“Democracy is the only system that persists in asking the powers that be whether they are the powers that ought to be.” -Sydney J. Harris
We’ve finally reached the end of the wildest campaign since at least 1972. Polls are open til 8pm, and I hope that you if you haven’t already voted, that you can take the time to cast your ballot on your way out of the maelstrom of ads, flyers, signs & anger. It’s clear that no matter who wins, we will have some deep issues to work through as a nation. Here’s hoping that we can come together around our love of being healthy & alive to build something that works for more Americans instead of simply creating richer billionaires.
Meghan shared this photo back in 2016. She has since closed her Flickr account so I don’t have a link for you … except to Michigan.gov/vote where you can preview your local ballot!
Most of us know that Faygo is a Detroit original, but did you know that Faygo is also the reason we call soda “pop” in Michigan??
Way back in 1907 Russian immigrant brothers and bakers, Ben and Perry Feigenson started creating soft drinks based on their frosting flavors. They bottled their soda – which they called “pop” because of the sound it made when the lid was removed – in fruit punch, strawberry and grape flavors at a factory on Pingree Street & sold it from their horse-drawn wagon the day after it was made! Faygo made a Faygo Kneecap last year for the Lions playoff run so you know they have kept the magic alive!
David took the photos about a decade ago. You can see his latest on his Flickr and read about the pics on David’s blog.
I know a lot of us have felt like we’d become skeletons before the Lions & Tigers were competitive, but here we are … even the Pistons won their first game of the season last night!
Nicole took this way back in 2010 before a haunted hayride but it remains a top 10 all time Halloween vibe photo for me! See more horses & other animals in her Fauna gallery on Flickr.
The Lightkeeper’s Ghost tells the tale of George and Loraine Parris who became the beloved caretakers of the Old Presque Isle Lighthouse in the 1970s, running the small museum and giving tours. George was something of a trickster and delighted in playing harmless tricks on visitors. He passed away in 1992, but the story doesn’t end there.
As Loraine was driving to the property on Grand Lake Road, which had a clear view of the lighthouse, she saw that it was illuminated.
She knew that the Coast Guard had rendered this impossible, but there it was before her. By the time that she arrived at the keeper’s house, though, everything was dark. The next day she climbed the steps of the lighthouse to make sure that everything was in order, and she saw that there was no way that someone could have turned the light on. Yet, this same pattern repeated itself again and again. Loraine never said anything about it because she thought that people might think her crazy.
Soon other folks began to see the light, however – a yellowish glow was reported from the lighthouse by several people. Some thought that the light had been put back into operation, but others drove out for a closer look, only to find that it was dark once again.
It was even spotted by members of the Air National Guard, who flew a few missions over the area, and by the Coast Guard, who investigated to make sure that no one could fire the light back up. It had been permanently disabled years before, so there was no way that the light could be shining. Yet it was. Many people believe that the spirit of playful old George is occasionally paying a visit to the lighthouse that he loved so much, just to let folks know that he’s doing just fine and to keep alive the stories of the lighthouse that he loved so much.
I made the photo art for this from an old photo of Old Presque Isle Lighthouse. I do stuff like that and also websites through Absolute Michigan & Leelanau.com. so if you ever need that, holler!
The grave is said to be immediately to the left of the entrance; if you stand in the vicinity long enough, the stench of death will reach you. This smell is followed by the appearance of the gardener, whose ghost will appear coming over the hill towards you. Be alert, because his apparition only lasts for a few seconds before he decides to disappear.
The Gardener is not the only ghost that makes its presence known here. The disembodied sobbing of a woman can be heard; but when trying to pinpoint the exact location, she can never be found…but the sound of the sobbing will continue.Apparitions, shadow people, and dark figures are seen in the surrounding forests, and the ground has been known to rumble and shake from time to time.
Back in the day there was a great site of spooky stories by someone who went by the name of “Amber Rose Bierce”. She doesn’t seem to be online anymore, but one of my favorite of the spooky stories she shared is that of the Lake Superior ghost ship Hudson:
Perhaps the eeriest tale of a ghost ship is the story of the lost steamer Hudson. This took place right on the Keeweenaw Peninsula, which I have visited several times…the last and loneliest outpost of Upper Michigan before land gives way to the rolling waves of Lake Superior. I can picture this story unfolding in the area I have visited…it doesn’t take much imagination to envisage a ghost ship off Keeweenaw.
The tale was first told in the 1940’s and has all the elements of a bone-freezing beauty of a folk tale. But many sailors take it as the gospel truth.
A refitted tugboat now used for fishing was sailing past the tip of the Keeweenaw Peninsula. A thick, clinging fog was impeding visibility but the boat was making good time when the cloying mist became dangerously dense. There was barely five feet of visibility in front of the vessel when the captain saw in shock that his ship was closing in on a much larger vessel. In a panic, the tug just barely avoided hitting the ship.
