We could see the glimmer of sunshine on water before we heard the splashing or smelled the sunscreen. My husband, Derek, and I pedaled our tandem bicycle up to the bleachers near the pool and climbed off.
On the other side of the chain link fence teenage boys were lined up at the diving boards. One jumped and twisted as he fell into the water.
“Eight!” Another boy called out through a megaphone. This one clad in uniform-red swim trunks, sitting on the lifeguard’s perch.
Splash. Another dive.
“Six!”
The next boy prepared to jump.
“Wait,” called the lifeguard. “You can’t go until he’s out of the water.”
A beat of silence passed while the previous diver climbed the ladder. The lifeguard whipped his Zac-Efron-in High-School-Musical-esque hair from his eyes. “Okay, now go.”
This time, an elaborate front flip, then…splash.
From the megaphone, “Ten! Okay, from now on a front flip is the minimum requirement.”
By this time Derek and I were rounding the corner toward the entrance. Laughter from the diving boards faded from earshot as we got in line to pay admission.
Derek’s parents were in town and offered to babysit so we could go on a date. And this is how we chose to spend our evening: kid-free at the community pool. To be fair, we love going to the pool with our children.
But there is something special about being able to swim in the deep water, sit in the sun, go down the big slide—all at our own pace, without being constantly vigilant of a wandering 20-month-old.
In line we ran into a friend we hadn’t seen in a couple of months. A few minutes later we spotted our neighbors, the whole family, playing across the pool. On my way to the new slide, I ran into a family from church.
While I waited for my turn on the slide, I looked down on the full scope of Wednesday evening at Roosevelt Park Pool. The noise of rushing water, voices, shrill squeals from children, and music were muffled from distance. It all looked so calm.
In that moment, looking down at the people at the pool, I had a moment of overcoming sentimentality. Sometimes this happens when I’m observing our town. Sometimes the goodness just strikes me, and I can only do my best to breathe it in, memorize it, proverbially encapsulate it—so I can take the memory out later and reflect on it again and again.
From the top of the slide, I saw another element, another piece of what makes life in Hot Dish Land so special. And it was right there at the public pool.
Community.
More than anywhere else I’ve lived, this place is a community. And the pool is a perfect illustration.
Community at the pool
Where I come from, lots of people have pools. The summer is longer, usually hotter, and always more humid. If you don’t have a pool of your own, chances are you are friends with someone who does. Where I come from, the public pool isn’t widely used. People stay to themselves.
Here, it’s different. Having a pool is uncommon. If you want to go swimming, you go to the community pool. It’s what everyone does. Everyone is there—from littles in swim diapers, to sun-spotted grandparents. There are families, singles, and couples. We almost always bump into people we know. And if you go regularly, you’ll probably end up making a friend.
North Dakota is made up of small towns and communities. It’s unlike anywhere I’ve ever been, in that there is this constant “coming together” of residents. Whether that’s coming together for a fundraising dinner, a special event, or just coming together at the public pool—togetherness is prevalent.
It happens in the summer when outdoor public spaces are in their full splendor. It happens in the dead of winter when we gather for the Christmas Tree Lighting, mornings at the Fun Zone, and spaghetti dinners. I’ve never been in a place where things seem less divided; where people see others as just that — people.
Here, it’s usually not about status, or income, politics, or demographics. It’s about community.
No place is perfect. But I like what I see here, from a bird’s eye view at the community pool.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
“I just know by the time we find a good place, the boys are going to be cranky and it’s going to be a disaster.” This was my lament last Sunday, as I wove our car up and down country roads, scanning the horizon for highlighter-yellow fields. I grumbled something inaudible as I realized I’d led us down another useless road.
“The boys are fine. Right now, you’re the only one who seems fussy,” my husband said. As usual, he was right. Sometimes I tend to live ten paces into an imagined future—dreading things that haven’t happened, laying too much weight on possibilities that may never come to pass. In a clinical setting, I think this is called “projecting.” I took a breath and tilted the rearview mirror down, in order to see the back seat.
My kids were riding happily, making each other laugh with silly faces. Things were fine.
