Go Bison!

The two and a half week, Fargo-centric portion of our endless summer vacation is nearly complete. Soon we’ll be heading toward Michigan and then finally back home to Naples. I’ve never vacationed so long that I’ve had to get both an oil change and a haircut. I think I'm even developing a Fargo accent, dontcha’ know?

Why did the giant chicken cross the road?
To meet the blues band publicist.

Since the bloom is basically off the Fargo rose, sight-seeing wise, we’ve spent the past few days making day trips to neighboring towns, and, probably more than anything else, satisfying our new found fetish for statues of grossly over-sized fauna. Fortunately, neighboring Minnesota is a bonanza for these types of attractions. There’s even a website naming them all, so we are obviously not alone in our fiberglass adoration. We met a fellow fetishist, Susan, next to the giant prairie chicken in Rothsay. She’s a publicist for an award winning blues band out of Minnie/St. Paul. Since we’re basically besties now, go check out the Dee Miller Band. 

You otter not kiss giant rodents.

Play "Free Bird," man!

We also made a reluctant return to Moorhead (the land of Plains, Trains & Assholes-I’d-Like-To-Kick-In-The-Shins highlighted in an earlier post) to attend a Scandinavian cultural festival. After aimlessly wandering around booths of handmade scrap wood; nasty-ass, anise-laced baked goods; and plastic viking helmets, what I learned is that if I want to be true to my Nordic heritage, I should probably learn to scowl more and forge an appreciation for accordion music. Since I don’t see either of those happening any time soon, I may have to suppress my Finnish genetics and pretend I’m from a country with better dispositions and less polka. Nashville, perhaps.

Me, checking out the business end of Pete the Pelican.

Smells like poutine spirit.

Speaking of heritage, we also went to Detroit Lakes, Minnesota for a day of sunning on the beach and eating unholy amounts of poutine. Although “the DL” (I swear to Odin, that’s what the locals call it) is a popular, up-north resort area for summer escapees of the twin cities, it also happens to be near where the Karvinen side of my family landed in America when they left Finland (presumably on big rafts of accordions grouted together with anise cookie dough) back in the 1800’s. I didn’t bump into any of Klan Karvinen, but I felt a very special bond with the aforementioned poutine, and we’re considering adoption. 

Me posing next to Teddy, which is far better than me posing in a teddy.

Buffalo-bombed.

Namaste