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Jump: Rushmore, MN → Preston, MN – Fairgrounds: 30 miles
RIGHT out of the lot onto HWY 16 EAST to Preston
HWY 16 EAST has a lot of curves and a steep grade – use caution
Arrows to lot
Shows at 2pm/4:30pm
By Winona, hundred twenty or so miles southeast from the spot where we first crossed the river, the Mississippi has broadened considerably. At points it looks to be an eighth of a mile wide. It traces a serpentine path through the small city’s parks placidly masquerading as a lake. A deep lake, true – in the 19th century riverboats steamed the channel as far north as St. Paul.
This part of Minnesota hardly seems to belong to the prairies. The bluffs are spectacular to look at but have provided the raw materials for some fug-lee architecture over the last century and a half. Granite not brick became the status symbol for late nineteenth century builders. More often than not, the predominantly Scandinavian settlers’ masonry skills simply weren’t up to the task. The resulting structures, though often imposing, are almost always ugly:
This is an old flourmill on the banks of Rush Creek in Rushford, Minnesota, Yesterday’s Town. Hideous, isn’t it?
In August 2007 Rushford was the scene of a devastating flood. An unusual precipitation pattern played havoc with much of the Midwest. Rushford’s downtown lay under six feet of water for close to a week, and now half its empty storefronts – many of them hewed from that somber monolithic granite – sport fading, bug-speckled signs in their windows: NEVER GIVE UP.
Thankfully Rushford’s charming one-room library escaped the deluge. It may be my favorite among all the libraries where I’ve tried to write this past two and a half months. It’s crammed with books, overflowing with books, books in boxes, books in the aisles, books functioning as end tables for yet more books. Many wondrous and strange artifacts too like Miss Haversham’s complete collection of dead flowers and a taxiderm owl that’s been wired so that it lights up when you plug it in. No coffee shop in Rushford though which was a drag. A town with a library like that needs an Internet coffee shop.
Maybe I’m just spoiled. Because The Day Before Yesterday’s Town, Wanamingo, had one of my favorite cafés to date, called Area 51. Shortly after I got there, every one of the town’s seven hundred plus inhabitants walked through the door, little old men with snowy hair and sweet unworldly expressions – the aliens’ standard issue Human Suit, I guess.
One by one they filed past the little table where I sat typing away. Half of them stopped. “So glad you’re here!” they’d beam. One of them actually sat down at my table, reached over, patted my hand. “Good luck to you, my dear,” he told me.
Those aliens can see through space and time! What did he know that I don’t know? What was he trying to tell me?
RIGHT out of the lot onto HWY 16 EAST to Preston
HWY 16 EAST has a lot of curves and a steep grade – use caution
Arrows to lot
Shows at 2pm/4:30pm
By Winona, hundred twenty or so miles southeast from the spot where we first crossed the river, the Mississippi has broadened considerably. At points it looks to be an eighth of a mile wide. It traces a serpentine path through the small city’s parks placidly masquerading as a lake. A deep lake, true – in the 19th century riverboats steamed the channel as far north as St. Paul.
This part of Minnesota hardly seems to belong to the prairies. The bluffs are spectacular to look at but have provided the raw materials for some fug-lee architecture over the last century and a half. Granite not brick became the status symbol for late nineteenth century builders. More often than not, the predominantly Scandinavian settlers’ masonry skills simply weren’t up to the task. The resulting structures, though often imposing, are almost always ugly:
This is an old flourmill on the banks of Rush Creek in Rushford, Minnesota, Yesterday’s Town. Hideous, isn’t it?
In August 2007 Rushford was the scene of a devastating flood. An unusual precipitation pattern played havoc with much of the Midwest. Rushford’s downtown lay under six feet of water for close to a week, and now half its empty storefronts – many of them hewed from that somber monolithic granite – sport fading, bug-speckled signs in their windows: NEVER GIVE UP.
Thankfully Rushford’s charming one-room library escaped the deluge. It may be my favorite among all the libraries where I’ve tried to write this past two and a half months. It’s crammed with books, overflowing with books, books in boxes, books in the aisles, books functioning as end tables for yet more books. Many wondrous and strange artifacts too like Miss Haversham’s complete collection of dead flowers and a taxiderm owl that’s been wired so that it lights up when you plug it in. No coffee shop in Rushford though which was a drag. A town with a library like that needs an Internet coffee shop.
Maybe I’m just spoiled. Because The Day Before Yesterday’s Town, Wanamingo, had one of my favorite cafés to date, called Area 51. Shortly after I got there, every one of the town’s seven hundred plus inhabitants walked through the door, little old men with snowy hair and sweet unworldly expressions – the aliens’ standard issue Human Suit, I guess.
One by one they filed past the little table where I sat typing away. Half of them stopped. “So glad you’re here!” they’d beam. One of them actually sat down at my table, reached over, patted my hand. “Good luck to you, my dear,” he told me.
Those aliens can see through space and time! What did he know that I don’t know? What was he trying to tell me?
