The Ancient Art of Birchbark Canoes Lives On in Michigan

I’m sitting in Ron Paquin’s cozy living room on State Street, just off St. Ignace’s main drag … and I’m completely surrounded by birchbark. In front of me, there’s a table displaying an array of birchbark pendants and wall pockets elaborately decorated with brightly colored floral designs. Birchbark baskets adorn the walls. To my left, a birchbark frame displays a painting of birds in flight. Just off the garage, Ron’s workshop contains his current work in progress, a full-sized birchbark canoe. And steps from the house, his retail shop is filled with traditional crafts, many featuring birchbark.

“Um, do you source the quills yourself ?” I ask, in an attempt to save face.
Yes, he nods.
“How do you find the porcupines?”
“I go outside, and I look down.”
“How do you get the quills off the porcupine?”
“I pull ’em.”

Ron’s words may be sparing, but in his little house, the art is not. And his impressive body of work is reflected in his even-more-impressive résumé. So far, the 81-year-old artist has been awarded 12 Michigan State University Master Artist Grants (six for making birchbark canoes), plus an ArtServe Michigan grant to teach birchbark canoe making to tribal adults and youth. He worked as a Native American interpreter for the Museum of Ojibwa Culture in St. Ignace for 15 years and is the recipient of multiple awards. His list of clients for commissioned pieces is also extensive, including museums and cultural centers as well as private collectors and enthusiasts.

But all of this attention evidently hasn’t gone to his head. During our conversation, Ron repeatedly finishes his sentences—particularly those that have highlighted an especially striking accomplishment—with, “It keeps me busy,” as if to downplay what he’s achieved. Don’t mistake it for false modesty, however: For a man with Ron’s past, this statement is the simple truth. Keeping his hands and mind moving productively has proven a reliable path away from the darkness that clouded his younger years.

Ron’s memoir Not First In No One’s Heart: The Life Story of a Contemporary Chippewa (Iowa State University Press, 1992), a collaboration with late author Robert Doherty, documents his coming of age from a child whose life was defined by poverty, neglect and abuse, to a youth lashing out against forces of power, greed and authority, to a middle-aged man finally finding his own power in activism and a return to the traditional arts and practices that helped his people thrive for thousands of years before Europeans arrived.

As a young child, Ron was shuffled back and forth between his parents’ and relatives’ homes and was finally sent to one of the now-notorious boarding schools that existed to separate Native children as young as 6 from their culture. Removed—often forcibly—from their families and communities, children in these schools were expected to assimilate to a white identity and to abandon their tribal languages, spiritual beliefs, cultural practices and outward identities: dressed in uniforms, their hair cut short, even given numbers to identify them rather than their Native names, under the racist missive of “killing the Indian to save the man.”

Abandoned and abused by the social systems that were supposed to protect him and his siblings, Ron started down a self-destructive road. As a young man, he was a heavy drinker, a knee-jerk brawler and, for about four years in his late teens and early twenties, a prisoner.

His memoir paints a vivid picture of the kind of desperation that can set in when a community is deprived of connection, possibility and opportunity. “If you’re in high school and getting D minuses, what the hell are you going to show to someone to get a job? And the reason I quit high school was because I had to make a living, anyway,” Ron says.

Ron credits his Aunt Agnes and other Indian women in his community with introducing him to traditional arts, like making birchbark baskets, as a child. “I’m not an academic, but I’m good with my hands, and I learned that at a pretty young age,” he says.

But it wasn’t until later in his life that these traditional skills translated into economic opportunity, providing a path toward productivity and purpose. Tapping into his Native heritage gave Ron access to new livelihoods: first, as a commercial fisherman who was active in the Indian fishing rights issue of the 1970s and 1980s, and later, as an artisan. When Ron built an authentic longhouse for a display at a local museum, it got the attention of municipal and tribal leaders. He was hired to do more projects for the City of St. Ignace, and in the mid-’80s he built his first canoe for the Museum of Ojibwa Culture at Old Mission in St. Ignace. “It was kind of a self-taught project,” Molly says. “He put the bark on inside out.”

Traditionally, the pieces of the canoe would be sewn together with boiled spruce roots—which must be dug up in the summer or fall when the ground is soft—and the seams would be sealed with a mix of charred pine sap and animal fat. It can take weeks or months before all of the materials are gathered to begin a build.

It’s a lot of activity for a man in his ninth decade of life, and Ron appreciates the assistance of younger helpers. One of these people is Master Apprentice Adam Avery, who works with Ron through a Michigan Traditional Arts Apprenticeship with Michigan State University and has assisted on multiple builds over the years. “Adam just turned fifty, so he’s just a baby—still a kid,” Ron jokes.

To other Native community members, these projects serve as an important connection to a heritage that was stolen from them when they were young. “A lot of things were lost because of the boarding schools and the attempts to take the Indian out of the Indian people,” says Bridgett Sorenson, events manager for the St. Ignace Visitors Bureau, who also sits on the board of directors for the Sault Tribe of Chippewa Indians. “It led to a lot of addiction and that kind of thing because our people couldn’t be who they were. So now we’re trying to bring these skills back in our community so that our members have the opportunity to learn and pass them on to their kids and grandkids.”

Ron, an elder with the Sault Tribe, is doing his best to keep these traditions alive through community builds, teaching and apprenticeships—which have included his grandsons, Christopher and Ronnie, both of whom have worked with Ron through the Michigan State University Museum’s Master Artist and Apprenticeship Program. He recently completed a community canoe build with members of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians that was also open to the public—a common occurrence, says Molly. The most recent build had about 15 people turn out, including members of the general public. “Ron always wants the canoe builds to be open to the public,” Molly says. “His ultimate goal is to promote awareness of the craft to anyone who’s interested, with the hope that Native traditions are appreciated and carried forward.”

Standing in Ron’s shop, surrounded by his artistry, the evidence of patience and a steady hand are present in every stitch and embellishment. The tranquility of this art and his gentle demeanor are a surprising contrast to the angry, reactive young man from the pages of his memoir. It’s as though connecting with his roots finally allowed him the connection he’d been missing, when he confessed to a prison therapist that he’d never felt first “in no one’s heart.” By accepting his inheritance as an ambassador of the arts and traditions of his ancestors, Ron was able to calm the storm within.

Still, when it comes to the impact he hopes to have on future generations, Ron’s answer is characteristically humble … and practical.

“How do you hope to keep this tradition alive?” I ask.

“I just keep doing it,” he replies.