We left California in July of this year. Our four-month-old daughter did not travel well in the car, so she and my wife flew to Minnesota, while my mother and I drove. My mother, bless her heart, had flown out to help us pack and to accompany me on the 2,000-mile drive from Davis to my parents’ home west of Minneapolis, where we would stay for a few days before moving into our new place in Northfield. Read the rest of this entry »

For Californians, something did not compute when we said that we were moving to Minnesota. Most of their replies to our announcement were in this vein:
“It’s cold there.”
“Oh, cold!” (accompanied by a shiver)
“What about the winters?”
“Do you know what it’s like there?!” (implied: damn cold!)
“I’ll never go through winters like that again.”

I had one conversation about the move with a relative who is a California native. She was perplexed about our choice and asked lots of questions, such as, “What will you do with your baby in the winter?” I tried to reassure her that millions of babies get by just fine in winter. Children love the snow. People do lots of things outside for most of the winter, and there’s lots to do inside, of course. I think she remained unconvinced.

In that conversation, I was slightly amused by my relative’s attitude about winter, and I didn’t feel like I had to convert her to a more positive view of Minnesota. But more often I felt slightly depressed, irritated, or defensive after hearing negative comments about Minnesota and its cold winters. Something in the comments, a lack of appreciation or a demonstration of ignorance, grated on me. It was obvious that Minnesota meant one thing to me and something quite different to most other people. For me it had been home for most of my life, site of countless experiences and memories, backdrop for my youthful dreams, and the location where my family still lived. For others it was simply an image encountered in the media or, less likely, a memory of freezing cold encountered on a visit or while living here.

The negative replies also deflated my enthusiasm about the move. But why should I have expected any other reply, and why should I let them get me down? I shouldn’t have, but their monotony was boring and frustrating, as is the fact that I will keep hearing them into the future.

But here I am complaining. When someone makes the typical reply about Minnesota, the best thing I can do is keep things light and tell a joke. Here are a few jokes I might use to keep things on a lighter note, many of which will be known to other residents of cold places.

The first three are all answers to the riddle, “What are Minnesota’s two seasons?” There are three answers that I know of:
“Winter and the Fourth of July.”
“Winter is coming and winter is here.”
“Winter and road construction.”

Another joke is the mock Minnesota state motto that has circulated on the Internet: “Many are cold but few are frozen.”

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Many of these things are relative. Minnesota is one of the coldest states in the lower 48, frequently mentioned as the cold spot in the country. But what if it was part of, say, Canada (which sometimes doesn’t sound too bad). It would be one of the most southerly provinces, warmer than Manitoba! On those national forecasts, it would never be the cold spot. And from the vantage point of the Yukon, Minnesota winters don’t look too bad.

Similarly, if I spoke to someone from North Dakota, Alaska, or Siberia, they would have a very different view of Minnesota. But I have to admit I am stretching here. Most of the planet is much warmer than Minnesota, and that is how it will always be. People understandably like to be warm and prefer not having to bundle up or stay inside on bitterly cold days. I need to keep my sense of humor about such things and remind myself that, from most perspectives, walking around in spacesuit-like winter gear for a few months a year is strange and unpleasant. I should also remember that the weather is what helps to keep real estate prices relatively sane–”keeps the riff-raff out,” as I’ve heard people say.

I’m reminded of a time when I was living in New Jersey and a friend used to rib me about being from Minnesota. One of his jokes was to make a whistling sound in my presence, like wind across a frozen prairie. I laughed hard at his wordless joke.

Oh, let me keep on laughing at myself and at my native region, right on through this fast-approaching winter.