Clogtown: Franconia Sculpture Park - Start Seeing Sculpture!

Blogtown just celebrated its tenth anniversary the other day ... but I'm still in Minnesota helping out my Mom, so this will be a Clogtown story, as all Minnesota ones will be posted under (I started wearing clogs here, it too rhymes with Dogtown ... you get it). My family and I had an excellent field trip the other day to the Franconia Sculpture Park, and wow - it's super worth the short drive north of Minneapolis. WOW. We absolutely loved every bit of it.

Franconia Sculpture Park is spread out over 43 acres of beautiful prairie land in the St. Croix River Valley (just west of Taylors Falls), with so many sculpture works I'm really not even sure we saw them all, but we did our best. It's been here 22 years, but this was my family's first visit, and it was awesome - and ever-changing so there's always a reason to return. Franconia is open 365 days a year, and it's free to the public (donation boxes are located around the park to show your appreciation), so this is truly public art for all - and you gotta get there.

Each piece had a sign telling about it, and pretty much all of them had way deeper meanings than what you might have guessed from merely looking at it. I felt so proud the whole time that this remarkable place is in Minnesota, and that its artists are obviously so smart and conscientious.

A kind of centerpiece looming over everything was a piece called Skallagrim, 2015 by Peter Lundberg from Wisconsin. Made of cast stone, it reminded me of the logo for the Lillehammer, Norway Olympics logo (1994, you might not remember, but I do because my friend's brother played for the US Hockey team that year), sort of a giant rune stone. I dug it.

Nearby, there was one of my favorites in the park, a pile of boats called the Franconia Boat Tower, 2015 by Pete Driessen, a fellowship artist from Minnesota. There are resident artists and fellowships going on all the time at Franconia, so you are really roaming around a working sculpture studio. Rad.

They have golf carts available for those who need more accessibility, so we were able to take my Mom right up to the sculptures, and she didn't have to feel left out at all because she currently needs a wheelchair. She was out there cruising around with us all day, and we really appreciated the fact that this art is truly for everyone, and they make it easy.

Mom's favorite piece of the day was Fibonacci Wannabe III, 2011 by Nam Trong Le, a Vietanamese artist living in North Carolina. Le's artist statement talks about being interested in cycles, saying, "My goal is to create forms as beautiful as what surrounds us  - naturally occurring wonders." Job well done.

A cool one nearby depicted all kinds of wild animals like a deer, a wolf, an eagle ... all swirling above like the coolest mobile ever. Predator/Prey Constellation, 2015 by Wendy Klemperer from Massachusetts. She too comments on how the landscape itself is embedded in the work, and that the lines of steel come to life almost like spotting an animal in the wild. Neato.

It was slightly drizzly when we visited, and we didn't mind a bit. There are plenty of spots for shelter, like the great tree house in the woods I wanted to live in called "When left alone and unprovoked predators usually won't attack" (Orion station decommissioned), 2014, by Samantha Persons from Florida. It's a living installation, changing constantly by the people who inhabit it (there was mostly just graffiti inside), and it was a welcome respite from the weather for a little break.

Not far from there was a big motel sign sticking up out of the prairie, looking all retro and cool. It was only when we got up close and read the information photo. It was a replica of the sign for the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, TN where Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered. Whoa. Lorraine Motel Resited 2016, 2016 by Chris Larson of St. Paul, MN was pretty sobering once you realized what it was, and that was the artist's intent. Viewing these things outside of their original context in a new setting is fairly unsettling ... and strangely beautiful.

There was a beautiful basket weaving looking piece called Vascular Form V "Orientation", 2015 by Foon Sham from China, that was actually made of interlocking 1,180 pieces of wood ...

... and when you went inside of it, you could look up and see its sacred geometry. It felt kind of holy in there. Reverent.

Then there was the pointy "S" that every kid drew all over their folders in junior high, only done up huge and in metal ... ! I looked all over the internet and no one really seems to know the origin of this thing, but it is still iconic - especially when it's like 25 feet high! There Is Always A Link, 2019 created by Zakriya Rabani, a sculptor from Florida who gets that we are all connected ... sometimes by something so simple as a doodle we all did as kids. Loved it.

Also cool was Black Book, 2010-11, by the one-named sculptor, Peyton from Minneapolis. This piece is a tribute to the Minneapolis graffiti scene, and meant to be like the black books graffiti artists keep of work to inspire them.

The poster display (like the ones they had at Spencer's Gifts) reaches out to a pile of letters that look graffiti style. There amid all of the natural flora (like the bright yellow wild parsnip planted everywhere that will cause you to blister if you touch it, so said the signs!) and fauna, it was both out of place and perfect right there.

