a happy 5 year old who has more than enough kisses to fill any house.
· Last and not least is Renata the Fearless!  At 3.5 years, she is an awesome skater (at least once at skating someone always asks how old and comments on how good she is), dancer (her recital was hilarious - went on with a different group of kids other than her own, did all the moves and struck a little Mary Catherine Gallagher Superstar pose at the end!) who loves to laugh and keep up with her brother and sister.  She is looking forward to school and Dad is hoping her skating skill will mean early retirement!

We continue to love living in Ottawa - a great circle of friends through our children has developed for which we are very thankful and happy for. Highlights this year were:
· Our summer vacation to PEI - the best weather we ever had travelling, lots of time at the beach and visits from family while we were there.
· Celebrating my Dad’s 80th and several uncles’/cousins birthdays while home in New Brunswick.
· Several visits from Giulia's family from Sudbury and her brother Aldo and his family moving from London ON to 10 mins east of us in Orleans.

We hope you enjoy the holiday season with friends and loved ones as we plan to.  Our hopes are that 2002 brings happiness, and prosperity to you all.  Hope we can see or correspond with all of you in the coming year.

Steve, Giulia, Spencer, Mia and Renata

Saturday, December 22, 2001 - 07:54:27 am:
Message from THE REAL JIMMY at :

Now, Mr. John Vickers you have yourself a great holiday. I also wish to thank ya for do-in such a fine job of keeping the Gill Net going. Ya deserve a medal! Jimmy

Saturday, December 24, 2001 - 03:54 pm Pacific Standard Time
Message from Tom Kingston

Merry Christmas!

Tom

Monday, December 24, 2001 - 06:12:22 pm:
Message from Mark, Jennifer, & Tyler Kingston at mjkingston@sunsetcountry.com:

Greetings from Ear Falls, Ontario. We just wanted to announce our new arrival. John Henry Blair was born on December 18, 2001 at 10:07 PM at the Women's Hospital in Winnipeg, Manitoba. The newest "poacher" to the Kingston family weighed in at 5 lbs 12 1/2 ozs.
 

We are all relieved to have received this Christmas present early. Mother and baby are doing well.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Tuesday, December 25, 2001 - 11:20:35 am:
Message from Patty Kelly at kelco@execulink.com:

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERY ONE .... LOVELY DAY!!! ... A FEW SNOW FLAKES TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE CHRISTMAS.

LOVE FROM AUNT PATTY.

Tuesday, December 25, 2001 - 01:57:19 pm:
Message from Will Vickers at :

Just came back from a ski.  It's -5 and Yellowknife has come alive for this short period of warm weather.  Last year it was -40.  I counted 46 ski-doos, 3 dog sleds and about 20 or so people x-country skiing on the lake as well.  It's now 3 pm and the sun is going down once again....Merry Christmas to all.

will

Tuesday, December 25, 2001 - 07:29:27 pm:
Message from John Vickers at johnfvickers@hotmail.com:

Hello from the cooold south here in Florida. Coldest day in history here. Hope to go ice fishing tomorrow. Took a long time to scrape the frost of the car as I got ready for church this morning. Heaters are on. Must go now. Hands are getting numb from typing. Found a store that sells parkas. Thankful to be warm. (Well, maybe it's not that cold but it sure is cooold).

John V