My First Time in Minnesota — ArcticTumbleweed

July 19th 2021: Despite the lush greenery and serene falls, this natural beauty lives in the heart of Minneapolis’ bustling metropolis. Minnehaha Falls cascades into the Mississippi River via Lake Minnetonka.

Do you count being in a state if you were only there for a layover?

I think you're allowed to, but I wouldn't let myself count Minnesota till I did more than pick up a connecting flight at MSP. The number one thing I always wanted to do in Minnesota was go to Bob Dylan's hometown of Hibbing, Minnesota. It's a small, broke-down town that shines for me because my kindred spirit grew up there.

The Hibbing Public Library houses a quaint yet impressive Dylan exhibit which I had all to myself on a stormy July Monday. I took the elevator downstairs and followed paper signs to the Bob Dylan Exhibit, branded with a tagline I didn't know the town had: Hibbing > we're more than ore.

It was my first time in a long time being in a library on a Monday. Its silence, florescent lights, linoleum floors, laminated papers, and student art brought me back to my early school days with a present-day twist. It was probably the only time my purpose at the library was to dig into something I was genuinely hungry to learn about. Unlike my academic years, I was there solely because I wanted to be. I was authoring my own curriculum, which was straight Dylan—just like the playlist I made for my journey.

I was blown away by the range of Dylan memorabilia within the collection—vintage posters and stamps, a life-size paper machete Bob, tons of books, and my personal favorites: the poetry and doodles by Dylan himself. I loved spending hours immersed in all that he wrote in the basement of the Hibbing Public Library. His way with words is what crowned him an idol in my heart.

During my time in Hibbing, I also visited the house Bob lived in from 1948 - 1959. He was seven when his family relocated from Duluth. Today, the street he grew up on has been renamed Bob Dylan Drive, and a string of music notes stretches across the crosswalk that leads from his home. Bob's first home in Duluth has some charming tributes too. A plaque and a giant penny featuring Bob's profile and the phrase, "In Bob we trust."

I love that his hometown homages are all so modest. I'd expect more grandeur for such a prolific, iconic figure, but these tributes are appropriately sized for the small towns that house them. And I believe that's just how Bob would want them. Although Bob has his own idols—Woody Guthrie being his number one—I don't think he loves the idea of being idolized by his fans. I think it's modesty mixed with something else—perhaps a raw realness that grounds him in a reality that may be filled with stars, but is also paved with grassroots and sidewalks everyone walks on.

Exploring port-city, Duluth was very different than bopping around sleepy Hibbing. I love them both for their differing features. Driving around Duluth tested me. Beyond the heart of downtown are these San Francisco or Seattle-like hills. The kind I have recurring nightmares about trying to drive up, then rolling backward down. Of all the challenging driving scenarios I've faced in my 17 years on roads across 48 states, driving up steep hills is the one that frightens me the most. On each road I climbed in Duluth, I blasted my AC as high as it would go, whispering and sometimes shouting, "Oh f*ck—oh f*ck—oh f*ck!" But my little Kia Optima rental beasted each uphill battle.

The streets and scenery of Duluth are unlike any other little city I've visited. Getting acquainted with its unique characteristics was kind of like having a conversation with someone from halfway around the world. Some differences are blatant, while others you can't quite vocalize, but you're fascinated. Departing Duluth for Hibbing was like decelerating to a place that was almost familiar, but still exciting to familiarize myself with. And then the drive down to Minneapolis was like a return to present-day, modern comforts like those I'm most accustomed to back home in New York City.

I filled my one night in Minneapolis with as much as I could—a walking bridge with colorful downtown scenery, tasting local flavors, chasing waterfalls, and sweeping skyline views. I stopped at Tiny Diner in the Powderhorn Park neighborhood on my way out of town. Generally speaking, diners are my favorite places to eat. As I headed for the highway after breakfast, my GPS took me past the corner of E 38th St and Chicago Avenue, where George Floyd was murdered. It was a little over a year later when I drove past, but the trauma wounds this community suffered were still ripped wide open. The now out-of-service gas station on the corner features powerful messages painted with the poignancy of injustice, shattered dreams, and hope for a safer tomorrow.

My time in Minnesota was deeply reflective, fitly memorable, and barely scratched the surface of all I've yet to explore in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

Hibbing, Minnesota