We were driving, at my insistence to a canola field, seeking an updated family photo.
When Hot Dish Land moves into the last phase of summer, some breathtaking things take place. The countryside becomes a place for slow-motion fireworks as crops come into bloom. Canola fields dazzle the horizon with a supernatural yellow glow. The green of soy beans saturates the earth until it’s so vibrant and heavy it seems like the color could drip. If you’re lucky, you’ll stumble across the cool purple and blue of a flax field. Then, of course just when you may begin to mourn the end of summer; just as the nights grow cooler and the darkness closes in noticeably earlier—there are the sunflowers.
Most of the world may take these wonders for granted. Maybe if you’ve been born and raised alongside the miracle of agriculture these things are no more startling than a pigeon near railroad tracks. Maybe if you aren’t from around here, you see all this open space as simply “farmland.” Maybe, no matter where you’re from you just haven’t stopped to think twice about it—except when your social media feeds begin to fill up with advertisements for sunflower photo sessions.
To me, this ever-changing landscape that begins with vast amounts of brown dirt, seeds, and nothingness, is breathtaking. It’s worthy of marvel. I’ve gotten used to the dialect, the affinity for Dairy Queen, even the windchill has become somewhat routine. I moved to Minot for the first time ten years ago, and I still struggle to be casual about the seemingly infinite acres of crops that surround our town.
I can’t drive by without wondering about the machines that make this all possible. Then I think about the fact that there are people out there who know how to operate those machines, and maintain them. There are people who know how much seed to buy, how to nurture it, how to ensure good growth. They know when to harvest, and where to take their goods. After that, there are people who know how to turn these plants into all kinds of products with all kinds of uses that keep our world going, in all kinds of ways. I wonder about the people, and their families; if this is a trade inherited like a priceless heirloom, or it’s simply the family business. When I see a tractor on Highway 83, I think of the people who have been injured, or lost someone they love while working the land.
North Dakota “Nothingness”
When people say there is “nothing” in North Dakota this is what they are referring to. The open land that has a reputation for being “nothing” is truly something spectacular. It’s something powerful, necessary, and utterly American. In this sea of supposed “nothingness” we are at the center of something extraordinary.
It’s beautiful. It’s calloused. It’s sacrifice; and like so many things worth really seeing, it’s easy to overlook. Like so many things, it comes and goes quickly—if you don’t stop and notice, it’ll be gone. If you spend too much time projecting, you’ll be living in winter before it arrives—and you’ll miss the beauty waiting to meet you along the way.
On Sunday we found a field near the road. We carefully walked down a mowed tractor path. The wind whipped my hair around, my littlest did get cranky, fruit snacks are in the photo. But we got it, a physical reminder of the awe this time of year stirs in me. A reminder to take in what is blooming right at this moment, not live in anticipation of what will—or won’t—happen next.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
During my years in North Dakota, I’ve become a student of Hot Dish language, culture, and traditions. I celebrate Syttende Mai, enthusiastically watch Lawrence Welk reruns, participate in Trash Christmas, and say things like “Oh, fer cute,” “Uffda,” and “Oh, I s’pose.” I pretend lefse is a delicacy and teach my children the art of a “Midwest Farewell.”
Even after seven years here, this place still holds some mystery to me. In my opinion, one of the most mysterious and elusive things about North Dakota culture is “The Lake.”
The Lake is where locals spend their summer. If your neighborhood is vacant on Saturday night, or the church pews are sparsely populated on Sunday morning, there’s a good chance The Lake is to blame.
As soon as the snow begins to melt stores fill up with “lake” merchandise. Coffee mugs, T-Shirts, and knick-knacks a-plenty all claim that “Lake life is the best life,” or “The Lake is calling.” I smile and listen while the born-and-raised Hot Dishers tell me of their plans to go to The Lake for the weekend, as if The Lake is a place we can simply look up on a map.
When a local refers to The Lake, there is a casual reverence in their voice. Obviously, this is someplace important, someplace you should know about, someplace you should want to go. It’s The Lake, after all.
I have many questions about The Lake, and very few answers. For starters where, exactly, is The Lake?
Where is “The Lake?”
