What's This? There's White Things In the Air!

On Wednesday, October 28th, it snowed.

Let me say that again: It snowed. In October.

It melted almost as soon as it hit the ground, but the snow fell. A Southerner might even say that it snowed heavily. For hours.

One of Suzanne's coworkers said we had about another week until the snow starts sticking. I'm worried she's not joking.

We now go live to Jack Skellington for a reaction:

Lutefisk

Lutefisk: n., lit. lye-fish, or the gelatinous, fish-like substance preserved in lye popular among Scandinavian populations of the upper Midwest; originally a cheap, heavily-preserved food used among Norwegian peasants, many Norwegians now wonder why American Lutherans still eat, and even enjoy, this disgusting "delicacy."

I'd been warned that this would happen: the annual lutefisk dinner fundraiser. You can't intern at a Lutheran church in this area without being expected to eat the fish of affliction.

Garrison Keilor once remarked that lutefisk is the Lutheran version of matzoh. Nobody actually likes it, but they eat it as a way of remembering the suffering of their ancestors. (Which, surprisingly, is untrue. There were many people who thoroughly enjoyed their dinners and went back for seconds.)

And of course, I tried it. If my mom can eat blood sausage in Germany and silkworm larva in South Korea, than I can suffer through lutefisk.

Or so I thought. My mistake, apparently, was chewing. I should have just swallowed, like the jello shot of lye-preserved fish.

Pictures later, but first, a video of my reaction:

For those wondering, it was less the taste than the consistency. You know those powdered "scrambled eggs" they serve in cafeterias, the dehydrated-then-reconstituted variety you've probably had at IKEA or in cheap restaurants? It's sort of like that, but with less flavor. It sort of falls apart when chewed and then refuses to be swallowed.

The rest of the dinner was great. Lefse (potato-based flat bread), Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, almond cake. Almost enough to make you forget you had eaten lutefisk.

Lutefisk: In All of Its Glory

Yum...?

Take Some Home, Dare Your Friends

Norwegian Pride

Lefse (with Butter and Brown Sugar)
Almond Cake
Wonderful

So, if you ever find yourself on internship in the Midwest and are faced with a plateful of lutefisk, here's some advice: you only need to eat two bites to satisfy everybody. And, when asked how you like it, here's your go-to response: "The lefse and the meatballs were great. And, as I understand it, if you're the type of person to enjoy lutefisk, this is about as good as it gets."

Where was Suzanne for all of this, you may ask? Conveniently absent.

State and City Parks

Minnesota has a lot of state parks.

A. Lot.

And even better, while daily admission is $5, an annual pass is only $25 (less than half the cost in Georgia).

Even better than even better? We live about ten minutes from one of these parks (and within forty-five minutes of several more).

You might know that Minnesota is the "land of 10,000 lakes" -- which is actually closer to 12,000. One of these lakes is a park just down the road -- and they rent out canoes.

Nearby Lake

Suzanne on our outing

 Just a word of reminder: canoeing is difficult if you're not used to it, and winds make it even more so.

Up near Suzanne's office, there is yet another park -- Fort Snelling. It sits at the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers.

Hawk Feather at Fort Snelling SP

Minnesota River from Fort Snelling SP

Panoramic of Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers at Fort Snelling SP

Confluence of Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers at Fort Snelling SP

Fort Snelling connects via paved walking path to Minnehaha Falls, part of a long chain of city parks. One Saturday, Suzanne and I took full advantage of our annual park pass and free time to make the quick jaunt from the state park over to the city, down some stairs to the banks of the Mississippi, through some surprisingly rugged terrain (considering that it rests between the major cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul), to the falls itself. There were moments when the walking path rivaled parts of the Appalachian Trail -- not quite the paved, broad way that connects Minnehaha to Snelling.

Minnehaha Falls -- Paved walkways up top, rugged hiking path down below

The same park system that connects Fort Snelling to Minnehaha Falls permeates the Twin Cities. It's a metropolitan area which places high value on green space. (And, much like Germany, the paths are divided into pedestrian and bike lanes.) We met some of Suzanne's friends at a pub on Lake Street, but before dinner, we took the opportunity to explore some of the walkways and dip down from the hilltop to the lowlands on the edge of the Mississippi.

Panoramic of the Mississippi River

 Of course, as wonderful as the Cities are, we've come to enjoy our small town. Below, the mountain bike/trail running course just down the road from our house:

Around Town

Our fair town has its share of natural beauty -- which is apparently par for the course in Minnesota.

Near us, there is one of Minnesota's 12,000 lakes. The town has seen fit to develop both paved and unpaved running/biking trails in the vicinity, which makes for great fun outdoors.

Sunset at the local lake

Sunset at the local lake

Sunset at the local lake

Sunset at the local lake

 Minnesota is also along a migratory route for various birds, which means our local waterways have been overrun with ducks and geese for the past month. At one point, I (Andrew) saw what must have been 150 or more geese all flying south(ish) for the winter. Each one was honking, which made for quite a sound.

Ducks along the local river

 Fall here means lots of color. We just exited peak color season, and so most of our trees our now bare. But for two weeks, the entire town looked like this:

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?"