![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Winter in Minnesota
Jan. 7th, 2026 07:28 pmI am not native to Minnesota. I choose to live here.
I’ve traveled the world, and while there are places that are warmer, friendlier, cheaper, and easier to live in, Minnesota feels right. The people here leave one another alone - and what others view as standoffishness, I see as respectful distance. But when someone needs help, people show up. It isn’t perfect - no place is - but it’s right for me.
People who haven’t spent much time here don’t understand the cycle of the seasons. Spring isn’t bright and green like it is elsewhere; it’s brown and muddy. Summer is hot and humid - sometimes among the hottest places on the planet—, sometimes smoky from wildfires, sometimes thick with mosquitoes. But the days are long, and the hiking and nature can be spectacular.
Fall is a time of coming together. While it’s not really my thing, as seasonal affective disorder starts to creep in, I can appreciate how important it is for others to gather—to share food, stories, and warmth.
Winter, however, is cold.
In snowy winters, the snow piles up and just keeps going. The joke is that by mid-January, two-lane roads become single-lane roads, and by early February—when there’s nowhere left to put the snow—the roads just start getting taller. This is when people ski and skate, take winter hikes, or retreat indoors to cook, read, watch TV, and spend time with family. This aligns with the public image of Minnesota: a place where time slows, where people are nice to one another in warm, yellow-lit houses while we wait for the cold, dark blues, greys, and whites to thaw.
But that isn’t all Minnesota is.
Minnesota is also about people working together and supporting one another. It’s about protesting injustice, as we’ve seen in response to the killings of Philando Castile, George Floyd, Amir Locke, and so many others. It’s about defending the most vulnerable—immigrants and Native people, the poor, people of color, and those whose sexuality or gender identity puts them at risk.
Minnesotans - more than anywhere I’ve lived, and more than most places I’ve visited - are deeply engaged politically. Even those who claim not to be involved are often only a degree or two removed from people in office or people who have served. We donate money, time, resources, our bodies, and sometimes our own lives to make things better for all of us.
And even in winter, even in the darkness, the sun still comes out some days.
When it does, things melt a little. Tree branches shed their weight and rise. Hard-packed snow turns to slush, and things begin to move. It doesn’t even need to get above freezing. I’ve seen water running down the driveway on a bright day when it’s well below zero.
That’s the thing about Minnesota: even in the darkest days of winter, we make our own sunshine. We come together. We help one another thaw and reshape ourselves. We jump each other’s cars, clear driveways, bring food - because if we don’t help one another, collectively, we don’t survive. At least not as the people we want to be.
It’s in that context that I fiercely oppose the cold-blooded killing of Renee Nicole Good this morning by federal “law enforcement” operating far outside their jurisdiction. It’s why I support those attending tonight’s vigil, and the protests in the days ahead against this violence—and the violence still to come from those who claim to be governing this country.
I can’t do otherwise.
We can’t do otherwise.
Because in Minnesota, even on the coldest days, the bright light of the sun melts ICE.
I’ve traveled the world, and while there are places that are warmer, friendlier, cheaper, and easier to live in, Minnesota feels right. The people here leave one another alone - and what others view as standoffishness, I see as respectful distance. But when someone needs help, people show up. It isn’t perfect - no place is - but it’s right for me.
People who haven’t spent much time here don’t understand the cycle of the seasons. Spring isn’t bright and green like it is elsewhere; it’s brown and muddy. Summer is hot and humid - sometimes among the hottest places on the planet—, sometimes smoky from wildfires, sometimes thick with mosquitoes. But the days are long, and the hiking and nature can be spectacular.
Fall is a time of coming together. While it’s not really my thing, as seasonal affective disorder starts to creep in, I can appreciate how important it is for others to gather—to share food, stories, and warmth.
Winter, however, is cold.
In snowy winters, the snow piles up and just keeps going. The joke is that by mid-January, two-lane roads become single-lane roads, and by early February—when there’s nowhere left to put the snow—the roads just start getting taller. This is when people ski and skate, take winter hikes, or retreat indoors to cook, read, watch TV, and spend time with family. This aligns with the public image of Minnesota: a place where time slows, where people are nice to one another in warm, yellow-lit houses while we wait for the cold, dark blues, greys, and whites to thaw.
But that isn’t all Minnesota is.
Minnesota is also about people working together and supporting one another. It’s about protesting injustice, as we’ve seen in response to the killings of Philando Castile, George Floyd, Amir Locke, and so many others. It’s about defending the most vulnerable—immigrants and Native people, the poor, people of color, and those whose sexuality or gender identity puts them at risk.
Minnesotans - more than anywhere I’ve lived, and more than most places I’ve visited - are deeply engaged politically. Even those who claim not to be involved are often only a degree or two removed from people in office or people who have served. We donate money, time, resources, our bodies, and sometimes our own lives to make things better for all of us.
And even in winter, even in the darkness, the sun still comes out some days.
When it does, things melt a little. Tree branches shed their weight and rise. Hard-packed snow turns to slush, and things begin to move. It doesn’t even need to get above freezing. I’ve seen water running down the driveway on a bright day when it’s well below zero.
That’s the thing about Minnesota: even in the darkest days of winter, we make our own sunshine. We come together. We help one another thaw and reshape ourselves. We jump each other’s cars, clear driveways, bring food - because if we don’t help one another, collectively, we don’t survive. At least not as the people we want to be.
It’s in that context that I fiercely oppose the cold-blooded killing of Renee Nicole Good this morning by federal “law enforcement” operating far outside their jurisdiction. It’s why I support those attending tonight’s vigil, and the protests in the days ahead against this violence—and the violence still to come from those who claim to be governing this country.
I can’t do otherwise.
We can’t do otherwise.
Because in Minnesota, even on the coldest days, the bright light of the sun melts ICE.
