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  1. Taco Bells Got Nothin’ on ND

    May 7, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    Taco in a bag!

    For the past month or so you may have noticed that Taco Bell has introduced a new item on their menu: a taco with a crunchy shell made out of Doritos. The commercials talk about how “finally” they realized to combine two great things, Doritos and taco meat, into one delicious package. What Taco Bell failed to realize was that North Dakotans have been combining Doritos and taco meat for years before their “original” idea. How you may ask? Well, the answer is simple. Taco in a bag.

    For those of you not familiar with the delicious cuisine of taco in a bag, you are not alone. I first came upon taco in a bag about a week or so into my relocation to Fargo when I attended a local festival. As I was ordering my familiar corn dog with a side of fries, I saw out of the corner of my eye what appeared to be patrons eating something out of a Doritos bag with a fork. I was instantly curious. When I reported my findings back to some locals they laughed and said, “Oh, yeah. That’s taco in a bag.”

    What exactly is taco in a bag you ask? Well, its pretty simple.

    1. Take a personal size bag of Doritos (or Fritos in some cases) and crunch them up a little bit.

    2. Open the bag (I suggest cutting it lengthwise rather than opening the top normally) and top with ground beef with taco seasoning.

    3. Top with cheese, lettuce, sour cream and any other fixings you would typically adorn a taco with.

    4. Enjoy.

    Still not sold on taco in a bag? I don’t blame you. In fact, it took me over a year and a half to try it for myself. Give me tatortot hotdish or beer with a pickle any day, but taco in a bag was just plain weird. Finally, about a week ago, I could take it no longer. It was time to see what all the fuss was about. I opened the bag, topped with the fixings, and took a bite. The verdict? Life changing.

    So Taco Bell, I know you think you are being super “innovative” but I hate to break it to you, North Dakotans already beat you to it. And what makes this delicacy worlds better than its Taco Bell cousin is the simple fact that taco in a bag is not only delicious but practical too. I mean, try eating a taco on the go without getting messy.

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  2. The Case of the Missing “The”

    April 29, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    The other day I was chatting with a friend discussing directions to a restaurant we were planning on meeting up at later that evening. “Just take Interstate until the first exit in Moorhead…”

    Now, if you read that sentence and you don’t see anything strange about it, I bet you are a native to this area. Was I confused about which interstate she was talking about? Nope, I knew you couldn’t take I-29 into Moorhead and the only other interstate option in the area is I-94. Did I not know what exit in Moorhead she was referencing? Nope… the first exit in Moorhead is pretty clear. You see, what my friend did was refer to it as “Interstate” instead of “the interstate”. While I try to embrace mostly everything about the culture of this area (mosquitoes and negative temperatures excluded) the omission of the word “the” in front of certain words really perplexes me.

    This wasn’t the first time I had heard one of the major interstates in the area referred as “Interstate” before instead of THE interstate, at least not the first time in North Dakota. For whatever reason the word “the” has been removed when discussing these specific roads. You don’t hop on THE interstate and head towards Bismarck, you hop on Interstate. References to a road with a lack of direct article in front is not the only word I’ve noticed without a “the”. For example, instead of driving the tractor during the summer, or even “a” tractor, it becomes simply “driving tractor”.

    When I’ve tried in the past to point this out to friends who omit the “the” or ask why they do it, they look at me like I’m crazy. Is there anything grammatically incorrect with it? Well, I’m no grammar queen but I don’t think so. Like many things in ND, leaving out the “the” is simply another quirky thing, like referring to sloppy Joe’s as barbecue, that an outsider like myself has noticed and thinks, “hmm… interesting.”

    While I am now rather familiar with the lack of “the” in conversations, the occurrence still catches me off guard from time to time and never ceases to peak my curiosity. Whatever happened to the “the” anyway? Where did it go? Has the language in North Dakota evolved to a degree where direct articles such as the word “the” becomes unnecessary and time consuming? Did there ever used to be a “the” in front of these words? And most importantly, am I the only person who has noticed this? (Quite possibly).

