The Woodland Hostel

In Duluth, I lived in a house on Woodland Avenue, across the street from the University. I loved that house and the people in it a great deal. We called it the Woodland Hostel.

It had a cement stoop out front perfect for drinking beers in the summer and watching the cars go by. There was a door out onto a flat spot of the roof where my house mates and I could stand just right to catch glimpses of Lake Superior down the hill. There was a floral printed couch in the living room. Guests would sleep there for days, weeks, or on and off for months, saying that couch gave the best night's sleep they had ever had.

One night, we put up a dozen or so musicians who had been kicked out of their hotel. They were in town for a music festival at the NorShor Theater (It's a strip club now.). They drank us out of gin and ate us out of Kraft Easy Mac, ice cream, and hot dogs, but it was worth it.

I fell asleep around four in the morning to two of them belting out "What a Wonderful World" in their deepest Louis Armstrong voices in our backyard with the song reverberating off the neighbor's brick walls and up to my bedroom window.