The Great Turtle and North of the Bridge
All my years in Michigan and I never visited Mackinac Island.
My parents camped around Michigan and crossed the bridge to the U.P., but we never bought fudge, rode bikes, or walked the porch of the Grand Hotel. I’m not likely to now, either.
What brought the “Great Turtle” island to mind was a mesmerizing book called The Loon Feather (Iola Fuller), a perennial favorite—a story of the fictional daughter of Tecumseh, the great Shawnee chief and warrior. The story’s set during the last years of the fur trade, and Oneta’s quiet heroism, patience, and understanding of the various people around her culminates in a life-saving gift from the lamented Tecumseh to his tribes.
But I don’t want to ruin it for you.
The Ojibwe called the island “Great Turtle” because of its appearance. In the 1600’s it was an Ojibwe burial ground before French explorers discovered it. In 1780 the British established a fort. The island became headquarters for the American Fur Company, and by 1887, offered the Victorian Grand Hotel (filmed in Somewhere in Time).
Eight miles in circumference, bordered by limestone cliffs, and rising to nearly 340 feet over the water, its forests have been a state part since 1895. Only horses and buggies, or bicycles, are allowed.
But if we never rode bikes around the island, we visited Fort Michilimackinac whenever we camped at Straits State Park, with the view of the Mackinac Bridge. We were fascinated by the wooden buildings of the fort and trading center, built around 1715 by the French.
After the French defeat in the French and Indian War, the British used the fort as a major trading post, but most of the residents remained French and Ojibwe, although British fur traders also lived in wooden houses inside the stockade fence. In 1763, angry Ojibwe tricked their way into the fort and slaughtered the British in retaliation for broken trade agreements.
Even in the heat of midsummer, it was possible to imagine winter in the snowy fort. I decided, during one tour, that I’d choose to be a baker. The cruel early rising (no pun intended) would be offset by warm ovens and access to freshly-baked bread.
We visited the Sault Locks that allow ships to travel between Lake Superior, Lake Huron, and the St. Lawrence Seaway, transporting 96% of US iron ore, 86 million tons of cargo on 10,000 ships a year, but were more impressed with the Tahquamenon Falls once we crossed the bridge.
The Upper Falls pour an average of 7,000 gallons of water per second, but the rusty color of the river was more impressive to us. The same tannin in black tea colors the water drained from cedar swamps.
The forest around Tahquamenon River was home to moose, bear, beaver, porcupine, otters and mink, fox, coyote, white-tail deer, and birds. They offered furs, meat, and campsites for the Ojibwe, and later, fur trading and logging by explorers, missionaries, settlers, and lumberjacks.
The beauty of the 50,000 acres of Tahquamenon Falls State Park, dedicated in 1947, brings to mind Tecumseh’s words: “Sell a country? Why not sell the air, the great sea, as well as the earth? Did not the Great Spirit make them all for the use of his children?”
At least, these lands are protected by state parks.
From the lakeside campground with a view of the magnificent Mackinac Bridge to Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Mountains, northern Michigan is a paradise.
I don’t ever expect enough income to stay in one of the Grand Hotel’s 397 unique guest rooms, or savor their tulip, daffodil, and geranium gardens. I doubt I’ll be fortunate enough to rock on the world’s longest porch (660 feet) and take in the view of the Straits of Mackinac.
If I could choose, I’d rather see the water, rocks, and island the way Tecumseh’s daughter described it in The Loon Feather:
“The straits lay before me in bars of blue and gray and transparent green, with each wave golden where it met the sun. A ridge of pines on St. Ignace made a green fringe between the water and the deep blue of the sky. High above sounded the call of wild geese on their way to the south…” (Iola Fuller)
Then again, maybe the view hasn’t changed and the Great Turtle presents the same allure the Ojibwe knew.
Aren’t we lucky to be, or have been, Michiganders?
Only our mitten state offers such treasures.
My parents camped around Michigan and crossed the bridge to the U.P., but we never bought fudge, rode bikes, or walked the porch of the Grand Hotel. I’m not likely to now, either.
What brought the “Great Turtle” island to mind was a mesmerizing book called The Loon Feather (Iola Fuller), a perennial favorite—a story of the fictional daughter of Tecumseh, the great Shawnee chief and warrior. The story’s set during the last years of the fur trade, and Oneta’s quiet heroism, patience, and understanding of the various people around her culminates in a life-saving gift from the lamented Tecumseh to his tribes.
But I don’t want to ruin it for you.
The Ojibwe called the island “Great Turtle” because of its appearance. In the 1600’s it was an Ojibwe burial ground before French explorers discovered it. In 1780 the British established a fort. The island became headquarters for the American Fur Company, and by 1887, offered the Victorian Grand Hotel (filmed in Somewhere in Time).
Eight miles in circumference, bordered by limestone cliffs, and rising to nearly 340 feet over the water, its forests have been a state part since 1895. Only horses and buggies, or bicycles, are allowed.
But if we never rode bikes around the island, we visited Fort Michilimackinac whenever we camped at Straits State Park, with the view of the Mackinac Bridge. We were fascinated by the wooden buildings of the fort and trading center, built around 1715 by the French.
After the French defeat in the French and Indian War, the British used the fort as a major trading post, but most of the residents remained French and Ojibwe, although British fur traders also lived in wooden houses inside the stockade fence. In 1763, angry Ojibwe tricked their way into the fort and slaughtered the British in retaliation for broken trade agreements.
Even in the heat of midsummer, it was possible to imagine winter in the snowy fort. I decided, during one tour, that I’d choose to be a baker. The cruel early rising (no pun intended) would be offset by warm ovens and access to freshly-baked bread.
We visited the Sault Locks that allow ships to travel between Lake Superior, Lake Huron, and the St. Lawrence Seaway, transporting 96% of US iron ore, 86 million tons of cargo on 10,000 ships a year, but were more impressed with the Tahquamenon Falls once we crossed the bridge.
The Upper Falls pour an average of 7,000 gallons of water per second, but the rusty color of the river was more impressive to us. The same tannin in black tea colors the water drained from cedar swamps.
The forest around Tahquamenon River was home to moose, bear, beaver, porcupine, otters and mink, fox, coyote, white-tail deer, and birds. They offered furs, meat, and campsites for the Ojibwe, and later, fur trading and logging by explorers, missionaries, settlers, and lumberjacks.
The beauty of the 50,000 acres of Tahquamenon Falls State Park, dedicated in 1947, brings to mind Tecumseh’s words: “Sell a country? Why not sell the air, the great sea, as well as the earth? Did not the Great Spirit make them all for the use of his children?”
At least, these lands are protected by state parks.
From the lakeside campground with a view of the magnificent Mackinac Bridge to Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Mountains, northern Michigan is a paradise.
I don’t ever expect enough income to stay in one of the Grand Hotel’s 397 unique guest rooms, or savor their tulip, daffodil, and geranium gardens. I doubt I’ll be fortunate enough to rock on the world’s longest porch (660 feet) and take in the view of the Straits of Mackinac.
If I could choose, I’d rather see the water, rocks, and island the way Tecumseh’s daughter described it in The Loon Feather:
“The straits lay before me in bars of blue and gray and transparent green, with each wave golden where it met the sun. A ridge of pines on St. Ignace made a green fringe between the water and the deep blue of the sky. High above sounded the call of wild geese on their way to the south…” (Iola Fuller)
Then again, maybe the view hasn’t changed and the Great Turtle presents the same allure the Ojibwe knew.
Aren’t we lucky to be, or have been, Michiganders?
Only our mitten state offers such treasures.
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