by
Fred Wallace
The annual Club picnic at Peche Island is almost upon us, and I thought it might be fun to find out a little more about this little pimple of land in the river. Turns out its history is much more colorful than I suspected.
As you probably already assumed, that history has a lot of connections to fishing in the Detroit River - one of several names it was known as through the years was Isle aux Pecheurs or "Fisherman's Island". At the time of the great survey and subdivision of the area around 1790 the island was excluded from the associated treaties, apparently to allow its aboriginal occupants to continue their fishing efforts unimpeded by rampant land development.
The tactic seems to have been unsuccessful, however, as a family named Laforet (or Laforest) began living on the eastern end sometime between 1780 and 1800. The fact that the island was never officially owned by the Crown (and therefore could not be sold or transferred to the Laforets) started a long series of legends, myths, and stories about the various inhabitants that continued for many years. There may have been some kind of private treaty between the Laforets and the native inhabitants still on the western end, but no official record remains (and perhaps never did).
The Laforet family ran a classic farming operation for several generations, raising livestock, growing crops, and fishing. A new treaty in 1857 and Canadian confederation in 1867 brought up new legal issues, and began the circus of claims. It seems strange to us today - by this time the Laforets had been there for almost a hundred years and you might easily assume they had a solid claim. Not so.
A series of events led to Hiram Walker's sons buying the island in 1883 in a deal that seems to have been mired in legal problems. According to one account, a group of "toughs" from the Walker plant forced their way into the home of Rosalie Laforest, the last residing family member, threatened her and ordered her out. Just before leaving, Rosalie cursed the Walkers and vowed that nothing good would ever come from the bullied takeover of the island.
It seems his sons had hoped Hiram would use the island for a quiet retirement spot, but he saw it as a great development opportunity. He spent large sums digging canals, overloading topsoil onto the sandy earth, and planting an orchard. To accompany the huge main building that apparently had over 40 rooms, he built stables, a golf course, and even installed an electric generator - an unbelievable luxury in 1894. It would be easy to believe this was some kind of "secret" project - almost no details or photos have survived.
Rosalie's curse seems to have been effective. One by one, people associated
with the deal began to suffer and die, starting with the lawyer who handled the
paperwork. Hiram died in 1899, and the daughter to whom he transferred the
island not only abandoned the property to the elements but also refused to let
anyone harvest the fruit from the orchard Hiram had planted. The daughter
unloaded the island to the same company that operated the trans-border ferry
service, who wanted to build a grand summer resort to mesh with their
transportation business. In the midst of this grand dream the president of the
company died in the run-down Walker mansion less than one year later, and I
suppose it's no surprise that nobody wanted to go to Peche Island much anymore.
The ruined mansion burned to the foundation in 1929.
For a time the island was owned by the Bob-Lo Company (likely to prevent development of a competing amusement park), but mostly it just lay there, returning to nature. Sometimes picnickers used it (see photo), but little else happened. In 1956 it was sold to a residential developer who removed the fire debris but did almost nothing else. A recreation developer tried anew in 1962, constructing a few buildings and running municipal services. He went bankrupt in 1969. Windsor's R.C. Pruefer owned it for a while but could not proceed with his plans either.
Finally government stepped in, with plans to create a nature study area and picnic paradise. The island was designated a Provincial Park in 1974 but the funds needed for improvements were never available and once again nature had the last laugh. Currently it is a Windsor park, and apart from some docks and washroom facilities, it is not much different than it was over a hundred years ago when Rosalie pronounced her curse.
Enjoy your lunch… and listen very carefully in the wind to see if you can hear any far-away conversations in French.