A Word On Signs

Dear Minnesota,

We've liked you so far. The countryside is beautiful, the lakes are gorgeous, and even if it is unseasonably warm, you still have Georgia beat for fall weather.

But seriously, are you allergic to putting up detailed signs? Finding the airport -- an international, two-terminal airport in a major metropolitan area -- should not be nearly so difficult.

And why do you have unmarked lanes? The road is certainly wide enough for there to be two lanes, but am I going to get a ticket? I want - no, need - to know!

The zoo was easy to find, though. Kudos.

State Fair

If we've learned one thing about Minnesota, it's that they are a people who love their fairs. The county fair was in-progress when we arrived. We had been warned that it's nearly impossible to schedule anything during "Fair Week," that everybody would ask us if we had a chance to make it over to the fair, and that traffic would be a nightmare (well, by the standards of a town of 26,000). And indeed, we've constantly been asked about the fair, attendance numbers at the parish took a dramatic dive during that weekend, and cars lined both sides of the street from the fairground to our house several blocks away.

And then the State Fair came. The State Fair, on a low day, draws 100,000 visitors. On its peak day, it tops out around 250,000. And it runs for a week and a half. Imagine Athens, GA during the UGA/Tech Game. Then smash all of those people on to North Campus. And fill it with lots of cows, pigs, and deep fryers.

The Fair is everything you would expect from a still-largely agricultural state. There are pigs, cows, dairy goats, poultry, horses, and virtually every type of animal you could ever expect. There's even a "Miracle of Birth" exhibit full of newborn animals. I don't mean a few months old. I mean, "Oh, look. That lamb is covered in placenta."

It's a great reminder that we're city folks through and through.

And, being an agricultural state, there was farm equipment everywhere. Need a new combine? Go check them out. Want to know what the Elk Breeder's Association is up to? Here's there booth. Just go ask.

We're apparently so far north that the US and Canadian colors are presented, and the anthem from both nations sung, at events:

Of course, since we're from Georgia, we didn't know any of the words past "O Canada, our home and native land." Something about a "true patriot's dream," I think.

Then there's the food. I ate an elk burger! I'd never had elk before!

There was an all-you-can-drink milk station, cheese samples, and something called "cheese curds," which are usually served deep fried. In short, not a great place for the lactose-intolerant.

Most importantly of all, though, is a little program that broadcasts from the State Fair every year: A Prairie Home Companion. For a kid who grew up listening to Garrison Keillor on AFN after chapel on Sundays, this was a dream come true.

The show was outstanding, there was a sing-along, and the Steep Canyon Rangers were among the guests. After just two weeks in Minnesota, the jokes made a lot more sense -- though Suzanne's mom didn't find the jokes about bears and wolves roaming the frozen city streets to be quite so funny. (And, to be honest, I've heard the joke isn't so far removed from reality.)

After two and a half hours of humor, music, and story-telling came the fireworks. It was a slice of Americana served alongside rhubarb pie.

Just as we were leaving the Grandstand, we heard it: the most Minnesotan thing ever said. "There must have been a show in there before the fireworks, then, eh?"

We've Arrived

Well, folks, we made it. We pulled in to town about ten days ago and were greeted by a large group from the parish. They made quick work of unloading: what took Suzanne and I two days to finish, the ten of us unpacked in thirty minutes.

The church was kind enough to provide us with gift cards to a local restaurant for our first meal in town -- great news given that we had no clue where our pots and pans were.

Exhausted, we went to bed pretty early that first night, lulled to sleep by the gentle sounds of the county fair's tractor pull (what even is that?) throughout the night. We did think ahead and were able to get our bed set up right away.

Saturday and Sunday were church days -- a lot of meeting news faces (about four hundred, to be more precise -- only a tenth of the parish's total membership) and being installed (on three separate occasions).

We knew we would be arriving in town during the county fair -- one of the largest in the nation. We also knew that our house is close to the fair grounds. We did not, however, know exactly how close. Come Friday evening, exhausted from driving, meeting, unloading, and finally eating, we got ready for bed -- just as the cacophonous roar of the tractor pull started up. And continued for three hours.

Saturday and Sunday meant meeting people at the parish, shaking hands, and finally, free time. Given that the fair was in town, that meant one thing: a crash course in Minnesota culture. We walked over to join in the festivities and were immediately confronted with the fact that we are both Southern city slickers. Tractors and snowmobiles were both on display -- and are both, apparently, staples of life in this part of the northern Midwest. (In fact, I've begun noticing all of the signs specifically forbidding snowmobiles in certain areas. That's not an issue anywhere in Georgia.) The other strange new custom we'd never seen before: fried cheese curds.

And then we heard it: the announcement for the most marvelous sport ever invented. The culminating achievement of rugged individualism. The most flannel-tastic competition ever invented. A lumberjack competition. Yes, there is an entire field of athletics devoted to cutting down trees, throwing axes, balancing on thin boards while operating chainsaws, and sprinting across bucking logs floating in a pool of water. To give you a sense of who competes in these sports, the two competitors we watched were from Minnesota and Wisconsin. And to give you a sense of how popular the activity is, the bleachers were packed. Then, two weeks later, we saw another company operating a similar competition at the State Fair. With larger bleachers. And overflow seating. All of which were full. For two different competitions. But what can you expect from a state where two different towns have statues of Paul Bunyan and have a friendly rivalry over which place gave rise to the legend?

We've been here a while and met a few people. We get asked two questions, constantly. First, "How long have you been in town?" Second, and close proximity to the first, "Did you have time to make it to the fair, then?"

Things We Learned On Our Road Trip

It took two days, covered nearly a thousand miles, and included both a car and a rental truck. It was exhausting, but hey, we learned some things along the way:

• Once you cross the Ohio River, the bodies of water get exponentially larger. Seriously, I don't think we crossed anything smaller than the Chattahoochee River.
• August is "Road Work Season" in the Midwest. On every single Interstate we used, we got stuck in some sort of traffic.
• Iowa Public Radio really stinks. For the love of Robert Siegel and all of us stuck in our cars, play something other than classical music!
• There is way too much corn in this country. Once you leave Kentucky, it's corn as far as the elephant's eye can see.
• Cruise control (and fuel efficiency and CD players) are undervalued commodities in the rental truck industry.
• You only have to travel three miles into Minnesota before you find your first Lutheran church.
• County fair week is not the time to move into a small town.

And so, of course, Suzanne loved the trip so much that after she unpacked, she flew back to Atlanta just to do the drive all over again.