My husband and I were raised a thirty-minute drive from the shores of Lake Michigan. To us, going to “the lake” meant going to Lake Michigan. People across the region flocked to the sandy shores to enjoy the cool water, hot sun, and popsicles from the concession stands. A day at the beach could require as little as a beach blanket, a towel, and a water bottle.
Here, The Lake is much more complicated. For starters, “The Lake” can mean many different things. A map of North Dakota will show you lots of lakes. Which one is The Lake? Which are open to the public? Where exactly can you access The Lake from once you arrive?
The locals all seem to have their own preferred lake. Sometimes I ask which lake they’re headed to, but doing so usually leaves me more confused when I’m given North Dakota directions:
“Oh, you know. It’s out by (insert town I’ve never heard of). Kind of by the (insert obscure landmark I’ve never heard of). You’ve gotta go past the old (insert another unknown landmark) to get there,” they say.
By this point in the conversation, I give up and wish them a happy trip.
Another thing that complicates Hot Dish laking is the amount of equipment The Lake requires.
I’ve attempted to go to The Lake with just a towel and blanket, only to discover I am sorely unprepared. As an outsider, it seems like a long list of stuff is needed to truly enjoy The Lake. You’ll need all the basic lake stuff — towels, bathing suits, floaties, sunscreen, etc. But you’ll also need a camper, boat, fishing gear, and a truck to haul it all out to The Lake. Oh, and don’t you dare forget bug spray. Who knew going to the lake could result in so many ticks?
All this only leads to more questions. Where do you keep all that stuff during the winter? Where do you park it at The Lake? Do you need to own a campsite? Do you leave all that stuff at a campsite all summer? In order to be a true North Dakotan, do you need to buy a camper?
Maybe someday I’ll fully understand The Lake. For now, I’m content to be baffled. I’m content to accept The Lake as one of those adorably local things that will never make sense to us transplants. That’s okay. Life is better with a bit of mystery in it.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
It’s time to dust off those sweaters. The Norsk Høstfest is nearly here.
What’s the Deal with the Høstfest?
It happened while my family was at Logger Fest over the weekend. I was standing to the side of the bouncy-house obstacle course, waiting for my son to come down the final slide, when I heard foreign speech behind me.
In another place I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But this is Minot, and visitors who speak another language are uncommon. (No, a southerner’s drawl or Canadian’s accentuated “oo’s” don’t count.) Without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder to see a middle-aged woman and young man deep in conversation. When I saw their fair hair, beautiful light eyes, and glowing skin, it occurred to me. They’re Scandinavian. The Høstfest is nearly here.
To someone who is not from around here, it may not seem like a big deal—but the history, traditions, and connections created from the Norsk Høstfest are deep and important to those who have spent their lives in Minot. I know many locals who have developed friendships with visitors and vendors from Norway, Denmark, and Sweden through their involvement with the festival. That moment in the park reminded me —- people really do come from all over to attend.
People around here get really jazzed about their Scandinavian heritage. And just like anything else, the more people who are enthusiastically all-in, the more exciting it looks to the rest of us. The Høstfest brings that enthusiasm front and center. It’s the time when locals give themselves over to their inner affinity for meatballs, Dala horses, and sweaters.
It’s the time when not-locals spend half our time wishing we were Scandinavian so we could fully understand what’s so special about trolls and lefse—and the other half wrinkling our foreheads trying to pronounce “rømmergrøt”, and wondering how an Oofda Taco differs from a regular taco.
The “official” games of the Høstfest can be puzzling to outsiders. However, I’m hopeful classics like “Knock the Fleas off the Black Plague Rat” and “Ring the Troll’s Antler,” will be at this year’s festival.
When we moved back to Minot in 2019, I was out of town for the festival, and the pandemic forced it into hiatus in 2020 and 2021. Like many others, I am anxious for its triumphant return next week.
