Welcome to Wilno

Canada's Oldest Polish Settlement

This site proudly brought to you by Wilno Woodworks and Friends

Best viewed in High colour with any browser above version 3

Note: from your host Paul Shulist

The Wilno Tavern page was a treat for me to present as Tom Shulist (son of Frank) was my father. I was born and raised in that building so you can be sure it holds a special place in my heart. In the days when my father owned it our living quarters were part of the building it was simply a swinging door that separated our residence from the bar. Tom ran the place for over 35 yrs after his mother passed away and I spent the first 20 yrs of my life there as well. Memories abound and it certainly does ones soul good to know that despite the physical changes to the building there still resides a feeling of warmth and hospitality. I certainly recommend that you stop by if your thirsty ,hungry or just looking to chat.

On slightly somber note I would mention that Tom passed away last year. Uncle Tom as he was called by his many friends and hotel patrons will be missed. My wife (Linda) found a picture of his hands with a few blueberries in them. The picture was taken on one of our fishing trips up north and I remember taking it cause the fishing was no hell and on that particular trip there was a shortage of berries as well. Linda wrote a poem to go with the picture and I find it very comforting. I would like to share it with you in the hope that you might find something in it as well.

Take a moment to look upon these hands and recall the many jobs they performed and the many lives they touched.

These are the hands that could bait a hook, tie a slip knot and reel in the BIG one.

These are the hands that repaired trikes and bikes, fixed appliances and loved to fool with techno-gizmos.

These are the hands that took to to the simple tasks like cutting grass, shoveling snow and taking out the garbage.

These are the hands of a good provider, a family man, a tender and loving husband

These are the hands that could discipline, scold, soothe and wipe away tears, depending on the order of the day.

These are hands that held a rosary, prayed and defended the faith.

These are hands that knew how to salute and knew what service was, hands that left the comforts of family and home to defend his country.

These are the hands that could bring joy to others, hands that were held open as a gesture of welcome, good and generous hands that shared good fortune with others.

These are neighborly hands that supported others in friendship and comforted them at a time of sorrow.

These are the hands of a bartender, having served many a tired, thirsty traveler, many a cold pint of good cheer.

These are the hands of a hard worker, hands that knew blisters and callouses, hands that built cottages and outhouses.

These are strong, patient hands, committed to service--service to God, family and community.

Stand proud...for these...these are your father's hands