Yes, it was a hurricane way up North here in Michigan It was not a tornado. No churning or spinning around from those winds. Just flat line winds that came from the west, and then turned around and gave us another pounding from the East. It was early morning. I was on McDonald's Island with two of my high school girlfriends, Ethel and Norma Ray. Our parents were in Detroit - they had absolute trust in us, because when they said "Don't leave the island" - we didn't. When they said "no boys in the house", we didn't have any boys in the house. Ah, such long distance control they had over us in those days. I awoke to an eerie stillness, where the sky was strangely yellow and ominous. In panic I called out to the girls in the other room to get downstairs right away. They could recognize the urgency in my voice and we all three piled down the stairway to the first floor of the cottage.And then it hit. (In those days storms came upon you with no warning as there were no weather predicting agencies.) There were five big poplar trees at the western part of the island near Long Point Bay, These trees were used as a landmark, as we could always find our way back to our little island by locating those five poplars, like sentinels all in a row. The wind tore all those poplars down in one fell swoop, came barrelling across the marsh behind us and started its barrage at our cluster of cottages.It tore the shingles off the next-door cottage. We saw them peel off one sheet at a time, as we coward under the big oak table in the dining area. Then, all sorts of debris banged into our windows, wheelbarrows, boats, wooden swings, everything that wasn't nailed down. The windows were broken, one by one, while a big willow came crashing down on our roof falling into the bedrooms we had just vacated. Big willows were yanked out of the ground and we marvelled at the tangle of white roots that were exposed.Every boat on the island was blown out into the channel. It became dark as night. All the outhouses were, of course, blown over - except ours! My father had built a little dock from the cottage to the outhouse, as a I was afraid to walk on the ground at night. Snakes, you know! Well, that little dock held that outhouse upright. And for several days we had line-ups to use our outhouse, while our neighbors built new accommodations. We thought we would all be blown into the blackened channel ourselves. Then, the wind turned around and hit us from the front. Couldn't believe it. In those days, people didn't steal boats. They were all returned to us by the residents of Harsen's Island across the Middle Channel, even though they had problems of their own. Months later when my father was rebuilding our cottage, he found one of my socks which had blown between the walls. My friend of 75 years, Ethel, often recalls that terrible day when for the grace of God our little cottage - and that big oak dining table - gave us sanctuary from the big storm of 1933. When Art Champion first opened his ferry service from the mainland to Harsen's Island it opened up a whole new world of travel to McDonald's Island on the Middle Channel. Now we could ride across on the ferry and take the muddy Middle Channel Road down to the Snooks Highway. To call it a road, in those early times is quite charitable, as it was no more than an untended muddy way - especially in the spring time or when the water was high. Many times the cars would get stuck in the mud down to the axels and we would all have to get out of the car and push, meanwhile becoming mud spattered. Those people who enjoy the luxury of paved roads and the convenience of the modern 1999 automobiles will never know the thrills and frustrations of those early days. It took literally hours and hours to get anywhere, but we didn't mind because we didn't know there was any other way! Being stuck in the mud was an every trip affair, and changing tires was another diversion. Cars would always develop flat tires, some times as many as 3 or 4 during a short trip. The tires were usually mounted in wells in the fenders, so it was not difficult to get at them - it was just the exasperating frequency of the breakdowns that lead to much cursing and sweating on the part of the driver who had to either replace them or fix the hole in the tires. We had special tire-fixing kits that would allow the driver to add a patch over the hole in the tire that was causing the problem. There were no convenient gas stations to take care of the flat tires, and of course no such thing as a road service to call to come and help. Going over one of the many bridges on the island was another matter altogether. The bridges would be short, but high pitched, one lane wooden affairs. One could not see if another car was coming from the other direction, so it meant getting out of the car and having someone walk to the top of the bridge to see if there was a car approaching from the other side. Some hardy souls would forego the scouting operation, just letting out a mighty horn blast to announce that they were preparing to cross the bridge.I never heard of any accidents caused by automobiles colliding on the bridges, but then - there was very little traffic to contend with in the early days. When my father got his first Model T Ford and was learning to drive, a chicken crossed his path.He stopped and hung his head out the side of the car, hollering "Get off the road" Much to his chagrin my mother said calmly "Why don't you blow your horn?" Of course, he hadn't thought of that.Since we would rent a spot to leave our outboard motor boat on Harsens Island when we were in Detroit we had an elaborate affair, consisting of a tarp cover secured to the side of the boat with buttons to affix, to keep the boat dry and free of water when we arrived. Since we would usually arrive during the daytime there was little problem, except time consuming work removing the tarp from the boat. However, since we would wait until the last minute of daylight to depart McDonald's Island and go to our docking spot on Harsen's Island dusk would arrive. Have you ever been on Harsen's Island amid the tall rushes at dusk? If you have, you will know that hordes of mosquitoes come out to drive you to desperation. Removing our belongings from the boat and buttoning down the tarp was a horrifying experience. We would finally flee to our cars covered by welts from mosquito bites. But we didn't learn. Next week we would stay on our Island Paradise until the last minute again, and once more encounter the mosquito menace. Ah, those were the days. And we did it all for enjoyment, week after week.