The crusty old skipper of the tug was furious at the other boat for not signalling its position in some way. He pulled up alongside the vessel and noticed that it was very old and in poor condition. He could hear no motors…the vessel was floating dead in the water without engines. The skipper was determined to board the strange boat and confront its crew.
This ship was a wreck that barely looked like it should be on the water. A steamer, one of its twin smokestacks was broken in half. Boarding the ship, the captain saw most of the vessel was covered in either rust or what looked like slimy mud. An uneasy chill fell upon the skipper. The ship looked almost abandoned…but then he spied a silent figure wearing the long oilskin coat of a lake sailor standing a little ways up the deck.
“What’s the matter with you?” yelled the skipper. “You almost cut my ship in two!”
There was no spoken reply, but the silent figure pointed further up the deck, where the decrepit boathouse was located. The skipper stomped towards the boathouse, ready to curse out the big steamer’s captain. At this point, anger won out over fear, even though the skipper knew something was terribly wrong.
When he opened the door of the boathouse, he froze. Two emaciated figures manned the boathouse, staring straight ahead with dead black eyes, their skin the color of a fish’s belly. They seemed locked in position, with one manning the wheel as if he were the captain.
“Your ship is a wreck, I don’t know what’s keeping her afloat.” stammered the captain. “You almost slammed into my tug! What the hell’s the matter? What can I do?”
“Nothing,” came a cold, hollow voice from the man at the wheel. The tug’s skipper felt his guts go ice cold at that voice. “There is no help for us. We are the wreck of the Hudson and we’ve been at the bottom since the ship sank in 1901. 24 of us have stayed with the ship on bottom but for us, there is no rest. The devil has cursed us to rise each year on the anniversary of our sinking, until the end of time. Leave…leave quickly, we must soon return to the bottom and any who are with us must remain. Pray for us, shipmate! Pray for us!”
With a scream of terror, the skipper…a man who feared no earthly fate…ran from the boathouse and virtually threw himself back into his own ship. His crew saw immediately that he had suffered a horrible fright. Word was that he never again sailed on the Lakes…that he shuddered to even see the vast watery expanse he once spent all his waking hours on.
A good ghost story for a chilly night? Almost certainly. But the Hudson was indeed a real ship, which sank with all hands on September 16, 1901!
“So, the early reports are usually of men working in the woods who encounter this beast during their time there. And then over the years, it’s a lot of times people who are again alone, either on an isolated road or the woods,” Clark said. “Their encounters are very similar though. They do talk about this beast coming out of the woods, it is very agile, it jumps in front of their car or in front of them. It scratches at their houses or their tents.”
Most of the original reports came from logging camps. In the 1870s, Michigan was the leading white pine lumber producer in the nation. These encounters have been said to scare people to death. Someone recently called OnStar reporting that Dogman ran in front of his car—causing it to flip over.
My two connections with the Dogman are through filmmaker & friend Rich Brauer (see below) and the time my son and I were driving through the pine barrens near Fife Lake in Northern Michigan when we saw a weirdly tall black creature like a wolf or huge dog cross the road ahead of us on all fours. The legs appeared to be about 50% longer than a wolf or dog – very freakish. There are a bunch of ORV trails there and we briefly considered driving in to follow it before realizing we very much did not want to do that.
Thomas shares, “The northern lights and the moon filled the sky above Ellsworth Lake. It was a gorgeous night to be out along the Breezeway.” The Breezeway is his passion which is totally understandable if you take a look:
“The Breezeway” is a rural ride along C-48 from Atwood (U.S. 31) through Ellsworth & East Jordan, and ending in Boyne Falls (U.S. 131) – boasts scenic overlooks, great motorcycle & bicycle rides, recreational amenities galore, working farms & orchards, artist galleries & studios, resale shops, lodging facilities (cottages, campgrounds, B&Bs, motels, and a resort), retail and service businesses with superb customer service, and an epicurean’s selection of dining choices along the route.
Thomas took this photo on October 10th. Head over to his Flickr for his latest photos from this beautiful little corner of Michigan & here’s a daytime photo of the fall color on Ellsworth Lake from yesterday!
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children. For he told them tales of the Loup Garou in the forest. And of the goblin thai came in the night to water the horses. And of the White Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline
I have shared the very long tale of Le Loup Garou before and I will doubtless share it again! We begin at Grosse Pointe where:
…a trapper named Simonet had settled near there on the margin of the lake.
His young wife had faded away in the early years of their married life, but as if in compensation, had left the little prattler Archange to wean him from his grief and to cheer his loneliness. And the strong, hardy man, with his sunburnt face and brawny arms hardened by toil and exposure, in his yearning love for his child, learned to soften his rough manners and soothe her with the gentle ways of a woman. Anxiously he watched the unfolding of his “pretty flower,” as he called her, and with a solicitude touching in its simple pathos, he would select the softest skin of the bear to keep her feet warm, search for the brightest wings of the bird to adorn her hat. When she grew up he taught her to skin the beaver, muskrat and deer which he brought home, and to stretch them out on the drying frame near the house. He was wont to boast that no one could excel Archange preparing the poisson blanc (whitefish), poisson dore (pickerel), or give that peculiar shade of brown which is in itself an art, to the savory cochon au lait (sucking pig).
