Moment Of Resilience
A Moment of Lonely defined by a Moment of Resilience. February was a month for the records. In Minnesota, and across much of the country, we exceeded average temperatures - by a lot. Including one in Blue Earth that was 126 years strong. Though, in 1896 folks were still wearing top hats and puff sleeve gowns, listening to ragtime, and finally allowing Utah into the union. Things were decidedly different, but it's clear that change and evolution have always been a constant.
February has been a month full of adaptability. In a place where frigid temperatures define our strength and resolve, what happens when the very thing we persevere against has quite literally melted away? We dig in, we dig deep, we call for help. The winter pageantry - celebrating the most mundane moments over a hole in a frozen lake, or the most spectacular regalia of chiseled ice sculptures and manicured Midwest mountains – must pivot.
We know better than to sulk and resign ourselves to failure. So, what do we do? We go for a walk. We break out our clubs. We tune our bikes. We sweep the patio. We uncover the grill. We make plans for the next season because we must. Our perseverance isn’t measured in inches; but in the ability to attune, experiment, and discover wildly unfamiliar things in this new frontier called Spring.
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When
Moment Of Resilience
A Moment of Lonely defined by a Moment of Resilience. February was a month for the records. In Minnesota, and across much of the country, we exceeded average temperatures - by a lot. Including one in Blue Earth that was 126 years strong. Though, in 1896 folks were still wearing top hats and puff sleeve gowns, listening to ragtime, and finally allowing Utah into the union. Things were decidedly different, but it's clear that change and evolution have always been a constant.
February has been a month full of adaptability. In a place where frigid temperatures define our strength and resolve, what happens when the very thing we persevere against has quite literally melted away? We dig in, we dig deep, we call for help. The winter pageantry - celebrating the most mundane moments over a hole in a frozen lake, or the most spectacular regalia of chiseled ice sculptures and manicured Midwest mountains – must pivot.
We know better than to sulk and resign ourselves to failure. So, what do we do? We go for a walk. We break out our clubs. We tune our bikes. We sweep the patio. We uncover the grill. We make plans for the next season because we must. Our perseverance isn’t measured in inches; but in the ability to attune, experiment, and discover wildly unfamiliar things in this new frontier called Spring.