Song for a Ruined City

Mill City Ruins

In its earliest incarnation of white settlement, Minneapolis was a logging boomtown. One of the first saw mills in the area was constructed just across the river from the ruined flour mill in this photo. White pine was king, and the hardwood forests in southern Minnesota and neighboring area was once a vast wilderness of over 5,000 square miles. Prior to the 1800s the population (probably this count is white people?) was a mere 5000 souls.

Then came opportunity. Money to be made. People flocking to jobs. The largest raft of timber ever floated down the Mississippi was 5,500,000 feet of timber in 1902. Imagine it. What once stood tall, leveled. Gone. The supply of timber was thought to be inexhaustible then.

I read somewhere (back when I took long walks, lingering to read things) on an informational placard in my river neighborhood about how dangerous logging was. Legs were crushed or torn off. There was a booming business, not just in logging, but in artificial legs too. Probably loggers and their legs were thought to be inexhaustible. Not long after the peak, the much prized old growth pine forests were gone. When I imagine it, I see one-legged men hobbling into taverns.

Then came flour. Minneapolis transformed itself into the flour milling capital of the world. Enough flour each day for 12 million loaves of bread. Milling flour was dangerous too. In 1878, one of the big mills exploded and killed 18 workers. But the work went on. By World War I, commercial bakeries were making 30 per cent of the nation's bread. General Mills was king. Betty Crocker was queen. In 1903 there was a labor dispute and a broken strike. Workers building a city, stone by stone. Workers risking their lives. It's an old story. A recurring theme.

Meat processing. Covid-19. Healthcare. Write this paragraph. You know how it goes.

Last night when I thought perhaps I might be losing my mind after not being able to concentrate on a single thing all day, I went for a walk despite all the runners and bicyclists who zoom by not wearing masks. And there was this red-winged blackbird, singing his heart out.

I wanted to sing too--a song for a ruined city. No theater. No music. No bars or restaurants. No museums.  People I love being exposed to the virus every day.

I love cities. I didn't see a big city until I was 17. Chicago! I thought of it as my salvation. But that's another story.

I'll eat a lot of peaches. But I  don't want to blow up my TV and move to the country. (R.I.P., John Prine.)

R.I.P. to all Covid-19 victims.

R.I.P to all of those who have left us.

R.I.P. Minneapolis.

last night's sunset