Anishinaabe peoples that had already inhabitated Michigan’s peninsulas for thousands of years.

After having heard of the settlement at Sault Saint Marie in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula in 1668, Father Jacques Marquette traveled to the village and helped build and establish a mission.   Sault Ste. Marie is the oldest European settlement in the US Midwest,  including the Great State of Michigan.  Sault Saint Marie was however already an ancient city, having been occupied by Native Americans for at least five hundred years.  At this mission Father Marquette would hold daily mass and would offer services to the European settlers, fur traders and Anishinaabe at the Mission.  Father Marquette used a silver chalice during mass. This silver chalice found its way back to the Jesuit order and now the Marquette’s chalice spends the winters as a protected relic at the Manresa Jesuit Retreat House in Bloomfield Hills and the summers on display at the Museum of Ojibwa Culture in Saint Ignace, Michigan.

The story of how the chalice came back to the Jesuit order from Father Marquette’s travels in Michigan begins with Monsignor Partick Richard Dunigan who among other things, earned a Distinguished Service Cross from the US Army for his service in Sergy as a Army Chaplain in the 126th Infantry in World War 1. After the war, Monsignor Dunigan returned to Michigan to be known as ‘Believer in Men’ and was elected a Catholic mayor of a predominant Protestant- Lapeer, Michigan.  Monsignor Dunigan had bequeathed to Manresa a chalice which, he claimed, was likely the chalice of Father Marquette, the noted Jesuit missionary who was the blackrobe to the indians of Northern Michigan.

Here is the story of that chalice as dictated by Monsignor Dunigan to the Jesuits at Manresa before his death.

“I was assigned to duty in the Upper Peninsula during the labor troubles of 1912. There had been much unrest in that portion of the State and the National Guard had been called upon to quell the strikes which had resulted.

Each morning I celebrated Mass in the tiny church. One morning, when I turned to leave the altar, I noticed two elderly Indians watching me from the back row of seats, close to the wall.  The next morning they were there again, but had taken seats a little nearer to the front.  And it seemed as though they never took their gaze from me all through the Mass.  Nearer and nearer they came to the front, a little farther forward each day.  I found myself wondering what was behind those keen, piercing eyes- what was attracting them to me.

Finally, one morning, when they had occupied seats close to the altar rail, they waited, and after mass, asked if they might talk to me alone.  The taller of the two asked me if I were the same kind of priest as the black-robed fathers who came to the indians years ago from over the sea. Was my church the same church as theirs?  I assured them that I belonged to the same church as the early missionary preists.  The two spoke together in their own language for a moment, then, having arrived at the same conclusion, the tall one asked me if I would go with them alone into the woods.  He explained that they had been custodians of a treasure, which now they had decided to turn over to me.  I was a bit skeptical, but they seemed so anxious and so much in earnest that I set out with them upon a trail which led deep into the woods.  We finally came to a large tree and the two men paused there. Then the smaller one began to explain.

Many years ago, the black-robed father, Pere Marquette, had been about to embark upon a trip by canoe, to a settlement of unfriendly Indians.  Before leaving, he called to him the elders of the tribe with whom he had been living.  To them he gave a sacred trust.  In case he failed to return from his mission he wished them to take charge of his chalice, which was in a case of cypress wood, and their tribe should guard it with their lives as a priceless treasure.  If he returned, they would give it back to him.  If not, some day they would find a father of his own church whom they could trust, and then they were to turn it over to him.

Pere Marquette failed to return.  Their chieftain appointed three of his men to be the custodians of the chalice.  When they recieved it, they were to hide it away in a place known only unto themselves.  They swore solemnly not to reveal the secret to any other.  When one of the three died, the other two surrendered the chalice to their chief, who appointed another group of three to take full charge of it.

