I've noticed myself picking up a twang from waitressing: Can I start y'all off with anythang to drink today? It's not quite as pronounced as Ann's Wisconsin accent, but she rolls her eyes at it anyway. It's slower than St. Olaf intellectual banter, and slower than self-reflective chit-chat. I think it sounds American, grass-fed, born-and-raised Smalltown U.S.A.
I spent the opening shift on Friday talking music and artistry with Eric, one of the cooks. Eric plays drum set and trumpet, organizes shows and events and carves pseudo-totem poles in his garage. His art is what he lives for, though he says he might have liked to go to college, and until his daughter Ella was born he spent all his time with the band trading hometown shows with groups all across the country! He told me that Dessa's guitarist, and a couple of other back-up artists in the Twin Cities hip-hop scene, originally come from this part of Wisconsin.
Last summer open mic nights and Saturday night local music at the Beanery kept me sane and social -- but when I asked Ann about open mics in St. Croix Falls she laughed, "You're in the wrong place for spoken word." When I mentioned this to Eric he scoffed and pointed up the street. "You know the Red Bird Music Store?" From that small shop Eric and his friend put together shows and events showcasing all kinds of local artistry, from wood carving to spoken word to a wide variety of music. "Every town's got its artist scene," he said.
Now this twang, I understand.
That same day Ann and I met up at Music on the Overlook (MOTO) after we both got off work. The kid-friendly jokes and magic tricks got old pretty quick, but we watched as long as our cheese curds and ice cream lasted, exchanging words with a few people we knew. My financial adviser passed us on Main Street in a car full of kids, with a red balloon bobbling wildly out of her sunroof.
After the MOTO crowd's bedtime we ran into a bunch of my coworkers at the St. Croix Tavern, where Eric was playing with a band. I started chatting with Alicia, who almost declared a sociology major until at the last minute she discovered a family-focused branch of social study at her university, which is more geared toward what she wants to do later on in life. (Close enough to count among the ranks of 5 Little __, WWRFD, and CAKE!)
"So is this what goes on around here on the weekends?" I asked, not wanting to miss out on any of the action.
"Yeah," she said almost apologetically, rolling her eyes. "Shitty small town."
"I'm into it," I smiled, because I am.
"You're from New York?" she asked then. "Is that like city, or upstate...?"
"Shitty small town," I grinned. "So this is kinda familiar. I love it though."
I wonder what it would be like for Alicia or some other 21-year-old to move to Amsterdam out of the blue, with a friend and a bike, a college degree and a restaurant job (probably at Crystal Bar, or maybe Raindancer).
I wonder if high school boys would put a Snickers bar on her bike seat when she locked it up outside the library while she checked her email and updated her blog. If the Easy I.T. Guy would recognize her after she rode up and down Main Street on her bike day after day. If the meat guy at the Farmer's Market would suggest easy ways to cook a 10-oz. sirloin steak and say, "Enjoy, see you next week!" If the cooks would ask if she was 16 and the guy selling old library books for 50 cents each would ask if she had nieces and nephews to buy 25-cent picture books for. If, after a month of living in her own place, she discovered a full trash can and would have to figure out some way to get rid of it for free. If she would go for an hour-long bike ride through local farmland, get chased by an unrestrained brown dog and find the mythical recycling center on an alternative route home. If a local boy would holler, "Nice catch!" when she fumbled the disc she was throwing with her friend on the track, or maybe at the Four Diamonds.
I wonder if she would end up at Dave Swart's Dave Matthews cover shows at the Beanery on a Saturday night, and if her small-town twang would pick up nasal New York a's and silent r's to replace the Midwestern flat o's and rounded r's of St. Croix Falls.
I spent the opening shift on Friday talking music and artistry with Eric, one of the cooks. Eric plays drum set and trumpet, organizes shows and events and carves pseudo-totem poles in his garage. His art is what he lives for, though he says he might have liked to go to college, and until his daughter Ella was born he spent all his time with the band trading hometown shows with groups all across the country! He told me that Dessa's guitarist, and a couple of other back-up artists in the Twin Cities hip-hop scene, originally come from this part of Wisconsin.
Last summer open mic nights and Saturday night local music at the Beanery kept me sane and social -- but when I asked Ann about open mics in St. Croix Falls she laughed, "You're in the wrong place for spoken word." When I mentioned this to Eric he scoffed and pointed up the street. "You know the Red Bird Music Store?" From that small shop Eric and his friend put together shows and events showcasing all kinds of local artistry, from wood carving to spoken word to a wide variety of music. "Every town's got its artist scene," he said.
Now this twang, I understand.
That same day Ann and I met up at Music on the Overlook (MOTO) after we both got off work. The kid-friendly jokes and magic tricks got old pretty quick, but we watched as long as our cheese curds and ice cream lasted, exchanging words with a few people we knew. My financial adviser passed us on Main Street in a car full of kids, with a red balloon bobbling wildly out of her sunroof.
After the MOTO crowd's bedtime we ran into a bunch of my coworkers at the St. Croix Tavern, where Eric was playing with a band. I started chatting with Alicia, who almost declared a sociology major until at the last minute she discovered a family-focused branch of social study at her university, which is more geared toward what she wants to do later on in life. (Close enough to count among the ranks of 5 Little __, WWRFD, and CAKE!)
"So is this what goes on around here on the weekends?" I asked, not wanting to miss out on any of the action.
"Yeah," she said almost apologetically, rolling her eyes. "Shitty small town."
"I'm into it," I smiled, because I am.
"You're from New York?" she asked then. "Is that like city, or upstate...?"
"Shitty small town," I grinned. "So this is kinda familiar. I love it though."
I wonder what it would be like for Alicia or some other 21-year-old to move to Amsterdam out of the blue, with a friend and a bike, a college degree and a restaurant job (probably at Crystal Bar, or maybe Raindancer).
I wonder if high school boys would put a Snickers bar on her bike seat when she locked it up outside the library while she checked her email and updated her blog. If the Easy I.T. Guy would recognize her after she rode up and down Main Street on her bike day after day. If the meat guy at the Farmer's Market would suggest easy ways to cook a 10-oz. sirloin steak and say, "Enjoy, see you next week!" If the cooks would ask if she was 16 and the guy selling old library books for 50 cents each would ask if she had nieces and nephews to buy 25-cent picture books for. If, after a month of living in her own place, she discovered a full trash can and would have to figure out some way to get rid of it for free. If she would go for an hour-long bike ride through local farmland, get chased by an unrestrained brown dog and find the mythical recycling center on an alternative route home. If a local boy would holler, "Nice catch!" when she fumbled the disc she was throwing with her friend on the track, or maybe at the Four Diamonds.
I wonder if she would end up at Dave Swart's Dave Matthews cover shows at the Beanery on a Saturday night, and if her small-town twang would pick up nasal New York a's and silent r's to replace the Midwestern flat o's and rounded r's of St. Croix Falls.
WWRFD!
ReplyDeletegreat post Bean... last section really brought it all together for me.