    The world may never know.

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  3. If You Can’t Beat ‘em, Join ‘em.

    April 23, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    Even locals like visiting the woodchipper.

    In the past year or so since I have been writing this blog, I have somehow managed to avoid spending much time discussing the movie Fargo. Well, that ends today. I’m sure many residents can relate to the common reaction you get by outsiders when they discover you are from Fargo. Their familiar comment: “Oh! Like the movie?” For many people, their knowledge of Fargo consists of scenes for the Coen Brother’s 1996 movie aptly titled, Fargo. This includes funny accents, bomber hats, and of course, the incredibly memorable scene with a woodchipper and the gruesome disposal of a body. I think equally as amusing is the common Fargo resident response to this movie comparison: “It wasn’t even filmed in Fargo!”

    Now, I’m not going to spend this post discussing the differences or (sorry, Fargo) the similarities between the movie and it’s namesake town. Instead, I want to highlight how one Fargo organization decided one day to stop running away from the negative stereotype and just embrace it. Last week marked the 1 year anniversary since the Fargo woodchipper was first put on the display at the Fargo-Moorhead Visitor’s Center.  You see, the folks at the Visitor’s Center decided to follow that familiar adage: “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” It doesn’t take someone with a PR background to see how genius this actually was. Since visitors already associated Fargo with the movie, you may as well just run with it.

    With that in mind, a replica of the woodchipper from the movie Fargo was created. As word got out, the owner of the actual woodchipper from the movie came forward and let the Visitor’s Center “borrow” the prop for a while. Suddenly, people began flocking to the Visitor’s Center to catch a glimpse of the woodchipper and maybe even snap a photo or two. Bomber hats are on hand to add to the effect and even a fake leg sticks out from the top for you to pose by. Soon an entire Fargo exhibit was opened to include everything from movie scripts to autographed photos and props. The woodchipper even has its very own Facebook page to keep you up to date with events and memorable movie moments. The beauty of all of this is the fact that the woodchipper acts as a landmark to bring in the tourists (and the curious locals like myself), and then they are about to pick up brochures and information about everything else to see around town as well.

    The woodchipper and the whole “embrace the movie” mentality worked so well that it spawned the creation of an entire festival centered around the movie. In Fall 2011 the first annual Fargo Fest was held culminating in the community showing of the movie projected on a downtown building for all to view.

    So while some people may run away from a negative stereotype, Fargo and the folks at the Visitor’s Center decided to embrace it. Turn lemons into lemonade so to speak. And is it working? Oh, you betcha.

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  4. A Very FM Itinerary

    April 2, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    Since I’ve moved to Fargo, it has been my mission to slowly but surely get my skeptical family out for a visit. I wrote before about how my mom took a trip to the midwest and even stopped off at the Minnesota State Fair, but no other brave souls have dared venture to the Heartland. As the snow melted and record temperatures krept across much of North Dakota and Minnesota, my dad informed me that it was time. He and my step-mom were headed to Fargo.

    As I prepared for their arrival, I began brainstorming how I could fit all that is glorious about the area into the single weekend visit. As soon as their plane touched down, we were off full steam ahead. I soon created the epitome of a Fargo/Moorhead itinerary. (I feel it only appropriate to link to all the places we visited, so I apologize in advance for the excessive use of hyperlinks).

    Day 1: Up early for breakfast at Boppa’s Bagels before I headed off to class. During my break it was time for a quick tour around campus and a visit to my office. After my evening class it was time for funky pizza at Rhombus Guys and a delicious local brew from the Fargo Brewing Company to wash it all down.

    Day 2: A quick coffee at the Downtown Atomic and then off to the Hjemkomst Center for a bit of local history. After wiping away tears from the video about the Hjemkomst Ship and taking a tour of a replica of a Norwegian church, it was time for lunch. (Yes, we ate a lot during this weekend). I decided to take them to one of my favorite lunch places, Betrosa’s. After a few hours of teaching we met up again at my place for a glass of wine and then dinner with friends at Doolittle’s. We then collapsed from full bellies and rested until the next day of festivities began.

