June 24, 1926 Weather from the Hill, Olaf Thorvaldsen | Cook County News Herald

After last week's soaking rains, which flooded parts of the village, and the terrible tornado that claimed two lives in Iowa, one might hope the weather had spent itself for a time. It appears not. One more day of clouds and rain lies ahead before giving way to two splendid days of northern weather with sunshine and fair skies. By Monday, however, strong southerly winds will arrive, carrying temperatures into the nineties. Those heading onto the big lake should use caution, as the wind will raise a troublesome sea.

The most remarkable news this week comes not from the weather but from the wireless. A radiogram transmitted a photograph of a bank draft from London to New York, where the bank honored it as though the paper itself had crossed the Atlantic. It seems we may soon be sending photographs through the air as easily as voices.

Here in Grand Marais, our own radio station has not enjoyed such good fortune. The latest shipment of equipment arrived damaged in transit, delaying the project yet again. Charles Jackson and Fred Broulette stopped by the weather tower after returning from Mountain Lake, hoping they might soon broadcast news of their fine catch across the county. Later, Alvin A. Brumaster, inspector in charge of the United States Immigration Service in Duluth, visited to discuss how weather reports and wireless communication might someday assist those working along the border.

When I first arrived in Grand Marais, I imagined the radio would be operating by now, carrying forecasts to fishermen on the lake and trappers in the interior. Instead, the project has demanded more patience than I expected. Jules Verne, in Journey to the Centre of the Earth, wrote, "Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes; but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth."

I suspect that observation applies to more than science. Every worthwhile undertaking seems to arrive a little later than planned. A road, a radio station, even a friendship grows by fits and starts, advancing a little, faltering a little, until one day you look back and realize it has been taking shape all along. Summer, I think, has a way of teaching that lesson.

Editor's Note: The included postcard is from the 1920s,and shows the Grand Marais lighthouse and waves. If you are familiar with the current lighthouse breakwater, you'll notice that in the postcard that it is open versus the solid cement of the current breakwater.