Sunday afternoon was out of doors for a picnic with friends-of-friends, one of whom is originally from Minnesota. It was a big number birthday celebration for our friend, thus the out of town folks absolutely reveling in a snow-free world for a long weekend. One of few California natives in the bunch, I was vastly outnumbered, and amused by it. It was ironic how Minnesotans didn’t sound anything like people out of movies (unless they were imitating movies. Which they did do, as one does).
Inasmuch as I probably don’t sound like a Californian out of the movies (unless I do? Hmmmm), this was probably okay.
What a mess of assumptions and stereotypes movies have given us.
patchwork crops, cradled by coasts
dubbed “flyover states”
connecting Midwest marvels
just as Heartland as hot dish.
Dear Midwest, do you all have fireflies? What’s it like to have a lake house? Corn fields just up the road? Snow AND tornadoes? State fairs with cheese curds and butter carving? While just now is not the best time to go exploring some of these curiosities (HELLO, SNOW), I like the sample of the Midwest that I have tasted. Granted, last Sunday it was more beer and brats than hot dish, but it was the classic flavor of friendship just the same.