    Day 3: First stop, the FM Visitor’s Bureau. I mean, obviously they had to see the woodchipper. As we snapped some photos and flipped through brochures, my dad exclaimed, “Oh hey, you’re in this one.” Sure enough, on one of the first few pages of the Visitor’s Bureau brochure was an advertisement for the woodchipper with yours truly and her good-sport fiancé posing beside it. About a year ago we had stopped in to check out the woodchipper ourselves and had our photos snapped. A feeling of pride welled up in me as I (unbeknownst to me) was helping to publicize Fargo even more than I had imagined. As Blake grabbed a stack of brochures to autograph and send off to his family, we headed out the door towards Casselton. Next stop: Maple River Winery for some North Dakota wine tasting. Now I have to be honest, my parents were a bit skeptical about tasting North Dakota wine. Being from the Pacific Northwest and living in an area that is surrounded by wineries, they are no stranger to wine. However, they were pleasantly surprised as they began sampling a wide variety of fruit wines (18 different varieties to be exact). I mean its not every day you get to sample apple jalapeno, dandelion and rhubarb wine all in one sitting. They even shipped a few bottles back to Washington. Soon it was dinner time and since it was a beautiful day on Saturday, we decided to stroll on down to Juano’s in Downtown Fargo.

    When people ask me about Fargo, I always say it is pleasantly surprising. This idea was not lost on my parents. While neither of them knew what to expect, they were “pleasantly surprised” and definitely were sad to leave. While Fargo may not be the typical vacation destination, I always tell people that if you can just get here, I promise you won’t be disappointed. Now that the weather is warm, no time is better to make a trip to Fargo. I mean, I’ve already worked out an itinerary for you.

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  5. Fargo: Back to the Future

    March 25, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    It never ceases to amaze me on the first warm day of Spring (or in our case recently, late winter) how swarms of Fargo residents take to the streets to soak up the sunshine. It reminds me of animals waking up after a long hibernation. The greatest part is how much everyone truly appreciates it after a long winter, and with the thought in the back of their mind that winter could suddenly show its ugly face again with the flip of the switch. No weather ever seems to be stable or predictable in the upper Midwest.

    So as the temperature gage squeaks beyond 40 degrees, the parks and streets are filled with runners, walkers, strollers, dogs, kids of all ages, bicycles, tricycles, scooters, motorcycles, and an assortment of sports equipment. However, there is one item that emerges during the first glimpse of warm weather that shocked me to my core when I moved here. I would be left staring in shock and confusion as it would pass me by, and leave me asking myself, “did I really just see what I think I saw?” I remember playing with them in my youth, but thought they had disappeared and become somewhat of the endangered species of recreation equipment similar to the skip-it and double-dutch jump ropes. I had heard rumors they still existed in some dusty boxes in the back of garages and storage sheds, and would even show up from time to time in second hand stores, but I had not seen them with my own eyes since I was a small tyke… at least not until I moved to Fargo.

    What is this strange piece of retro-equipment I speak of? None other than… roller blades.

    If you are from here then you probably are equally as stunned that I had not seen roller blades in so many years as I was to have seen them in the first place. While I am no historian, it seems to me that roller blades never really disappeared from Fargo as they did in many other parts of the country, and it seems that people still enjoy “blading” just as much as the vast majority of the country did at least 15 or so years ago. Ok, while I admit roller blading was not my strongest sport partially due to my inability to move my joints due to the restriction of knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards and a helmet (thanks, Mom), I am not picking on the hobby simply because of my own jealousy. I mean, do I get a little jealous when a “blader” whips by me and causes me to have flashbacks of my 8 year old self rolling on the ground unable to stand back up after purposefully falling in order to stop myself from rolling down a hill? Sure. Do I wish I could have mimicked the skating abilities of the kids on Mighty Ducks as they tore through the Mall of America on their roller blades instead of barely being able to skate 5 paces without epically crashing? Absolutely. Do I look down at the scars on my knee and feel a twinge of anger as I remember skidding face first down a paved street with roller blades still attached? Yeah, a little bit. But just like the rest of the country who survived Y2K and then proceeded to hang up their blades, I too gave up my dreams and found other more “millennial” forms of recreation like jogging and razor scooters.

