In eight weeks, I will be leaving the state of Minnesota. I
will have lived here a grand total of fifteen months. Next to Indiana, where I
lived for nine months, it sets the record for shortest time spent in one state.
There must be something about living in the Midwest that doesn’t quite stick
with me.
I have to confess, I don’t find the Midwest very intriguing.
I haven’t lived here long enough to explain to anyone what makes the Midwest
the Midwest except to say it’s “different”. I attempted an explanation on that
a couple of weeks ago and fell short. Except for funny accents, spice aisles in
the grocery store that contain next to nothing (bland food is their choice
cuisine) and no history, I couldn’t put into words what makes this part of the
country odd to me. It’s just not the Northeast. It’s not the South. And, of
course, it’s not Texas. But to explain that to the natives up here who have
never been to the Northeast, the South (except Florida which doesn’t exactly
count) or Texas…well, I can’t. Naturally, they don’t claim to have an accent.
They like their bland food. And they become a bit annoyed when I try to explain
the rich history of the American Revolution or the War Between the States. Most
of their ancestors were still in Europe during the American Revolution and
what’s the War Between the States? Oh, the Civil War! Well, of course we’re on
Lincoln’s side. After all, he won the war and
freed the slaves. They don’t seem to get the irony of that when put up against
the history they do have: Indian wars sprung from enslaving them on
reservations. A problem Lincoln only compounded.
But in that sense, they’re no more and certainly no less
prejudiced to their own ways than Texans who think they live in their own
country, New Englanders who are rude to everyone or Southerners who will one
day rise again. And in Minnesota, I realized this morning, prejudice also comes
in the way of clothing.
I’m afraid that even should I live here ten years, I will
never succumb to the one fashion statement they all have hanging in their
closets: camouflage. When I went wedding dress shopping, there was a camo
wedding gown! (It was mostly white, but trimmed top and bottom with camo.) They
wear camo pants, camo jackets, camo hats, camo shirts – men and women! If you
can wear it, you can find it in camo. There is even matching underwear!
And they start them young. It was a nicer day out today, so
as I went through town this morning I saw a man out with half a dozen preschool
aged kids. You couldn’t miss them. Every single one of these two or
three-feet-tall little people were dressed in camo coats with either a camo or
orange cap on their heads. Very likely, part of their day at preschool is spent
learning how to fish and hunt. After all, that is much more important than
learning to count or how to say your ABCs.
Truly, I am grateful to have spent a small portion of my
life in Minnesota. I’ve met some great people, tasted some new foods, learned a
new vernacular and been laughed at for my ways in response to laughing at their
ways. But I am glad to get away unscathed. I don’t say “behg”, I still laugh
when they say “uff-dah!”, I never purchased a boat, and I don’t own a stitch of
camo.
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