I Wish I Was Still Standing By the Stone Arch Bridge

Yesterday was our 10th wedding anniversary. Because ten years seems like a pretty big deal these days (not just for us, just in general), we decided that we'd have a more significant celebration this year. Besides going again to Lord Fletcher's on Lake Minnetonka for dinner, we spent the night in the same hotel (though not the same room) where we stayed the evening after our wedding. Since the pre-refinish-the-hardwood-floor disarray is increasing in our home, it was a welcome respite.

In the morning, we briefly contemplated ordering room service, but decided to indulge in the breakfast buffet. We then visited briefly the Grand Canyon of Malls, where we picked out Anniversary presents for one another.

By a wide margin, however, the favorite activity of the day was our visit to the heart of Minneapolis, and to the Mill City Museum. At the site of the Old Gold Medal Flour Building, the museum includes the ruins of the old mill, as well as lots of interactive and educational displays, a simulated flour explosion, and two separate shows, one about the Mill (shown in an old freight elevator), and one about Minneapolis. The Museum stands next to the new site of the Guthrie Theatre; both are along the Mississippi River, and close to the historic Stone Arch Bridge.

Minneapolis began and flourished as a Mill City, and the Mississippi River was the heart of the Mill. St. Anthony Falls provided the power for the mill, which ran day and night until 1965.

I felt it somehow, standing on the cobblestone streets, wandering through the displays at the Museum. There is something substantial, something life-giving, something vital here.

Perhaps it was the power of the river itself, the power of water -- the power of flowing water through a community. Perhaps it was the sense of building and growth -- the growth of the city, the creation of industries and products that fed people and created jobs. Perhaps it was not just the river but the stones, what was left of the old mill, the cobblestones of the streets, the stones on the old bridge spanning the river.

All I know is that I wish I was still there, where I stood this afternoon. I wish I was standing by the Stone Arch Bridge, just getting ready to walk across the river, feeling warm breezes, watching people walking and talking. All I know is that I wish I was still there tonight, where the stronge stone bridge holds and where the swift strong water flows underneath.

Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked

or take the path that sinners tread;

or sit in the seat of scoffers....

They are like trees planted by streams of water,

which yield their fruit in its season,

and their leaves do not wither. --Psalm 1.

700 Posts: Caption Contest

This is my 700th post. Amazing, isn't it?

In honor of this post, I thought I would post this picture of my dad when he was a little boy. He grew up in the Cedar-Riverside and Seward neighborhoods of Minneapolis (where the Swedes lived).

This picture hung on the hallway down to the basement in our house; I've always loved it for its uniqueness -- it just seems like such a slice of life, in so many ways. And I love for for what I don't know about it -- I really don't know much about the story behind this picture.

There's my dad, carrying this dog up the sidewalk. It's probably somewhere near downtown Minneapolis in the 1930s. I know that my dad liked dogs. He told me once that he brought a dog home that he had found somewhere, but it cried all night and his parents made him take it back where-ever he found it.

But this was not that dog. That dog was a Lab. The dog in this picture was not his dog. I don't know why he was carrying it. I don't know what happened to it. I don't have any idea who took the picture (except that no one from the family took the picture).

I also love this picture because it's from a disappeared time and place. My dad used to tell me on occasion that the house he grew up in didn't exist any more. It was torn down, as was part of his neighborhood, when Interstate 94 was built. I don't think I appreciated what it meant to him to know that his past had been torn down, bull-dozed, was just GONE.

Since this is a picture without a story, and in honor of my 700th post, I'd love if, again, creative people would suggest a caption for this. Also, any speculation you might have about this picture would be fascinating to me.

P.S. There will be a prize, but I don't know what what it will be.