"Put a hat on."

I just returned from internship in southern Arizona to find Minnesota as endearing as ever. The late summer humidity has me “glistening” and the daylight stretches well into evening.

I couldn’t wait to wander through Minneapolis reacquainting myself with familiar places. While most of the city was drawn to the State Fair’s finale on Monday, I spent Labor Day in another part of town. The 10th Avenue bridge recently opened and pedestrian lanes are reserved for people to view 35W safely. I took a bike ride with my fiancé Matt and we found ourselves surrounded by hundreds of other curious Minnesotans having a look.

Now if you have Minnesota in your blood, you know that we don’t wear wild optimism on our sleeves. We are the geographical descendents of farmers too stubborn to leave during the locust plagues 150 years ago. When asked how we are, we understate stoically, “Oh, pretty good,” or, “not too bad”. Minnesotans smile walking out of the Metrodome whether we win or lose and feel uncomfortable honking in rush hour traffic. My cousin Haakon (yes, Haakon) says it best. When people whine about Minnesota winters or that it’s too cold, he offers a simple, Scandinavian solution - “Put a hat on”. We’re practical, content and quietly located “up there” on the map.

I could have spent the day at the State Fair dissecting the beautiful kindness of “my people”, but I found it on the 10th Avenue bridge instead. Runners stopped to pay a silent respect. Parents tried to answer their children’s questions with clarity and hope. People stopped to take pictures they could send to friends and family around the country. It looked awful and devastating, but there was a wonderful spirit about the place.

The skyline still sparkled and the river flowed peacefully. Conversations about the future and rebuilding were plentiful. People were patient in the crowds and one woman stopped to pick up a camera case for a stranger. Acquaintances greeted one another with surprise and pleasure.

If Minnesotans are optimistic about anything, it’s our strength as a collective people. I squinted into the sunshine and the crowd that Labor Day brought together. We biked away feeling proud…but not too proud. After all, Minnesotans (and Lutherans for that matter) recover with a quiet perseverance that has survived locusts and the winter cold. This bridge tragedy will be no exception.