A piece of roller coaster track pieced together in a circle was called Infinite Play, 2014 by Risa Puno of New York was super fun ... and kind of how we felt this day. Like grownups having endless fun, inspired by all of the giant works of sculpture we could climb on and immerse ourselves in, right there in the middle of a Minnesota field. Playing.

The play theme was carried over to Poetry Studio, 2012 by Bridget Beck, the 2012 Artist in Residence. Her artist statement told me I would get along well with her: "I see my sculptures as places to escape responsibility and seriousness. I hope to trigger fond memories and prompt fantastic thoughts. I want drudgery as prisoner and the swing to reign. This, for me, is where I wish to be." Me too, Sister.

My brother, Paul, climbed up on one called Death Bed, 2016 (by Jess Hirsch from Minnesota) and looked like he was about to attend his own Viking funeral there amid the moody clouds. I say it should be his profile picture.

Surrounding this was a series of mirrors reflecting both the nature and yourself back to yourself. I never did find the information thing for this one, but it was beautiful, and a solid handshake is owed to the artist who thought of it.

A melting lamppost like I imagine Dali would have made was great ...

There was a levitating house I also had to race by, but loved it ...

As I did 17768 Tiger Lily, 2013 by Saya Woolfalk from Japan. It was a most welcome bright spot of color in the gloomy day, and I thought it was great.

A lovely staircase was made lovelier by an arm extending out from it holding flowers, telling us that love remains for something beautiful that is now gone. Saudade, 2018 by Kendra Elyse Douglas from Kansas was moving, and I wasn't even sure why until I read the above about it.

Sometimes you'd just be walking along, and if you didn't look up, you might miss something. Twisted metal circled the tree branches above us, looking completely natural there, so much so that we almost didn't notice it up there.

Another favorite was the wall of boom boxes that Paul had to do the Say Anything pose in front of. Totally required, but I'll give you the full frontal of it here to get a clear view ... This was as we were dashing out and I again didn't see the name or artist, but high five, friend!

It's a tough call, but I'd have to say my favorite thing I saw/experienced this day was the piece that meandered across the whole park and into the woods, called I Worried, 2019 by Molly Valentine Dierks from St. Paul, MN. It's a series of modified street signs that lead you to the most delightful conclusion ... with surprises along the way.

My Mom is a big fan of telling us not to worry. She believes that worrying is sinful, even, as it means you're not trusting and believing that things are going to work out. That's pretty hard to live by, but she does, even after a summer that found her losing her leg and entire old way of life. She doesn't worry. {Psst! Or TRIES not to. I know she's worried about my brothers and I, c'mon).



I had wandered off on my own for a minute, being led along by these signs, and really taking them - and their questions - in. *I didn't include all the signs here so you can have your own discovery.

Big things are happening, and big decisions are having to be made, both personally and globally. I know I'm not alone when I say that these things weigh heavily on me, and I think about them constantly. Some might even say worry.

I also know that this will accomplish nothing. Only positive thought and action will. And unity.

As I walked down the path lined with these signs, I heard a strange, otherworldly hum begin, and I looked around. I realized that the solar box thing was recording sounds of nature and playing them back. I backed up to the beginning to read the information sign: "The signs also incorporate sound: electrical recordings from plant leaves and human skin (!) that have been converted into musical notes paired with nature recordings (Minnesota birds, frogs, wind, and water). A small instrument is attached to the back of the powered signs, making them 'sing'." TRIPPY.

I went back down the path, absorbing the actual sounds of the actual nature - and my skin! - and just beamed with how cool it was as I raced back to get my Mom and the cart to drive her down this beautiful journey ... that ended in the trees with the sign telling us ALL - humans and nature - to join in together to SING.

You know me ... fully choked up. It could totally have been my Mom talking in those signs ... and to have her next to me was a special moment. This one was my highlight.

What an extra great field trip to take together, as we all try to navigate these unbelievable days. Such a surreal place rising up out of the Minnesota farmlands, in a glorious exhibition of what can be done to realize a vision. It's not at all your whimsical small town roadside attraction, it's really serious work - and also really serious play, to be fair. What another thing to be proud of for our beautiful, smart, creative, weird, atypical Northern state we all so love. I'd put Franconia Sculpture Park and their work (and their bumper sticker) to urge everyone to "Start Seeing Sculpture!" right up there with the things people rattle off as ours: Prince, Dylan, A Prairie Home Companion, First Ave, Vikings, The Fair ... it deserves to be among our greatest hits. *There are donation boxes scattered about - please fill them! I only included a fraction of the work you can see here, and it's ever-changing, so there will always be something new to see. Go!

We visited on Saturday when the office was closed, so I didn't get to interview anyone about how this all came about, but another reason to return! Thank you to all of the artists and founders and dreamers and movers and shakers that gave us this wonderful day!

