No Tyrants: Minnesota in winter

by Lynn

The situation is atrocious, I have no words to add about that. But democracy is up to us and we mustn’t lose heart. Let’s take some inspiration from the people of Minnesota. I want to tell you a little about Minnesota grit. I’ve had a friend, Clare, for more than 70 years. Clare stayed in Minnesota, but we’re loyal. When the ICE agents descended, she wrote me,

“They made the mistake of targeting the state with a large nonprofit sector and a culture that is #1 in the nation in civic engagement and volunteerism. People I talk to are understandably frightened by what is happening, but they are all looking for ways to act/resist/help the most vulnerable. Plus, Minneapolis is a city of neighborhoods, lots of local networks of people who already know and trust each other. If anyone can do this, my money is on Minneapolis. Also St Paul.”

Let me tell you a little about Minnesota—twice the size of the Netherlands with only 5 million people, mostly living in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. The cities vote blue, the rural areas mostly red, but the population is varied. The northern woods and lakes are old Chippewa and Ojibwe lands, where wild rice is still harvested. Iron is mined in the north near great Lake Superior. With topsoil two meters deep, the western and southern parts are rich farmland, home to many immigrants from Scandinavia and northern Europe. The cities are corporate, but livable.

I grew up on the Great Plains in a town called Worthington, where my parents were teachers. Only 10,000 people, it was the largest town around, so buses brought students to schools there daily. One day I’ll never forget, and which will demonstrate to you Minnesota character, an announcement came to all the classrooms: “Grab your coats and bags and head to the buses—there’s a blizzard coming. School’s out!”

I went to my dad’s office with friend Clare and her sister, whose bus had left without them, and we went home to our three-bedroom home of six family members, now eight. After supper we watched TV when a faint knock was heard above the howling wind. Three college kids who had thought to weather out the storm at a local bar had driven their car into a ditch. Our house was closest, so they came to us. We were now 11 persons. Our guests all got beds to sleep in, my dad and brothers slept on a deerskin rug on the living room floor, covered with coats and jackets. We played cards and board games most of the night, as there would be no school in the morning. There weren’t enough eggs to go around for breakfast, so Mom made pancakes and our bellies got filled.

Meanwhile, all the truck drivers heading into town got stranded out at Clare’s house on the highway. They had some 25 people—but the meat truck guy brought in meat, the tobacco truck guy brought in all the cigarettes anyone wanted to smoke, the bread truck guy brought in bread and the beer truck guy brought beer. They had a merry time, but not enough beds, so Clare’s mom and Dad organized a dance marathon so that folks could take turns sleeping and dancing.

In the morning, the local grocery store up on the lake shore had gotten no deliveries… Of course—all the trucks were at Clare’s house. So the proprietor started baking bread at 3 am so that her neighbors would have fresh bread. Neighbors thawed out the venison and leftover turkey in their freezers and made endless casseroles to eat and to share, once everyone dug out of the snow banks. The one in front of our door was two meters high – we had to climb out a window to shovel it from the outside. The sun came out, the snowplows came, car batteries got reloaded and snowmen were made by hordes of kids home from school.

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