The last time I was able to attend the festival was in 2015. At the time, we were on the brink of a military move, and I thought it would be the last Høstfest of my life. I spent time chatting with vendors and creating a “This American Life” style audio story to capture the experience. It’s one of my fondest memories. Elderly ladies coached my pronunciation while I ordered food, men reenacting a Viking battle let me try on their gear. Later, Geir Ness, the parfumier, told me how his mother inspired the signature scent in his line. He offered me a “purse-sized” bottle of the fragrance, Laila: the essence of Norway, and it’s the only perfume I’ve worn ever since. I learned about loom arts and sweater patterns, and when night came, I danced the polka to a band flanked with accordions.
The last time I attended the Norsk Høstfest was 2015, when a Viking reenactment participant offered to let me try on his gear. No question, this is a quirky event.
Special Human Connection
That day may not be the typical festival-goer experience—but it sure was great. I’m not anybody special—I just took a special interest in something that is really important to someone else. I learned a lot of things that day, but one thing stands out: Høstfest people are eager to share. They want you to understand the hype. They want you to see the fun, to experience the culture in a way that blesses you. They want to talk to you, hear your questions, and engage. And everyone is so gosh, darn nice. This kind of human connection is precious in a world often divided. Let’s not take it for granted.
I’ve been asked recently if I have tips for attending the Høstfest. I don’t have many, but I’ll share what I’ve got:
Try to attend. It really is a spectacle worth seeing. Yes, it can be pricy (see the following tips for saving on costs), but if you can go, you should.
If you are a military member or family, plan to go on Wednesday, September 28. Military admission is only $10, Kids under 12 are always $5.
If price is a major factor for you, consider volunteering. According to the Norsk Høstfest website, they are still in need of extra hands. Volunteers serve a four-hour shift, in exchange for free admission, food voucher, and merchandise discounts.
In my opinion, the food options are overwhelming—and I usually don’t know what they are. Chat with a local before going in to get their recommendations and have them decode the foreign words for you.
Talk to the vendors. The experience is so much sweeter if you spend time connecting.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
When my husband and I found out we would be moving to North Dakota, we got lots of unsolicited comments and advice.
“Hope you like the cold.”
“Have fun in the great white north — it’s just ice and wind up there.”
“Why not Minot? Freezin’ is the reason. Haha!”
“Winters last forever.”
While these folks were trying to be helpful or prepare us for our new life, they failed to properly prepare us. You see, this kind of talk prepared us for the cold temperatures, ice, and heavy snowfall. We came to North Dakota ready to upgrade our winter coats and hunker down through long stretches of short, dark days.
However, no one prepared us for the North Dakota summer.
We arrived in Hot Dish Territory in June, only to be gobsmacked by the majesty of summer in the “great white north.”
Maybe there’s no proper way to fully prepare oneself for the sun-never-setting days of a NoDak summer.
Summer in North Dakota means waking to a soft chatter of birds and bits of light sneaking through the blackout curtains early in the morning. It’s days hot enough to enjoy the pool, splash pad, or a sprinkler in the yard followed by evenings cool enough for sweatshirts and s’mores around a fire.
Our summer is filled with a disorienting amount of light. The kind that makes it easy to get out of bed in a good mood. The kind that draws neighbors out of their houses to converge on sidewalks chatting late into the evening. The kind that tempts children to stay outdoors until minutes before bedtime, causes adults to forget to prepare dinner until 8 p.m., and means you can start mowing the lawn at 9 p.m. and still finish with daylight to spare.
Yes, I was prepared for the extremely short days of winter — but I wasn’t prepared for the natural high of life lived in extreme amounts of daylight.
In Summer
Here, summer is held in the beauty of purple flax, vibrant yellow canola, and sunflowers stretching to the horizon. It’s noticing white boxes filled with honey bees and hearing the distinct whistle of a meadowlark as you drive along the outskirts of town. It’s a time to be awed by the miracle of planting, agriculture, and the heroism of farmers who harness nature to produce our nations crops.
I came here ready to invest in warmer boots, but I wasn’t anticipating the wonder summer would stir in my heart.
This wonder is not reserved for the country. Small town summer life emanates a unique atmosphere. It’s a divine mix of food trucks, festivals, and movies and music in the parks. This is the season of bumping into someone you know nearly everywhere you go: walks, errands, romps on the playground, or outings at the zoo. This is the time for small talking with strangers — the pressing hurry of winter has eased, leaving us all content to connect under the warmth of the sun.
