Tag: heritage

Raising Heritage Turkeys

  • John Harnois raises Narragansett turkeys, one of the so-called heritage breeds. He also raises a few Bourbon Reds, another heritage breed. (Photo by Rebecca Williams)

Eating turkeys to keep them from dying out…


This is the Environment Report. I’m Rebecca Williams.


In honor of Thanksgiving… we’re revisiting a Michigan farmer who raises heritage turkeys. Those are turkeys that have a little bit of a wilder history. Some farmers are trying to keep these older turkey breeds from going extinct.

Transcript

John Harnois has a yard full of turkeys. He says he knows his turkeys so well, he can speak their language.


“The turkeys pip, they bark, they gobble, (Harnois makes gobbling sound and turkeys respond in unison).”


These turkeys are mostly males. They’re trying to look all big and macho as they strut around in front of the hens. These birds are the Narragansett breed.


“They’re old time turkeys, much closer to wild. They don’t have the broad breasts, so proportionally for eating (turkeys gobble, Harnois laughs), they have more dark meat to white meat.”


People who’ve tasted a heritage turkey say the flavor is stronger too.


Sara Dickerman did some turkey taste testing for Slate.com. She tasted everything from the Butterball brand to kosher to heritage.


“When you taste one of these heritage breeds you’re getting more of a… it begins to taste more like a distinct meat and I’m afraid our vocabulary is so ill suited to describing it, except that it tastes meatier, it tastes more intensely and it just has a resonance that you’ll never get in a Butterball.”


She says, still, you’ve got to be pretty committed to buy a heritage turkey. They can cost upwards of a hundred bucks.


Taste and cost aren’t the only things that set heritage turkeys apart from the turkeys you find in the grocery store.


Your common grocery store turkey is a breed called the Broad-breasted White. These turkeys have been bred over the years to produce a lot of meat in a short period of time. As a result, they’re large breasted birds with short little legs.


John Harnois says that means they can’t mate naturally.


“One of the things about heritage birds is they’re small enough to mate as opposed to the broad-breasteds which is artificial insemination. With that big breast they just can’t do the deed.”


But even though heritage turkeys can mate naturally, they haven’t been doing so well on their own.


“These birds, the heritage breeds, were real close to dying out. It’s funny… you’ve gotta eat ‘em to keep ‘em going. To keep their genetics in the gene pool, there has to be a market for them.”


That’s where the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy stepped in. It’s a non-profit group trying to keep rare breeds from going extinct. Marjorie Bender is the group’s research manager. She says just three companies own the rights to the commercial turkey breeds.


“And they’re all very, very closely related and it’s that narrow genetic pool that has been of particular concern to us and what makes the conservation of these other lines of turkeys and these other varieties of turkeys so important.”


(gobbling)


John Harnois says he is earning money from his heritage turkeys, but it’s not easy money. Heritage turkeys cost a lot to raise, and it takes longer to get them to market weight. And unlike the commercial turkeys, the heritage birds can actually fly the coop.


“You’re chasing them, and it’s dark out, and you don’t know if you’re going through poison ivy, if you’ve got shorts on you’ve gotta change your pants to long pants… it’s a pain.”


But he says the late night chases and extra turkey TLC are worth it.


“You don’t want everything being the same, and if you only have one thing and something happens to it, there’s no more. Where are the turkeys going to come from?”


He says he feels like it’s his job to make sure there will always be plenty of different kinds of turkeys to go around.

Happy Thanksgiving!


That’s the Environment Report. I’m Rebecca Williams.

Wild Rice Harvest Restores a Native Tradition

  • Chloe Aldred is one of many kids learning the tradition of harvesting wild rice. (Photo by Rebecca Williams)

For thousands of years, Native American tribes in the Great Lakes region have been harvesting wild rice. They call it manoomin.

But over the past few centuries, this tradition has been dying out. The rice beds have been shrinking, and the cultural knowledge has been disappearing. Many tribes were forced to relocate away from the wild rice beds. Starting in the 1870s, some children were taken from their families, into boarding schools. They were given English names and cut off from their culture and from the knowledge of how to harvest rice.

In Michigan, some people are trying to bring the tradition back.

