In Defense of 'Murica

Last week, I went to the Fourth of July Parade in Columbus, Wisconsin, a small town just northwest of Madison.

I'd never been to Columbus's parade before...which is to say I hadn't sat on those streets in that town...but I knew exactly how it would go and what to expect.  Fourth of July Parades are characterized by an mix of National and Local Pride.  American Legion members, proudly in uniform, walk in lock step just as they likely did during their days of service.  The crowd, clad in red, white, and blue, cheers with hesitation; there is pride in these men because they are American and because they are from the same pocket of America as most of the spectators.

Next comes the long line of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles, blaring their sirens and flashing their lights to the delight of my five-year-old son and most of the other children gathered.  The trucks are washed and polished in a manner seemingly unfitting the work that they do each day, but it is the Fourth, after all.

If I wanted to begin a diatribe about how such parades symbolize all that is wrong with our country, I would probably start here.  I could talk about the hero worship which we partake in; how cheering for our service men and women equates to cheering for an Imperialist foreign policy.  Or how a event like this, which marches military and police vehicles down the main drag of a small town, is just a few warheads short of a Soviet Missile Parade.  And finally, I could write about how standing and saluting a flag of a nation during the playing of its national anthem necessarily means approving of every action that nation has ever taken, and that everyone standing and singing and saluting is either an advocate for American exceptionalism, or willingfully ignorant.

I could go there...

But if I think back to how I felt as I sat at the curb, amongst my neighbors...that's not where my mind goes.

Maybe not everyone at the parade reads The Economist on a regular basis, or knows the skinny on Sino-American relations.  But I still felt that I was in the presence of sincere, decent people.

Now, I'm not going to go too far the other way and embrace full-on jingosim.  I do not own any shirts which read "These Colors Don't Run," or "Freedom isn't Free", and I don't plan on buying any.

But I also don't want to view outspoken patriotism as a symptom of ignorance, as is too often done.

A Love Letter to Grand Marais

I found Grand Marais, MN on accident; it was a stop on a fishing trip to Canada.  On first glance, it was just another small town along highway 61.  But two glances, one out to the lakeshore and another between my father-in-law and me, and I knew I'd be back.



"This place is awesome," he said, sliding back into the truck. "We should come up here with the wives."



Grand Marais has an identity crisis....it doesn't know quite who it is....and that's a good thing.



On first glance, Grand Marais is hard and cold.  Built on a bedrock of iron ore and cargo ship steel, it sits abreast to might Lake Superior, its shores the anvil of her winter fury.  Even today, even in the warm summer months, there is little place for the meek.



And yet this harshness beget a beauty that is uniquely Northern.  Towering evergreens, uniquely suited to America's Northern Frontier, coat the land in emerald, while a tapestry of rivers and streams, themselves the descendants of bygone glaciers, carve and whittle the hard land into gently rolling hills.



What is true of the land can also be said of the people.  The tales of the native Ojibwe and the earliest European settlers are as much a part of Grand Marais as the land itself, and their hardiness still gleams in the eyes of those who call the area home today.  And though it makes them strong, it does not make them hard.  Wool socks and Teva sanders are their uniform, but it is the warmth of hospitality is what truly characterizes the residents of this place.  It seems that here, as much as anywhere in the state, the meaning of "Minnesota Nice" is shown true.



These days, we long for the comfortable and the easy. We want places and people and ideas that we know.  Places like Grand Marais defy this sort of ease and comfort.