These precious warm months are meant for excursions to Whirl-a-Whip, loosening schedules, and root beer floats at MSU’s summer theater.
No one told me to brace myself for the most pleasant summers of my life. No one told me the summer is worth waiting through every brutal windchill of winter.
Summer in North Dakota is fika, an odd affinity for Dairy Queen, and giggling as locals complain about the humidity. Summer is the smell of the splash pad, music on Main Street, and never starting the day in the dark.
Let’s not let the beauty of summer be overshadowed by the cold of winter. Not only when we speak about our sweet Hot Dish Land, but of life. Let’s remind one another of the good, let’s brace one another for the possibility of warmth and beauty — instead of simply focusing on the inevitable windchill. North Dakota is more than winter. Life is more than the hard bits. Summer comes, too.
Let’s brace ourselves to enjoy the lovely seasons as much we prepare to weather the cold.
If you’re new here or will move here soon, be ready — not only for the winter, but also for utterly exquisite summers.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
Snapping a photo in front of the Dala horse is pretty much a must when visiting the Scandinavian Heritage Park
What to Do in Minot
This month our house feels a bit like a bed and breakfast — and my heart couldn’t be happier.
In a perfect storm of circumstances and schedules, our home will be vacant of visitors only eight of June’s thirty perfect days.
I’ve told you before, I’ll never claim that Minot should be added to a list of must-see tourist destinations. But, by all means, if you have reason to visit, a chance to step into NoDak life for a moment, you should take it.
Sometimes the best, most restful escapes are not to exotic locations where you’re under pressure to see it all and sift through tourist traps to find genuine experiences. It is easier to find rest when you are welcomed into someone else’s normal for a few days. This is what I offer our guests. This is what (I hope) makes the trip across the country, into the wide-open spaces of North Dakota, worth it.
Here in Hot Dish Land, I often find myself in awe of how utterly charming daily life can be. Our existence may not be big-box glamourous, but I wake up each day ready to soak in the unique magic of small-town life.
I’m completely enamored with Hot Dish life, so I find it easy to convince friends and family to come experience the allure of the “you betcha” lifestyle for themselves. No, we cannot offer mountains, big-city attractions, or ocean views. But we can offer rest, quaint city aura, a slow rhythm, and (at least in summer) peaceful after-dinner walks along sun-dappled paths.
To me, it’s not hard to hype this community. I’m never short on ideas of what to do. And when visitors come, I’m anxious to invite them into our world — to show them what makes this place my muse.
If you’re expecting guests, let me help. Here are some of my favorite things to do when company comes. And, if you aren’t expecting company, please use these ideas to flood your social media accounts, like bait to lure friends and family to come visit.
This just sums up a perfect June day in the Magic City for me. [Photo: Amy Allender]
A Not-So-Small Summer List
When we have company, I like to extend the opportunity to both enjoy town, and go on a day trip to a larger attraction. In town, (I’m specifically talking about Minot, but opportunities abound across the state) these are my go-to summer activities when we have guests:
· Roosevelt Park Zoo
· Main Street Books (we go during story time because it’s the cutest and my kids are entertained while grown-ups shop and take in that iconic “book-store” smell.)
· Taking walks to enjoy the perfect weather and long hours of sunlight (my favorites are Oak Park, Bison Plant Trail, Woodland Trail, and Denbigh Experimental Forest.)
· Sundays in the Park (FREE live music at Oak Park at 4 and 7pm every week)
· Thursdays in the City (FREE music, food, bounce houses, street entertainment, etc each week on Main Street at 5:30)
· Special events (I constantly check the visitminot.org calendar to see what’s going on. While my parents were here we attended the Horse Expo. This weekend with my in-laws we’ll be going to the Midsummer Festival. Other events include MSU summer theater, the state fair, and outdoor movies in the park.
· Bike rides. (I’m crazy about the new greenway path at the intersection of 3rd Ave and Broadway by Sammy’s Pizza. It’s so pretty, and it makes biking to downtown completely accessible.)
