A hometown newspaper with a local office, local owners & lots of local news
A hometown newspaper with a local office, local owners & lots of local news
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Hands. From the time I was a young girl I’ve noticed them. First, with my mother as she deftly kneaded and twisted dough into bread or caramel rolls. She covered a plywood slab, which my Papa Al had cut for her, with flour sack towels, pinning the overlapping edges to the back with thumbtacks. Flour was sprinkled and baked goodies — the stuff of childhood dreams and aromas — magically formed under her practiced hands as I watched nearby, perched upon the high stool. Push and pull. Push and p...
The lights dimmed, the projector switch flipped. A hot plastic smell wafted through the room as the clickity-clack of a Super 8 home movie began. Hubby and I were returning from our Yellowstone honeymoon, but had stopped in at my grandparents’ before embarking on the last leg of our journey home to Cloquet. I had grown up here in this small, rural town, before my dad’s job plucked us out of the familiar black soil of North Dakota, transplanting us into the foreign red ore of the Iron Range. I w...
My love affair with flowers is never more angst-filled than when the frosts of fall put to death the vibrant colors of summer. Blooming ends, vegetation wilts, even the grass fades and withers. The entire landscape melts into a neutral, barren wasteland of brown and tan. Drab, desolate, decaying. Multiple autumns back, this was the state of my soul as well. Empty, grieving, dead. Another baby had been on the way. A baby due in May, but a baby we would never hold. A girl, we thought. Emma. Cold,... Full story