    I am not alone in my observation. In fact, a few other Fargo transplants (who will remain nameless to save them from the backlash that may occur from this post) have also commented to me about the shock they experienced when they saw their first Fargo roller blader. They too thought it might be an isolated incident. However, as the warm weather stretched on, and the roller blader spottings became more and more prevalent, they too began to ponder if Fargo somehow got stuck in a sports equipment twilight zone.

    Again, I am not mocking those of you that choose to continue your fitness pursuits through roller blading up and down the streets of Fargo. In fact, I commend your abilities to keep a dying sport “hip” and “cool” in the name of a good cardio workout. However, I do have a few questions for you. First of all,  did you bring it back or did it never really disappear? Also, are these roller blades relics of your childhood or is it still possible to buy new roller blades?

    Any which way, keep on blading you crazy kids. And if you need to borrow a fanny pack or scrunchy, I think I have one tucked away in my garage somewhere.

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  6. That Hockey Thing

    March 16, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    Every area of the country has some particular sport they are especially fond of. For some areas it is basketball, for others its football, and for even more, it is baseball. But no area of the country bleeds hockey as much as the upper midwest. I am the first to admit I know very little about the sport. In fact, my first and only experience witnessing a live hockey was a few months ago when I had the opportunity to go to a UND Sioux game. You can read about that awesome experience here. For me, my knowledge of hockey consisted of that one game and the movie Mighty Ducks. And if I ever did watch a sport involving ice it was figure skating. While I knew there were a few professional sports teams and obviously some college teams, I still considered it some what of an unpopular and relatively unknown sport, similar to field hockey or synchronized swimming. (I can say this because I played field hockey in high school… I have no excuse for my synchronized swimming insult). Little did I realize just how deep the game of hockey was to midwesterners, especially in Minnesota and North Dakota.

    I began realizing that this hockey thing was a little bigger than I imagined when hockey rinks began being built in the grass at local elementary schools and parks. I remember being in shock when I first noticed crews building walls and flooding the field to form a rink. “They’re BUILDING a hockey rink here?” I said to a friend. “Well, yeah?” they replied like it was as typical as an outdoor basketball or tennis court. When the weather turned cold and the flooded grass began to freeze and form a solid rink, kids began gathering in droves forming pick-up games of hockey just like they would football or basketball. Apparently, hockey starts as soon as kids can hold a hockey stick and hit a puck. They practically emerge from the womb with a pair of skates strapped to their feet. While I grew up watching pee-wee football, midwesterners experience pee-wee hockey. And while those little budding hockey players could skate full force up and down the rink, I’d be falling flat on my face.

    Then came the high school state hockey tournament for Minnesota. One of my instructors explained that state hockey was like nothing I could even imagine. Entire schools would get our early to drive down the “The Cities” and cheer on their teams. No sport like that could ever compare to anything we had at my own high school in Maryland… though I don’t claim that we were actually any good at very many sports… besides field hockey that is. :)

    The epitome of hockey came tonight as I met up with family at Buffalo Wild Wings to cheer on the Sioux for the regional title. I knew I had caught the hockey bug when I was up out of my seat cheering as they blew the Gophers out of the water (or… well… off the ice?). As I watched them pull off a major win during the last period, I couldn’t help but think how I got through the vast majority of my life without this phenomenal sport. So good luck tomorrow night Sioux. I’ll be cheering!!

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  7. Curling “Swept” Me Off My Feet… Literally

    February 26, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    The reason I'm a little black and blue today.

    Curling. Ever heard of it? If you’re anything like me, your knowledge of curling is a vague recollection of a bizarre sport you catch glimpses of every four years during the Winter Olympics when you’re waiting for speed skating to come on. You know it involves some sort of puck/stone thing and people furiously sweeping the ice for some reason. While I knew very little about the sport I was thrilled when my department decided to bond over curling at the FM Curling Club this weekend.