· Picnic at Pointe of View Winery
· Drives to view sunflowers, flax, or canola fields
· Evenings at home (loan a video binge box, puzzle, or board game from the library and enjoy cozy evenings at home. Our library is the actual best — I insist you show it to all guests.)
International Peace Garden [Photo: Amy Allender]
For something more substantial, I like to take visitors on a day trip — if time allows. These are popular with our friends and family.
· Fort Stevenson Park, Garrison
· Explore a ghost town
· Whirl-a-Whip, Stanley
· International Peace Garden, Dunseith
· Lake Metigoshe State Park
· Raging Rivers, Mandan (*we haven’t been, but this is on our list for this summer)
· Medora (this rides a fine line between day trip and overnight excursion)
Sometimes it is easy to think there’s nothing to do, or things are too ordinary to be exciting. Don’t fall into that trap. Grasp hold of the good and fun all around — no matter where you live. You’ll never be able to live this summer again, so make it a good one. No matter what you do, or how much company you entertain — I hope you find the ability to love where you find yourself to be. I hope your eagerness to live in these warm months is contagious, and if you are blessed with visitors, I hope your moments together will be nostalgia in the making.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
“I’m about to put a quarter in!” I called to a couple walking their daughter in a stroller at the zoo. “Does she want to ride?”
They parked their stroller and helped their little girl climb onto one of the miniature horses on the merry-go-round at the zoo. My boys were already seated on their chosen steeds.
We go to the zoo a lot. We know the zoo. We love the zoo.
“Mom! Can we ride? It’s working!” My four-year-old pointed with glee as we emerged from the gift shop to see the ride spinning. The carousel is kind of a big deal to us.
The ride itself is nothing to write home about. It reminds me of a ride that would have been outside Kmart when I was growing up in the 90s. You know the type: metal, miniature and pure bliss for a child under eight years old.
One of the few horses I’m willing to risk my money on. [Photo: Amy Allender]
This one has been lovingly hand painted. Each of the four horses is adorned with a different pattern: zebra stripes, tiger stripes, giraffe spots, leopard spots.
The zoo carousel has become one of those quirky small town sagas I love to watch unfold. There’s real dramatic tension. Will the carousel be working? Will we walk up to find an out of order sign? Will we insert our quarter only to discover it won’t turn on?
This little ride is one of the most exciting gambles I take. (Please, no judgement on my very risk-adverse existence.) Zoo staff is regularly working to repair it, and I thank them for these efforts.
Seeing it spinning with our own eyes, it seemed as though we’d hit the jackpot. No risk — proof that it is working was right in front of us.
After stopping to see if the tiger cubs were out, we approached the carousel. I was going to put a quarter in — we might as well fill the seats. Being fearlessly friendly, I called out to the first two families I saw. Once all four kids were safely seated, I crossed to the small, green coin slot.
Once there I could see we were going to have a problem.
Jammed…
The previous quarter hadn’t dropped all the way down, it was left jammed in the slot. I laughed nervously as I looked back at the small, expectant crowd — my boys, two grandparents, a girl about five, another girl probably 18 months and two other parents. My quarter would push this one down, the machine would be fixed, it would all be fine. Right?
I had exactly one quarter. Carefully, I shoved it in, trying to dislodge the clog.
Nothing happened. Now my quarter was lodged. I gave the coin slot a gentle shake.
Nothing.
“Well — this is awkward. The coins are getting stuck in the machine. I’m so sorry. I don’t have another quarter. Maybe next time — ya just never know with this thing,” I said.
The grandfather reached into his pocket. “We just got a bunch of change for the petting zoo. Let’s see if we can get ‘er going.” He leaned over the slot, examining the problem and let out a “Hmupf.”
One quarter in. Nothing.
Another quarter in. Nothing.
“Well, maybe…” he said under his breath. Then he made a fist and gave the machine a single, firm thump. A beat of silence. A metallic whir. The carousel began to spin.
It was like a scene from a movie. But instead of a cool teenager thunking a vending machine for a free soda or a comedic dad pounding the top of the TV for better reception, it was a North Dakotan man in a sun hat and a 25¢ kid ride.
