Sunday Up North

Mr. L is in the Army, and after 26 years there are still people who ask if he'll make a career of it, or they ask "when can he get out?" The answers are "yes" and "any time he wants." We find ourselves, after years and years of living in places we didn't choose but mostly came to love, in Minnesota which we did choose-and better love since we have only ourselves to blame.

But today we aren't in St. Paul, I am in our cabin north of Grand Rapids. In my family for four generations I've always taken this place for granted. We lived near a wonderful public marina on the Potomac River outside Washington, DC for a half decade and every time Mr. L wanted to buy a boat I gasped, "Why would we want to keep a boat 5 miles from the house when in Minnesota all we'd have to do is walk down to the dock in our own front yard?"

Mr. L is on his way to St. Paul, driving up from his last assignment in Tampa, and I will make my way to town to meet him on Monday. After almost 50 years as a military brat, then as a soldier, then as a soldier's spouse, all the while calling Minnesota "home," it really is going to be home. Don't you have to spend at least a few summer weekends "at the lake" or "up north" to be considered a true Minnesotan?