    We arrived and were told to slip on a pair of curling shoes– one had a rubber sole and the other had a slick plastic surface, perfect for sliding… or I soon realized… falling. As I starred out over the ice I thought, “Shuffle board on ice? How hard could this be?” After all, curling is the sport with the oldest Winter Olympian ever: 54 year old Scott Baird on the US Olympic Curling Team. (Yes, I definitely just looked that up). If a 54 year old could do it, my youthful self would have no problem. Boy… was I ever wrong.

    We were told to warm up by practicing pushing off the edge of the rink and seeing how far we could slide by lunging forward across the ice. Almost simultaneously a group of us pushed off the edge and proceeded to fall flat on our stomachs. This was going to be a little more tricky than I had thought and it was about to get a lot more difficult. After we had given up on our “warm ups” we were ready to practice pushing off the starter block with a stone in hand. Again, epic fail on my part. I slid a solid 2 feet before proceeding to wipe out. Next it was time to practice sweeping. We took our curling brooms and walked up and down the ice trying to keep up with the stone sliding behind us. I don’t know when the last time I had laughed so hard as watching grown men and women screaming at stones to speed up or slow down while furiously sweeping their brooms back and forth as their team mates yelled “SWEEEEEP” at the top of their lungs. Eventually I “found my footing” and it was time for a match.

    In a nutshell, here are the rules: Each team is composed of 4 players. The goal is to shoot your stones… called “rocks”… down the ice into the “house” (basically a bullseye). Two other members of your team sweep the ice with a curling broom that looks more like a mop than a broom, in order to melt the ice and speed up the rock or curve it in some direction. Similar to bocce ball, whatever team has the most rocks closest to the center of the house (or button) wins. For more accurate and detailed rules I highly recommend the Wikipedia page I keep referring to.

    Even though the combined experience between the 15 or so of us was about zero years, we caught on quickly thanks to a few tips, and a lot of patience, from a club member. Even though I didn’t score a single time and my knees are a little black and blue today, it was an amazing experience that I highly recommend. After all, when else do you get to shoot rocks and houses and get away with it?

     

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  8. Aurora Alert!

    February 20, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    When I first realized I was moving to North Dakota there were few things that sounded appealing to me. I was told that the winters are freezing, the snow is ridiculous, everything is a giant mud puddle in the spring and mosquitoes are out of control in the summer. “Why would anyone ever live in a place like that?” I thought. Obviously my opinion has changed since the big move and I’ve found plenty to love. However, before I realized the jewel that is North Dakota, there was only one consolation that seemed worth while about my move: seeing the Northern Lights.

    Ever since I learned about the Aurora Borealis in elementary school, it had been a dream of mine to see in person. When I was informed that if the conditions are just right its possible to see them in North Dakota, I was overjoyed. The problem: its really difficult to figure out when the conditions are just right. The other problem: its really difficult to see them in Fargo. Luckily for me, my boyfriend Blake shared the same dream with me. He too has wanted to see the Northern Lights since he was little. This meant that he whole heartily supported my crazy claims when I thought certain nights during the past year and a half that we’ve lived here were optimal Aurora spotting nights. I would search websites trying to figure out the scientific calculation, lining up the latitude and longitude lines… or whatever you’re suppose to do… and then suddenly scream up the stairs at odd hours: “Ok! It’s Aurora time! Let’s go!” We would drive a few miles out of Fargo only to realize that if you can’t see stars, you probably can’t see the Lights.

    With less free time on my hands now that I’m fully immersed in grad school, my random hobby of “predicting” when it was optimal viewing time had been set aside. The other night however, as I was crawling into bed, I decided to take one more stalk through Facebook to see what other people are up to at 12:30 a.m. on a Saturday night. That’s when I noticed that Valley News Live had posted an alert: AURORA SIGHTINGS!! So what if they were near Grand Forks? I hopped out of bed, screamed up the stairs, and no sooner had we pulled on a pair of slippers and grabbed the car keys that we were headed out the door… pajama pants and all.

