This continues a series adapted from the book, “A Port Oneida Collection,” Volume 1 of the twopart set, “Oral History, Photographs, and Maps from the Sleeping Bear Region,” produced by Tom Van Zoeren in partnership with Preserve Historic Sleeping Bear. Here we have a look at the old Millington Farm, which was along M-22 a mile north of Westman Road:
You’ve likely driven by this old Port Oneida farm site many times without noticing the remaining signs of a farm now long-abandoned. The Millington Farm stood on the west side of M-22, .6 mile south of the upper end of Thoreson Road. You can still pick out the old apple orchard and the big sugar maple that stood near the house. (The gnarly old sentinel now measures 12’ around the trunk.)
According to grandson Alvin Millington, Alfred Millington got away from late-1800’s England by going to work on a sailing vessel, and jumping ship in Glen Haven. There he went to work for D.H. Day while establishing his own farm in Port Oneida. According to Laura Basch, the Millington Farm had a nice herd of Guernsey cows—”They were considered some of the best cows around.” Mr. Millington delivered his milk around Glen Arbor.
To create windbreaks, he dug pines from the “the pinery” (an area where pines naturally proliferated) around the bog south of there along M-22. “He was very much for (wind) shelters.”— Laura. Leonard Thoreson: “The later years, all of the farms at one time was farmed almost to extinction. It just wore the land out. They used to plow in the fall, and the wind would blow all winter and blow half the farm away.
“If you had what they would call an ‘open winter’ it was bad. But of course if you get a lot of snow it didn’t seem to bother so much. They learned that through experience. And then they come up with these windbreaks.”
Leonard recalls Al Millington at home under his big sugar maple during the heat of the day: “He used to have one of these old metal daybeds hanging from a big maple tree. He used to just lay out there in the shade and swing back & forth . . . That was old Al.”
Laura Basch remembered Alfred Millington while looking at the photo above: “This is Mr. Alfred Millington, and he used to have a place on M-22, just before you go into the pines toward Glen Arbor. He had a lot of berries. He used to raise an awful lot of berries, and people went in there and they could pick them. And he planted all those pine that’s down around there, and he helped me plant these big trees that’s here [around the Nicholas & Katherine Basch Farm]. He had a very green thumb.
“One day my husband had been down there and he was having a very rough time. Well, he give his money to his son is what he did, instead of keeping it for himself. My husband brought him home. This is my daughter, Jean, that’s standing there with him. We kept him here for better than a year. And we wouldn’t let him give any of his money away. And this is our horse, Dick. He was cultivating with him. And we would not let him give his money away, and we made him put it in the bank.
“One day I took him, and I said, “Grandpa, we’re going to take you to Traverse City and get you some decent clothes.” We had given him my husband’s father’s clothes while he was here, because he had died and he had some real good clothes. And so I took him out to Traverse City. Some people probably never heard of “The Irishman and the Jew”, but they were on Front Street. And I got him all outfitted with brand new clothes—a new suit and everything. And I made him wear it home; and when he came home, the people didn’t know him! He looked just exactly like Henry Ford, and they just couldn’t believe it. But he was so proud of all these new clothes he had! And so many people come and took him out for dinner because he looked so nice!
“And he stayed here and he helped us. Oh, we took him places. I imagine Art (Laura’s husband) took him down to his farm once in a while, or we did. But he stayed here all the time. He had a little bedroom upstairs. I had him really cleaned up. He looked really bad when we took him, but boy, he really looked nice when he left. . .
“His wife had died; and his son, I think, went to Detroit with his family. But he kept sending him his Social Security— It wasn’t his Social Security; it was some other pension. Anyway, we would not let him do it. We said, “You’re going to keep this money. That’s not for your son. You’re going to keep it, and get some decent clothes.
“And he was proud when we got him all fixed up. And we’d take him wherever we went,” he said.