Native Wild Rice Coalition

More about “The Good Berry”

The Lac Vieux Desert Band of Lake Superior Chippewa

Video of the Manoomin Project for at risk teens

Transcript

Roger LaBine is a member of the Lac Vieux Desert band of Lake Superior Chippewa. He says manoomin is central to his ancestors’ migration story.

“And they were presented in visions with seven prophecies and we would know where our homeland would be when we found this food that grows on the water, which is the manoomin.”

(paddling sound)

Here, on Tubbs Lake near Mecosta, you can still find wild rice. The rice beds look like a bright green meadow growing on the water. It’s the perfect spot for Wild Rice Camp. About 50 people are here, young and old, tribal and non-tribal. They’re here to learn how to harvest and process the rice.

Barb Barton is one of the camp’s instructors.

“So to harvest rice you use cedar ricing sticks, they look like shortened pool cues. You pull rice over the boat and knock the rice into the boat.”

(snd of knocking rice)

After a couple hours on the lake, everyone heads back to camp to process the rice.

Charley Fox has been ricing since he was nine years old. He’s showing us how to soften the rice in a copper kettle.

(snd under)

“It takes the moisture out of the rice kernel, gets the outer shaft brittle to where you can roll it in your fingers. it’s a golden color, it’s ready to go, ready for the next stage where they dance on it!”

Saige Mackay is 11 years old. She’s in a little pit, wearing moccasins.

“I’m dancing on the rice. It shells the rice so you don’t have the husks on it, like husking corn.”

(dancing sound under)

Then it’s on to the winnowing stage. That’s where they use birch baskets to separate the husks from the rice. Then they clean the rice, and it’s finally ready to eat.

Zhawan Sprague is the daughter of a tribal chairman.

“My dad really wanted me to learn more about how to like, harvest rice, so I’m really excited how it’s going to end out.”

A lot of people here are first timers.

Roger LaBine says he loves having all the kids around.

He says to the Anishinaabe people, everything has a spirit. He says the spirit of the manoomin is glad to have them back.

“It’s been waiting for us. By us coming out here and harvesting this rice, it’s helping us to enhance it. Not only the rice bed but it’s a healing process for us, it gives us that incentive to carry it on. We need that. It’s our identity. It’s almost like a language, we lose our identity if we lose our language, if we lose our dance, if we lose our drum.”

LaBine says on the last day of camp, they’ll return one day’s harvest back to the water, to re-seed the rice beds for next year.

“And say thank you, Miigwetch, give us all that we need and no more than we need so that we can carry this on.”

Rebecca Williams, The Environment Report

‘Water Trails’ Mark Region’s History

  • Dave Lemberg from Western Michigan University envisions not only opportunities for water sports, but also opportunities to see historical sites along waterways. (Photo by Tamar Charney)

If you traveled this summer, you might have noticed more and more cars with canoes or kayaks on top. Recreation associations say paddle sports are growing in popularity. And so are efforts to give paddlers places to go. As the Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar Charney reports some of these places benefit more than just the person in the boat:

Transcript

If you traveled this summer, you might have noticed more and more cars with canoes or kayaks on top. Recreation associations say paddle sports are growing in popularity and so are efforts to give paddlers places to go. As the Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar Charney reports, some of these places benefit more than just the person in the boat:


It just stopped raining, which has made the air even more thick and humid than it was before. But there’s a slight breeze coming off the water.


(Sound of splashing, scraping, and paddling)


Dave Lemberg from Western Michigan University slides his yellow kayak into the St. Joseph River in Southwest Michigan.


“There’s a heron off to the right.”


We’re at the beginning of a water trail he’s helped to create. It is one of two pilot trails for The Michigan Heritage Water Trail Program.


His idea is that mapped-out water trails will lead you to places where you can put in and take out your boat, places to stop and stretch your legs for a moment, and places where you might want to stop and check out a historical bridge or museum you pass by. Lemberg wants to see these kinds of
water trails created all across the state.


“We are looking at this as a type of heritage tourism. Every river, every piece of coastline in the Great Lakes has a story to tell.”


As we paddle down the river, signs guide us from point to point. Along the way the signs tell about the history of the area, and refer to a trail guide that contains even more information.