    One thing we knew was that we should drive north (duh) and we should get away from Fargo. How far? I didn’t know. I kept refreshing my Facebook alert on my phone and saw statements from witnesses that seemed to mock our efforts a little more with each minute that passed Aurora-less: “I saw them! They’re amazing!” or “The best I’ve ever seen!” or “This is truly breath taking!” I couldn’t take it anymore. Somewhere about 20 miles north of Fargo I told Blake to take the next exit and hit the back roads where there are no street lights that would interfere. It was now or never. After all, I had no idea how long they would last.

    As we crept down a pitch-black gravel road, it was remarkable we didn’t drive straight into a ditch. Both of us were glued to the windows and starring north into the night sky. We finally stopped the car and got out. “There it is!” exclaimed Blake. I squinted my eyes and asked, “What? You mean that really light, barely visible, greenish/blueish streak?” Yep. That was it. We had seen the Northern Lights. Unfortunately, we were a little too far south to get the full effect that everyone had been reporting about on Facebook so enthusiastically.

    After a few failed attempts to take a picture (straight blackness isn’t much of a photo-op), we gave up and headed back towards Fargo. It was now about 1:30 a.m. and I was ready to crash… for real this time. While we were admittedly a little disappointed, I was comforted by the fact that the reports were true. It was possible to see the Northern Lights in North Dakota… I’d just have to wait a little longer.  So even though the winters are freezing, the snow is ridiculous, everything is a giant mud puddle in the spring, and mosquitoes are out of control in the summer– we’ve got the Northern Lights.

     

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  9. Warming up on Frozen Ice

    February 5, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    The reason we missed our turn. Straight out of Narnia, right?

    The other day a reader sent me a link to a story that was truly “Midwestern”. It was about a bar. A bar on a lake. I don’t mean next to a lake, but literally, ON a lake. Ice Hole Bar, located in Lake Lida, Minnesota, opened this winter. The bar caters to fishermen (and curious outsiders) wishing to warm their bones with a little barley pop and assorted spirits. It took me about three seconds into the article before I had new weekend plans. I had to see this.

    My boyfriend Blake, always enthusiastic about a new Midwestern adventure, said he would accompany me on this hour trek to Lake Lida. We set off towards the lake and soon realized we were lost. The dense fog and lack of GPS guidance spelled disaster. We must have gotten twisted around while gawking at every frozen lake we passed and the breathtaking trees covered with Hoar Frost (definitely just learned this phrase) that looked straight out of Narnia. I soon began to panic. Where the heck were we? Just as I began to recommend we give up and head home, the fog began to part and across the frozen landscape appeared a golden shack of hope. We were here. Or… well… sort of. I told Blake we could just park near the shore and walk out to the bar. Though I saw trucks driving out on the

    Ice Hole Bar, Lake Lida, MN

    frozen water I didn’t want to take my chances. Ice was not for driving on. Of course Blake ignored me and claimed the only way we could get the true Midwestern experience was to drive my little blue car out onto the lake. As I screamed with protests and threatened to jump out of the moving vehicle, down the boat launch we rolled and onto solid ice. We krept forward. Silence. No cracking. No creaking. Ok… let’s do this.

    After about a quarter mile we arrived at our destination. We parked my little car next to two

    Little ice house shanty town

    giant trucks and got out. That first step on a frozen lake might be the closest I ever get to feeling

    what Neal Armstrong must have felt taking his first steps on the moon. “One small step for man, one giant leap for Midwestern kind”. It took a while for my brain to register what my eyes were seeing. With the combination of fog and frost, it looked as if the entire landscape had been painted in shades of white and grey. The only thing interrupting the whiteness were tiny fish houses dotting the barren landscape. It reminded me of a little frozen shanty town. After a few quick photos we decided to wet our whistle inside the bar… purely for anthropological purposes of course. After all, how can you really understand the culture unless you experience it yourself, right?

    We opened the door into a room about the size of a small trailer. There were a few bar stools, two bench seats and a handful of folding chairs. An electric fireplace was mounted on one end of the bar and a flat screen TV (complete with Direct TV) was on

    Blake trying his hand at ice fishing.

    the other side. Towards the far end of the room were two ice holes with line dangling in and a bucket of bait close by. We grabbed a drink and were soon told to pull up a chair next to some fellow patrons. It didn’t take long for us to strike up some great conversations with the locals. For the next two hours I had died and gone to Midwestern heaven. I learned about different local fish, swapped hotdish recipes,

    Baiting my hook

    raved about NDSU and their amazing football season, and even baited my own hook. (Don’t worry DNR… I didn’t actually fish). Eventually the conversation took the inevitable turn to how in the world we ended up in Fargo and my favorite experiences so far. Of course that very moment was already heading towards the top of my list. People laughed as I talked about my first time driving in heavy snow, my confusion with the phrase “I suppose” and how I cried after watching the movie Fargo for fear that it was a good representation of the state I was about to move to. The only downfall of the entire trip: I made the mistake of taking off my coat and revealing my JMU t-shirt. “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU WEARING THAT FOR IN HERE?” Whoops.

    It was soon time to say our goodbyes and make our way back to Fargo. We shook a few hands, snapped a few photos and hit the road. On our way back we couldn’t stop raving about the past few hours. Our favorite part: The fishing? The beer? Driving on the ice? No way. Like all things that make the Midwest so enjoyable, it was the people. After all, it isn’t everywhere that even in the middle of a frozen lake, you can find warmth.

    Best. Day. Ever.

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  10. A Gentleman and a Scholar!

    February 2, 2012 by Becoming Midwestern

    If you have ever questioned whether chivalry was dead, you clearly have not visited the Midwest. While yes, most of us have heard of “Midwestern nice”, chivalry is just a little bit different. It is one thing for the cashier at the grocery store to ask you about your day and to seem sincerely interested, but it is an all together different phenomenon when a door is held for you by a young man below the age of 30.

    I was raised in a household where “please” and “thank you” were required and beginning a request with “may” instead of “can” was imperative. On top of polite vocabulary, it was not uncommon for my mom to “encourage” me to hold the door open for any woman or man that was within a quarter mile from us at the mall, church or any place that didn’t have automatic doors. I was raised to be a polite young lady.

    When I went off to college I began to notice that this “politeness” did not extend very often to those of the opposite sex between the ages of 18-22. In fact, it was not uncommon for me to be walking into a building behind a young man and have the door smash into me. While I pride myself on being an independent and liberated woman, I have it engrained in me that men should hold the door open for women. Who cares about car doors? Who needs help down or up stairs? Not me. I can do it myself. All I care about is having a door held open for me. Was I shocked? No. I figured men went through a phase during their teens and twenties where chivalry wasn’t exactly on their radar, kind of like good hygiene and green vegetables.

    Then I moved to North Dakota. I didn’t think much about the chivalrous nature of the young male residents until today. As I was hurrying across campus, strategically cutting through buildings to avoid the morning chill, doors were held for me not once, not twice, but three times. Three. Seriously. And these were not elderly gentleman. These were the notoriously un-chivalrous 18-22 year olds. I began to reflect on this oddity searching for an explanation. Was it my seniority over them as a college instructor that intimidated them into door holding? No, that can’t be because unless you have  witnessed with your own eyes my instruction, you would have a hard time believing I was over the age of 18 led alone old enough to teach. Was it my dazzling good looks that make men race towards the next door I am about to breeze through for a chance to hold it open for me? No, that is clearly not the case being that I was running late this morning and… well… lets just say my radiance was a little rough around the edges. In fact, it had nothing to do with me at all because I had seen this occur with other women throughout the state, young and old. The answer? Midwestern upbringing.

    So to you parents that have taught your boys to hold open doors for ladies, I thank you. Chivalry is still alive an kicking in the young men of the Midwest.

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