The Paper Birch, Lady of the Woods

Roy Lukes admires the former state record Paper Birch on Detroit Island on Feb. 17, 1971.

February 17, 1971, was one of the most wonderful tree days of my life.

I was teaching junior high science at the time with the Gibraltar Schools and one of my students, Chuck Tveten, told me that his dad and some friends, while hunting deer on Detroit Island, came across a large Paper Birch tree that he thought I would like to see. On Feb. 17 Harry Porter, Door County forester, and I went over to locate and measure the tree which became the state champion for several years. Later that month I wrote about the adventure. It appears in my first book, Once Around the Sun, A Door County Journal.

Carl Gierke of Kiel, Wis., a self-proclaimed disciple of Durwood Allen, famous wildlife professor at Purdue University, owned that property on which the tree grew. Unfortunately the tree has since died. Carl wrote to me, after reading my story, saying that his father homesteaded the property in the late 1890s and received the land patent signed by Teddy Roosevelt. Carl also said that when his father married in 1905 and moved away from the island, all logging stopped. The property remains in the Gierke Family.

I obtained the Indian names used in the story from a favorite old book, Northern Trails, written in 1905 by William J. Long. Here is the story, “The Mighty Birch.”

Chief Wayeesis, the great white wolf, hurried his youngest son, Meeko, the red squirrel, along this particular morning. Trilliums carpeted the forest floor, and Wayeesis knew this was the sign of good canoe making time. For Meeko, the day was to be his first experience in this all-important art so vital to the small tribe of Chippewa (Ojibwe) Indians living on what we call Detroit Island today.

They would travel by water this morning from their camp on the north shore of the island, down the east coast to the “bottleneck,” then inshore to the grove of large canoe birches (Betula papyrifera) that thrived there, as Chief Wayeesis knew from long experience. Something mighty and mysterious about the growing conditions there produced the largest, straightest birches with thick, tough, yet flexible bark.

No sooner had they launched their canoe than the chief remembered the all-important item he had forgotten in their wigwam, and Meeko, swift runner that he was, fetched the woodchuck tail and was back soon, eager for their search for the birch. For centuries Chippewas had relied upon the woodchuck tail to bring them good luck in locating the best canoe birch tree with which to make the most durable craft that their skilled hands and native woodland materials could produce.

One of the author’s old favorite Paper Birches, the “Bunny Tree.” Photo by Roy Lukes.

As they worked their way slowly toward the south end of the island, they heard from along the shore the sweet welcome spring songs of Killoleet, the white-throated sparrow, and ‘Ch’geegee‘lock-sis, the chickadee. Hukweem the loon, resting briefly in his northward flight and diving for fish, stayed well to the front of the canoe, as the chief and his son effortlessly worked their way into the early morning sunshine.

Ahead, tall trees with brilliant reddish twigs signaled the location of the birch grove. And it was with great excitement that Meeko set out with his father to find the tree that within a week or ten days would be transformed into his very own sleek birch bark canoe. Chief Wayeesis had told his son that for the tree to be of sufficient size, they would search for one that five-foot-tall Meeko would only be able to reach about halfway around with arms outstretched. And nine feet of girth indeed would be a giant tree.

It so happened that the tree Meeko had chosen from a distance looming straight and tall, the one he thought would surely be his, was little more than one and a half arm spans around. “Give it time,” his father said, “and some day that tree will make a fine canoe for your son’s son, many moons in the future.” Little did the chief realize that before that event would come to pass, a disastrous war with a tribe to the south, and the arrival of the “paleface” would bring an end to their little village and to their traditional way of life.

The seven-foot birch that Meeko’s son’s son might have used never did get cut, but instead continued to grow through the years. The closest it came to death took place as an early 1900’s storm lashed the island with lightning-laced fury. The big birch, standing taller than all other nearby trees, received the brunt of the storm. Its huge topmost branch crashed to the ground leaving a scar that, in the years to follow, would allow water to collect and produce a splitting action in time of freezing. But the tree survived, slowly healing over the scar of many years of frost damage.

Perhaps it was because of the isolation of the tree that the loggers spared it during the 1920’s and ‘30’s, or perhaps the simple grandeur of the old monarch weighed heavily in their decision to let it be.

Last Wednesday (Feb. 17, 1971), Harry Porter and I caught the ferry at Northport and, with the skillful piloting of Nathan Gunnlaugsson and Dave Lucke, who did some expert “broken-field” dodging through the drift ice, arrived at Washington Island before noon. Wasting little time, we strapped on snowshoes and headed across the ice to the northern tip of Detroit Island.

What a paradise for snowshoeing! Not so for the deer, however, which showed signs of being hard-pressed for food during this winter of deep snow. But a number of arbor vitae trees had been cut down, helping the situation some. Our journey was momentarily interrupted by a giant arbor vitae along the trail – nearly 27 inches in diameter.

Nick Anderson helped measure the current county record Paper Birch at Logan Creek Preserve.

We headed for the “bottleneck,” much as Meeko and his father might have done 150 years ago. There we would begin searching for the giant, while staying in sight of the eastern coastline. As it happened, the tree we sought announced its presence before we were within a hundred yards of it, so enormous was its size. Manipulating atop at least two feet of snow, Harry and I measured the tree. Its diameter, taken at about five-and-a-half feet above the ground to avoid a long tapering growth on the east side of its trunk, was 36.6 inches. Circumference at that point was nine and a half feet. Its height proved to be 65 feet and its average crown spread a tremendous 59 feet. What a magnificent specimen! Without a doubt this will be the new state record paper birch – canoe birch to Meeko and his father.

Never before have I spent so much time admiring and exclaiming about a single tree. The three-mile hike back to Washington Island seemed easy in light of this jubilant experience. I hope other people in the future will want to make this similar pilgrimage to admire the big tree, and I will want to be along on as many of those outings as I can. (Note: I never did get back to further admire the tree while it was alive.)

The next morning, as we made our way by ferry through the ice back to the mainland, I couldn’t help thinking how fortunate we had been to be able to partake of this exhilarating adventure, and what a stroke of good luck that I had remembered to bring along my woodchuck tail!

(Note: Door County’s record paper birch grows today at the Logan Creek Preserve. It has a circumference of 86 inches and is 90 feet tall.)