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?"