'Hello, Bill' -- or you can never leave home
WANDERING THE NORTHLAND — There is no easy way to squeeze through the lobby of the Ben Franklin store in Grand Marais, Minn. You’re face to face with racks of lumber jackets and hiking boots. Some husky guy is always trying on boots, balancing on one leg, then the other.
The Ben Franklin in glorious little Grand Marais is the only dime store in the Lake Superior northland, a place that sells cologne, cans of Malkin’s raspberry jam imported from Canada and fly swatters. Always, it’s jammed with people.
While I’m idling at the cash register, eating peanuts, a voice calls out, “Bill, what are you doing way up here?”
“Way up here” — Grand Marais — is 625 miles from the Quad-Cities, and a place where everyone wants to live — except in the winter.
Danny Holmes is calling my name. Danny lives in Walcott, a former state legislator who is savoring retirement. He says, “My wife, Celeste, and I have been up here at least eight times, sometimes twice a year.”
Grand Marais is like that. You can’t stay away. Mention it to those who have been here, and they swoon. The Rev. Richard and Jan Housman of Pleasant Valley visit a couple times a year. Gerry and Marian Voelliger of Bettendorf are regulars.
There is a mystique about Grand Marais, one of those Lake Superior towns that looks like a village on Cape Cod. It doesn’t act like it wants to attract a Wal-Mart. It’s happy with the Ben Franklin.
Do not plan to drive to Grand Marais in a day. It is about 10 hours from the Quad-Cities, and by now some of the unique shops (nothing cutesy) are closing for the season. The Doughnut Shop won’t reopen until May. Across the street is a bait shop, painted like a gaudy carnival stand. It has a plastic fish (a northern) sticking out of its roof, stretching over the sidewalk.
Down the way is Lake Superior Trading Post, a rustic place where customers have been known to linger for hours in its mini-libraries among the pricey sweaters, outdoor lanterns, wool blankets and pop-up tents.
“Don’t you close by this time of year?” someone asks a clerk.
“Oh, no,” he says. “We had 16 feet of snow last year. It was up to the rooftop one Sunday. Had to dig a tunnel to the front door, but business was good as any normal Sunday.”
We wander the chilly, sunny streets, past galleries and classy stores. The old ways are still here, like Sven & Oley’s wild rice pizza place, but there is espresso on the corner. We visit the weekly newspaper, the News-Herald, where Reed Anderson is both editor and publisher. He writes most of the paper and between stories, sells ads.
“Where else would you find a more beautiful place to live?” he asks. He looks out the front window, waving to a mountain of orange-leafed maple trees that stretches for miles.
Two bundled-up tourists ask about a place to eat. We point to the Angry Trout, where we are headed. The catch of the day, trout, comes with chutney and a blazing red maple leaf on the plate.
Our server says, “I just pulled the leaf off the tree outside.”
SATURDAY: Lost in the forest at night and the woman in the
window.
Bill Wundram can be contacted at (563) 383-2249 or bwundram@qctimes.com. Comment on this column at qctimes.com.