“The country was settled on water trails; we just didn’t call them that.”


Water trails are popping up all over the country. Paul Sanford is with the American Canoe Association. Last month, the organization launched an on-line database of trails. There are more than four hundred of them. He says people new to the sport like them because they tell you where to go. And he says these days you don’t just find water trails in beautiful areas.


SANFORD: “You see more and more trails being developed in urban areas as a way to change public attitudes about a waterway that might have historically been pretty industrialized, pretty uninviting to local citizens as a recreational resource that folks are saying, ‘Hey wait a minute, we can have fun on this river.'”


LEMBERG: “Let’s see, let’s back up and go over there this channel seems to have disappeared.”


On the St. Joseph River, the water trail passes ruins of bridges, old mills, and other remnants of early settlements dating back to the 1800’s. There used to be bustling communities along rivers like this, but many riverside towns were left behind when the interstates took a different route. Dave Lemberg thinks water trails can be a way to revitalize some of these bypassed communities.


“So the vision is people paddling from bed and breakfast to bed and breakfast, eating in local restaurants, browsing in local stores. There’s where well be eating, on the deck up there, overlooking the river.”


After a morning on the river, we arrive eight miles downstream from where we started. One of the signs directs us up a creek to the Mendon Country Inn.


(Sound of door)


Gerard Clark is the chef and owner of this historic inn. He says the water trail has been good for business.


“Since the inauguration which was in August last year, we’ve a seen a three-fold increase in our canoe business which has impacted on lodging and as well as our dining facilities. We have a lot of city folk who come in who are so stressed out you can’t believe it, after a couple days on river and good food they unwind.”


Clark says the trail is drawing people from all over the region, and the hope is, paddle trails like this one will become a tourist draw in other places as well.


For the GLRC, I’m Tamar Charney.

Related Links

Seneca Children Learn to Preserve Culture

Almost forty years ago, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers built a dam in northwestern Pennsylvania. Hundreds of Seneca Indians lost their land, homes and traditions to the dam’s reservoir. Now a new generation of Senecas is trying to preserve a way of life that many believe was nearly inundated by this federal project. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Ann Murray has this story:

Transcript

Almost forty years ago, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers built a dam in northwestern
Pennsylvania. Hundreds of Seneca Indians lost their land, homes and traditions to the dam’s
reservoir. Now a new generation of Senecas is trying to preserve a way of life that many believe
was nearly inundated by this federal project. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Ann Murray
has this story:


(students playing outside school)


It’s a sunny day in Salamanca, New York. Young Seneca students lurch and lunge in a game of
keep away.


(students playing game: “Let go! Let go!”)


Although they look like any group of kids
at recess, they share a big responsibility.


(kids playing ball outside)


“My Indian name is Gayanose. My English name is Brooke Crouse- Kennedy. I’m here because
I’m trying to be one of the ones to preserve our culture and just learn.”


Brooke and 12 other students are here at the Faithkeepers School to learn the Seneca language
and the teachings of the Longhouse religion. The health of these cultural benchmarks declined
after the Kinzua Reservoir flooded one-third of the Alleghany Reservation and scattered tribal
families. The cedar wood school now rests on the upper reaches of the reservation – a narrow strip
of land that follows the Allegheny River from Pennsylvania to New York.


(Dowdy and kids in classroom)


“What kinds of things do you need that’s growing on earth?”


“Food.”


This morning, longtime teacher Sandy Dowdy, works with very young students. In 1998, she and
her husband Dar rallied the community and started the school. They’re two of only 200 Senecas
who can still speak their language.


“Now do you see why Yoedzade is so important? Everything we need is on Yoedzade.”


Thanking Yoedzade, the earth, and its creator for the bounty of nature is the building block for
learning the Seneca language and ceremonies. Today, this handful of students learns a shorter
version of the thanksgiving speech. The speech stresses the interconnection between the natural
world and the well being of individual people.


(Dowdy and kids recite thanksgiving speech in Seneca)


“We cover just the ceremonial part and the giving thanks part in the morning and then in the
afternoon, we study things. We look into erosion and pollution and all of those things
that we can do to protect those things we just gave thanks for.”


