It’s cold. It snows in months it shouldn’t. This is one state in the USA that is most known for pine trees, canadian accents that mangle it’s proud name into Minnisuta. Then there’s Fargo. A city that isn’t even in Minnesota. We’re not misconceived, but it is annoying when people in Maine and say, “Say ‘Yah, sure, ya betcha.’ for me!” or worse “Say ‘cheese ‘n’ rice’! I’ve never met a Minnesotan before!” Usually, mustering all the Minnesota nice I can, I politely decline. However, I like this stereotype simply because of this: there is no reason for anybody to hate us except for those somewhat annoyingly huge amounts of cards and May Day baskets that relatives may (may means always, without fail, in this case) receive.

Mostly, Minnesota isn’t arctic cold, but it’s not warm either. My mother is from California and will testify this point, but it hits the seventies or nineties in a normal summer day. I, and most other natives, enjoy outdoorsy activities. Sometimes football, sometimes biking. Fishing. Like most people though, enjoying life breaks are far and few between, since,well, life interferes. Tourists do more than the people here do, which is pretty sad.
However, Minnesota does have good fishing. My family takes a yearly trip, just about straight after school has ended or when it is about to begin. It’s a little place called Kilworry, north but not too far north, sitting on Arrowhead lake, the most weed infested, shallow, grungy, disturbingly natural lake I know. Perfect breeding for fish, and judging by the sixteen inch small fries from the lake, you could say it shows.. Make no mistake, if you were to fish in that lake you’ll be catching stuff within the first minute,... it’ll just be large amounts of weeds. Arrowhead is connected to another lake called White Fish, that’s where we swim and fish. No weeds, really deep, lots of fish from arrowhead. Nice.
I’ve spent most of my formative years there (and arguable still am in my formative years) in little rented cabins puttering around with a little rented boat. Time to just... breathe. Away from the big cities down south, the suburbs, Driver’s ED, problems. It’s nice. Fortunately it’s classic Minnesota. Mostly though, Minnesota isn’t pine trees and a large fishing industry, no it’s a very big bread basket. Farms. Lots and lots of farms intervening cities, varying from wheat to Alpaca farms (nasty little lama things, Alpacas are). Maybe it could be called sleepy.
However, there’s no sleepy feel here, not yet. Not in southern Minnesota, where there are just as many buildings as people. It’s not New York, it’s too simple and orderly, but it does have all the big city standards: too much traffic, pedestrians, cement. Cities in Minnesota are reduced to bunk beds and iron cages though because nobody wants the be there working, it’s temporary. Cities are pure restlessness because everyone is waiting to... get out. Do something. Move, leave. Minnesotans are known for what Minnesota is good for: finding a good cranny to curl up with a book next to a iron stove furnace from eight to ten. Sleep relaxed to get up while there’s still mist out, and then go back to the cottage and fry todays catch. Afterward, read, sleep. It’s home for me, so I can’t leave. But other people with other homes don’t want to leave either usually.