Northeastern Minnesota. Land of glacier scoured lakes, swamps, streams, bogs. The Southern terminus of the boreal forest and Precambrian shield. Thin soil, protruding bedrock. Long, dark, cold winters. A difficult place to sink roots into, metaphorically and otherwise.Duluth, Minnesota. Southwestern tip of Lake Superior—world’s largest freshwater lake. Port city; iron ore, grain, coal. In spring, streams tumble over basalt ledges. In the dead of winter, downtown manholes exhale steam. Foghorns moan in summer, as ore boats chug through the ship canal. A land of displaced Finns, summer tourists, lake effect snow. A blue collar ethos pervades—smokestacks and the sickly sweet smell of paper mills—but underneath the gruff exterior beats a progressive, back-to-the-land heart.
It is not, by mountain lover standards, a picturesque place; there are few awe inspiring vistas. If you are of a certain temperament, I suppose, you could argue that one lake more or less resembles the next one. There are few swaths of majestic white pines left. Much of this area is second or third growth—stunted pines and birches.
That doesn’t matter to me; I am smitten by the maze of lakes, the lichen covered ground and pine studded shores. I embrace the seasons, although spring spans a muddy week and fall around the same.
Despite being an inland port, the nearest saltwater is Hudson Bay to the north. Some of the streams in Northern Minnesota flow to Hudson Bay. As a canoeist, this fact comforts me. My interior compass points north, too. Like a stick tossed in the current, I have followed by canoe three rivers that flow to Hudson Bay, through the living, breathing heart of the boreal forest.
Barton Sutter wrote a book about Duluth, entitled Cold Comfort: Life at the Top of the Map. For me, though, Duluth is not at the top of the map at all. In the map of my homeland Duluth is at the bottom; the top stretches beyond the Arctic Circle, at the far end of the northern treeline.
In animal terms, I guess you could say Duluth is the southern end of my range.
Despite being an inland port, the nearest saltwater is Hudson Bay to the north. Some of the streams in Northern Minnesota flow to Hudson Bay. As a canoeist, this fact comforts me. My interior compass points north, too. Like a stick tossed in the current, I have followed by canoe three rivers that flow to Hudson Bay, through the living, breathing heart of the boreal forest.
Barton Sutter wrote a book about Duluth, entitled Cold Comfort: Life at the Top of the Map. For me, though, Duluth is not at the top of the map at all. In the map of my homeland Duluth is at the bottom; the top stretches beyond the Arctic Circle, at the far end of the northern treeline.
In animal terms, I guess you could say Duluth is the southern end of my range.
2 comments:
Tom,
Seems like you're situated in the best possible place in the entire United States to be a canoeist. I'm jealous. Interesting how you say your inner compass pulls you north. What is it about the boreal forest and northern waterways that intrigues you so much?
Frank
I think of your part of the country as a region of such extremes, a "difficult" place as you've described. Although this place doesn't have awe-inspiring vistas, you have found an admirable appreciation for it, clearly. I think too many people expect *nature* to be exactly that, big and grandiose and awe-inspiring.
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