Thursday, February 27, 2014

Minneapolis American Indian Cultural Corridor II

Before we get to the second part of the American Indian Cultural Corridor photo essay, let me share a couple of "factoids" that surprised me. The 2012 Native American population for all of Minnesota, according to Census Bureau estimates, is [was] 1.1% of a total state population of 5,379,646, or about 59,176 Native Americans. The Native American percentage in Minneapolis, at 2% is greater than that for Minnesota, but since the city's population is much lower (392,880) the actual Native American population in Minneapolis is about 7,858, but that's more than 13% of Minnesota's total Native American population. To put this in a different perspective, the Native American population in Minneapolis is greater than the total 2012 population of each of twelve of Minnesota's 87 counties, I think that's more than enough to help support activities on an urban commercial corridor.

part of "Ancient Traders Market" [ATM]   © harrington

Northland Visions at Ancient Traders Market
Northland Visions at ATM       © harrington

place making at Ancient Traders Market
place making at ATM      © harrington

raven(?) and turtle and (?) at ATM
raven(?) and turtle and (?) at ATM   © harrington

ATM's Maria's Cafe black bear window bars
ATM's Maria's Cafe black bear window bars  © harrington

OJIBWA license plate on Volvo
in the ATM parking lot        © harrington

stylized deer bike rack
stylized deer bike rack         © harrington

Heid Erdrich writes of something I think we all hope to see soon for this season, but not forever.

Last Snow

By Heid E. Erdrich 

Dumped wet and momentary on a dull ground
that’s been clear but clearly sleeping, for days.
Last snow melts as it falls, piles up slush, runs in first light
making a music in the streets we wish we could keep.
Last snow. That’s what we’ll think for weeks to come.
Close sun sets up a glare that smarts like a good cry.
We could head north and north and never let this season go.
Stubborn beast, the body reads the past in the change of light,
knows the blow of grief in the time of trees’ tight-fisted leaves.
Stubborn calendar of bone. Last snow. Now it must always be so.

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