Friday, July 18, 2014
Ode to: Old Minnesota
The rich deep soil that once grew wheat and corn as tall at the height of an
average man’s head, and the thick vine like interlocking foliage of the Minnesota woods of the north, once impossible to penetrate where bear and deer and creek and wolves
and small beasts familiar to men, to name a few, roamed:
Foe and predecessor to the white man of long ago, — where the Cayuga (the Iroquois) and the
Chippewa, peered through its thick leafage, and over its bluffs onto the Mississippi: came a tide of tall, broad, roaring hot whisky breathe men, Bible toting, Protestant and Catholic, mostly Anglo-Saxons; not as
brothers, but rather near rivals, ready to brawl.
Dragging their wives and children and in-laws across an ocean from a land called Europe to face the native tomahawks—
And at the same time cutting up an acre here and there, and now everywhere in the big Minnesota wilderness!
Gullible as an elephant running wild in the city of London…, unaware of its seasonal hazards—they came to stay.
Thus they changed the Minnesota terrain forevermore!
Those days of course, now long gone—
Days my grandfather could have said, lived its finality!
Steamboats that once were carriers of produce, and other goods, city to city along the Mississippi now taken over by: trains, trucks and planes: are but tourist rides down the river…
And the brave and hawking eyeing, Ojibwa, have left their tents on reservations, and built casinos, with acres of ‘one-arm bandits’.
Thus, all that is left of those far-off days, are scenes and portraits, on walls, at the State Capital, in St. Paul.
No: 4476 (7-18-2014/Poetic Prose