It doesn’t get much better than this… and to finally be able to wear shorts again – score!! [Photo: Amy Allender]
There are millions of reasons why I love life here in Hot Dish Territory. It’s often hard to explain — but this captures the essence. I love that this ride is such an exciting part of our life. I love that this is a community where I can unabashedly call out to others to join us on the merry-go-round. I love that something so simple can make our days so sweet, and that this place is full of people who are ready to step in and save the day with an extra quarter.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
You know how some board games can force your pawn to return to start? Or at least make you to move back several spaces? That’s spring snowstorms in Minot.
You can play the game. You can execute strategy — but in classic board games like Life, Sorry or Trouble it all comes down to luck. Roll the wrong number, pick the wrong card, spin the wrong space and your progress is lost.
When it comes right down to it, in these games you can almost expect this to happen. Maybe you even build it into your strategy. Then, against all odds, if you don’t end up moving back four spaces or being bumped back to start, it feels like a glorious miracle.
That’s spring snowstorms in Minot.
We’ve moved our clocks, taken the plastic off the windows and put up the blackout curtains in our kids’ rooms. We’ve ventured out in short sleeves. Some of us (me) have even moved the snow pants into storage. We’ve done all the things that indicate spring has officially arrived.
Yet, here we are.
Just because you know a “return to start” is highly likely in those old games, doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Likewise, just because we know a spring snow is almost always the reality, doesn’t make it less jarring.
Maybe after you’ve lived here long enough spring snow becomes part of the yearly rhythm.
I’m not from around here, so no matter how many springs require me to get the shovel back out, it will never — I repeat never — be part of my rhythm. And let’s not forget, we haven’t just faced spring snow — we’ve seen a full-blown April blizzard.
When I heard that up to 30” of snow may fall and the high on Easter is 30˚, you can bet your bonnet I had a hard time taking it in stride. The spring snow is like a maniacal jack-in-the-box. You know it will eventually pop up, and it startles you every time. Will it be prom weekend? Easter? Mother’s Day? Or — God forbid — Memorial Day? Just a dusting? A blizzard? We just never know.
What I do know is that something especially strange happens when a spring snowstorm comes. As I told you several weeks ago — when the Big Thaw hits, folks in North Dakota change. We become new people. People who insist the winter was mild (even if it wasn’t) and radiate positivity. The first Big Thaw sets our collective sights on summer and we don’t look back. The extra hours of sun seem to erase any displeasure we felt toward winter as we see ourselves on the precipice of sunflower season.
After the Big Thaw, a snow storm sends us back to the proverbial Start space.
Long winter and long lines
My head is often so filled with spring that I become incredibly flustered when snow intrudes on my warm-weather mentality.
What should I have in the kitchen? What will I do if the kids can’t leave the house for two days? Where are my mittens? Do I need groceries? Is there a can of cream of mushroom soup in the pantry?
Whether it’s strictly necessary or not, nothing seems to compel those of us in Hot Dish Territory to make a Walmart or Target run quite like an impending blizzard. I can’t fully explain it, but it’s true. Never do I want to go to Walmart or Target as badly as the day before or day of a blizzard.
I’m not the only one. Reliable sources tell me Walmart completely ran out of carts on Tuesday. The self checkout line at Target extended into the beauty section. And, according to a fellow military spouse, the checkout line at the commissary on base wrapped completely around the store — all the way back to produce.
[Photo: @amy_allender]
What a time to be alive in North Dakota.
Although an April blizzard can send me reeling, it doesn’t snuff out my spring spirit. And it shouldn’t snuff our yours either. The old saying holds true — spring snow never stays. At least, I think that’s a saying. I hear a lot of locals say it. This one, no matter how huge, won’t last either. So stay in, pop some popcorn, make a hot dish, throw an extra blanket on the bed, and ride it out. Just think of all the conversations you’ll be able to have about the weather when this is done. But promise me you’ll resist the urge to run out to Walmart until the roads are clear.
To connect with me, see how I spend my days in Minot, or get a little more positivity for your day, find me on Instagram @amy_allender or on Facebook @amyallenderblog.
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