Listing Through Life

At 1:30 on Saturday afternoon, I was driving down Route 77 through the tiny town of Grand Marais, Michigan. (I’ll explain why I was in Grand Marais in my next post.) Tucked in among the stores and cafes was a large barrel with a door. Above the door, in large white letters, it said “Pickle Barrel House Museum.”

I pulled into a handy spot and wandered inside. A friendly woman warned me, just a split second too late, to watch my head on the low doorway. She acted as though my visit was a great honor and maybe the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. She began explaining all about the building and its residents in a rapid voice. I can’t begin to remember everything she said, but here’s the gist.

William Donahey was a cartoonist who created a comic strip that featured two-inch tall characters called the Teenie Weenies. The strip appeared in the Chicago Tribune for 50 years, beginning in 1912. The characters were used in ads for Monarch Pickles, which were sold in packages resembling pickle barrels. Donahey built the Pickle Barrel House in 1926 for his wife, Mary Dickerson Donahey (who was also a writer of children’s books) on the shore of Sable Lake, not far from Grand Marais. The couple spent 10 summers in the house. When the government bought the land in 1937, the house was moved to town where it was used as an ice cream shop and then a tourist information booth before becoming a museum.

The large barrel in front contains a living room downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. The smaller barrel is the kitchen. The short passageway between served as a pantry. All of the furniture in the bedroom belonged to the Donaheys and was given to the museum by the family. The kitchen is filled with period pieces. The main room contains a display case and not much else.

The Pickle Barrel House in 1940, shortly after it was moved into town. It isn’t just a cabin that looks like a barrel. It was built by coopers just the way a barrel would be — except on a larger scale.

I returned later in the afternoon when the light was better and the museum was closed to take one more photo.

During my visit to the Pickle Barrel House, the woman told me about three other museums in town — the lighthouse keeper’s dwelling, a post office museum and an agate museum. She mentioned them at least three times, and, as I walked out the door, she said, “Make sure you see the other three museums.” I’ve been in many lighthouse keeper’s houses and post offices, so I was only mildly interested in those, but I thought the agate museum might be interesting. I’ve looked for agates along the shore of Lake Superior many times and think I’ve even found a couple small ones. But it wasn’t to be.

There’s a point of land that juts out into Munising Bay between Munising and Christmas. It’s the hill behind which the sun sets in my sunset photos. Here’s the view from the overlook on that hill. (I cut way back on the saturation on these photos because it reduced the haziness.)

Here’s a close up of the center of the above pan. The East Channel Lighthouse on Grand Island is right in the center. The closest of the three points of land on the right is Miner’s Castle. The far distant one is Indian Head.

On our way down the short road from the overlook, I spotted a Ruffed Grouse with two chicks in the grass next to the pavement. By the time I’d hit the brakes, backed up and fumbled for my camera, the adult had disappeared into the grass, but I did get a shot of one of the chicks.

Not to worry. About twenty hours later, on Sunday morning, as we were driving south through the middle of the Upper Peninsula on our way home, I spotted another one along the road. I made a quick U-turn and pulled over across the way. This one was a male, and he was doing his demonstration strut.

My point-and-shoot camera was refusing to focus on the bird. I wanted to yell, “It’s the large bird, stupid! Why would I want a photo of gravel?” The picture came out much better than I expected. A vehicle went past and the bird ran into the grass. At the same time, three smaller ones (either half-grown chicks or females) flushed into the trees. I managed a couple shots of one of them.