The Lure of Marquette, by Debra Juday

As I leave Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, I cross the Mackinaw Bridge, the Mighty Mac, pay the toll and enter God’s country, defined as such by those who reside within it. I journey west, passing tourist traps and pasty shops strewn along the route. Day changes into night as hours pass meaninglessly; driving dissipates the stressors earned from life below the bridge. Then on the horizon, along the shore of Lake Superior, a distant glimmering of light catches my eye. The lone city lights of Marquette shimmer across the water of Lake Superior. I have been waiting for this. My heart quickens at the prospect of my imminent arrival. My soul lifts with anticipation of the respite yet to be attained. Marquette is within view.

Marquette is a jewel that sits on the shores of the most majestic of all the Great Lakes, Lake Superior. It is comprised of an upper and lower harbor, both fundamental in the establishment of the city, utilizing the deep natural waters of Superior to accommodate the huge freighters needed to transport the large quantities of iron ore mined in the region. An abandoned ore dock stands in the lower harbor. Its burnt orange coloring contrasts against the ever-changing waters of Superior.

The mood of the lake defines its beauty and reveals its strength. Smooth, calming shades of blue on sunny days contrast with the moodiness of gray rolling waves, crashing against the break wall as gales come thundering in. Over a hundred years this ore dock has stood in these waters as a monument to the men and women of the region who have endured the mining boom and fall. It is no longer utilized for ore mining; the train trestle was long ago removed. The upper harbor ore dock, a sister to this one, handles business now, but I can sit for hours and gaze upon its architectural beauty as I ponder how life was lived in the era of its usage. It was a difficult way of life not that long ago. The upper harbor captures my curiosity and speaks to me. I feel slightly haunted by the past, and a sadness I cannot explain engulfs me as I watch the lake surround it.

Marquette is the largest city located in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It is the area’s center for higher education with Northern Michigan University located within its borders. I have attended NMU’s football games inside the one-of-a-kind Superior Dome, recognized as the world’s largest wooden dome structure by the Guinness Book of World Records; it easily accommodates 16,000 people. Marquette General Hospital is a regionally acclaimed health facility, providing quality care and services. There are widely recognized recreation facilities, including miles of hiking, snowmobiling and off-road trails. I have enjoyed climbing to the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain, for it is here that I can obtain an unobstructed view of the heavenly vista of Marquette on the edge of Lake Superior.

Marquette is a thriving regional hub that has vastly improved over the past, when shopping was limited to a few businesses. Today there are abundant retail venues available, connecting the traditional family operated shops with that of the big-box retailers. These larger businesses can succeed because of the population growth in the region, which supplies the revenue needed to support their operation. The demand of the consumer allows for the influx of these nationally recognized chains, but at the expense of the survival of the smaller, owner-operated businesses in the area.

When I visit, I yearn for the more personal shopping experience that is still available in a city that has not yet outgrown its personal charm. A quaint little bookstore, appropriately named Snowbound Books, operating in an old house, beckons me in to browse the shelves and feel the books. I softly whisper the titles as I walk across the squeaky wooden floor, searching for that must-read book. Excitedly, I purchase the treasure I have found, and the clerk places it in a crisp paper sack, completing my memorable experience. This is the only way to shop for books; I look forward to it every time I visit. Another traditional business, Wattsson and Wattsson Jewelers, boasts a real mine within their store to educate people about the history of mining in the region. Mining has been the major employer of the region since the mid 1800s and has made a significant impact upon those who reside in the Upper Peninsula. It is the personal touches that these smaller local businesses provide that add to the charm of the area and enhance the visitor’s experience.

Nobody is a stranger in Marquette. The people as a community welcome all to their town with an eagerness to share its uniqueness and rich history. There are museums such as the De Vos Art Museum, The Marquette Maritime Museum, Cliffs Mine Museum and the Upper Peninsula Children’s Museum, to name a few. Marquette’s Peter White Public Library is nationally recognized for its unique collections of books and movies. It is a perfect place to explore on a rainy day. The courthouse is famous for its architectural beauty, trials and deliberations but also for its book and movie credits. The Anatomy of a Murder, with Actor Jimmy Stewart was filmed here in the 1959.

