I’m a little late with this post. Just over a week removed from my latest sojourn in the Northlands, and it’s only now that I’m really starting to feel settled back home in sunny England enough to concentrate on my writing.
Much as it had done the last time I was there, Minnesota welcomed me on my most recent trip in the same way that I had embraced it; with a certain fondness, familiarity and warmth and the nagging, restless feeling that, in some strange way, we fit pretty well together.
It probably sounds a little silly to suggest I felt at home some 4,000 miles away from the place I grew up, but there was definitely something which, beyond my own affinity and affection for both areas, reminded me of home.
In conversations, I’d put this down to both the similarities I found between the two places; Hibbing, Virginia and their neighbours with their thriving mining communities and Wigan and Manchester , where even though the last working mine ceased to be a little over 20 years ago, reminders of a time when we contributed much to British industry still linger.
Perhaps it’s the sense that both areas have done more to put themselves on the world map than I suspect most of the world really gives them credit for; my friends Stateside with iron ore, Dylan, what I’m told is a somewhat remarkable transport company and much more, and us back home with our coal and cotton, our Northern Soul and rugby league and everything else we’ve contributed.
Perhaps its that even most of the people who live both up in the Northlands and down here in Lancashire don’t seem to fully appreciate what a wonderful place they live in.
Indeed, it’s my experience that whenever you try and compliment a Minnesotan on what a beautiful and fascinating place they live in, they look at you for a second with a kind of ‘what are you, on drugs?’ look barely hidden in their eyes before offering a small smile by way of a thank you.
Back home too, try telling a Wiganer, or even a Mancunian, that we have quite an amazing little place here, and outside a select few, most will respond with ‘nah, it’s rubbish. Bloody rains all the time, innit?’
It’s those same people both sides of the Atlantic that retain that modesty and a certain reservation but who within a few moments reveal themselves to be an incredibly warm, welcoming and rather passionate bunch.
Like Bob and Linda, proprietors of the awesome Zimmy’s Resteraunt in Hibbing who, six months after I last visited, greeted me on my return with the kind of hugs, handshakes and kind words usually reserved for long-lost sons rather than strange Englishmen smitten with their town.
Or Scott, from radio KAXE who took time out from what seemed like an incredibly busy Friday to invite me down to the station for a really enjoyable chat before Stace and I embarked on that drive home.
Perhaps its something to do with the architecture, the landscape, the greenery; both with buildings which still stand tall and proud long after they’ve outlived their original purpose, since refashioned to accommodate modern living, a sense of pride in the past yet forever looking forward to the future.
Though I’m no expert on architecture of plant life, I was definitely struck by the similarities.
More than that though, I suspect the reason I felt so at home over there was something I felt, something intangible which lingered in the air, rusty and rugged and tenacious, and yet calm, confident and content, something which rests comfortably on my bones and settles my heart.
I feel it every time I walk through the North of England much as I do whenever I walk through the North of Minnesota, and I’d wager that whatever this feeling is, it has something to do with the affinity and comfort I feel with both places.
I was rather sad to leave, but I’m very much looking forward to returning in the spring, and I owe much thanks for this to local writer Aaron Brown, who has been nothing but friendly and extremely helpful since our first e-mail exchange many months ago and who was more than happy to talk at length with me about the past, present and future of Hibbing over a rather pleasant lunch at Zimmy’s.
I must also thank Greg and Beth, for welcoming me into their home and letting me drink their Kool Aid for two weeks.
I had a wonderful time, and I can’t wait to see you all again soon.
Much as it had done the last time I was there, Minnesota welcomed me on my most recent trip in the same way that I had embraced it; with a certain fondness, familiarity and warmth and the nagging, restless feeling that, in some strange way, we fit pretty well together.
It probably sounds a little silly to suggest I felt at home some 4,000 miles away from the place I grew up, but there was definitely something which, beyond my own affinity and affection for both areas, reminded me of home.
In conversations, I’d put this down to both the similarities I found between the two places; Hibbing, Virginia and their neighbours with their thriving mining communities and Wigan and Manchester , where even though the last working mine ceased to be a little over 20 years ago, reminders of a time when we contributed much to British industry still linger.
Perhaps it’s the sense that both areas have done more to put themselves on the world map than I suspect most of the world really gives them credit for; my friends Stateside with iron ore, Dylan, what I’m told is a somewhat remarkable transport company and much more, and us back home with our coal and cotton, our Northern Soul and rugby league and everything else we’ve contributed.
Perhaps its that even most of the people who live both up in the Northlands and down here in Lancashire don’t seem to fully appreciate what a wonderful place they live in.
Indeed, it’s my experience that whenever you try and compliment a Minnesotan on what a beautiful and fascinating place they live in, they look at you for a second with a kind of ‘what are you, on drugs?’ look barely hidden in their eyes before offering a small smile by way of a thank you.
Back home too, try telling a Wiganer, or even a Mancunian, that we have quite an amazing little place here, and outside a select few, most will respond with ‘nah, it’s rubbish. Bloody rains all the time, innit?’
It’s those same people both sides of the Atlantic that retain that modesty and a certain reservation but who within a few moments reveal themselves to be an incredibly warm, welcoming and rather passionate bunch.
Like Bob and Linda, proprietors of the awesome Zimmy’s Resteraunt in Hibbing who, six months after I last visited, greeted me on my return with the kind of hugs, handshakes and kind words usually reserved for long-lost sons rather than strange Englishmen smitten with their town.
Or Scott, from radio KAXE who took time out from what seemed like an incredibly busy Friday to invite me down to the station for a really enjoyable chat before Stace and I embarked on that drive home.
Perhaps its something to do with the architecture, the landscape, the greenery; both with buildings which still stand tall and proud long after they’ve outlived their original purpose, since refashioned to accommodate modern living, a sense of pride in the past yet forever looking forward to the future.
Though I’m no expert on architecture of plant life, I was definitely struck by the similarities.
More than that though, I suspect the reason I felt so at home over there was something I felt, something intangible which lingered in the air, rusty and rugged and tenacious, and yet calm, confident and content, something which rests comfortably on my bones and settles my heart.
I feel it every time I walk through the North of England much as I do whenever I walk through the North of Minnesota, and I’d wager that whatever this feeling is, it has something to do with the affinity and comfort I feel with both places.
I was rather sad to leave, but I’m very much looking forward to returning in the spring, and I owe much thanks for this to local writer Aaron Brown, who has been nothing but friendly and extremely helpful since our first e-mail exchange many months ago and who was more than happy to talk at length with me about the past, present and future of Hibbing over a rather pleasant lunch at Zimmy’s.
I must also thank Greg and Beth, for welcoming me into their home and letting me drink their Kool Aid for two weeks.
I had a wonderful time, and I can’t wait to see you all again soon.
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