Great Lakes Books
A complete listing of the books in this series can be found online at wsupress.wayne.edu
Editor
Thomas Klug
Marygrove College
Advisory Editors
Fredric C. Bohm
DeWitt, Michigan
Sandra Sageser Clark
Michigan Historical Center
Thomas R. Dilley
Grand Rapids, Michigan
Brian Leigh Dunnigan
Clements Library
De Witt Dykes
Oakland University
Joe Grimm
Michigan State University
Laurie Harris
Pleasant Ridge, Michigan
Charles K. Hyde
Pittsfield, Massachusetts
Susan Higman Larsen
Detroit Institute of Arts
Philip P. Mason
Prescott, Arizona and Eagle Harbor, Michigan
Dennis Moore
Consulate General of Canada
Erik C. Nordberg
Walter P. Reuther Library
Deborah Smith Pollard
University of Michigan–Dearborn
Michael O. Smith
Bentley Historical Library
Arthur M. Woodford
Harsens Island, Michigan
© 2017 by Barbara Carney-Coston. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without formal permission. Manufactured in the United States of America.
ISBN 978-0-8143-4363-0 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-8143-4364-7 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941375
Wayne State University Press
Leonard N. Simons Building
4809 Woodward Avenue
Detroit, Michigan 48201-1309
Visit us online at wsupress.wayne.edu
In loving memory of my mother, Kathryn Lucas Carney, who told me the stories.
Contents
Author’s Note
Pronunciation of Names and Places
Translations from Croatian
1.Distant Whistles
2.Reunion in Red Jacket
3.Pasties and Chamomile
4.Settling In
5.Boardinghouse Chores
6.Cooking and Cleaning
7.Tamburica Time
8.New Plants and New Worries
9.A Trip into Town
10.Post Office and Rain
11.Into the Forest
12.A School Visit
13.Bees
14.Discovery
15.Unsettled
16.Povitica
17.Birthday News
Historical Images from the Copper Country
Family Recipes
Recommended Books for Young Readers
Annotated Bibliography
Image Credits
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
The late nineteenth century was a time of great immigration to the United States for numerous groups of people. They left homes in Europe and elsewhere because of famine, bleak job prospects, or civil unrest in their own countries. Many expected to return to their home countries. But sometimes that didn’t happen. The hard work of adjusting to a new life in a strange land took on even more meaning as immigrants mourned old ways and tried to move forward.
In the 1880s, my great-grandfather lived with his extended family on a small farm in Croatia, a beautiful country across the Adriatic Sea from Italy. The Croatian people have been part of different nations over the past 150 years because of wars and political strife. Croatia was then part of the Austrian Empire, and my great-grandfather was labeled “Austrian” on his travel papers. But he and all the people who lived in that area considered themselves to be part of a Slavic group called Croats.
As the family grew and the farm was not able to feed everyone, there was talk that one of the young men might try to earn money somewhere else. Traders passing through their village told about work available in the copper mines near Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. After much family discussion and the offer of a ship ticket from his father-in-law (to be repaid), my great-grandfather decided he would be the one to journey across the sea to America. He traveled to Michigan alone, leaving behind his wife and children, because he didn’t expect to stay long. But while he was working in the mines, he developed an eye disease that the local doctors couldn’t cure. His wife, my great-grandmother, was highly regarded in their Croatian village for her knowledge of herbs and remedies and other healing skills. There were no antibiotics at that time, and my great-grandmother’s abilities were vital to the family’s health. My great-grandfather sent a letter asking that his wife come to Michigan and bring her best cures with her. Along with the letter, he included enough money for her to take along their children, too.
In 1886, my great-grandmother left the farm in Croatia with her children and traveled to the German port of Bremen. There, they boarded a ship and spent a difficult voyage crossing the Atlantic Ocean. After they arrived in New York City, they traveled west across several states and north to the Copper Country in Michigan, where they began an unexpected life.
This book is based on my family’s history. I grew up in Michigan and spent many happy summer days in the northern part of the state, surrounded by beautiful woods and cold, deep lakes. It was during those days that I began to learn about my background from family members. Numerous details in the story are drawn directly from accounts told to me by my grandparents and my mother. Family reunions provided me with additional exposure to Croatian music, dance, and food. I also did extensive research to verify as many facts as I could.
Numerous Americans today share a similar story of relatives who have come to the United States from other places around the world looking for a better life. After reading this book, I hope you ask about your own family history.