She was as light-hearted as the cricket that chirped on the hearth, and her cheery voice could be heard caroling away to the music of her spinning wheel. In the long winter evenings her deft fingers would plait the straw into hats which found a ready sale, and which, added to the sum she gained by her knitted socks and dried corn, enabled her to secure many little articles that her vanity suggested to enhance her charms. For the Canadian girl, in the rude surroundings of her forest home, was as anxious to please and be witch by her toilet as her more favored Parisian sister ; the instincts of the sex still lived in the wilderness. At the corn-huskings and dances on the greensward Archange was the reigning belle, and held her little court of homespun dressed youths fascinated by the magic of her dark eyes, her brunette complexion with its warm glow, her raven tresses and piquante tongue. Many admiring eyes followed her lithe form as she tripped in marvelous rapidity la jig a deux or as she changed into the more graceful, swaying motion of la dance ronde.
Enter the capable young farmer Pierre La Fontaine, whose marriage proposal was happily accepted by Simonet, was building a cabin for his bonnie bride, and apparently driving his fragile canoe along the rippling waters lit up by elfish moonbeams (Ms. Hamlin’s words) as they made wedding plans that included the gift of a red cow from Archange’s god-father. Well…
One evening as Pierre placed Archange on the beach near her home and she lingered, following him with her loving eyes as he swiftly rowed away until he had disappeared and only the faint echo of his Canadian boat song floated towards her, she was startled by a rustling sound near by. Looking up a wild shriek escaped her, for a monster with a wolf’s head and an enormous tail, walking erect as a human being, crossed her path. Quickly the cabin door was thrown open by Simonet, who had been roused by his daughter’s scream. Archange flew into her father’s arms and pointed to the spot where she had seen the monster, but the animal surprised by the light, had fled into the woods. Simonet’s face grew pale as Archange described, as accurately as her fears had allowed her to see, the apparition, and he recognized the dreaded Loup Garou.
Did I mention long?
Simonet worried about the Loup Garou (werewolf), but soon the wedding day arrived:
…Soon after she (Archange) joined Pierre and hand in hand, followed by all the habitants in their holiday attire, they entered the little church of logs hewn square, the interstices chinked in with clay, the roof of overlapping strips of bark. In front of the altar, decorated with flowers arranged by loving hands, they knelt. Father Freshet, who had baptized Pierre and Archange and prepared them for their first communion, now came to unite them in the holy bonds of matrimony. After the ceremony they went to the sacristy and inscribed their names in the registry, then hurried off to Pierre’ s new house, where the festivities were to take place. On the green lawn in front of her new cabin the blushing Archange greeted all her friends. The Seigneur of the neighborhood came to claim the right of premier baiser (first kiss). The refreshments were in abundance and all gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the moment, for the Canadians dearly loved a wedding and kept up its festivities for days.
Whilst the merry making was at its height the dreaded Garou with a rush like the wind sprang into their midst, seized Archange and escaped with her into the forest. All were paralyzed by the sudden, daring deed. But Pierre recovering, started in quick pursuit guided by the despairing cry of Archange, followed by all the men, whilst the women and children said their prayers and gave vent to loud lamentations. Long after the shadows had fallen they returned to report to the anxious, trembling crowd, and their sad, dejected faces spoke of the fruitlessness of their search. The monster had baffled them. But Pierre returned not. He was shortly after found by his friends wandering around and around a swamp, and clutching a piece of white batiste. When questioned as to how he had obtained this clue to Archange, he returned a maniacal stare and with a blood-curdling shriek, would have juimped into the swamp if he had not been held back by his companions, who with sorrowful accents said “La folie du bois.”* He would always return to the same swamp, remaining there for hours gazing vacantly in the weird reflections of its slimy, stagnant waters, until some friend led him home.
At the marriage of his sister, which occurred about a year afterwards, Pierre, always dead to the outside world, seemed to be roused by the preparations. After the ceremony he rushed into the woods as if in pursuit of something. He did not return until nearly sunset when he was seen, with wild eyes, flying hair, his clothes torn as if lay briers, chasing a Loup Garou to the very edge of the lake. All stood petrified by the strange apparition and feared a repetition of Archange’s fate. But the animal, seeing no escape, stood on one of the boulders strewn along the shore and stretched out his arms as if beckoning to some mysterious one. A large catfish was seen to rise on the surface of the water and open its mouth, into which the Loup Garou vanished. To this day no Canadian will eat catfish. The footprint of the wolf is still shown at Grosse Pointe, indelibly impressed on one of the boulders.
The internet Archive is down right now, but if it comes back you can read the story in full. Also I am still looking for a pic of the footprint in the boulder!
Michigan in Pictures 