There are also unique restaurants such as Elizabeth’s, The Sweetwater Café, and my personal favorite, Donkers, an old-fashioned candy store that encompasses a soda fountain and diner. When you walk through the doors of this establishment, the smell of chocolate candy embraces your senses. Varieties of freshly made confections are beautifully arranged in the glass display cases. The soda fountain reminds me of a by-gone era, with its swivel stools and wooden booths. Upstairs is a wonderful diner with unique selections all freshly prepared to order. I enjoy eating in the front where the tables face windows with a scenic view of a bustling downtown and the lake off in the horizon. President Obama enjoyed a meal at Donkers during a visit to Marquette in 2011.

As I enter the city limits, I roll down my windows and breathe in the fresh lake air, heavily scented with pine trees and wildflowers. I follow Lake Shore Drive until I get to Picnic Rocks. These are black rocks of extraordinary formations that jut from the lake. As I sit and take in the view, my eye searches for an ore boat in the distance. As I stare out at the lake, I see, approaching in the distance, a tiny speck in such a large body of water. As it moves closer, growing in size, it bellows from the distance and majestically enters the harbor; tons of steel float, gliding across the water, gracefully stopping alongside the ore dock to take on its heavy load. I listen to the splashing of the waves lapping at the shore, the seagulls calling from the rocks, and the children laughing on the sand as their parents call to them.

I breathe in the damp, musty air of wood and decomposing leaves as I walk along the path of my favorite park, Presque Isle. I can hear the rustling leaves as the wind blows. The leaves make crunching noises as the deer trample them, following their well-worn path through the dense forest not far from where humans frequent. Then as I reach the opening, Lake Superior is before me in all her beauty. Along the horizon is Sugarloaf and Little Presque Isle and, as the sun sets, the light changes, emphasizing the highlights and shadows like a painting. Hundreds of people have stopped at Sunset Point to take pictures, trying to capture the beauty before them. But I have learned that it cannot be captured. It must be felt deeply in the heart and soul and released, only to be sought again another day. Each day, like each season, brings with it a unique beauty and tranquility.

I enjoy walking along the beaches in spring, collecting the newly uncovered agates that wash upon the shore, tossed inward from the turbulent waves of a wintery Lake Superior. Finding one of these precious stones is a reward for braving the chilly air so early in the season. In the summer months, there are days of hot breezes to be enjoyed along the miles of Lake Superior shore. I walk to McCarty’s Cove and gaze upon the lighthouse just off shore, housed on its own island. Fishing, boating, and sailing are all relished by those who venture north to this rugged terrain. Only the bravest can tolerate the influx of numerous insects found in this area during this time of the year. Tales have been told of the enormous size of the black flies that invade this beautiful country, driving even the sanest person crazy with their constant buzz and biting. I enjoy the fall as the cool nights and warm days bring forth vivid colors, an abundance of colorful trees seen from multitudes of elevations, filling the eyes with extraordinary beauty, which could fill a painter’s pallet.

The snow defines the land, it owns it, and it covers everything in a heavy blanket of white. It towers over people, automobiles and even houses. It makes life difficult to maneuver. It is also the most beautiful encasement for the surrounding area. When everything is covered in white, the landscape appears soft, beautiful and delicate. Snow brings forth new tests of strength and endurance for the people who live in the area. They do not shy away from the snow; they embrace it, enjoy it, live for it, and beckon for it to come. The dog sledder, snowmobiler, ice fisherman and the brave, or insane, lake surfers find joy in the snow. I find it beautiful and entrancing. It maintains a magical quality that snow from downstate cannot attain, for it is Yooper snow. 

I have formed a connection with Marquette that I cannot find anywhere else. I belong here. It speaks to me. My soul longs for its distinctiveness. When life is stressful and overwhelming, a trip to Marquette will set my world straight. I follow Lake Shore Drive along the curve of the shore as I exit the city. It is a tradition, and a final goodbye. Until next time, I say farewell to my favorite place.

 

A Spot of Time, by Alina Aelenei

There are places that are so deeply engraved in our minds, that the mere memory of those places can make us feel happy. For me, that special place is the kitchen of the home where I grew up. It was a place where the entire family gathered. We had our most meaningful and memorable conversations in this place. However, due to the events that have changed our lives, the moments we now share in the kitchen as a family are rare. For this reason, the kitchen will always be cherished “spot of time.”

