Tis the season to harvest, vote and pay taxes. As a resident alien in Minnesota I own farm land and pay taxes, but cannot vote. The implication is that I do not know enough about my new home to vote intelligently on Midwest issues. On this I have to agree. It only takes one trip into town to show how little I know.
As a first timer paying property tax, I had to go into the county Courthouse. It would have been a quick trip had not Jon come along. This meant a stop at the local coffee/wine bar. Like any non-chain shop, it has had to find a variety of ways to make money under one roof. So by day you can take a painting class, while at night you can sample wine with a local live band. The only mistake they are making is having a huge front glass door that lets in the arctic blast with every customer. But who am I to tell them how to run their business.
Then we ran in the snow across the main road to visit an "Antiques and Gift' shop. I knew the place to be a hoarders paradise and wanted to share the unique experience with Jon. The owner met us at the door amid piles of collectibles and shelves of knickknacks. She couldn't allow us in because the fire department had shut her down. Apparently her place was a fire hazard and the roof leaked. (I'm not at all surprised!) We commiserated with her for a while and got the whole story before ducking out to see what else we could find downtown. Jon spent some time getting to know the owner of the local bicycle shop, while I stopped in for hot cider and cookies at the toy store. The place was packed with young children playing with legos, dress-up and reading books by the fire. I found it hard to leave, but the farm had called, and would we mind picking up fence posts and rat poison?
This meant a stop at Bomgaars, a Farm Supply store. And this is never a quick stop. It is a huge warehouse sort of place full of whatever someone living in Minnesota or Iowa might need. While Jon went off in search of fence posts, I had a quick look around the department nearest the front. I tested the camo inspired recliners in bright hunter orange covers. They sat across from the gun safes, huge and solid, big enough to store an arsenal. Then came the fish houses with diesel heaters and ice augers (big drills). Then there were two whole aisles of snow shovels and a few sleds. The toys included full size tractors and a rocking bull. I spent some time figuring out that the trailers were in fact log-splitters, and the 'SALT DOG's were spreaders. I found Jon behind the smokers and windmill yard art.
You may think that my shopping at Bomgaars was a one-off event. But the truth is that I often stop by when I am in town to buy paint, plants and other useful tools. They offer discounts to farmers, even if their service leaves much to be desired. We ended this visit with Jon having to fix their till to get a receipt printed, and two arguments about promised prices and deals.
Just as this shopping trip differs greatly from one to the mall, so does this blog differ from earlier years when I speak about being thankful for past blessings in a previous life far away. I haven't found I need to dig back into long lost memories in order to find something to smile about. I am too busy exploring the in's and out's of the local farming community.
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