Caveat: I do not believe in ghosts. I do believe, however, that it is possible to feel the spirit of a person or persons who have gone before. I also believe I experienced that feeling a few days ago in a "ghost" town that I visited recently and spent the night in. (No, I did not have any trouble sleeping with the friendly ghosts.)
This ghost town's name is Fayette, located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula on a finger of land between Big Bay DeNoc and Little Bay DeNoc. The location is a Michigan State Park and has been for a number of years. Situated high on bluffs, with great scenic views, life in this mid-nineteenth century town would have been very hard.
Fayette was built by an iron ore company (talk about a company town1) and only actively existed for twenty-four years before the smelting operation closed down and the country began shifting from ore to steel. Smelting was hot, dirty and dangerous work. Existing photographs affirm this with the soot-covered faces staring at the camera. Few smiles can be seen, at least by the workers. They all look filthy and exhausted. A number of the original buildings still exist and have been lovingly restored for public viewing. Many foundations of buildings no longer standing can be seen so it is possible to see the size of the dwellings and imagine what life might have been like inside them.
This was my fifth trip to Fayette and, for some reason - perhaps because I would spend the night and had more time to walk about and mull over, in my mind, daily life for the workers and their families - I could feel the presence of the souls who lived, loved, worked and died in Fayette. Call me fey, weird, crazy - even, but there were times when I could envision activities and tasks. Perhaps it is because the Friends of Fayette have done such a superior job of describing what took place in each building or ruined foundation. It was as if the voices of the past were adding their own words to the placards posted in front of each display or building.
I guess my final thought for this posting is one of irony recognition. The workers, who lived a very rough life and lived in tiny cottages, had the best real estate in Fayette. Unlike today, where beaches, bluffs and views command top-dollar prices, it was the workers cottages that dotted the bluffs in a straight line formation. This may be because the winter winds were too harsh and, therefore, the Company superintendent, doctor, foreman and other professionals were given more protected real estate locations. But in their protection and seclusion they missed the spectacular views that this narrow, little peninsula affords.
Score one for the little guy.
Ancora imparo
