Dusk on the Cloquet River: All is well…
My son Matt (who is also my webmaster/tech guy) says I have been too much gloom and doom of late, that I need to be more upbeat. So, here it is, “Positive Monday”. I borrowed the title of this piece from “Garage Logic”, Joe Soucheray’s cranky, often edgy radio show out of the Twin Cities which has a distinctly anti-Liberal bent and which usually features Joe going off about something Nancy Pelosi or the President or some other Left leaning American has done. I am going to be positive today, even though this weekend was the worst Ely Blueberry Festival on record for Cloquet River Press. Really, I am. Here goes.
Well, I was able to stay for free up in Ely, on beautiful White Iron Lake, thanks to Dennis and Roxanne Korman who let me bed down in their place for two nights. Oh, and I got to drink beer and yell at the Twins (we were cheering only positively of course, even though the A’s were kicking the Twins’ collective asses) with Uncle Buck (Rod Skube) the caretaker of the place. Not having to pay big bucks for an overpriced hotel room or stay in a tent, and also watch the Twins on satellite is a positive, right?
And then there were the fabulous blueberry pancakes I ate both Saturday and Sunday morning in the pavilion in Whiteside Park where the festival was held. The Lions provided the all-you-can eat (another positive, right?) pancakes, two sausages, and juice, milk or coffee. The cakes were fresh and the crowd was lively, making me, even in the early morning hours after drinking beer with Uncle Buck the night before, feel distinctly alive.
And how about the fact that, even though it rained cats and dogs around noon on Saturday of the three day festival, the bad weather lingered for only an hour or two at most? It could have stormed all day (which has happened in past Blueberry Festivals) but it didn’t. Another very good thing, right?
Then there was spending two days in my little E-Z Up tent with the talented, wise, energetic, and gifted Sarah Stonich, a Minnesota author based in the Twin Cities with roots on the Vermilion Range. Sarah had never done a “tent show” before (may well not do another one after being confined in an E-Z UP with the likes of me for two days) but was a real trouper. She managed to sell some copies of her new memoir, Shelter and of her older books as well, and, during the many lulls between sales (not a negative as you will discern from the rest of this passage), we were able to talk about writing, publishing, and life. A very “thumbs up” attribute to the weekend, I must say.
The people who stopped by to tell me (and Sarah) how much they liked our writing? Well, of course, that’s what an author lives for. Critics have agendas. Newspapers and other media outlets may or may not discuss your books, depending upon available space and whichever corporate big-wigs are in control. But readers? Having them stop by and chat, even if they’re not in the market for another book, and gush over a story you put on paper is just about the most positive aspect to being a writer there is.
Oh, and then there’s festival food. Now naysayers might cringe at the fat content in the Chinese I ate for lunch both Saturday and Sunday or argue that the frozen custard I had for a treat after a hard day in the booth on Saturday (black raspberry despite the fact I was at the Blueberry Festival) are not very healthy options. Especially the deep fried egg roll. Too bad. It tasted so darn good and, well, since my time in Ely had to be a positive experience, I ate what made me feel, well, positive.
The swim I took Friday night after getting up at five, driving from Duluth to Ely, setting up my booth (including my wife’s ever-present and extraordinarily heavy concrete mosaic garden benches), and spending a long day trying to hawk words to strangers? Oh, sure, I was a bit disappointed that White Iron Lake was not what I expected. Instead of the nice sand and gravel bottom I’m used to when I swim in the Cloquet River by my house, I was greeted with a confusion of boulders the size of small hay bales strewn across the lake bottom. The jumbled mess made it impossible to swim: I kept hitting rocks with my feet and hands as I tried to move through the sweetly cool water. Oh, oh. Sounds negative. But it isn’t because once I let the lake win and I found a nice flat rock to settle on, sitting in waist deep water after a long, hard, hot day in a airless tent, well, the lake was heaven. See? I can turn something bad into something good, now can’t I? I’d say that’s the mark (no pun intended) of a gifted wordsmith.
Finally, there’s this: Even though I grouse and moan about the size and heft of my wife’s hobby, I came to Ely with four of her concrete benches and left with three. That’s right: I sold one, which lightened my load for the trip home. A very, very positive outcome, if I must say.
Peace.
Mark