This procedure continued through the years.  Now, one of their committee of three had just died.  The chieftan had been at a loss to find three among the younger men to act with solemnity that the precious trust required.  The tribe was becoming less and less in numbers, and the young men did not have the same attitude toward the sacred traditions of their people that their forefathers had.  While their chieftain was pondering the problem, I had arrived with the soldiers, and celebrated Mass daily at the little church which heretofore had afforded only an occasional Mass.  The chieftain called the old custodians to him and suggested that they attend Mass each morning, and carefully watch the priest who celebrated it.  If they decided that he were worthy of the great trust, they might inquire if his church was just the same as that of Pere Marquette.  If so, and he would go alone into the woods with them, they were to give into his hands the sacred cup of the black-robed father.

I listened carefully to their explanation- outwardly calm- inwardly in a turmoil of excitement.  It did not seem possible that, after all these years, Father Marquette’s chalice would actually be found.  But the two began to dig away the black soil at the roots of the great tree.  My pulses pounded a rhythm that kept pace with their strokes.  One uttered a grunt of satisfaction.  The other sat back on his heels after the manner of woodsmen, and awaited the uncovering of the ancient cypress box by his companion.  At last it was brought forth, weather stained and almost at the end of its usefulness.  But it had lasted long enough.  I put back the mouldering lid, and there before me lay a chalice of silver- black and tarnished, to be sure, but pure silver, none the less.

With trembling hands,  I lifted it to the light, and there, engraved in a garland about it, I saw the delicate tracery of the wild rose pattern so often used upon sacred vessels of French origin in the early days.  There was no paten, or plate with which to cover it.  That also marked it as being of a definite period, corresponding to Father Marquette’s ministry.  Still another thing marked it as different from the chalices we use today.  In these later years, a cross has been superimposed upon their base.  There were none upon this.

Overcome with emotion, holding the sacred cup on trembling hands, I made a little speech of acceptance to the Indians, and thanked them in the name of the Holy Mother of the Church for so nobly acquitting themselves of so sacred a trust.

When I returned home, I had a new case made for it.  The old one was too far gone to contain it longer.  And, after having it cleaned, I sent it to have the inside of the cup gold plated, to be in keeping with the altar vessels of today.  

Still it had no cross upon it.  So I had a Distinguished Service Cross, with ribbon attached, reproduced in gold and fine enamel, and superimposed upon its base.  On the bottom, out of sight, I have placed a little inscription telling that it is in all probability the chalice of Father Marquette.”

The chalice has since had the Distinguished Service Cross removed to attempt to return it to it’s original state.

Here is a bit from the Cedar City Market website:

“The Cedar City Market is located in the heart of the village of Cedar, in Leelanau County.  Our market adjoins the nationally known Pleva’s Market.  Our shelves are stocked full with the following items:
Wine – International wines, domestic wines, and local wines from the Leelanau and the Old Mission Peninsula.
Liquors - Whiskeys, bourbons, Gin, Vodka, Rum and more!
Beer – Your favorite brands.
Deli – Fresh deli meats, cheeses and breads.
Natural Foods – No need to travel to Traverse, Cedar City carries a large assortment of natural foods.
Groceries – Our shelves are stocked full of various groceries; party snacks and treats, spices, breads, buns, meats, cleaning supplies, Charcoal and much more!  Visit us today or call us (231) 228-5415.“

Arturo did a fantastic job on the Petoskey stones.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0joM_Eal_GI

The Captain Ron Jeffries at Jolly Pumpkin has teamed up with Pints for Prostates to brew a special batch of ale to increase awareness for men’s health.

Bière de Goord

This beer was brewed exclusively for the Pints for Prostate fundraiser, there are only three ways to be able to try this beer,

1) Be in Denver at the GABF Rare Beer Tasting/Pints for Prostates Benefit -Sept. 17 2010,
2) Join the Rare Beer Club, or
3) Be at one of our Jolly Pumpkin pubs Sept. 17 2010@ 4:00pm when the beer is released & purchase a bottle.

Try to make it to get yourself some Bière de Goord on the release date: 4:00pm Sept. 17 2010 at Jolly Pumpkin Ann Arbor & Jolly Pumpkin Old Mission.

Bière de Goord will also be available from the Microbrewed Beer of the Month Club, offering four different beer club memberships since 1994. Jolly Pumpkin has been featured in their Rare Beer Club several times.  To-go quantities limited to two bottles per person. If it is anything like the past release days, please be advised to get there on time.

