I am studying abroad in Rotterdam, Netherlands via UMD. Today I missed Duluth a little more than normal and wrote a piece for my own blog, but I wanted to share it with you all because the PDD community inspired it.
Spring is the best time of year for exploring the white sand beaches of Wisconsin Point. The “white sand” is slowly melting and will soon be gone, opening up the true beach season … but it’s fun to climb the temporary icy cliffs while they last and watch the slush heave.
This short art video by Payton MacDonald features paintings by Duluth’s Kenneth D. Johnson. Sonic Divide documents a performance-art piece in which MacDonald mountain biked over 2,500 miles — from Mexico to Canada — while periodically stopping to perform music.
In this video from WDSE-TV‘s The Playlist, Hibbing native Paul Seeba returns to the Iron Range and the historic Mitchell Yards to share music inspired by the 1906 roundhouse. His 2014 album, Mitchell Yards, celebrates the now-endangered place and the role it played in handling ore during World War II.
“You don’t know me,” I quavered, barely not crying, bereft of words for explaining who the hell I thought I was to show up in that place, at that time, wanting to ask those questions. “If you knew me you’d know that … it’s just that … I mean I … I just wish you knew me, because if you did …”
The Fond du Lac Ojibwe School principal loomed literally and figuratively large behind his desk. I think I can remember his first name; later I may look for both first and last, but even if I knew them now I wouldn’t type them here. I’m not trying to call him out. I’m trying to express gratitude and admiration toward him and his vice-principal.
At least I think that’s what her position was. She and I sat a few feet from each other in front of the principal’s desk. They’d squared their shoulders on me. Their steady gazes and admonishment and demands for explanation felt hard. I remember some parts of the situation clearly, especially how trembly-sick and shaken I felt. I recall other parts vaguely, if at all: how long I was there; whether I said anything intelligible; whether I’d ever felt so unwanted in a place I cared about being. I was 34 years old in the moment I’m trying to describe. I’m 46 now. I expect my brain to misremember some details from then. I also trust it not to protect me in these matters.