The home we grew up in was in Plymouth, Michigan. From the kitchen window we had the view of our backyard. In the warmer months we could see tall, deep-rooted trees, lush green grass, my mother’s bountiful garden, our aboveground pool and trampoline from the window.

During my childhood, my father owned a tile installation business, so our kitchen was covered in tiles. The kitchen was tiled with beige and cream-colored ceramic tile everywhere, from the floor to the countertops and backsplash. We even had tiles halfway up the wall in the kitchen. A glass fireplace surrounded by cream-colored granite separated the kitchen and living room. Our father built the ivory marble kitchen table. The oak-colored cabinets were filled with aromatic spices, crunchy breakfast cereals, tomato-based sauces, and starchy noodles and bread. The refrigerator was covered in photos of my family, holiday cards from friends and extended family, and flamboyant artwork created by my younger siblings.

  
The kitchen was a gathering place where we spent of lot of time because it is where my mother always was. The dining table was a part of the kitchen, and this is where my four siblings and I sat to be near our mother. My mother has always loved cooking, and she made meals that required hours of preparation. Some of my fondest memories are of my mother teaching me to prepare meals. She would bring vibrant vegetables, pungent garlic, and fragrant herbs to the dining table where I sat so I could chop them up while she continued to cook in the kitchen.

Every day after school, my siblings and I would go straight to the table in the kitchen and eat an after-school snack that my mother had prepared. At the table we would all share stories about our eventful day, discuss our grades, and work on homework. My father worked many late nights, so my mother always served a late dinner for him when he arrived. Although my siblings and I had already eaten dinner, we would sit with my parents at the colossal 6’ x 9’ foot table and devour scrumptious cookies with milk. The kitchen was our living area, as that is where we spent most of our time together.

The dynamic of our family and our lovely home have changed with the passing years. The children have grown into adults and, in turn, the members of our robust family slowly disconnected from the place we called home. One by one, as my siblings and I aspired to follow our dreams, the kitchen grew unoccupied and quiet. The delectable meals my mother laboriously cooked at one time became rare. The kitchen is bare, as it is now merely filled with the memories of our youth. The only material item from the kitchen that remains after the last of our family moved out of the home we grew up in is the sturdy marble dining table that once accommodated a family of seven. That table, blurred memories, and candid photos are the only effects left of our unforgettable, cherished kitchen.

Today, when my family and I stand in our new kitchen, we have moments that remind us of the “spot in time” spent in the kitchen where we grew up. Although it is rare to have the entire family together, when we do, we still sit at the table while my mom cooks savory meals. We still share our stories that are now about our college experiences, our jobs, and our relationships and try to recall the fading memories we had in our kitchen many years ago.

 

 

Pawn, by Jake O'Connell

Breakfast Blues, by Eriq Gale-Anderson

A day without breakfast is a day without cheer
No sunny-side up, no jam to smear
Our smell crumbles
While our belly rumbles
No bacon pick-ups or ham fill-ups
Only dying taste buds and dry hiccups
No pillows of pancakes to comfort
Only rising sensation to suffer
No butter to liven taste buds
No sausage to give your stomach hugs
Just plain emptiness to show its ugly mug
To mock our hunger and not show love.

The Kindergarten Princess Experience, by Vanessa Timmons

Monday, September 13, 1993, was a life-changing moment for me. I was starting Kindergarten. The whole night before, I kept running up and down the hallways, screaming at the top of my lungs, “I’m a big girl now; I’m a school princess!” In my mind, school was going to be everything I thought it would be: coloring, friends, basketball, Play-doh, pizza, and candy. Even though we didn’t play with Play-doh, everything else was my dream that came true.

As my Winnie the Pooh alarm clock buzzed at 7:00a.m., I got out of bed without any hesitation. Joyfully getting ready was the most incredible moments of the day. After I bathed and dressed, I was surprised with a very special “Kinder-G Breakfast” that included sausage, raisin toast, scrambled eggs, strawberries and blueberries with Tropicana orange juice in my favorite Winnie the Pooh cup.

At 7:55, my fresh, new pair of all-white L.A. Gears with pink lights hit the concrete one by one as I walked to the bus stop at the end of my block. I was scared and nervous as Ms. Louise pulled up in a big yellow bus, saying, “Good morning, pretty young lady. I’m Ms. Louise, your Blue Bunny bus driver.” The bus ride was very loud, but fun as the radio played 97.9. I remember Jodeci playing very loudly as the whole bus sung along in unison. The girl next to me, Paige Patton, a 4^th grader, was very nice. She said, “You’re in Kindergarten? Wow, you are going to have an amazing time.” As I smiled I was thinking, “I hope Paige is right.”

