Canoeing to Work, 6/21/2012
That’s our access road you see in the photograph. Really. I took the shot yesterday at about 7:00am. I’m heading due east, towards the Taft Road, to meet up with my son Chris. He’s high and dry where he lives, in rural Rice Lake Township. My Pacifica and my wife’s Toyota Matrix unfortunately can’t negotiate four feet of standing water. Since that’s the case, I resorted to the methods of the folks who once walked and hunted this land: Like the Ojibwe (and the Sioux before them), I paddled to work. Fifteen minutes later, my third son picked me up at the end of our road in my swimsuit, flip flops, and T-shirt (I was carrying a change of clothes more appropriate for the courtroom). After a brief tour of some of the destruction (including passing two cars stalled in water near the Wells Fargo branch near the Mall), Chris dropped me off at the Duluth courthouse.
“Mark: Matt and Lisa and the baby are coming by to pick us up.”
That’s the call I received later in the day from my wife, Rene’. Our oldest son, his wife, and their one-month-old son, A.J., were hell bent on coming down to Duluth to see what nature had wrought. I’d called my old man earlier in the day and made arrangements for him to drive me home at four; in plenty of time to meet my son and his wife.
Dad showed up right on time. After a brief stop at Super One so I could do some grocery shopping, we drove out to our place.
“I could drive you in.”
We were sitting at the end of our road watching Jack and his pal Nathan paddle towards us in a green Old Town canoe. I had left our pink (used to be red until the sun bleached it out) Coleman canoe near the highway so I had a means of getting home.
Jack and Nate Sich Canoeing the Driveway
“Are you crazy?” I replied. “The water would be halfway up the hood of your Tahoe.”
Now, maybe Harry was teasing. He does have a pretty good sense of humor. But maybe, just maybe, he was serious.
You see, I remember one winter’s day before we built our new house and the road you’re looking at was improved (it was only a logging trail at the time) when Dad wanted to show Judge Jack Litman the Minnesota Power land he and I had recently bought. I told him, “No, Dad, you can’t take your Suburban back on that road. It hasn’t been plowed and you’ll just get stuck.” His response was, “That’s what four wheel drive is for, Mark.” Sure enough, as Rene’ and I watched my old man and the judge tool off down the tote road, he made it about fifty feet before he had his big rig stuck up to the axles in new snow. It took my little Dodge Dakota 4×4 and a whole hell of a lot of digging by a much younger me to get the Suburban back onto solid ground so Dad could back his way out.
So when my father said he was thinking about trying to make a run through the river that had claimed our road, maybe, just maybe, he was serious. I’ll leave it to you which way he was leaning as he surveyed the expanse of black water in front of his Tahoe.
But instead of gunning the engine and tempting fate, Dad sat patiently behind the driver’s wheel as I loaded bags of food, milk, juice, and dog food into the Coleman for the paddle home.
“Thanks.”
With a wave of his hand, the old man backed the Tahoe out onto the highway and roared off. I’m pretty sure he was disappointed I didn’t let him make a go of plowing water with the SUV. But I’m also pretty sure he’ll thank me tomorrow for being the voice of reason.
Rene' Canoeing her way to A & Dubs
As soon as I got home and Rene’ put the groceries away, she hustled me back out the door.
“Matt’s a few minutes away,” she explained. “We’re supposed to meet them out on the road.”
Rene’ and I climbed into the Coleman. Jack and Nathan claimed the Old Town. In a few minutes time, after dropping Nathan off at his home (he hadn’t been able to get to his house since Monday evening), we were on our way with Matt, Lisa, and A.J. (who was grumpy and wanted to be fed) to town. We took in Lincoln Park (where cars were stopped and folks were snapping photos of the plume of brown water shooting up from the sliding rock); the Lake Superior Zoo (where it was obvious that water had destroyed many of the exhibits and left slime and mud behind as an added insult); and Gary-New Duluth (when we couldn’t go any further due to barricades, we drove over the Oliver Bridge and took in the massive sheet of butterscotch water flowing beneath the span: a volume of water I’ve never seen flowing in the St. Louis River in my lifetime). And then, we stopped at Rene’s favorite fine dining establishment: A & Dubs in Duluth’s West End.
You’ll note I didn’t call the neighborhood where my wife and her siblings were raised (and where I went to junior high) “Lincoln Park”. Lincoln Park, my friends, is an actual place. We drove Lincoln Park Drive through the park on our way down the hill. A & Dubs drive-in is in Duluth’s West End. End of discussion. In any event, while A.J. slurped his meal in the front seat, the rest of us ate burgers and fries and onion rings and corn dogs (the West End’s version of health food) and sipped cold, sweet root beer. Lisa handed A.J. to me so she could finish eating. He immediately objected to the scary old man holding him, necessitating Grandma Rene’ taking over grandchild duties. In the end, the rocking and rolling of the Suburban put the kid to sleep. We stopped on the Munger-Shaw bridge over the Cloquet, the water nearly lapping at the driving surface, to take one last peek at the river before heading home.
The Cloquet in High Flood
Another View
Later, as I read a biography of Woodrow Wilson, Jack read Night by Elie Wiesel, and Rene’ worked the News Tribune’s crossword puzzle, the telephone rang.
It was my old man.
“You need a ride to work tomorrow?”
I had arranged to use my law clerk’s car to get from the courthouse in Duluth to the Carlton County Courthouse tomorrow but I’d forgotten to take into account that I needed another ride into town.
“I do. Can you pick me up at eight?”
“Sure.”
Here I am nearly sixty years old and my father is driving me to work. Oh well, it could be worse: Harry could be stuck in the middle of the flood in his Tahoe.
Peace.
Mark