These lessons have a real life application in the school’s small gardens. The early Senecas
depended on gardens to survive. Fruits and vegetables were so important to the tribe’s existence
that they appear in many of their stories and ceremonies. Senecas continued to farm until their
fertile bottom land was flooded by the Kinzua reservoir.


Following the traditional cycles of their
ancestors, Landon Sequoyah and the other kids now help with planting and harvesting.


“The corn’s right there. A long time ago they used to have big things of corn and beans and squash. That’s the Three
Sisters. That’s the Three Sisters. Guindioth and the Three Sisters. He was going back
up to the Skyworld and they grabbed onto his legs and they told him not to go or
they could go with them but he was like,’No, you have to stay down
here to feed our people.'”


Murray: “If you hadn’t been in school would you ever had a garden?”


“I don’t think so cause I was going to a public school and I didn’t know hardly anything about our
culture.”


Many Senecas on the Alleghany Reservation believe their culture was nearly lost when the
Kinzua Dam was built. The Senecas and others strongly protested this project. But their
arguments were turned down in the courts and the U.S. Congress. Tyler Heron is an elder and
Seneca historian. He says that the Canandaigua Treaty of 1794 guaranteed that Seneca land
would remain untouched by the United States government.


“But the politics change over 200 years. We weren’t the threat. We weren’t the political power
any more. The threat, I guess, was the river itself to Pittsburgh …the flooding. It was the
threat to the economy.”


Major floods along the lower Allegheny prompted the federal government to act. To make way
for the dam, 600 Senecas were moved from their homes along the riverbanks. In 1964,
contractors burned and bulldozed Seneca houses, trees and public buildings. Churches and
cemeteries were moved. Heron, who was 17 at the time, says life as he knew it has changed.


“Even the ecology of the river itself has changed. My wife, for instance, used to make her extra
money as a teenager by catching soft-shelled crabs and selling them to the bait companies
but I don’t think there’s a soft-shelled crab in the river anymore.”


Aquatic plants were lost as well. The reservoir also inundated hardwoods used for carving
ceremonial masks and many medicinal plants. Heron, whose grandchildren attend the
Faithkeepers School, says these children are learning to identify the remaining plants. They’re
learning to speak the language and lead the ceremonies and carry on for a community that lost its
ancestral home along the Allegheny.


“Our existence is dependent on us …dependent on us only. And we have to keep our identifiers.
How do we keep our identity? Well,language. It starts right here.”


(Kids playing in front of Faithkeepers school. One child speaks in seneca. Fades into traditional
Seneca chant.)


For the Great Lakes Radio Consortium, I’m Ann Murray.

Soundscape: Sentinel Over the Water

  • Volunteer lighthouse keepers at Big Sable Point appreciate the allure of these historical buildings.

Lighthouses used to guide ships to safe waters. These days they mainly beckon to tourists. The Great Lakes are a popular destination for lighthouse buffs because of the lighthouses lining the shores. All summer long at Ludington State Park in Michigan, visitors walk two miles from their cars and campers to visit Big Sable Point Lighthouse. When they get there, the tourists are greeted by volunteer lighthouse keepers. The keepers have been through a lengthy application process for the privilege of living at the lighthouse for two weeks. During that time they clean the port-a-potty’s, sweep the sand off the stairs, and show visitors around. But each volunteer lightkeeper is also getting a sense for why lighthouses are such an attraction. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar Charney prepared this audio postcard:

Transcript

Lighthouses used to guide ships to safe waters, these days they
mainly beckon to tourists. The Great Lakes are a popular destination
for
lighthouse buffs because of the lighthouses lining the shores. All
summer long at Ludington State Park in Michigan visitors to the park
walk
2 miles from their cars and campers to visit Big Sable Point
Lighthouse. When they get there, the tourists are greeted by six
volunteer lighthouse keepers. The keepers have been through a lengthy
application process for the privilege of living at the lighthouse for two
weeks. During that time they clean the port-a-potty’s, sweep the sand
off
the lighthouse stairs, and show visitors around. But each volunteer
lightkeeper is also getting a chance to try to figure out for themselves
why lighthouses are such an attraction. The Great Lakes Radio
Consortium’s Tamar Charney prepared this audio postcard:

(sounds of waves)

Harold Triezenberg: “We’d like to welcome you to the Big Sable Point
Lighthouse. Does anyone know why its called big sable? No. No. No.
What
does sable mean? Sable means sand.”

