Labor Day

Traditions come and traditions go.  Our typical family’s Labor Day weekend tradition was spent at the cabin near Palo, MN.  We’d drive up Friday night and head home Monday afternoon.  Sunday we’d visit with Aunt Miriam.  It was a nice drive from the cabin north on county road 99 to Aurora.  A&W drive in is on the south side of town.  On the right approaching downtown Aurora is the iconic Dino’s Bottle shop. Our family and my cousin’s family spent numerous Fourth of July celebrations in Aurora.  Lights festooned across Main Street.  We kids chased the strewn parade candy.  Later was fireworks then a street party.

But I digress.  Through Aurora we drove through Biwabik to Virginia and finally Aunt Miriam’s home in Mountain Iron. It was a big grey two story house.  At least it was big to a ten year old.  We entered the back door parking near the garage in back and came into a spacious kitchen.  Ma and Pop would sit at the table visiting with Aunt Miriam while my sister and I watched TV in the living room.  In those days on Labor Day weekends, all channels aired Jerry Lewis and his Muscular Dystrophy telethon.  We learned all about Jerry’s kids, muscular dystrophy and witnessed wondrous variety shows from the telethon.  Now and then we’d sit with the adult listening to their stories while they drank coffee.  Aunt Miriam always had a paper sack of crusps.  An iron range staple.  Essentially dried thick sugar cinnamon toast.  Perfect for dunking in coffee.  I believe her kitchen was the birthplace for my love of coffee, and sugar cinnamon toast.  Crusp.  At least thats what I remember it to be called.

Across the street from my Great Aunt’s house was the DMIRR railroad overpass.  Her upstairs bedroom windows overlooked the overpass in a direct line of site.  While we visited downstairs, us kids usually watching TV, would hear the train horn at a crossing down track.  When we felt and heard the rumble of the engines, we were off; racing upstairs to Aunt Miriam’s bedroom to watch the train.  Of course our parents called out to stop our running and behave.  But Aunt Miriam encouraged us that its all right.  Peering out her bedroom windows we began counting the engines and ore cars coming out of MinnTac.  

The maroon DMIRR engines with bright golden yellow arrowhead insignias were enormous and beautiful.  My favorite engine was the high hood.  The hood came to the top of the engine’s cab.  As a kid, I wondered how the engineers saw around that high hood.  We’d count three engines leading the train with 135 ore cars.  Sometimes there would be a fourth pushing engine at the back.  After the train’s departure we’d race downstairs to give the kitchen adults our train report.  No doubt Aunt Miriam could care less about that train across the street chugging down the track at all hours, waking her at night or interrupting her daily life with it’s racket.  She never let on and shared in our enthusiastic train report.  Later that evening in the pre autumn waning light we’d begin our half hour journey back to the cabin.  Once in a while we’d find our neighbor’s dairy cows in our yard.  

There is a lot of truth to the old cliche, “you can’t go home again.”  Change, whether good or bad is inevitable.  We’re left only with our shared memories.  Sadly, Aunt Miriam and her entire neighborhood was relocated for increased mining work.  The entire neighborhood was razed, leaving behind lonely streets, empty foundations and a childless playground at the end of her street.  Sadly, Aunt Miriam has left us.  Jerry Lewis was canned by the muscular dystrophy non profit stuffed suits.  Both Jerry and his decades run telethon are long gone.  Our cabin on 40 acres of woodland  was sold to build our new lake cabin.  And DMIRR railroad was sold to Canadian National railroad.  Those magnificent maroon and gold engines are no more.  Every Labor Day I stop and remember Labor Days in my past, and my Great Aunt Miriam.

Missabe SD9 #170 leads a long string of jennies through Proctor, Minnesota in September, 1991. Warren Calloway photo