Pronunciation of Names and Places
Andrej (The j sounds like a long i)
Blaž (The Croatian pronunciation sounds like “Blahs,” but our family uses a long a, which sounds like “Blaze”)
Croatia (Crow-A-sha)
Dijana (The j is silent; sounds like “Diana”)
Franc Dresich (DRES-ich)
Ida (EE-da)
Josip (YO-sip)
Keweenaw (Native American word pronounced “KEY-win-awe”)
Levak (LEV-ak)
Luka (LOO-ka)
Mihaela (Mee-hi-ala) (Current Croatian pronunciation, but our family uses a long a, which sounds like “Mee-HAY-la”)
Petar (PAY-ter)
Slovenia (The Croatian pronunciation is “Slow-VAN-ee-a”)
Tereza (Te-RAZE-a)
Valerija (The j is silent; sounds like “Valeria”)
Vlado (VLAH-doh)
Translations from Croatian
Asteraceae (Latin) Aste-RAYS-E-E Aster plant family
Baba (BAH-ba) grandmother
Da (dah) yes
dobro jutro (DO-bro YU-tro) good morning
domaćinstvo (do-ma-CHEENST-vo) household
doviđenja (do-vid-JANE-ya) good-bye
hvala (ha-WA-la) thank you
idi spavati (ee-dee-SPA-va-tee) go to sleep
laku noć (LA-koo noch) good night
pauza (POW-za) halt, pause
pirus (Latin) (PIE-rus) pear
povitica (pova-TEET-za) nut bread, either sweet or savory
sarma (SAR-ma) sour cabbage leaves filled with ground beef, onions, and rice
slatkis (SLAT-kish) candy
sretan rođjendan (sret-an ROAD-jen-dan) happy birthday
tamburica (tambur-IT-za) Croatian stringed musical instrument
quercus (Latin) (Kwer-cus) oak
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br /> 1
Distant Whistles
Mihaela’s heart raced faster than the train rumbling along the tracks. A letter from her father, faded and wrinkled, lay in her lap. She had read it a hundred times since leaving Croatia, but she read it once again.
Houghton County, Michigan
15 August, 1886
Dear Family,
I have asked a new mining friend to write for me today. Life here in the Copper Country continues as before, with one change. My eyes are worse. I have seen the local doctor, but his medicine isn’t working. Please come to Michigan and bring all your best herbs and remedies to help me, or I fear I may go blind …
Humid air blew in from the train’s open windows. The sun hung low in the sky, illuminating golden fields. Tall grasses near the tracks rippled like water in the wind, while farmers at a distance guided teams of horses pulling plows. Mihaela thought of her uncles back on the farm in Croatia and wondered how they were managing the meager harvest. A drought had made the crops shrivel and the tomatoes and peppers in the garden droop. Could Cousin Katarina carry enough buckets of water from the well to help? Was she was able to get enough milk from the weary old cows? The aunts would cluck like their scrawny hens if that bucket wasn’t full. She wondered how any of them would survive if Papa wasn’t able to work in the Michigan copper mines and send money home.
She stared at her younger brother sitting across from her. Luka’s shirt was untucked and his brown hair stuck up in clumps. He gave her a little wave.
“After we got on the train, I slept for a while,” Luka said. “But you slept a long, long time. We passed lots of farms, bigger than ours.”
Mihaela didn’t respond.
“The conductor kept coming through. Once, he even let me try on his hat.”
Mihaela just nodded.
“What’s wrong, Mihaela?”
She sunk lower into her seat. “I lost the herb basket at the train station in New York. If Papa’s eyes don’t get better, it will be my fault.”
Luka scratched his head. “But I thought you saved some of the herbs.”
“Some. But they may not be the right ones. And there may not be enough of them.”
He grimaced.
“Did Mama say anything while I was asleep?” Her mother dozed in the seat next to her youngest brother. Blaž cuddled against Mama and snored softly.
“No,” Luka said. “She just seemed sad.”
Mihaela’s shoulders slumped.
“Maybe you can find more herbs when we get to Michigan.” Luka squirmed and fidgeted. “I’m tired of sitting. Do you want to come explore with me?”
Mihaela shook her head and Luka shuffled down the aisle.
She stared out the window, unseeing. Could the woods and meadows in Michigan hold the same kinds of plants as Croatia? She wrapped her arms around her head, curling into a tight ball, and tried to stop thinking about what had happened after the difficult ocean passage.
A ferry had taken them from the huge ship to a crowded dock, and they were herded into a dank building for immigration processing. She was still wobbly from the rough voyage when they were jammed into long lines, waiting to be examined for lice and disease. A doctor had even peeled back their eyelids with a shoe-button hook to look for infection. Then they needed to prove they had some money and tickets to a destination before they could be admitted into the United States. Finally, they had to make their way through the busy city to the train that would take them to Michigan. But the depot was so huge and there were so many people! Somehow, between buying sandwiches and getting a cart for their baggage, she had lost the basket of herbs Mama had handed her.
She had tried to retrace her steps through the cavernous hall. When at last she found the basket, it was broken and sticking out of a trash bin. A man helped her retrieve it, but most of the herbs had fallen into dirty liquid and floor sweepings. All the lavender, rosemary, and St. John’s wort were gone, as well as the willow bark and other herbs that had been carefully chosen to treat Papa. Just a few precious bunches of chamomile and peppermint could be saved.
If only she could go back in time to her secret place in the woods! She remembered sitting beneath a beech tree, checking mushrooms to make sure they were safe to eat. She would look at the pictures and writing in the book Mama used to teach her about plants and herbs. The handmade book held drawings and notes that had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations in her family. Mama had given her the book on her last birthday, since tradition held it was hers once she turned eleven. She had even convinced Mama to bring her along on this trip because she was sure she had learned enough to help Papa. Instead, she had lost the herbs meant to cure him.
