The Pancake Man and The Urbanite answered the question in the usual manner. I'd given it a lot of thought as well.
The Suburbanite: "And what about you, Dan?"
Our Bold Hero: "Probably a small apartment in a big city, with a nice view of the alley."
My interlocutor smiled at that. If you can't picture the scene, The Suburbanite's smile isn't quite earnest and it's not quite affected either. There's a casual honesty to her, at least when she's talking about Minnesota. Just watch when she talks again.
The Suburbanite: "Yeah right, like you could really leave Minnesota."
The easy reaction—what I did then, quietly—was to snicker at such Regionalism. Though I grew up out of town, I certainly felt estranged to the hunting-and-fishing culture around me.
I didn't enjoy going to the cabin to see my relatives. I've long since forgotten how to clean a fish or drive an outboard, though I still remember how to start a campfire.
There were, of course, a few reasons for this. My friends weren't outdoorsmen and I'd rather spend time with them than with my family. This is still probably the case, though now I think that Manney has taken a shine to canoeing and I know that Graham would probably enjoy fishing.
I also enjoyed many strictly-indoor activities and I will always hate most wintersports.
Maybe it was because the outdoors (this Minnesotan's prosaic word for "nature") was associated with so many things I didn't enjoy, but in any case I ended up disliking it.
And, because I associate the outdoors with Minnesota (known throughout the country for its myriad lakes) I disliked Minnesota as well. As the above conversation illustrates, I plan to move to a big city at some point and leave my small town roots behind. Even the Twin Cities seemed too Minnesotan to fit my plans.
But natural contrariety has often led me to defend underappreciated views, and just as growing up in an NRA home spurred me to support tougher restrictions on handguns, spending time in pro-metropolitan environments like Europe and Lawrence has made me reconsider.
Yesterday, while Jubb clung to a rock wall under a bridge, no doubt waiting for some delicious and unsuspecting child to come along, I went into the woods. Like the kooky transcendentalist which I most certainly am not.
This wasn't the first time. In Germany, that magical land I mention every ten minutes or so, I finally had the chance to go outdoors without having unwelcome activities or company foisted upon me. I wandered (wanderte) on the Schönberg, a hillish mountain near our dorms, every other Sunday or so.
Yeah, that's the place. But I'm writing about Minnesota.
I'm looking forward to being there again. I might even take a cue from my younger brother Matt and learn to do all those things a guy with my opportunities should know how to do. Probably not, though.
It doesn't really matter what I do this summer actually. It doesn't even matter where I end up living, even, because my Minnesotanhood is in me, like a congenital disease of some sort, and I can't escape it.
I'll always say "pop" and call that children's game "duck, duck, grey duck." I won't think of fish as just a cheap and bland source of protein for students.
And, on a less superficial level, the attitudes and beliefs I now have are a product, and could only have been a product, of my Minnesotan upbringing. I see value in activities and opinions people from other areas of the country—I'm thinking specifically about the New Englanders and West Coasters I've met—would disdain.
And when I disagree with the beliefs that surrounded me as a child, I understand that the opposition isn't crazy or stupid just because they're not metropolitan. One of the greatest benefits of a small-town upbringing is the ability to spot parochialism in urbanites. Northern Minnesota is a fine place to get an education in parochial attitudes.
So even though the end here, the return of the prodigal son and all that, is disturbingly hokey, I still have to express less-shame, even pride, at being Minnesotan, because I was and am. At worst, Minnesota is like a bad camp; you go and afterwards, you have that experience with you forever.
What's more, I actually enjoy some of the activities northwoodsmen are supposed to enjoy, even if I suck at most of them. So it's back to the woods for me, soon enough. I have a bad feeling that I'll be standing up for my state for a long time.
