A pint-sized, towheaded kid struggled with an oversized orange life vest. "I can't see over this thing!" he squealed. If there was a response, it was drowned out by the passenger jet that roared overhead. The boy was lifted into the stern by one of his companions, who launched the rental canoe into Lake Nokomis' gray-green waters.
Once considered the last link on Minneapolis' chain of lakes, Nokomis has shed its gearhead image to become a mecca for children. On a hot, hazy midweek afternoon, kids of all sizes, shapes and colors bounced around the beach and bobbed their way out to the diving platform.
"We get mostly families here," said Brett Klug, 22, who runs the rental stand. "It's a lot more low-key than Calhoun."
And a lot less showy. The strollers are more likely to be wearing sleeveless T-shirts than Tommy Bahamas. Their canine companions are not preening Westminster candidates but rather spaniels and mutts, often with wet bellies and legs.
This is a place where people come not to be seen but just to be, a true neighborhood hangout. The funky metal statuary -- a friendly bronze canine here, a blue-eyed unicorn there -- and walk-right-in, bench-laden trails reflect a neighborhood that has managed to become more gentrified and more diversified.
How diverse? Klug said that many of his customers "have their kids interpret."
Thanks to nearby Crosstown Highway, Cedar Avenue and the runways that send jets roaring over the lake, Nokomis will never be tranquil. But there's a lot less turbulence here than 20 years ago, when motorcyclists and motorheads revved their way around its shores. The city put in barriers and made one-way streets in the early '90s. Now, it's easier to walk around the lake than to drive around it.
There goes the neighborhood -- to the lake.
