"The Woods and Big Hill"

The Woods and Big Hill

by John B. Anderson

The woods in Manistique were always within two blocks of anywhere we were. After school, in the wintertime, we would snare rabbits in the woods behind Wilson Street. I thought I'd be smart as we started for home one evening. I took a different trail to beat Ron and Bill out of the woods. It was getting dark, and I realized that I was lost. I remembered not to panic, (after I paniced), and stopped to think of what to do. Then, I heard the fog horn. Thank God for the fog horn! I followed the sound out of the woods.

Big Hill was always our favorite place to go on the weekend. Big Hill was a five-mile hike east of town, on a bluff near the Soo Line tracks. The view from the bluff gave us a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. I always said that if I were to live in Manistique, I would build a house on that bluff. (I think that they call that subdivision, “The Bolitho Plat.” today.) “Gor Gor Creek,” (actually, George Orr Creek), ran along side the bluff. We would fish for little trout from the creek, using a stick, some fishline, a hook, and a worm. We always carried some flour with us, so we could cook the fish for our lunch.

On Big Hill, we erected lean-to's, covered them with evergreen branches, then put some baughs inside to lie on. We'd make a nice fire outside to cook and to keep us warm. We sometimes took my dog, Bingo, to Big Hill, until he grabbed our hamburger out of the frying pan. That was the end of Bingo's traveling with us.

Bill and I saved a life one time at Big Hill. Freddie Figario, who's dad managed the A. & P. for awhile, had been wading in Gor Gor Creek, and he had cut his foot. It was bleeding badly, so we administered first aid, and carried him to Mr. Walter's Nursery across the highway. My folks and Bill's folks were not available to help, but Grandpa Malloch came to the rescue. Grandpa drove Freddie to the clinic for stitches and then home. Boy Scout training made this go easier.

All the neighborhood guys were in Boy Scouts. We were the “Beaver,” patrol. We were too young to grasp the significance of that designation, but as we grew older, it seemed to make sense. We would camp out a Camp 7 Lake and at Camp Red Buck with the scouts. I really can't remember who peed on the campfire during the Catholic Church service at Camp-o-Ree.

Dan and I used to head for the woods after school. We would leave from Dan's house, walk through the cemetary, over the hill, and into the woods behind Gerry Rodman's house. On one of our treks through the cemetary, we passed the crypt building. The door was open, which was unusual. It was wintertime, so there were five or six caskets inside the crypt, waiting for a spring burial. The sexton apparently got sleepy, so he had lain down for a nap on top of a casket. As we passed the doorway, he heard our voices, so he sat up.

Dan yelled, “Holey S**t!” We took off running down the other side of the hill.

Some of the limestone in the woods behind Gerry's house contained wonderful fossils of ocean shells. Who would believe that the oceans came in as far as Michigan? Most of our time wasn't spent gathering fossils, however, we were busy making forts out of the cedar trees.

To the south of the cemetary were the sand hills. These were the greatest sledding hills in Manistique. Every kid in Lakeside had spent many hours sledding down these slopes. To the east were slides known as the, “Nutcracker,” and the, “Mankiller.” Each was true to its name.

Many years after I had left Manistique, I attended a housing conference in Madison, WI. After a day filled with housing presentations, I found myself in an all-nude bar, sitting next to one of the presenters from Housing and Urban Development, (HUD). Augie Johansson and I were on our third beer, when Augie said that he had funded a housing project in Manistique. He said it was called the Cherry Hill Apartments.

I stood up and exclaimed, “You're the son-of-a bitch!”

“What did I do?” Augie wondered.

“You distroyed the best sledding hill in Manistique!”

Augie apologized, then bought me another beer.

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When Dan was old enough to drive, he drove us to his grandmother's cabin on Straits Lake. That Willis Jeep truck could go anywhere. Sometimes Dan would cut it just a little close, and knock off the truck's fender. We'd had to stop and bolt it back on. We chased the geese off Cookson Lake, and chased the ducks off Indian River. We even investigated some abandoned camps. Dan and I almost built a duck blind near Thompson, but that's another story.