Notes From Damn Near Canada
No. 34
8/30/09
17:25
A deep-fried, chocolate-covered, battered nutshell. On a stick.
And don't forget...
Bring your insulin!
Monday, August 31, 2009
The Minnesota State Fair, in a nutshell
Great White Dispatch
Notes From Damn Near Canada
No. 34
8/30/09
17:25
A deep-fried, chocolate-covered, battered nutshell. On a stick.
And don't forget...
Bring your insulin!
Notes From Damn Near Canada
No. 34
8/30/09
17:25
A deep-fried, chocolate-covered, battered nutshell. On a stick.
And don't forget...
Bring your insulin!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Year One
Great White Dispatch
Notes From Damn Near Canada
No. 33
7/26/09
20:15
Today marks the one-year anniversary of our move to Minnesota.
One friggin’ year.
One year since we packed my truck with everything left by the movers, stuffed the dogs into my tiny back seat, snug against a rusty propane tank, and headed towards the Mississippi. And brother, that vehicle was packed. We were strapped in so tight, I couldn’t fart without strumming a bungee cord. For 12 hours, we had a Dylan show tickling our ears. Only, y’know, stinkier.
One year ago, our main concern was surviving our first Minnesota winter. That was our Big Bad, and we got through it relatively unscathed. Now, a whole year later, here I am thinking about preparations for another Great White Tussle. In April of 2008, if you had told me that I’d actually find myself one day debating the merits of buying a chainsaw and chopping my own firewood vs. just buying precut wood, I’d have kicked you in the neck.
It’s been a quick year.
Other than the time zone and the weather prep, has anything really changed in the last 365? Uh, I own a canoe. And a 4WD vehicle – that I bought out of necessity. A pair of fishing poles. And a parka – that I bought out of necessity. And I’ve spent the last two Sunday evenings perched in my very own deer blind. So yeah, things have shifted. Just a touch.
I really expected to be settled in by now, bored with everything and reaching for flaws. The luster of a move usually shines a short time for me, and even though this was more than bumping over to a new place in Akron, I still expected the same Timeline of Hate for yours truly.
Surprisingly though, the sense of wonder hasn’t faded a whole helluva lot in the year since we left the Land That GM Hateraped. Sure, the outright crazy coolness of those first few weeks has subsided, but Christ, how could they not? From the ill advised drive out here – we’d spent an exhausting day cleaning and packing and were about 8 hours behind schedule, but said ‘fuggit’ and came anyway, bobbing and weaving down I-90 the entire night – to those first two weeks spent in a strange, cavernous house with no furniture, lotsa windows and plenty of way-too-close animal howls, there’s no way we’ll never top that adventure without losing a member of our party to an Amazon tribe.
But one year in, I still wake up and marvel at my surroundings. Every last bit of it baffles me, still doesn’t seem quite real. The herds – herds! – of deer hanging around every morning in the front yard, mingling with the wild turkeys.. The skunk who occasionally corners me on my morning run. The fact that people use my driveway for sightseeing jaunts. The shapes of the bluffs that poke at the sky on my drive to work, those shark teeth and humpbacks and skyboxes.
And tying it all together, there’s the river. On a clear Sunday afternoon, the way the sun bangs off the surface, backlighting hundreds of sailboats, lighting up the limestone hanging 500 feet above Wisconsin, it’s goddamn eye-popping. And while most of me wonders how the hell we ended up here, the good ol’ Ohio portion still hanging on wonders when it’s all gonna end. Because all good things, yeah?
I try not to think like that any more. Minnesota has a way of bringing out the positive in you, the friendly that’s been hibernating all this time. So rather than focus on the neggo, I’ll enjoy the adventure. There’s a ton of stuff we have left to do, places we haven’t been, rivers to chart, trails to hike and lakes to fish.
Heh. Trails to hike and lakes to fish. Naw, nothing’s changed.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go celebrate an anniversary by farting on a bungee cord.
Notes From Damn Near Canada
No. 33
7/26/09
20:15
Today marks the one-year anniversary of our move to Minnesota.One friggin’ year.
One year since we packed my truck with everything left by the movers, stuffed the dogs into my tiny back seat, snug against a rusty propane tank, and headed towards the Mississippi. And brother, that vehicle was packed. We were strapped in so tight, I couldn’t fart without strumming a bungee cord. For 12 hours, we had a Dylan show tickling our ears. Only, y’know, stinkier.
One year ago, our main concern was surviving our first Minnesota winter. That was our Big Bad, and we got through it relatively unscathed. Now, a whole year later, here I am thinking about preparations for another Great White Tussle. In April of 2008, if you had told me that I’d actually find myself one day debating the merits of buying a chainsaw and chopping my own firewood vs. just buying precut wood, I’d have kicked you in the neck.
It’s been a quick year.
Other than the time zone and the weather prep, has anything really changed in the last 365? Uh, I own a canoe. And a 4WD vehicle – that I bought out of necessity. A pair of fishing poles. And a parka – that I bought out of necessity. And I’ve spent the last two Sunday evenings perched in my very own deer blind. So yeah, things have shifted. Just a touch.
I really expected to be settled in by now, bored with everything and reaching for flaws. The luster of a move usually shines a short time for me, and even though this was more than bumping over to a new place in Akron, I still expected the same Timeline of Hate for yours truly.
Surprisingly though, the sense of wonder hasn’t faded a whole helluva lot in the year since we left the Land That GM Hateraped. Sure, the outright crazy coolness of those first few weeks has subsided, but Christ, how could they not? From the ill advised drive out here – we’d spent an exhausting day cleaning and packing and were about 8 hours behind schedule, but said ‘fuggit’ and came anyway, bobbing and weaving down I-90 the entire night – to those first two weeks spent in a strange, cavernous house with no furniture, lotsa windows and plenty of way-too-close animal howls, there’s no way we’ll never top that adventure without losing a member of our party to an Amazon tribe.
But one year in, I still wake up and marvel at my surroundings. Every last bit of it baffles me, still doesn’t seem quite real. The herds – herds! – of deer hanging around every morning in the front yard, mingling with the wild turkeys.. The skunk who occasionally corners me on my morning run. The fact that people use my driveway for sightseeing jaunts. The shapes of the bluffs that poke at the sky on my drive to work, those shark teeth and humpbacks and skyboxes.
And tying it all together, there’s the river. On a clear Sunday afternoon, the way the sun bangs off the surface, backlighting hundreds of sailboats, lighting up the limestone hanging 500 feet above Wisconsin, it’s goddamn eye-popping. And while most of me wonders how the hell we ended up here, the good ol’ Ohio portion still hanging on wonders when it’s all gonna end. Because all good things, yeah?
I try not to think like that any more. Minnesota has a way of bringing out the positive in you, the friendly that’s been hibernating all this time. So rather than focus on the neggo, I’ll enjoy the adventure. There’s a ton of stuff we have left to do, places we haven’t been, rivers to chart, trails to hike and lakes to fish.
Heh. Trails to hike and lakes to fish. Naw, nothing’s changed.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go celebrate an anniversary by farting on a bungee cord.
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