To Duluth
by Chris Pelletier
copyright 2009
Approaching the mid-sized port northbound on highway I-35, Duluth reveals itself spread out on a steep slope. It reminds me of pictures of San Francisco. I wonder how fun it would be to take a sled down those hills in the winter. I worry about my aunt and uncle who have to drive down those hills when they are iced up.
After reaching the city center, parking is easy to find for my dad. There are plenty of spaces for visitors’ cars. I notice a big drop in temperature compared to Minneapolis. Even though it’s the middle of July, it feels like late October.
Duluth Harbor’s buildings are made from old dark brick. Many souvenir shops full of my favorite nautical curios are on the main street. I can see the maritime museum which is located next to the concrete canal leading to the harbor. My parents said we would go there later. Stretching across the canal is a gigantic lift bridge, which looks like it was built from a huge Erector Set.
Noisy seagulls squawk; the chorus of birds makes me feel like I am near the ocean. I approach a street vendor who works from an antique-looking red wagon and get a box of popcorn. I use only some of the money that my dad gave me. Soon a handful of white delights fill my cheeks. They are salty, but a bit dry. With another handful, I feed the hovering gulls by pitching the popcorn into the air. The greedy gulls swoop and dive for the morsels.
As I stroll along the shore of Lake Superior, it smells slightly of fish. Millions of smaller rocks make up the beach. Every step I take grinds them with a crunch. A flat pink rock looks inviting, so I pick it up and rub my hand on its smooth surface. It feels as if someone ground it down for me. With careful aim, I skip it across the water. The rock bounces about five times before it finally plunges into the lake with a plop.
I head to the canal which extends and turns into a pier. A gentle lake breeze brushes my skin as I walk out to a black and white lighthouse on the pier. I imagine that I’m some old bearded lighthouse keeper from 150 years ago trudging to work.
A horn blast from the water startles me. A huge iron ore ship is coming into port after visiting far away places. Tourists go to the wall of the canal and wave at the passing ship. Sailors line the rails of the ship and return the waves, as if they are heroes coming back from some glorious adventure.
The ship passes under the bridge and the ringing of a warning bell on the bridge tells people below that it is descending. I dream of being one of those sailors some day and have people wave to me as I return home.
After reaching the city center, parking is easy to find for my dad. There are plenty of spaces for visitors’ cars. I notice a big drop in temperature compared to Minneapolis. Even though it’s the middle of July, it feels like late October.
Duluth Harbor’s buildings are made from old dark brick. Many souvenir shops full of my favorite nautical curios are on the main street. I can see the maritime museum which is located next to the concrete canal leading to the harbor. My parents said we would go there later. Stretching across the canal is a gigantic lift bridge, which looks like it was built from a huge Erector Set.
Noisy seagulls squawk; the chorus of birds makes me feel like I am near the ocean. I approach a street vendor who works from an antique-looking red wagon and get a box of popcorn. I use only some of the money that my dad gave me. Soon a handful of white delights fill my cheeks. They are salty, but a bit dry. With another handful, I feed the hovering gulls by pitching the popcorn into the air. The greedy gulls swoop and dive for the morsels.
As I stroll along the shore of Lake Superior, it smells slightly of fish. Millions of smaller rocks make up the beach. Every step I take grinds them with a crunch. A flat pink rock looks inviting, so I pick it up and rub my hand on its smooth surface. It feels as if someone ground it down for me. With careful aim, I skip it across the water. The rock bounces about five times before it finally plunges into the lake with a plop.
I head to the canal which extends and turns into a pier. A gentle lake breeze brushes my skin as I walk out to a black and white lighthouse on the pier. I imagine that I’m some old bearded lighthouse keeper from 150 years ago trudging to work.
A horn blast from the water startles me. A huge iron ore ship is coming into port after visiting far away places. Tourists go to the wall of the canal and wave at the passing ship. Sailors line the rails of the ship and return the waves, as if they are heroes coming back from some glorious adventure.
The ship passes under the bridge and the ringing of a warning bell on the bridge tells people below that it is descending. I dream of being one of those sailors some day and have people wave to me as I return home.
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