'where the women are strong, and the men are good looking...'

While we sit inside of a giant, humid, cloud also known as Thunder Bay, Ontario (home of the 1995(?) world championships of skiing, as iain has informed me), I thought it would be a good time to reflect on our Minnesota experience.

It is no exageration to say that everything I knew about the people, land, and mannerisms of Minnesota before last week, I learned from Garrison Keillor. Though we have never met in person (aside from one instance of star struck psuedo-stalking of Mr. Keillor and his family in an airport on the way home from London), this gentle giant has snuck his way into my heart through many drowzy sunday mornings at home, ears craned towards the soothing sounds of A Prarie Home Companion. For those deprived few of you that may never have heard this program, the rest of this post will probably make little sense (I suggest that your time would be better spent furiously 'googling' and 'wikipedia-ing' this wonderful man and his radio show).


Garrison Keillor, gentle giant of Minnesota.


My travelling companion, Mr. Morris, has (thanks to his prodigious fiddlin' talent) in fact appeared live and in person on A Prarie Home Companion. We are both in agreement that Mr. Keillor seems to have been flawlessly evolved (nay, designed?) to be perfect for radio.

But, to get to the point, everything that this man thought me about Minnesota seems to have rung true. Yes, Minnesotans do appear very, um, restrained, in their manner. Our typical conversations went something like this one we had outside a grocery story:

Minnesota man: "Ohh, were yah headed dere?"
Iain: "Well, today we're coming from X and headed to Y, but we're going to New York City."
M.m.: (Stunned look) "Wheew. Better get peddlin' eh. Winters 'a comin'
Iain: "Yeah, yep. That's what we hear."
M.m.: (man turns and looks in other direction for a few moments without acknowledgement)

(a few moments later, while we have started to eat/go about our business) "So. Your chans worn out dere yet?"

Iain: "Excuse me?"
M.m.: (gestures towards our bicycle chains)"Yer chans."
Iain: "Um, no. Those don't really were out much."
M.m.: (grunt indicating this is a satisfactory answer)
Iain: "Yeah, the roads are a bit hard on our tires though, that's for sure."
M.m.: (nods head, and walks into store)

(comes out of store a couple mins later) "Well i'm too old fer dat." (walks away)

Iain: ...


It's not that people seemed rude exactly. Mostly they just seemed to very sedate, which came off as very poor social skills in the men we talked to, and a unembelished bluntness in the women. In short, words seemed to be a precious currency. Once we figured this out, however, it was in a way, thrilling to be at last travelling through this strange land which had up to this point existed only in my imagination, brought to life through the little radio in my parents kitchen every weekend. As we cruised through the countryside populated by as many European-inspired place names as lakes, I could alomst hear Mr. Keillor's soothing narration bringing the stories of landscape to life. Finally, I would like to say thank you to my parents, Barbara and Rick, how was I too know that all those mornings with NPR humming softly in the background were really a form of cultural emersion, preparing me for this leg of our journey.

~Tamaso

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