(sounds of waves)

Shirley Mitchell: “It’s a beautiful area lighthouses are in with
the water and that always attracts people. They think of the loneliness
and in a lot of books it’s the source of a lot of adventure. You’re out
here by yourself and have to do for yourself with what you’ve got.
There’s
the thrill of maybe rescuing someone off of a ship. Being the one that’s
responsible for keeping the light going to make sure the ships won’t
crash
into the rocks or into the shore. People are trying to capture a lot of
that We’re not in control. It’s mother nature that is in control.”

(waves fade out)

(sounds of steps being climbed)

Harold Triezenberg: “There’s 130 steps from the bottom to the very
top.”

(steps)

“I think lighthouses are a very important part of our American heritage.
What they stand for. What they’ve done. What they mean. Even though
they
are not necessarily used to guide ships because of global positioning, I
think
a lighthouse is a symbol of mankind. A symbol of us as citizens to be
also
lighthouses to be guides to people to those around us.”

(walking outside & wind)

“When you look out here you’re looking at the same very same scenery,
the
people who built this tower seen. They seen the very same thing the
same
water, beach same probably the sand dunes and the same forest in the
background.”

“Those are little markers that tell us the distance to cities around here
Chicago 160 and as we walk around we see other markers, Ludington 7
miles,
Grand Rapids, 85, Lansing, 130, and as we keep going around we see
more
stickers that tell us the direction and how far the cities are… (wind)
It is very remote.”

(sound of waves)

(wood steps)

Phyllis Triezenberg: “This is one of the bedrooms it happens to be the
bedroom I’m staying in. Very nicely furnished. Lots of closets in this
place and we assume it’s because they had to have lots of supplies for
a
long period of time.
The keepers quarters were built the same time as the
lighthouse, 1867. Their main job was to tend the light back before
electricity they had to keep the lamp burning.”

“I’m very nostalgic. I like history things that people did a long time ago. I
like to see things where other people have been just to think that now I’m
experiencing what they’ve experienced.”

(waves)

Julie Koviak: “It would have been a very hard life – especially the nights
the
fog horn was running cause it would run sometimes for 4 days at a time
and they couldn’t talk. They’d have to time their conversation to speak in
between the blasts of the fog horn.”

“I think I got totally interested in them when I saw this one walking out
here. Just because of the beauty it was almost a religious experience
seeing
that sentinel stand over the water. You know, ‘I am the light, I’ll show you
the way. Know what I mean?”

(Waves)

TAG: Shirley Mitchell, Harold and Phyllis Triezenberg, and
Julie Koviak are volunteer lighthouse keepers at Big Sable
Point Lighthouse near Ludington, Michigan.

State Declares Itself Maritime Heritage Destination

Many states and provinces in the Great Lakes region have museums, monuments, and shipwrecks that tell the story of the explorers, shippers, and industries that are a part of the region’s maritime history. But one state in the region plans to market itself as the place to visit to learn about the region’s maritime past. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar Charney reports:

Transcript

Many states and provinces in the Great Lakes region have museums, monuments, and shipwrecks
that tell the story of the explorers, shippers, and industries that are a part of the region’s maritime
history. But one state in the region plans to market itself as the place to visit to learn about the
region’s maritime past. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar Charney reports:


Michigan has declared itself a ‘Maritime Heritage Destination.’ Bill Anderson is the director of
the Michigan Department of History, Arts and Libraries. He says visitors have long come to the
state for its natural beauty and outdoor activities. But he thought the state could appeal to
regional visitors interested in the culture and history of the lakes. He says the state has many
maritime-themed attractions, including the nation’s only underwater sanctuary devoted to
preserving shipwrecks.


“Lighthouses, maritime museums, historic ships, underwater preserves, performing artists that specialize in maritime culture, cruises, other museums that have significant maritime collections…”


And so on. Anderson says discussions are underway with the National Park Service to bring the
park service on as a partner.


For the Great Lakes Radio Consortium, I’m Tamar Charney.

Cloning Trees to Preserve History

People who do historic restoration have been taking advantage of cloning technology. Historic trees are being cloned to help preserve and restore historic landscapes. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar Charney reports:

Transcript

People who do historic restoration have been taking advantage of
cloning technology. Historic trees are being cloned to help preserve and
restore historic landscapes. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Tamar
Charney reports:


Michigan’s Fort Mackinac is a military fortress from the American
Revolution. In the mid 1800’s, soldiers stationed there planted a row of eight
sugar maples lining the fort’s parade ground. But these trees are now old
and dying.


Phil Porter is a curator who’s worked at Fort Mackinac for over
30 years. He says he was sad and concerned that they would soon lose this
living link to the fort’s past. So he decided to have the trees cloned.


“We think that by cloning them, by going to that very high level of
reproducing what is there now we can do the most accurate job of
reproducing the environment, the right looking trees, and putting them
back in the same place.”


While the clones won’t look any different from a sugar maple seedling
bought at a nursery, keeping the genes of a historic tree alive through
cloning seems to appeal to people. There are tree cloning projects
underway in Massachusetts, Maryland, and even Australia to help replicate
historic trees people have a connection to.


For the Great Lakes Radio Consortium, I’m Tamar Charney.

Fishing Relics Fading Away

Fishing boats that once braved Lake Superior storms now sit idle and deteriorating on the shore of a small village. Some of the local folks believe the remnants of the village’s fishing past should be preserved. Others wonder if some relics of our past should simply be allowed to slowly fade away. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Mike Simonson has more:

Transcript

Fishing boats that once braved Lake Superior storms now sit idle and
deteriorating on the shore of a small village. Some of the local folks
believe the remnants of the village’s fishing past should be preserved.
Others wonder if some relics of our past shouldn’t simply be allowed to
slowly fade away? The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Mike Simonson
has more:


(soft sounds of waves)


This quiet, sandy beach in Wisconsin’s northernmost village of Cornucopia is
left with a few hints of its past. Three gray wooden fishing boats sit in
disrepair on the sand dunes…boats that were part of this harbor’s fleet of
25 vessels when the Lake Superior fishing industry was at its peak. These
days, the cool mornings are disturbed only by a town meeting of seagulls…


(seagulls)


They’re waiting for the lone fishing boat to return for a late
breakfast.


(fishing boat engine)


The 44-foot steel hulled Courtney Sue is the last of the fishing boats in
Cornucopia. Brothers Mark and Cliff Halverson continue a family
tradition…bringing in the day’s catch.


“How was the catch?”


“Good enough for what we needed today.”


(sound of boxes sliding onto dock)


“These are lawyers, this is a trout, and the rest are whitefish. Been kind of slow
this year. Gonna pick up, but the water’s real cold yet. The fish are still out deep.”


(sound of sharpening knives)


With sharpened knives, the Halversons gut the fish so fast that the catch
continue to flop about even after filleting.


(sound of slitting fish)


“Been doing it for quite a few years. (slop, slop) Takes awhile
to get used to handling ’em (slop).”


These men are the last of their kind in town. The rest of the fishermen who
sailed on boats like the three beached relics have either left Cornucopia,
retired or died.


Fishing peaked in 1955. Then, it became a casualty of over-fishing and the
invasion of the sea lamprey…a life-sucking eel with no natural enemy in the Great
Lakes. It devastated the fishing.


(fishermen playing cribbage)


Most days you can find 64-year-old “Snooks” Johnson and 74-year-old Harold
Ehlers among a friendly game of cribbage at Corny’s Village Inn.


“Sorry, Harold.”


“Well, you’re gonna get better, I know.”


“Well, I can’t get any worse (laughs).”


Ehler’s family has owned the town general store since 1915. He remembers
the men and women who made fishing their livelihood from the 1920’s till
the 50’s.


“I have to say they were very independent people. They just depended on their skill to make a living.”


Harold Ehler’s store played a critical role…making sure fish got to the
market fresh, and for good prices.


