DULUTH

DULUTH

This place has cast a spell

over us so utterly complete.

What is it about Duluth

that pulls on us, that

draws us there? It seems

so incomprehensible,

we return year after year,

time and time again, a

migratory pattern, like

animals driven to far

destinations by instinct.

We can count on one hand

the number of years we

have not come to this place,

and even in those years,

plans were made only to

be laid aside for the

birth of a child, or

near-death health crises.

Even in years when

poverty loomed greatly

in our lives, we found

a way, some way in

which to visit, even

were it for a few hours,

to deeply breathe in the

air from the Lake, and

walk along its shores,

before driving back

to our little home.

Is it the seaport, a San

Francisco transplanted

that seems so out of place

in this Upper Midwest state,

its steep hills so reminiscent

of the Golden Gate City or

the narrow steep streets

of Pittsburgh, the feeling

of being in the exotic

without having to travel

long distances from home?

Is it the feeling of being

in a place so foreign from

the prairies of Minnesota,

yet still feeling at home?

 Perhaps its allure is

attributed to our married

life beginning here so

long ago, when first you

introduced me to the

full wonder of your self,

so captivating that nothing

or no one could ever

pull me away from you.

Perhaps, when married

and we shared our

mutual DNA, I was infused

with your love for this place,

a love you discovered

when playing in the

St. Bernard’s High School

pep band, when our

hockey team played in

the State tournament.

Our love of Chinese food

stems from a restaurant

here, long destroyed by

fire, a place dressed out

in red and black with the

ambiance of an opium

den in which I could

swear that Peter Lorre

and Sidney Greenstreet

lingered just outside

my peripheral vision.

As we pass the railroad

station, we speak of the

train trips from St. Paul

with our boys, Meg

and you pregnant

with Beth to meet my

mom and dad and

tour the railroad museum.

We drive past the

many motels and hotels

at which we stayed

with your mom and dad,

monster cookies for the

kids, and the boat tours

of the Twin Harbors.

There was that time

we came to see a

Twins game on TV

that was blacked out

at home, ending with

me watching the game,

you asleep in the bed.

Whether it was Winter,

Summer, Spring or Fall,

we somehow find our

way back to this city.

And here we are again,

revisiting the city

that has imprinted itself

on our lives. Whether

at the top of the Radisson

nursing a drink and

viewing the city in its

entirety as the restaurant

slowly revolves, or at

a table in Grandma’s,

drinking beer and

enjoying wild rice and

other items not as

healthy, walking along

the lakeside, or passing

through on the way

to Split Rock or

Gooseberry Falls, one

thing I do know, that

what makes this city

so special for me

is you, and only you.

© 2015. The Book Of Ruth, Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.