An Incoming Snowstorm

Yesterday, with a big snowstorm promised, I rushed to get through some errands. It was starting to snow, the gritty sort that stings your face.

When the temperature hovers around freezing, we get the gritty kind. This is sometimes preceded by freezing rain then sloppy snow as the temperature drops. As the temperature continues to fall, the snow becomes drier and lighter. Towards 0°F we get the fluffy, dry kind that squeaks underfoot.

I'd read that indigenous people in the far north have over fifty words for snow. These days I tend to mistrust everything I read, so I started Googling on my phone. A Washington Post headline shouted "There really are 50 Eskimo words for ‘snow’." This got me suspicious as "Eskimo" is a controversial term, best avoided.

Walking With Attitude Through Cancer Survivors Park

I had left the bright sunshine and blue sky that often follows a Minnesota snowstorm and entered the shadow of a corporate building.

I walked past a snow shovel propped up at the entrance to a park in front of the corporate building. A worker had shoveled the entire path through the park. This was 9:00 a.m. on a Sunday: this is a well-managed place; a major overnight snowstorm had only let up a few hours earlier.

I was walking through the Richard & Annette Bloch Cancer Survivors Park. I could have been in any of the 25 North American cities which have Richard & Annette Bloch Cancer Survivors Parks. Each park has the same themes and sculptures.

"There are three factors present in each Park. First is a positive mental attitude walk with 14 bronze plaques, four inspirational and 10 instructional. Second is a sculpture of eight life-size bronze figures passing through a maze representing cancer treatment. The five before the maze show fear, hope and determination in their faces while the three after are laughing and happy, representing successful treatment. Third is a “Road to Recovery” consisting of seven plaques explaining what cancer is and basic actions to successfully overcome the disease." [Source.]

But the snow kept me firmly rooted in Minneapolis.

Perches Above a Rail Yard

It's 1906. A man looks down from his perch high above a rail yard and the flour mills it serves. The caption for the stereograph simply reads "Huge flour mills where grain crops are made into food for the world, Minneapolis, Minnesota."

From our temporary Minneapolis Mill District home, a rented condominium, I love to stare out at a place that was once a busy rail yard serving flour mills. I imagine the complex pattern of rail tracks, the sounds of shunting locomotives, and the sulfurous smoke.

Beyond the Hogwarts House

Two blocks from our home in the Minneapolis Mill District, on a dead-end side-street, there's a single-family home that is decidedly different. Some people call it the Hogwarts House; others call it the Arundel House.

I love to stand outside the house and spot fantastical architectural elements, including the wizardly dormer in the photo at the top of this post.

Usually I can continue my walk up the street, beyond the Hogwarts House, and slip through a gap in a barrier. Today, my way is blocked by a chain-link fence and a guard post.

Monday Morning Coffees

From under the duvet, I hear the daily grind. Dwight is edging towards his workday.

It's time for my daily incantation:

"OK Google, what time is it?"
"OK Google, turn on National Public Radio"
"OK Google, turn on bedroom lights"
"OK Google, bring coffee"

OK, I don't ask Google to bring coffee. I stick my head out the door and make my wakeful state known. I make a mental note to program Google to flash a light in the kitchen when I'm ready for my first coffee of the day

A few minutes later, the coffee arrives.

A Sporting House

November 2017. I look out from our Minneapolis Mill District apartment.

Ahead, I see St. Anthony Falls, the only significant waterfall on the Mississippi. A hydroelectric plant, established in 1882, still generates enough power for thousands of homes.

Minneapolis grew up around these falls.

Across the river I pick out the Pillsbury "A" Mill. Completed in 1881, it was the most productive flour mill in the world for 40 years.

My eyes follow the gorgeous curved lines of the 1883 Stone Arch Bridge back to my side of the river to the Washburn "A" Mill, part of a complex dating back to the 1870's.

I look down to 11th Avenue South which runs in front of our home. It draws my eyes away from the Mississippi and up the road to a Romanesque brick building (pictured at the top of this post) at 212 11th Avenue South. It seems strangely out of place.

Scenes from a Bridge

I love this bridge.

Built for rail in 1883, Stone Arch Bridge crosses the Mississippi then curves through the Mill District into downtown Minneapolis. When I traverse it on bike or foot, I think of immigrants arriving from the East being welcomed by this scene before starting a new life in Minneapolis or points beyond.