(gulls cawing) (tranquil music) (gulls cawing) (tranquil music continues) - [Narrator] In the shadows of our skyline, in view of the Hoan Bridge and Polish Moon lies the port.

(gulls cawing) (tranquil music continues) A strange sliver of space between land and lake that despite being a doorway to the world is largely out of sight and mind.

While the port is mostly open to the public, it feels a vague trespass.

A place of lock and chain, barbed wire, a general patina of rust, a wrong side of the tracks type vibe.

Of course, that's just a caricature.

In actuality, the port is Milwaukee's heart.

Not the red cartoony heart of Valentine's Day.

I'm talking a bloody, muscular, beating heart.

A little ugly and essential.

Not to mention centrally located.

Home to municipal mountains of sodium chloride, smokestacks and silos, vessels tied and tethered, boxcars tagged and weathered.

The ships - - lakers, salties, and the more agile tugs -- bring us goods that reflect where we came from and where we're heading.

They bring salt and steel, limestone, grain, cement, biodiesel, coal.

Meanwhile, Jones Island achieves alchemy with its magic of turning manure into Milorganite.

Here at the confluence of rivers, canoes became schooners, became steamers, became cruise lines.

Thousands of tourists now dock at the port each season to spend time and money in Milwaukee.

We have always been a people on the waterfront and the port promises that.

(pensive music) (ice creaking)