As we arrived at Baylor-Woodson Elementary School, the big clock in the middle of the building struck 8:15. I got off the bus, and my very first teacher, Ms. Solomon, approached me and said, “Hello there, Vanessa. Are you ready for Kindergarten?” Eager to enter the classroom, I sat where my name was at the yellow table with three other people. Pierre, Andrea, and Jonathan were sitting quietly, waiting to see if I was going to say something.

Sitting in silence for the first few minutes, I finally introduced myself and that’s when the fun began. Once the class was settled, Ms. Solomon gave us a blank paper and asked us to write our first name, ABCs, and our favorite color. I finished first, and I noticed a lot of students were not writing anything at all. I wondered if I was doing something wrong but, as I got older, I understood that not every 4- or 5-year-old knows the simple fundamentals entering Kindergarten.

 After our “test,” we colored a big book bag with a lunch box and pencils on the page. My coloring sheet was going to be the best, I thought, because my book bag was going to be the Crayola color carnation pink, just like a Princess would have. As I gently pressed the pink carnation on my coloring sheet, Pierre asked, “What color should I color my page, Vanessa?” Shocked that Pierre asked me, I answered, “Any color you think is best.” At the end of the coloring portion of class Pierre gave me his coloring sheet, saying, “I colored this for you, Vanessa. It has my favorite color green and your favorite color pink.” I was so surprised because Pierre had a crush on me, and maybe I thought about having a first-day crush, too.

Since we were the youngest, we had A lunch with the other five kindergarten classes and first graders. To my surprise, we had cheese pizza bits (my favorite), pears, carrots, and milk. This was a lunch meant for a Princess, exactly what I wanted and liked. Lunch was noisy with different conversations going on everywhere. I was pretty excited about what thrilling event was going to take place next. Then a tall, slim man stood in front of a door and said, “Are you little people ready for an outside adventure?” I was confused about what he was talking about, until he opened the door front that lead outside. The whole cafeteria charged to the exit to see what was so exciting outside waiting for us. There we saw many different toys, basketballs, jump ropes, chalk, swings, jungle gyms, monkey bars and much more waiting for us to explore.

Following our lunch and recess, I began to feel tired. Sitting down next to Andrea, I wondered if she was just as tired as I was. Ms. Solomon softly said, “It’s quiet time,” turning the lights off, giving us a chance to calm down. As the class sat quietly, with our heads down on the table, we were secretly taking a nap. I don’t remember how long we were in quiet time, but it was enough for me to get rejuvenated.

Waking up to play a game called Name the Animal, I was on teams with Jonathan. It seemed weird because I really hadn’t talk to Jonathan all day. However, for the game, we won together equally, getting two pieces of Laffy Taffy each. Finally, as our day ended, Ms. Solomon pinned a note on our coats, color-coded according to the color animal bus we were distributed to.

Arriving home, I remember meeting my mom after I got off the bus, jumping into her arms with excitement, trying to tell her everything that I did in one breath. My dad had my favorite snack waiting for me: peanut butter and apples with graham crackers. He knew I had a lot to say and that we would talk about it for more than an hour. I had the best first day of Kindergarten, as I knew I would. After, all I was the Kindergarten Princess.

           

 

Life is a Gift Given from God, by Erick Roth

We breathe the air,
We smell the sea,
We take on dares,
We climb tall trees,
Without these things we would not be,
We’d have no eyes and could not see,
God is great in His many ways,
All you have to do is ask and pray,
We sometimes take life for granted,
When we lose all hope, a seed is planted,
So never give up because life is too short,
It’s like having a hot day and building a snow fort.

Last Call, by Eriq Gale-Anderson

A force as cold and pale as the winter ice,
Hair as black as a panther,
Eyes as red as the pits of hell,
A ferocity as dark as the devil’s soul,
Carries out lives of turmoil and despair for others,
Like in our world, but isn’t seen,
Watches and waits for one of us to fail,
Takes us from our world to forever darkness,
He is death (Grim Reaper).