“So their market was mainly in Chicago… my dad spent most of his noon hour
on the phone, which wasn’t that great in those days. Selling the fish. Then we’d go down and tag ’em, put them on a truck and take them to the railroad station in Ashland and so they’d get there the next morning.”


(sound of waves)


The old wooden boats now weathering on the beach are just about all that’s
left of that heritage. Battered letters spell out “The Eagle,” “Ruby,” and
“Twin Sisters.” Some people in Cornucopia hope to save the old boats from
the ravages of Lake Superior. “Snooks” Johnson’s family operated “Twin
Sisters”…and he joined the crew as a teenager in 1955…the last good year.


“Yeah it looks kinda sad, doesn’t it? How it got its name, my Dad’s brother had
twin daughters so that’s what the “Twin Sisters” came from. It was a pretty good boat.”


Johnson says these homemade wooden boats were plenty seaworthy…with lots
of room for fish and a crew of four or five.
“But they all rolled and I’d always get seasick when I was on the thing. Because
when it was rough weather and you took the fish in and piled them up on the
bow so they wouldn’t roll too much, because the bow would keep them confined.
And you had a stove that burned coal just for heat. Someone would start cookin’.
So you would have the engine smells, the coal smells and the half-cooked fish
smells. I spent quite a bit of my time sticking my head out that gangway right
there to chum the fish.”


Johnson says remembers Tom Jones, the builder of these boats. The oldest
dates back to 1927. The others were built in 1935 and 1940.


“What he would do is make half a boat, a model. He’d say well
this is the way you guys want it or whoever one like this, or one like
that. They’d agree on it and that’s how it would turn out. I think he had
about a third or fourth grade education, but he was brilliant. Nobody really
knows how to work on them anymore.”


When Tom Jones passed away, so did the know-how of restoring these boats.
Now, protected only by a rope to keep people from climbing onboard, these
remnants of a more prosperous day slowly decay.


A “Save the Boats” committee was formed, but recently dissolved. This
village of 50 people just doesn’t have enough resources, says the former
co-chair of “Save the Boats,” Phyllis Johnson. She hopes somebody someday
does something for the boats…


“It’ll be as a result of someone saying, “Hey, those boats are lookin’ pretty shabby, aren’t you gonna get the young people around, have them work on them or something.”


But nothing has happened yet. Not even so much as a coat of paint protects
the boats. The sterns and hulls are cracked open. Only one boat has a
propeller. Johnson would like to do something, but she’s realistic.


“In the end they’re going to go back to nature. They’re not going to float again, never. But as a part of heritage, it’s probably better to keep them in as good as shape as we can keep them as long as we can.”


Snooks Johnson says as each season takes its toll on the old boats, it’s
likely preservation isn’t in the cards.


“I don’t know, I kind of like to see it just the way it is.
fishing went to hell, and so do the boats. So they’re kind of following
suit and they’ll still last a long time I guess. I don’t know, a lot of
memories.”


But there are fewer and fewer people to share those memories remaining in
Cornucopia. And fewer people to worry about the fate of the old fishing
boats.


For the Great Lakes Radio Consortium, I’m Mike Simonson.


(sound of seagulls)

Preserving a Piece of Our Heritage

  • Barn preservation groups across the country are working to save old barns - both the common designs, and the more unusual examples, like this one in St. Joseph County, Michigan. Photo courtesy of Mary Keithan, from her book, "Michigan's Heritage Barns," published by Michigan State University Press.

In rural areas across the country, the landscape is dramatically
changing. But while strip malls, subdivisions and mini-marts all
contribute toward urbanization, there’s another type of transformation
going on, as well. The face of our farmlands is changing, as
agriculture
becomes more modernized. And that’s got some people worried that a
classic symbol of American farming may soon fade away. The Great
Lakes Radio Consortium’s Wendy Nelson reports:

Adirondack Man

As in so many rural areas, the culture of the Adirondack Mountains is
in decline. The days of hunting and trapping have given way to
condominiums and convenience stores. At one time, the Adirondack
pack-basket was a emblem of this culture. But the number of people who
make them has dwindled. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Karen Kelly
visited one of the few residents keeping this tradition alive: