Wandering for Votes

 

Every two years, since I retired from judging, I have walked the streets of my home city to help elect people to public office. It’s a small contribution to our democracy. That seems especially import­ant this year. The world is run by those who show up, they say.

As I drove and walked Grand Marais carrying reminder brochures and lists of voters, I saw and heard things. I saw the wide variety of home constructions, many hand built. They go beyond DIY in the skills needed; they face The Lake whenever possible and have high points for better views. They are made of a wide variety of materials. There are many homes and yards with a second home, some over a garage. There is little tract housing. The few tracts that exist will soon reflect widely varying tastes, united by location in–and often products of–nature.

After finishing my canvass on Tuesday, I was overwhelmed by the individuality of houses and yards. One yard has an “Historical Marker” sign. Others have signs showing the values of the house­holders. Some yards are full of “projects.” Many have snowplows and snowmobiles straining at their bits for winter to really get here.

And there are lawns, but most of them have been spared the attempt to make them imitate the lawns of an English manor. Weeds grow in most yards with­out interference. It is enough that they are green weeds. Some of us do not like the chemicals that control weeds, and some of us would rather mow less often. (With the hard rock just below the surface, growing anything not a weed takes effort.) Some of us have yards with no grass, just what nature provided, especially trees and bushes—and rocks. Looking down on the city from the Pincushion Mountain (?) overlook, we see few houses and a ver­dant tree cover. We appear to like green— which is what we shall soon notice more as the leaves have fallen leaving gray sur­roundings for the evergreens.

I again noticed RVs and trailers of all kinds. Little Winnebagos, huge 5th Wheelers, and huger busses are all over. We are rambling folk, especially when the mercury plummets. Lumber trail­ers, snowmobile trailers, flatbeds for all manner of hauled stuff are in about every other yard. Don’t forget all those wood piles needed to heat.

Our long blocks are really long, but lot sizes are large. Thus, in a block where I would have found 12 or more houses in Minneapolis there are maybe six, most with deep lots full of nature. Door knock­ing takes longer, and often, a vehicle. While canvassing you notice hills and water features going down them. You see lots of rock and stone, standing up as well as flat in the ground.

Oh, yeah. Dogs! We love our dogs so much that the new municipal dog park at 5th Avenue West and the Trail was funded and built-in jig time. Big dogs. Little dogs. Wagging dogs. Barking dogs. Dogs that alert their owners before I knock or ring. (A good thing because many doorbells have been allowed to go fallow.) I may have to get a dog, maybe a hearing ear dog, to tell me of the ringing doorbells I don’t hear. Just ask Sue.

What I saw and heard, most of all, were people who give a damn about where we live, locally, nationally, and globally. Many had already voted early in person or by absentee ballot. Most were headed to the polls on the First Tuesday after the First Monday in November. All were wel­coming— or at least civil—even when I showed up after dark. And some thanked me for canvassing. That felt really good, making it more likely I will do this again until the walking becomes too hard. In the meantime, do not offer me coffee or warmth while canvassing for votes. There are miles to go before we get to sleep…

You too could canvass for votes. If we have too many people here, we can always help out in Superior, Wisconsin, where Yahoos abound.

P. S. Some here are fortunate enough to have retirement funds with required minimum distributions. Keep our places more humane by taking advantage of con­tributing some or all of those distributions directly to the causes you support. They will thank you for that, and there are no taxes on them or you. Empty Bowls is soon; the arts, religious groups, and food shelves are there every week. Our kids need opportunities, housing, and support of many kinds—maybe even a First Tee program. I see many volunteers that keep us a Great Place.

Good!

Steve Aldrich is a retired Hennepin County lawyer, judge, and mediator, serv­ing as judge from 1997-2010. He and his wife moved here in 2016. He likes to remember that he was a Minnesota Super Family Lawyer before being elected to the bench. Now he is among the most vulner­able to viruses. Steve really enjoys doing weddings, the one thing a retired judge can do without appointment by the Chief Justice. He writes this column to learn more about his new home area and to share his learnings with others—and to indulge his curiosities. Bouquets and brickbats to the editor or stevealdrich41@gmail.com. Copyright Stephen C. Aldrich and News Herald, 2022.