Peaceful places: Sightseeing in Salem Corners

Just in Time local history series

For many of us, the word “Salem” conjures up the infamous witch trials that occurred in that Massachusetts community more than 330 years ago. Churchgoers of a certain age might remember the hymn that immortalized the “Mothers of Salem” who brought their children to Jesus for blessing. And students of geography can be forgiven for being perplexed by the multitude of places called “Salem” across the continent – over half a dozen of them located here in Ontario.

Taking its name from an ancient Arabic word meaning “peaceful,” Salem – or rather Salem Corners – is my destination on one very hot holiday Monday.

Tucked away in a lonely corner of Mariposa Township, about 20 km southwest of Lindsay, this tiny hamlet has left only a few scant reminders of its halcyon days as a busy rural crossroads. A cedar-rail fence snaking its way through the overgrowth on the east side of Fingerboard Road is the first sign I see of that earlier age. Shifting into a lower gear, I ease my bicycle into what once constituted “downtown” Salem Corners, where Fingerboard meets Concession Road 6.

A handful of modern dwellings have sprung up here over the last few decades – but one or two unassuming farmhouses east of the intersection almost certainly date from horse-and-wagon days, their metal or vinyl siding no doubt disguising brick-and-mortar beneath. A well-preserved barn peeks out from behind a row of trees, and I wonder how many generations of livestock have passed over its hay-strewn floors? Time seems to stand still in Salem Corners.

That is certainly the case for the red-brick United Church at the northeast corner of the crossroads. Built as a Wesleyan Methodist Church in Little Britain around 1870, it was moved to Salem Corners 15 years later, when the former village’s Wesleyan Methodists joined with the Bible Christian congregation and no longer had need of the old church.

Though it hasn’t held Sunday services for close to 60 years, the church and adjacent cemetery remain lovingly cared for by volunteers and occasionally host special events. Even so, the heavily overgrown foundation of a shed once used for church functions, and an aging water pump in the shady churchyard, can’t help but remind one of how the automotive age took its toll on rural hamlets.

After tying up my bicycle beside the cemetery, I cross Fingerboard Road, and walk around the well-preserved church. I take a seat beneath a stately maple tree and unpack my lunch: a pair of ham and turkey sandwiches, a can of non-alcoholic ginger beer, some ginger cookies, potato chips, a buttertart, and a large apple. And as I eat this repast, I look up at the church’s cornerstone and once more contemplate the meaning behind the word Salem: peaceful.

Maybe that’s what attracted people like Neil Sinclair, who served as the hamlet’s postmaster from 1905 through 1913. Carrying on the postal service from his home, Sinclair was also something of a peddler. “Remember he will supply you with all kinds of groceries at (the) very lowest prices, cash or trade,” a notice in the Oct. 28, 1908 edition of the Watchman Warder reminded residents of Salem Corners. Sinclair, it seems, also sold butter and eggs, dressed fowl, lamp oil, tweed suits, and work smocks.

Other businesses contributing to the economic development of Salem Corners prior to the turn of the 20th century included a blacksmith shop and a shoemaker by the name of Mr. McDonald, while fauna were cared for by veterinarian Joseph Gregg. Although Sinclair had apparently moved on by the 1920s, when rural mail delivery rendered his home-based post office redundant, locals could patronize another business offering general merchandise – and sweet treats in the summer months. “Now that the hot days are here and we are all feeling the heat, it is a great satisfaction to know that our genial storekeeper, Mr. Lorne Thomas, has ice cream for us,” noted the Salem Corners correspondent in the June 13, 1921 issue of the Evening Post.

Hmmm. I could use some ice cream right now. Instead, I cool off with some sips of water, pack up my lunch, and remount my bicycle. I head south past a smattering of fragrant lilac shrubs enroute to Little Britain Road. There, on the northeast corner of the intersection is a heavily modified schoolhouse that once served the students of Salem Corners and the long-gone hamlet of Fingerboard, a short distance to the south. Opened in 1912, it saw more than a few generations of young people pass through its portals – kids who might have spent their leisure hours watching Salem Corners’ popular baseball team beat those of surrounding communities.

It’s mid-afternoon, and rather badly sunburned, I return to Salem Corners on my way back to Lindsay. Passing the old church once more, I think of an observation made over a century ago. “Salem Corners, a name that always seems to suggest something of a festive character, sustained its reputation in the very excellent supper given by the ladies of the Salem Methodist Church last night,” asserted the unnamed correspondent for the Post on Sept. 14, 1921, “(and) no one could be there and not come away feeling that ‘it was good to be there.’”

I couldn’t agree more.