As I write this, we wait at the beginning of a major system that may bring up to a foot of snow over the next two days. It comes on top of a few minor snows (less than half an inch) on the 23rd and Christmas night. If we get more than ten inches, it will be Minnesota's largest snowfall in 22 months.
Earlier this month, though, we had our first big snow -- somewhere around four to six inches. It was quite a beauty, but also kept Suzanne overnight in the Cities (thanks to her awesome coworker for giving her a place to stay both then and now).
I am increasingly convinced that I actually work at the American version of Hogwarts. I mean, just look at that architecture and that tower! And our Advent wreath is suspended in the sanctuary -- that's right, actual floating candles.
It's not a bad view from my office. Though, it was more serene before the nursery school students left their mark...
Even a few inches really piles up when you clear a parking lot. Some of these deposits lasted the entire month.
And even a 70s parsonage looks quite lovely when you add a wreath and blanket of snow.
The temperature jumped back up after about a week, so the snow melted before the next systems came in. Apparently, in a non-El Niño, the snow would hang around until a warm spell in late January or early February, leaving behind only a bit of grime. This year, we're starting over with a fresh blanket.
I'll wander out after the storm is over to get new pictures -- and hopefully capture a bit of blue sky or sun as well.
One of the great things about Minnesota is how drastically different everything looks even with just a bit of snow on the ground. Just a thin layer, less than half an inch, adds a rich texture to the landscape. The stark, now-bare farmland looks completely different after a dusting of snow.
Or Minnehaha Falls, for instance, is in a ravine, which means that snow hangs around for much longer than it does on level ground.
On our last trip, we (carefully) made our way along the river and enjoyed the new landscape.
As the falls plummet over the edge of the bowl, the mist coats the surroundings in ice. Even the trees up at the rim were reflecting the sunlight, and the frost is readily apparent on the rocks below.
Along the trail up to the falls, the little bit of snow the Cities had received on Thanksgiving Day was still hanging around. Even thought it was less than an inch and the temperature was above freezing, the snow was protected by the ravine's wall.
And as we went back to the car, a guy stopped us and pointed up to this eagle -- one of many I've seen over the past month or so.
The first snow has arrived, with a few hours of light snowfall. But much to our surprise, it has hung around for a few days.
The parsonage looks great with a fresh coat of snow.
The roads are mostly clear now -- apparently Minnesota didn't even find the flurries worthy of bringing out the plows. There are still a few pockets hanging around, though, and we have barely pushed past freezing the past two days.
Cold, but very clear. Our Saturday routine changed when the farmers' market closed for the season at the end of October, and so we took advantage of the sunny day and the fresh snowfall to explore our local state park with its new decorations.
We had ice forming on some of the smaller bodies of water on Friday, but after two days below the freeze point, even some of the lakes have ice starting to creep across. It's not enough to hold weight yet, but it's still surprising to see so much so early. (By comparison, if this much ice formed on any lake in Georgia, it would be after an especially miserable January.)
The park winds back and forth through woods, prairie grass, and next to now-vacant corn fields.
After an hour or so wandering through the park, we made it back to the car -- just as we had hit the point where we were uncomfortably cold. And good news: we survived without having to break out our heaviest gear yet. We'll see how we do when we get into the negative digits, but it's a successful first outing.
Sunday, with an afternoon off, we decided to take a walk through our favorite spot in the city, along a small and shallow river. We didn't dress quite as well this time and had to turn around, but not before capturing a picture of the frozen river:
It's not much to the Minnesotans, but I'm pretty sure this weather would send Atlanta into a frenzy.
Next morning I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died of fright. My screams brought Atticus from his bathroom half-shaven. "The world's endin', Atticus! Please do something--!" I dragged him to the windo and pointed. "No it's not," he said. "It's snowing." -- To Kill a Mockingbird
Winter is just around the corner. We were inundated with rain this past week, and then the temperature dropped into the thirties.
I went for a walk this afternoon and noticed that the puddles had sheets of ice over them -- and some were completely turned to ice.
Some of the streams branching off of our local river had layers of ice over them, and I could hear the thin, frosty sheets cracking as the geese landed on the iced-over sections.
The occasional snow flake landed on my jacket, but by the time I turned around and headed home, we were experiencing full-on flurries.
I went out to run some errands, only to find that the snow was now sticking to the roads.
Which, compared to three weeks ago, makes this our first real snow, I guess.
And Suzanne successfully drove home in it! Huzzah!
Now, this is supposed to be a light winter because of El Niño, which means milder temperatures and less snowfall. But...less snowfall in these parts still means 30-40 inches.
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In unrelated news, I purchased our first turkey and all of the stuff to make our first Thanksgiving dinner! Now to figure out how to cook the darn thing. Our roasting pan doesn't fit in our teeny-tiny oven.
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.
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:
