A few weeks ago I came across a car stuck in a bank of snow. We’d gotten snow earlier in the week, but this was a warm, 35 ̊ day. Streets were clear, snow had even begun to melt on the sidewalks. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, the wind was almost nonexistent. Obviously this was the kind of day for a thick sweater, Converse sneakers, and no coat.
I took advantage of the unseasonably warm day by loading my car full of items to be donated at the Dakota Boys and Girls Ranch Thrift Store and flattened cardboard boxes for recycling. The emergency snow supplies we keep in our car through the winter – including a small shovel and work gloves were buried beneath the pile. This was not the kind of day I expected to need those things.
I loaded my sons into their car seats and set off. At the top of the 6th St hill, near Jim Hill Middle School, I saw the car in the snow.
I slowed to see if someone had already stopped to help and noticed the car was surrounded by several teenage girls – most wearing maroon Minot High hoodies. Another woman was there helping – maybe one of the girls’ mothers, I wasn’t sure. I pulled over and told the boys I was going to get out to see if I could help. They were happy in their seats, singing along to the Veggie Tales CD my husband got when he was a teenager – probably the age of the girls standing in the snow now. Life seems to change so quickly.
The car was at an angle in a front yard, the front wheels stuck in the snow. “Hi, there. Do you need help, or do you have it covered?” I asked.
The woman had her phone to her ear, but answered me anyway, “I’m just trying to call someone to bring a shovel. Then I think we’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I’ve got a shovel we can use. Let me grab it.”
We walked together to my car where I opened the hatch and narrowly avoided an avalanche of donation bins and cardboard while I wrenched the shovel and gloves from under the stack. After confirming the boys were still okay, I went with the woman to the car.
The girls had obviously been trying to get out for a while. Friction from spinning the wheels in failed attempts at dislodging the car had turned the snow into wells of ice. I passed off the shovel and gloves, then went back to my car to pass out snacks. After a few minutes I returned to the other car to help push – with no success.
“If we had some cardboard or something we could slide under the wheels maybe that would help,” the woman said.
“I’ve got that, too!” I told her. Moments later I was back with several options. I may not wear a coat, but I am prepared.
By this time, my kids were truly restless. I left the shovel and gloves and told the group I was going to run a couple quick errands and come back. Fifteen minutes later, my hatch was empty – but their car was still stuck. Now, another truck had stopped with a chain to tow them out.
Best intentions
I got out to collect my things. “Thank you so much. I know we didn’t get it out, but thanks for trying,” one of the girls said.
“It’s no problem,” I told her. “Who hasn’t been on the receiving end of a friendly push at least once in their life?”
As I drove home to the soundtrack of Larry the Cucumber’s Silly Songs, I thought about how true that statement was. I’ve been stuck, unable to get my car up the 3rd Street hill. I’ve hit a patch of ice on a curve and bounced off a curb. Once I even got stuck in a pile of snow on Main Street from the snow plow.
It was dark by the time I came out of Margie’s to find my car immobile. In less than three minutes, two men walking past stopped and pushed me out. When I voiced my thanks, they told me much the same thing I told the girls: pushing each other out of the snow is part of what we do here.
No, I wasn’t the hero who pushed the car out. But I keep thinking about that day. Isn’t it lovely to be in a position to push instead of needing the push? Isn’t it lovely to live in a town where it’s safe to need help and safe to stop and offer it? Isn’t it lovely to live in a place where looking out for each other is the norm?
The arrival of spring is a joy – but a special comradery is forged in winter. Without the adversity of winter, the Magic City would lack this sort of deep magic that only takes root in the snow.
When you move to a new place it’s common to feel like an outsider. Obviously, you expect it to take some time to find your stride and your people – but that stage of relocation is never fun.
I’ve never felt so foreign in a place than when I moved to Minot. Things are different here. From the weather to the shockingly low driving age – life can seem alien to a new transplant. Even the words used in casual conversation can seem strange.
Today, let’s decode ten common words and phrases you’ll hear around Hot Dish Territory. Master these, and you’ll be on your way to talking like a local.
The wind: To everyone else wind is simply the movement of air across a landscape. In Minot, wind is everything. The wind will dictate if a day is pleasant or uncomfortable, what you wear, and sometimes even your mood. The wind is always a safe small talk topic. If you don’t know what to say, comment on the wind. And don’t forget everyone’s favorite windism, “It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the wind.”
Oh for…: Pronounced, “Ō fer.” This mild interjection precedes a sentiment – especially sadness and glee –when responding to news that evokes a strong response. For example, you may say, “Oh, for sad,” when learning that a friend will need to attend a funeral. If a friend tells you they’ll be going to Arizona for a week in February you may say, “Oh, for fun!”
I’ve found that saying “Oh, for sad” and “Oh, for fun” are the primary uses. However, one may also say “Oh, for gross,” “Oh, for dumb,” or another adjective as conversation deems necessary.
The Cities: This always refers to Minneapolis and St. Paul. If someone tells you they are going to the cities, it is always appropriate to respond with, “Oh, for fun!”
The Flood: In reference to the devastating flood of 2011. This has now become a mark of time used by locals. For instance,
Did you move here before the flood?
Was your house flooded? (When discussing your home with a new friend.)
Was that after the flood?
Oh, I s’pose: Use this phrase to express consent, agreement, resignation, approximation, or a general I-wash-my-hands-of-this attitude. For example,
Person A: Are you coming to the church potluck?
Person B: Oh, I s’pose.
Child: Can I have more lefse?
Parent: Oh, I s’pose.
Person A: We should really get a remote starter on the car.
Person B: Oh, I s’pose.
Lefse: To locals, lefse is a delicacy. To outsiders – like me – it’s a tortilla made of potatoes. The tortilla is then slathered with butter and sometimes sprinkled with sugar, before being rolled up like a taquito and eaten cold. It doesn’t taste bad, but it’s not nearly as delightful as locals will lead you to believe.
Don’t get me wrong – I love lefse. I love the process of making it and I love seeing my local friends light up when they talk about it. If you’re new here, do yourself a favor and get on board with lefse.
Hot Dish: To the rest of the world, this is a casserole. There are a lot of complicated systems around here to describe what separates a casserole from a hot dish. Something about cream of mushroom soup and if it includes ground beef. I’ve never been able to understand the barrier. When in doubt, just replace the word “casserole” with “hot dish.”
Bars: While this might describe an establishment that serves alcohol, more likely the speaker is referring to any cookie-type dessert baked in a pan and cut into squares. For instance, you may be asked to “Bring a plate of bars,” to a school function. Cookie bars, brownies, and especially scotcheroos all fit the bill.
Ope: A lesser version of oops. Used when an accident takes place or especially if you bump into someone. Example, “Ope, excuse me, I’m just gonna squeeze past you.”
Welp: Pronounced “whellllllp.” Used to signal the end of a visit or conversation. If someone slaps their knees and says “Welp…” you know it’s time to wrap up conversation and head toward the door where the goodbyes will continue for another 15 minutes or so.
Give it some time and soon, you’ll be using these words and phrases flawlessly. And remember – if you don’t know what to say, just talk about the wind.
Since moving to North Dakota I’ve had many moments that leave me thinking I must have stepped into an alternate universe. However, few compare to my experiences at North Dakotan airports.
Though locals may not bat an eye at the Hot Dish airport experience, to those of us who aren’t from around here, it’s really something else. Among out-of-state friends or family, I like to spin tales of NoDak airports late into the night. The tales are tall, and only slightly embellished. They’ve become some of my favorites, because in so many ways, the airport is a microcosm of life here.
On a summer night in 2012, I walked off an airplane into the old Minot International Airport for the very first time. Not only was this my first experience at the Minot airport – this was my first impression of Minot itself. This was the day I moved to Minot.
I’d left Shreveport, LA alone, early that day with a small backpack and a disgruntled cat as carry-on luggage. At the time, I thought I was well versed in the ways of small towns. Now, just imagine my surprise when I stepped into the airport to discover I could see the whole airport from where I stood.
My feet froze to the spot. I’d never seen anything like this. I didn’t know places like this actually existed. Without moving I could see all three gates – or was it four – each with a cluster of chairs in front of them. Through a pane of glass I could see the security checkpoint. I could even see baggage claim.
Where was I? Was this place for real?
Although my cat was starting to yowl in her duffle, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo. This was a story I needed to tell.
To everyone else this was commonplace. This was home – or home-for-now. And now it would be my home too.
As time passed, I observed other things unique to North Dakotan airports. Like the snack bar’s menu – carefully spelled out with plastic letters to include Hot Dawg. That menu item stayed up for years – until the airport was demolished and the new airport opened.
Or the time someone dropped their keys in the gate area. An agent found them, then walked to the center of the room – in view of everyone traveling, from all gates. Without using an intercom – there was no need in a space so small – she held them up and loudly said, “Somebody dropped their keys. If these look like yours, I’ve got them up here at the desk.”
Moments later, a man walked up to claim them. The rest of us exhaled a collective sigh of relief. Mutters of, “Good thing she found those,” and “Lucky you found them before your flight,” filled the terminal.
Flying in Hot Dish Land
Take it from someone who isn’t from around here: This kind of thing doesn’t happen anywhere else.
Another time, I accidentally left my laptop near baggage claim. There’d been a hold up with our luggage, so I pulled my computer out to work for a while. Somehow it got left. As soon as my husband and I arrived home, I realized my mistake. He immediately returned to the airport, where he was greeted by a TSA agent, “Looking for a laptop?” he said.
He had put it aside and was watching the door for a panicked looking person to come and retrieve it. My husband thanked him and brought it home safe and sound. The whole ordeal took no more than 15 minutes.
The Hot Dish flying experience is all these intangibles and many others combined. It’s hearing slightly exaggerated “Ooo” sounds in casual conversation. It’s knowing there’s a good possibility you’ll see someone you know on your flight. It’s how the Bismarck airport leaves TV remotes out on end tables, so you can watch whatever you want while you wait to take off.
I love all of these things. I love how I seem to be the only one noticing them. Most of all, I love returning to Minot after a trip. As I approach the gate for my final connection, I can spot other Minotians from afar. There’s an aura in the cadence of friendly greetings, flannel, well-worn work boots, and mentions of the wind. It looks like home. It looks familiar and safe, and I’m so glad I get to be one of the few who name Minot as their final destination.
I’m not an expert at many things. A lover of learning, I tend to soak up information and skills, without ever committing them to lifelong practice. This comes in handy because I know a little bit about a lot of bits. If I need to know more, I can usually find someone who is more expert than myself.
Recently, however, I’ve been contemplating what my area of expertise is. After much thought, this is where I landed: I’m an expert at reshaping and reframing a narrative.
Let me explain.
Naturally, I’m pessimistic. Or maybe I should say, pessimism was my normal, natural response to life’s circumstances throughout most of my life. Like any good pessimist, I’ve never considered myself a pessimist. Instead, I insisted I was a “realist.” To me, optimism was foolish; a fantasy unlikely to come to fruition, ready to lead to disappointment. Deep inside, I wanted to believe the good, to be hopeful, but the negativity always won out. I thought if I assumed the worst, anything better would be a pleasant surprise.
After nearly 30 years of living with that mentality, I discovered the painful bits of life are just as painful—even if you tried to brace yourself for them. Disappointment still stings, even when you’ve convinced yourself it’s coming. Eventually, my unhealthy thought patterns and lack of emotional intelligence took a toll. I found myself facing devastating anxiety and depressive disorders.
I came to an ultimatum: find a way to fix what was going on in my thought life—or succumb to a life of sadness, maybe even suicide.
That was nearly seven years ago. Since then, I’ve worked really hard to shift my normal, natural pattern of thinking from assume-the-bad-negative, to honestly-positive. I’ve created a new “normal” in my mind. This way of thinking is just as realistic—if not more so—than my old “realist” habits.
Changing to ‘hopeful’
I learned that something positive and hopeful can be just as honest as something negative—even when examining the same circumstance. I learned that each of us has the right and authority to shape the narrative of our days. We get to decide what we will believe about our day when we recount it to others, and when we crawl into bed at night.
I do many things, but this is my area of expertise. My ability to reshape instinctually-negative narratives into something truthful, and positive is something in which I’ve achieved expert-level status.
Since beginning to write “She’s Not from Around Here,” I’ve gotten many, many messages sharing appreciation for my pleasant perspective on a place that many see through an inherently unpleasant lens. This reminds me, in a world that is often dark and confusing, uplifting words spoken with honesty are a balm. We are all drawn to hope.
While I appreciate the gratitude and compliments, I don’t want to take too much credit. I think this is a knack we can all develop with a little practice. We all have the ability to control our story, even if we can’t control the windchill.
Heading into winter—perhaps the hardest time to call North Dakota home, especially if you aren’t from around here—is the perfect time to start honing your own ability to reshape a narrative. To get you started, I’ll reframe a couple common winterisms for you.
“North Dakota winters are miserable.”
Reframe it, and you’ve got something like, “Everyone knows insanely cold temperatures are uncomfortable, but our community works hard to provide fun, and often free things to do that only happen during the cold months.”
“Winters last forever up here.”
That becomes, “Winter is a hard season, but spring, summer, and fall in North Dakota are absolutely stunning.”
“My kids are going crazy from being cooped up inside.”
Rewrite that narrative and you’ve got, “My kids’ energy encourages us to get outside and play, or attend events even when it’s cold and I’d be tempted to stay home.”
You’ve got the power over the story you tell. With practice—whether you’ve lived here your whole life, or this will be your first winter—you can weave an honest narrative with a positive spin. Positivity won’t change the windchill, but it will help you get through the cold, dark months with your hope, and mind intact.
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
“No sane person would choose to leave Florida to live in North Dakota.”
I read that quote in a news article a couple weeks ago. When my eyes ran across the words, I nearly spit out my coffee, choking back a laugh.
The next day, friends came over for taco night and I told them about the quote. We all had a good laugh. It’s funny because it’s unbelievable that a Florida state representative would have the audacity to say something so negative about another state. It’s funny because we are all aware of North Dakota’s reputation for being a frigid wasteland. It’s funny because we all know the truth, the secret: life in North Dakota is amazing.
Nearly everyone at taco night has moved to North Dakota from out of state. Everyone had chosen of their own volition to come here. To be fair, my husband and I originally came on military orders, but we requested to come back. Everyone has chosen to stay.
Since then, I’ve said those words, originally spoken in response to a politically charged issue, many times. It’s become my favorite sarcastic saying, though usually I shorten it to, “No sane person would willingly live in North Dakota.”
I can’t get these words out of my head. I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the fact that so many people find North Dakota so easy to despise. To a person who never tires of telling others about the abundantly lovely life to be found in the “Legendary” state, this quote is both haunting and hilarious.
If I had to make a wager, I’d bet the man quoted in the article has never been here.
North Dakota instantly conjures up images of snow and wind, but there are also lush patches of berries to pick, perfect summers, and a closeness of community that is hard to find elsewhere.” (Photo: Amy Allender/The Dakotan
What is sane, really?
Sometimes it can be so easy to perpetuate negativity. Living in North Dakota often reminds me of this; seeing this quote from the news reminds me of this. Drawing conclusions based on stereotypes, or assumptions comes naturally, quickly, even instinctively. Agreeing with a common negative opinion is often more comfortable than being contrary with an edifying, uplifting, or positive point of view.
My goal is not to convince Floridians to move to North Dakota. I don’t mean to throw shade at the representative who thinks it would be crazy to move here, He loves his state, and that’s great.
No, my words are for us—the Dakotans. Whether by force, choice, or birth, we all find ourselves living in a place others find easy to belittle and use as the butt of a joke.
I want us to remember there is good everywhere. I want us to be people who speak kindly of where we live, taking pride in our place in this beautiful country. I want us to be people who express negativity with grace and seek out things that are praiseworthy—here and everywhere.
Let’s be curious people, willing to understand what others find hard to like, ready to ease that burden, and encourage folks who transplant to Hot Dish Land. Let’s be ready to understand what others find endearing, and enjoyable—willing to let the contentment, or excitement of others soften the places we may be harboring negativity. Let’s laugh together because we are the insane ones, thriving and finding plenty of fun in a place outsiders claim has “nothing to do.”
“No sane person would willingly live in North Dakota.”
Yet, here we are. It’s funny because it isn’t true.
We’re not crazy. We just know the truth.
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 see you here a lot,” said the man who held the door for me as we simultaneously left the library.
“Yeah,” I replied, while shoving my now-empty coffee mug into my bag. “I come here to work when my husband is home with our kids. I’m close enough that I can be home in about five minutes, if I hurry—but far enough away I’m not distracted by ongoing requests for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
We both laughed. It was the kind of laugh reserved for lighthearted conversations with strangers; airy and polite, but not fully committed. This man and I are both regulars at the library. This summer, I’ve spent many days perched at a table in the mezzanine, using it as an office of sorts. Looking down through the plexiglass partition, I’ve gotten to know the other “regulars,” by routine, if not by name.
There is the mom and two sons who come to do the monthly scavenger hunt; the man who saunters in to read the Wall Street Journal; the teenage boys who fancy themselves chess aficionados, but usually end up watching YouTube instead of finishing a match; and the man who always chats with the reference librarian—the man who held the door for me on this hot afternoon.
I recognize all these regulars, and more. I know they recognize me, too. Over the summer we’ve all become passive pieces in the ambiance of one another’s lives; familiar faces in a weekly rhythm. Rarely does my path cross another library regular closely enough to exchange more than a polite wave or smile, but on this day it did.
I’ve become a regular at the library, observing comings and goings from my favorite spot in the mezzanine.
When our laughter tapered off, I turned to remove my bike from the rack. The man said, “Are you from Minot?”
“No, I’m not from around here. But we really love it here. You?” I replied. His voice held a hint of an accent, so I wasn’t surprised when he told me that he, too, was a transplant.
“I’ve been here ten years,” he said. “Minot is okay. It’s quiet, the people are nice. There’s just not much to do.”
Obviously, he didn’t realize he was talking to Minot’s biggest advocate and ally. When I told him I thought Minot has plenty to do—and the activities are more accessible and affordable than anywhere else we’ve lived—he said, “Just give it time. You’ll see.”
When he said those words, I knew this would be a conversation I’d remember. A conversation I’d write about.
“You’ll see.”
It dawned on me then, that a person will see what they want to see. Will they see a place with “nothing to do” because it lacks attractions of national acclaim? Or will they see a place bursting with quiet possibility?
In turn, what you see will inform what you encourage others to see. Will you spur others on to see something good, and full of potential? Something ready to foster contentment, if given the chance? Or will you inspire others to see a void breeding ground for discontentment.
I’ll never “see” this as a place with nothing to do, and nothing to offer. That’s not the version of North Dakota I want to see, it’s not the kind of place I want you to see. That’s not the kind of place I want to live. I’ll choose to see something different.
I’ll choose to see a place with plenty to do. I’ll choose to see a community that works doggedly hard to be welcoming and enjoyable for individuals who have had little choice in moving here. I’ll choose to see the good ideas, the kindness, the quirks, and the opportunities to soak up experiences in small settings. I’ll do my best to help others see those things, too.
Don’t set your sights on what isn’t here, but all of the good things that are.
With a wide grin, I told my new friend at the library that I’d lived in Minot nearly as long as he had, and I’ve never been left bored. I asked if he’d been to summer theater? Arts in the City? Eaten outside on a patio? Traveled to Stanley for Whirl-a-Whip? Walked Denbigh Forest? Gone to the pool? Stayed up late enough for an outdoor movie?
No. He hadn’t even heard of most of the things I mentioned.
Friends, we are on the brink of a new season. As we approach the slippery slope to winter, let’s be mindful of what we see. Let’s see several more weeks of summer, splash pads, pool nights, and park walks. Let’s see autumn goodness on the horizon, ready to meet us with pumpkins, and corn mazes, and the return of the Hostfest.
You’re in a good place. You’re in a good community. You’ll see.
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.
We got more snow than I expected. When I wrote last week’s column the blizzard was impending with predictions hinting at the possibility of 30” of snow. However, with my vast meteorological experience (okay, I have none), I made my own prediction: Minot would get far less snow than expected and it would melt in a week or so.
We all know who made the more accurate forecast. (Hint — it was the National Weather Service.)
So here we are — sitting under four feet of snow.
This storm has taken a lot of us by surprise. At least, it has provoked a wide gamut of emotions. Personally, I have loved playing outside with my boys in the relatively warm weather under the even warmer spring sun. It’s an incredible gift to enjoy the snow without the sun going down at 4 p.m. Others, however are grumpy and disgruntled. That’s understandable, too.
No matter how you feel — happy, shocked, angry, grief-stricken, jaded, or anything in between — I think we can all agree that this crisis has revealed an unlikely hero from among our ranks: The City of Minot social media pages.
You are either nodding in vigorous agreement or have no idea what I’m talking about.
Not the hero we deserve, but the one we needed
While local government updates could be dull intel about snow routes, or cranky reminders to give plows space — the City of Minot is providing us all with information and the healthy dose of humor we all need right now. Their posts are so entertaining, I find myself checking their feed multiple times a day. When my house goes silent during nap time, I will sip a hot cup of coffee and giggle as I take in the wit and sass seeping from their posts.
It’s familial. It’s cozy. It’s funny and conversational and promotes a sense of “we’re-all-in-this-together-ness.” While reading, it’s easy to forget this is the official city government page. I forget these notices are speaking to our city’s population of 50,000(ish). Instead, it seems like getting reminders from the sharp-witted class president at a small, tight-knit high school.
I’ve lived a lot of places and I’ll assure you — the majority of America does not delight in reading posts from their city government. To be sure, I went back and read posts all the places I’ve lived (eight cities). None of them does what Minot is doing. I even looked at other Hot Dish Territory pages — and I’m sorry, but they are a yawn fest.
The City of Minot’s social media posts have created a bond among us. It has emerged as the voice of our generation. The fact that so many people I know look forward to city updates, truly demonstrates that Minot is indeed magical. There’s nowhere else quite like it.
[Photo: Amy Allender]
To further illustrate my point, here are a few excerpts from posts released by the under-acknowledged hero of our spring blizzard.
“First responders still are having a delayed response due to *gestures at everything* but they’re doing everything they can and blades will dispatch to clear the way when required.” April 13, 2022
“Crews have managed to clear some space downtown…However it’s not really “park-able”. But you know what is? Those parking structures (save the boos for after the snow melts, mkay?)” April 15, 2022
“Due to a minor mental breakdown we’re a little slow responding to your DMs. We’ll get to those as soon as we can muster up the courage to climb that mountain.” April 16, 2022
“Roads are narrow, like all over…Two lanes can turn to 1.5 right quick so try not to create your own little mini lane along those dotted lines. Think of the road like those jeans you loved from high school. (We all have them) it doesn’t matter how hard you suck it in, you won’t fit. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can move on without tears. Just slow down/stop and merge into the open lane.” April 18, 2022
Now, let’s all raise a glass to the voice of camaraderie behind The City of Minot socials. You are as inspiring as Churchill, as informative as the Myth Busters, as comforting as fresh lefse, and as entertaining as Daryl’s Racing Pigs. Thank you for being the unsung hero of the blizzard we’ll never forget.
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.
“Mom, why is winter taking so long?” My four-year-old has asked me this question exactly every day for a week straight. When he says it, the phrase is drawn out. It carries that tone of voice only a genuine child can produce when talking to their parents:
Mo—ommm. My name is drawn out and nasal. This word alone indicates a complaint will surface next.
Why is winter takinnnggg soooooo long? The tone here is the vocal equivalent of feet kicking at the floor. It’s the sound of dissatisfaction and unrest.
Though most of us don’t intone these exact words, aren’t we all wondering the same thing? By March the snow is definitely still here — but we are all ready for spring. Especially those of us who aren’t from around here.
The days are rapidly growing longer. For months we’ve been waking up in the dark, starting the day in the dark, and coming home in (you guessed it) the dark. Now, the sky is light in the morning. We are already discussing adding the extra black out curtains to our son’s rooms. After being plunged into frigid blackness for so long, who cares if it’s only 15 ̊ as we leave the house for church on Sunday? The sun is shining. The high is 30 ̊. And winter is taking so long.
Forget the coat, gloves, and hat. We are living in a spring mentality now.
A few days ago my son had some constructive ideas after his daily inquiry of how much longer winter would last.
Him: Can we make a countdown to when winter will be over?
Me: Hmmmmm. Honey, that’s tricky. We don’t ever really know when winter will be over around here. It could be a while yet. [Mentally remembering May snow storms.]
Him: Can it be Christmas again?
Me: Nope. Not until next winter. [Mentally noting that winter really is more fun around Christmastime.]
Him: Can we get out the spring box?
Me: Oh, I s’pose.
The spring box is a plastic bin of easter and spring decor. There’s a “fall box” and “Christmas boxes” too.
I lugged the spring box up from the basement and opened the lid. I looked inside at the bunnies and flowers, then out the window at the snowman we built over a month ago — still frozen in the front yard. It all seemed so incongruous.
Next, I looked at the calendar to confirm the Lent season has really started. Easter is only a month away. According to the calendar, bunnies, and chicks are very appropriate decor right now.
We put away snowflakes that have been hanging above the cabinets since Christmas and frosty greenery from vases. Jovial plastic eggs were placed in candy dishes. Ceramic bunnies gifted from grandparents in the 90s took up residence on the mantel.
When we finished my son said, “Is that it?”
“For now, I’m afraid so.”
What Season is It?
Later the temperature climbed to a sunny 35 ̊ — with no wind. We left our bunnies and eggs inside, donned light jackets and went out to play. The sun had melted ice and snow, leaving puddles for splashing. I put sunglasses on and sat on the stoop blowing bubbles for my boys to pop.
It was a perfect spring day.
Except it was only 35 ̊. Except when they weren’t popping bubbles, they were digging holes in mounds of snow next to the sidewalk. Except it’s only the beginning of March, and we still have plenty of snow days, wind chill warnings, and general winter ahead of us.
This is March in Minot. As things thaw, things get weird. We’ve all lost our sense of season, temperature and reason. Before March is over, I’ll see men wearing shorts as they walk into Menards. Before April is over, I’ll wear a tank top on a 60 ̊ day. Before winter is over we will all wonder at some point, Why is winter taking so long?
Although it is long, winter around here is faithful. Faithful to turn into spring. Faithful to give way to those endless summer days that inevitably make the winter worth every icy shuffle and every chapped lip. The summers really are perfect up here. That’s what I tell everyone who asks how I cope with a winter that never seems to end. “The summer is always worth the wait,” I tell them. And it always is.
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.
Renew your zeal for the Bible with three days of exclusive devotionals! Interesting and relevant writings and reflection questions will remind you why the Word of God is so awesome. You'll learn a lot and you'll leave excited to know God more and grow deeper in your faith.
Your kick-start is on the way!
You've always dreamed of reading the Bible in chronological order. Now you can!
Getting my printable PDF plan is easy. It's not fancy, but it does fold easily into a bookmark, so you can keep it close by and easily see what's coming next. I hope you find it as useful as I do.
**Remember to check your PROMOTIONS FOLDER. Even if your confirmation comes to your normal inbox, the actual download may come to that pesky promotions folder instead!**