The last two books I got from George were:
Andrews, Roger Old Fort Mackinac on the Hill of History 1st ed. Menominee MI, Herald-Leader Press 1938 (signed by the author at Fort Mackinac)

Fabre, Henri The Mason-Bees 2nd ed. Garden City NY, Garden City Publishing 1925
http://bit.ly/masonbees

His rare and used bookstore in Leland is the smallest rare bookstore I frequent and his selection is always the fiercest: http://bit.ly/rarebooks

Michigan Central Station, Detroit Michigan USA
http://www.seedetroit.com/pictures/mcsweb/

A perfect example of Urban Decay in America known as Michigan Central Station; A.K.A. Detroit’s abandoned train station.  Michigan Central Station once was a thriving epicenter for the city of Detroit and the whole Midwest. Now the abandoned train station sits with most of it’s windows broken.

The architecture of the building is beautiful and definitely deserves to be saved.

As you can see from the photos- Restoration would be quite a task. Most of the interior has fallen victim to ‘urban miners’ who break in to steal any stone accents, wire and even copper tubing and bricks to sell as scrap.  The removal of these materials causes extensive damage throughout, resulting in the interior being completely destroyed.  Urban guerrilla artists have taken advantage of the vacant wall space.

I highly recommend a stop for a Leelanau Beer at Slow’s BAR BQ as part of your next sightseeing trip to Detroit’s abandoned train station.

In the late 90′s, I fell in love with Detroit for the third time in my life. (We are now on about our 5th go around.) Detroit’s urban decay was very interesting to me and I felt like with the direction that our economy was heading that there was no way that the decrepit buildings would last very long.  Something about the decay of a man-made structure; especially one of great architectural prowess like Michigan Central Station,  decaying and decomposing is a fascinating ephemeral process.  A process that speaks volumes about the American psyce and destructive disposable way of life. Back in 1997, I was getting ready to graduate from High School and I had a Sony digital camera that wrote the files to a floppy disc.  Back in the day that camera was some serious James Bond tecnololgy.  I fondly remember waiting 15 seconds for the camera to write the files to the disc.  Pretty awesome back then, but our tecnololgy has made the floppy disc extinct.  It was with this camera that I first started taking pictures for SeeDetroit.com In that interest, already being well acquainted with the deep Northern Michigan swaps at night and high Kentucky cliff edges, it was a natural magnatism for me to be drawn inside these dangerous buildings to witness the evidence of broken society.  Back then too, I believed that most of these buildings would quickly turn into fast food restaurants and lofts so there was a sense of urgency involved with my documentation.  Detroit has no shortage of interesting historical buildings. Over the years, my interest ebbed back to the woods and to beer. SeeDetroit.com still gets a ton of visitors even though it hasn’t really been updated in a few years.  The revamp in 2011 will be to show the world that Detroit has got a lot more going on than just it’s facinating urban decay.

After a few years of being stingy with the photos on SeeDetroit.com, I decided to make them opensource and available to anyone so long they can call their use of the photos art. Help yourself to some imagery: http://www.seedetroit.com

All of Michigan is beautiful, elegant and unpretentious. If you have moved from Michigan and are homesick, you need to move home. Michigan is filled with real, good people.  After traveling, I am always happy to come home to Michigan. But I was lucky enough to be born in Michigan and my experiences of the past few years in particular have been to travel much of the Great Lake State, driving around 50,000 miles a year between Michigan’s two peninsulas. From the pristine forests in the Upper Peninsula where my ancestors spoke Finnish, to growing up among the world-class beaches and vineyards of Leelanau and the bustle of Detroit; Michigan has always been my home- I’ve never lived anywhere else and never plan to.  Michigan’s shoreline, at 3,288 miles is more than any other state except Alaska.   Between all those beaches I seek out deep wilderness, cold rivers, rich history, fine food, hops vines, oak-aged ales, natural wine, artists, authors and eccentrics.  Along my way I have been privileged to meet some very interesting, talented and enthusiastic Michiganders, this site is for them.