"This is very 'local guy shows out-of-towner the secret spot,'" he said. "You gonna tell me Thunder Bay's history next?"
"You want the history?"
"Depends on if it's boring."
I smiled. "I'll try to keep it interesting."
We crested the hill and the view opened up—city lights spreading below, harbor stretched dark and wide, and beyond it, the Sleeping Giant in silhouette against the sky.
Hog stopped walking. "Holy shit."
"Yeah."
He moved forward slowly, taking it in. Harbor to skyline to the Giant's dark bulk. His breath formed clouds in the cold.
"So, that's the Sleeping Giant. I at least know one thing, and Pickle's always yammering about it." He pointed.
"Yep, on the Sibley Peninsula, and it looks like a body lying down."
"There's a legend, right?"
"Ojibwe legend. Nanabijou, spirit of the Deep Sea Water. Turned to stone protecting a secret—silver mine location. An Ojibwe man told white traders and betrayed the trust. A storm came up and wrecked their ships. The spirit turned to stone as punishment. Or as guardian, depending on who's telling it."
"That's sad."
"Or protective. Giant's still there, watching the bay." I paused. "Like it's not done yet."
He was quiet, looking at the silhouette. "You've known this view your whole life."
"Pretty much."
"Do you still see it? You know what I mean? Really see it."
I looked at the lights below—grain elevators dark against sky, harbor frozen at the edges, the Giant keeping watch.
"I stopped seeing it years ago. It just became the place I ended up."
"And now?"
I glanced at him. He was watching me, not the view.
"Now I'm starting to see it differently. Because you're looking at it like it matters."
"It does matter."
"To you."
Hog rubbed his beard. "To you too. You just forgot." He stepped closer. "That's what happens when you grow up somewhere. It stops being magic, becomes just the place you live."
"I don't think I ever asked where you're from, Hog."
He chuckled. "They look at me and assume lumberjack, so they think I'm from Alberta or Minnesota. I grew up in a suburb of St. Louis, down in the states, but every summer my parents put me on a plane north. Gram's place in Thunder Bay was where I learned two things: how to knit and how to feel like I wasn't too much."
Wind swept past us, sharp enough to sting. I tried to see the city through his eyes.
He added, "The arch down there. Can't ever see it like a newcomer." His voice softened. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