Shadows on the fields had deepened to a dark purple when Mihaela finally opened her eyes again.
Mama leaned across the train seat. “You’ve been sleeping for hours. You haven’t eaten in so long.”
Mihaela shrugged.
Mama offered her a roll, then caught Mihaela’s hand in hers. She held it for a moment. “The herbs you saved might be enough.”
Mihaela’s eyes filled as she looked down at her mother’s hands. Everyone said they were big hands for a woman. Strong hands for chopping wood or digging in the garden. Powerful hands, but gentle when brushing hair or wiping a nose. Mama had even set broken bones with her hands.
Mihaela looked at her own hands. Nothing like Mama’s.
She chewed her roll slowly as she held back tears. The roll stuck in her throat as she tried to swallow, and her stomach churned. “I’m going to the washroom.”
Mama nodded and stared straight ahead, lost in thought.
The lavatory was at the end of the car. There were no long lines of people waiting to use it as there had been on the ship, and when she opened the door, the small space inside was clean. A mirror hung above a basin. She turned on the spigots and fresh water gushed. Flipping her braids over her shoulders, she cupped her hands and splashed water onto her hot face. Her reflection in the mirror showed that the color she usually had from working outside on the farm had faded, and her blue eyes seemed a little grayer. Would Papa recognize her after two whole years? Drying her face with her sleeve, she brushed a few crumbs from her worn dress and left the compartment.
She turned away from the direction she had come. Maybe a walk would help her feel better. Pushing through a door that led onto a platform, warm air blasted around her. The railbed zoomed by underneath the space between the cars. She paused and braced her feet so she could sway with the motion of the train. The clattering on the tracks roared in her ears as she passed through the next compartment. People sprawled over their seats, dressed in threadbare clothes, like hers. Flies buzzed across open wrappers of food. Half-eaten crusts of bread and chunks of smelly cheese didn’t make her hungry.
She kept walking. After several more cars, she came to one with patterned carpet on the floor. Men wore suits and ties, and ladies had on fancy dresses trimmed in lace with pretty buttons and bows. They sat in plush chairs at tables covered with white cloths. Men in fitted jackets served them food. Now her stomach felt better, and her mouth watered when she saw thick bowls of soup and plates piled high with chops and potatoes. Delicious smells wafted around her, and she tried not to stare at the people eating. An older man glared at her as he stabbed his meat with a sharp knife.
A conductor beckoned to Mihaela. He took her by the arm, saying something she couldn’t understand, and led her back to the car where Mama and her brothers remained.
The conductor leaned over, pointing his thumb toward the window. “Chicago.” He spoke in a louder voice and gestured. “Change trains.”
“Da?” Mama sat up straight. She found the luggage tickets and gave them to him. He waited for a moment, seeming to expect something, then scowled as he left.
The city came into view. Buildings as tall as the ones she had seen near the port in New York towered into the sky. Their windows reflected the bright summer sun. The train’s whistle sou
nded as they pulled into the station, and she thought for a moment of Katarina. The special whistling sound they used to call each other for chores or fun seemed a distant memory now.
A conductor called out to passengers in the car. The English words made no sense to her, but Mihaela knew what was expected. She followed Mama and her brothers, moving automatically. Down the steps, collect the bags, cross the platform, then board the next train—the train that would finally take them to Papa in Michigan.
Steel beams arched high above her, and crowds of people lugged trunks and possessions. Mihaela stared straight ahead and kept walking.
The next train didn’t have as many cars. A brass bell sat on top of the engine, and metal spokes on its front jutted out over the track. Bursts of steam billowed from beneath the engine’s carriage and seeped out along the rails through waves of heat. They found their way into a passenger car, and a new conductor came to store their luggage.
As they traveled north, air flowing through the open windows turned cooler and fragrant. Mihaela smelled familiar pine and damp earth as she recognized many trees that looked just like the ones in Croatia. Clusters of evergreens with short green needles followed dense forests filled with broad, leafy oaks. Here and there along the track, men worked in the forest. They wielded heavy axes or big, wide saws. Her secret place in the forest at home haunted her.
Luka bounced on his seat. “How much longer?”
Mama looked at the watch hanging around her neck. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”
“DA!” shouted Luka, bouncing higher. “Almost done!”
“Da!” said Blaž, copying Luka.
Part of the wooden seat pulled down to make a sleeping space. Mihaela helped Mama gather their hand-knit blankets, brought from home. The hard seats were uncomfortable, but their tickets let them sit in only one section.
Just one more night until I see Papa. Excitement overwhelmed her, but fear, too.
She didn’t think there would be much sleeping for any of them tonight.
2
Reunion in Red Jacket
Mihaela stretched and rubbed her eyes as a conductor passed through the car. She heard gulls screech and saw water glimmer in the distance. Was that the Great Lake Papa mentioned in one of his letters? There were just a few passengers left on the train now. She positioned her hands like the Michigan peninsulas, the same way Mama had shown her. She held her right hand palm open, like a mitten with a thumb, and her left hand above it, with her little finger on top, sticking up. She wiggled her little finger. They were headed to the upper part of that finger, the Keweenaw Peninsula.
To the Copper Country Page 1
