Our Makoonsag
Preface
I once read a personal memoir written by an old man who was one of the children of a North Manitou Island Lightkeeper. The light station was located on the north Island's southern-most point, several miles from the few other people who lived on the island. Some of them were farmers and loggers, but most were summer residents who left as the days began to grow shorter. It was a lonely place, open to the winds and the weather.
The Manitou Passage was still an important maritime asset then, with several ships negotiating the treacherous waters between the towering Sleeping Bear Dunes on the mainland, and the two nearby islands, North Manitou and South Manitou. The significance of the maritime traffic and the danger in that immediate area was marked by the presence of two lighthouse stations and three lifesaving stations. But as time marched on, the importance of shipping was diminished by the growth of railroads, motor freight and air travel. By the late years of the twentieth century, the Manitou Passage was only a footnote in history books, and important only as a beautifully scenic tourist destination. The islands were eventually deserted by all the families who had once thought of them as "home."
Makoonsag is an Ojibwa word meaning "bear cubs"; Mishe-Mokwa is "the Great Bear" referred to in Longfellow's famous "Song of Hiawatha." Those familiar with the area know the Indian legend explaining the presence of the great dune and the two nearby islands. I was conceived on South Manitou, so certain things in the memoir I was reading that evening struck close to home, even bringing tears as in my mind's eye the words on the page morphed into moving pictures of what used to be. That inspired the only attempt I've made at poetry during my adult life.
[-=glw=-]
Our Makoonsag
West of watchful Mishe-Mokwa, lay the cold and lonely Islands
on the slate and restless waters, 'neath the clouds that darkly threaten,
warning boats to stay at bay.
Hosting now the north winds only and the snows its gales blow fiercely
into fields and woods and ruins, drifting over trails and pathways
where our feet oft found their way.
Out of season and abandoned, save for tiny beasts and migrants,
islands where we once made merry; silent now and solitary
on this wintry New Year's Day.
On the mainland we now frolic, having moved across the Passage,
seeking fortunes then elusive (never found on either Island) ...
lighter work for greater pay.
But quiet moments bring to mind the warmth of simple village folk,
faithful kin and caring neighbors, farmsteads once so full of laughter;
journeys made by horse and sleigh.
Dauntless seamen making crossings challenging the angry billows,
worried wives a'watching seaward, catching ropes upon deliverance.
Voyagers back, now home to stay.
Sands still warm on summer evenings soothing bare feet of the children,
racing beams around the lighthouse, finding shapes in starry heavens.
Bath and bedtime after play.
Sought we all for "something better", fooled by fickle expectations,
one by one the Islands leaving. Dreaming then, now sadly knowing,
the better life we'd cast away.
While coldly we forsook our Islands, steadfast they to our hearts cling,
fostering such recollections! Absence hindering not remembrance,
pictures saved there oft replay.
Save we facts and share we fables of our much revered makoonsag;
generations hence might know them as have we, their privileged stewards,
passing on our legacy.
Gene L Warner
January 1, 2004
I once read a personal memoir written by an old man who was one of the children of a North Manitou Island Lightkeeper. The light station was located on the north Island's southern-most point, several miles from the few other people who lived on the island. Some of them were farmers and loggers, but most were summer residents who left as the days began to grow shorter. It was a lonely place, open to the winds and the weather.
The Manitou Passage was still an important maritime asset then, with several ships negotiating the treacherous waters between the towering Sleeping Bear Dunes on the mainland, and the two nearby islands, North Manitou and South Manitou. The significance of the maritime traffic and the danger in that immediate area was marked by the presence of two lighthouse stations and three lifesaving stations. But as time marched on, the importance of shipping was diminished by the growth of railroads, motor freight and air travel. By the late years of the twentieth century, the Manitou Passage was only a footnote in history books, and important only as a beautifully scenic tourist destination. The islands were eventually deserted by all the families who had once thought of them as "home."
Makoonsag is an Ojibwa word meaning "bear cubs"; Mishe-Mokwa is "the Great Bear" referred to in Longfellow's famous "Song of Hiawatha." Those familiar with the area know the Indian legend explaining the presence of the great dune and the two nearby islands. I was conceived on South Manitou, so certain things in the memoir I was reading that evening struck close to home, even bringing tears as in my mind's eye the words on the page morphed into moving pictures of what used to be. That inspired the only attempt I've made at poetry during my adult life.
[-=glw=-]
Our Makoonsag
West of watchful Mishe-Mokwa, lay the cold and lonely Islands
on the slate and restless waters, 'neath the clouds that darkly threaten,
warning boats to stay at bay.
Hosting now the north winds only and the snows its gales blow fiercely
into fields and woods and ruins, drifting over trails and pathways
where our feet oft found their way.
Out of season and abandoned, save for tiny beasts and migrants,
islands where we once made merry; silent now and solitary
on this wintry New Year's Day.
On the mainland we now frolic, having moved across the Passage,
seeking fortunes then elusive (never found on either Island) ...
lighter work for greater pay.
But quiet moments bring to mind the warmth of simple village folk,
faithful kin and caring neighbors, farmsteads once so full of laughter;
journeys made by horse and sleigh.
Dauntless seamen making crossings challenging the angry billows,
worried wives a'watching seaward, catching ropes upon deliverance.
Voyagers back, now home to stay.
Sands still warm on summer evenings soothing bare feet of the children,
racing beams around the lighthouse, finding shapes in starry heavens.
Bath and bedtime after play.
Sought we all for "something better", fooled by fickle expectations,
one by one the Islands leaving. Dreaming then, now sadly knowing,
the better life we'd cast away.
While coldly we forsook our Islands, steadfast they to our hearts cling,
fostering such recollections! Absence hindering not remembrance,
pictures saved there oft replay.
Save we facts and share we fables of our much revered makoonsag;
generations hence might know them as have we, their privileged stewards,
passing on our legacy.
Gene L Warner
January 1, 2004
Labels: Gallimaufry
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