Love, The Gronners

Franconia Sculpture Park
29836 St. Croix Trail
Shafer, MN 55074
#651-257-6668
www.franconia.org

Open 365 days a year, dawn to dusk. Beautiful.

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A Decade Of Blogtown 9/9/09 - 9/9/19!

What. TEN YEARS has gone by since I posted my first Blogtown story back on September 9, 2009! It's hard to believe ... but here we are. SO much has changed in Venice - and around the world - that it's a real trip to read back over the years and really absorb how much we've lost ... but also how much we've gained.

Writing these stories has built bridges for me, and opened me up to so many new friendships. I can see in my analytics how Blogtown (Rhymes with DOGTOWN!) has grown to have readers all over the world ... and that was one of my intentions when I set out to do this - to make the world a little smaller for us all. To get to know each other all a little better, and to learn that there are so many cool people that come through Venice that it will always remain special, no matter how much it changes.

I recall a guy telling me once that Blogtown was important because it was really capturing the disappearance of one of the world's last Bohemian surf/skate culture places - in real time. You can go back through the years and see how many places have left Venice in the last decade, and how many of its citizens too (whether they died, couldn't afford it anymore, or just thought it wasn't the same and had done their Venice time. You can also go back and attend some pretty great shows with me over the years ... !

I asked my brother to tell me off the top of his head what his favorite story of the last decade had been, and he said, "The World's Greatest Wino" - and that tale of the late, great Bobby Brown was definitely one of my favorites too.

The beautiful send-off day for Jay Adams sticks out to me as a highlight  ...  and who can forget my bike Delores being stolen ... and then getting her back!

I was the first journalist to write about the Venice Freak Show - which lost its home on the Boardwalk a few years ago, and we're still trying to get it back there where it belongs. The farewell to Abbot's Habit was a special one ... as was the one the very next day about getting to be the Neptune Queen! 

The story about Venice's Bordello Alexandra house was one of my favorites ... as was a simple little story about a friendship I had with a little old man at the beach, Leon. Often the little things/stories have been the best things.

There have been SO many stories about so many people and places, and there is going to be a book one day soon (Please help me find my publisher!) of all of my favorites that have already been written - and the ones to come. Though Venice is not the same Venice it was when I started Blogtown, it still has that magic dust that we all know and love it for. It lives inside of each of us that care about it, so it can never be truly gone. We love our Venice, and that love has gone into every word I've ever written in Blogtown - and will go on.

Blogtown will be getting a new look soon for its new decade (I'm just waiting on the art work!), but the stories will always be about the special people, places, and events that have made an impact on myself, and on Venice - a place like no other in the world. It has been a privilege and a pleasure to share its stories with you, and I hope you will keep visiting Blogtown in its new decade of fun, creativity, friendship, community, and heart.

It means so much to me when someone shares with me that they enjoyed a story, or were moved by it in some way (either to tears of being touched or mad at an "epic rant" of mine, usually). That they learned something, or tried a new place because of a story that they read here. That they made a new friend, or learned a new skill. That they were inspired, even just a little bit, to appreciate the little things that make us all connected.

Thank you for reading, truly. Cheers to TEN YEARS together! xoxo

In Loving Memory Of Solomon - The Snake Man Of Venice

The awful and hard to believe news that our friend Solomon (born Willie Lee Turner) had died on August 17th, 2019 reached me in Minnesota, where I've been helping to take care of my Mom all summer. If possible, it instantly made me miss Venice even more than I have been. I quickly called Solomon's longtime girlfriend, Greta Cobar, to find out that yes, this awful news was true. She didn't have any details yet, but it was - shockingly - true. Shockingly because Solomon was a man who really seemed invincible.

Solomon spoke truth to power up there on his ladder, holding his snakes for all the passersby on the Boardwalk, but it was never really about the snakes to me. It was about using your voice to engage with others and stimulate important conversation. This got him into trouble with the cops all the time, but Solomon didn't really seem to care all that much. Every time I saw him, I felt better afterward. His "Hey, CJ, how are you doin'?" was always asked with true interest, straight in my eyes. He was something else, the likes of which we'll never see again in Venice ... and another iconic member of our community is gone. I SO deeply regret that I never got to do my own story on Solomon - a solemn reminder that you just never know how long we'll have people and places, and the best time for enjoying them is NOW.

There was a tear-jerking memorial held on Sunday at Beyond Baroque (that I watched on Facebook Live - thanks, Logan Mote!) that I felt SO sad not to be at with everyone sharing their Solomon memories. There is also a special issue of the Free Venice Beachhead out now around Venice, and it includes the beautiful article below written by Greta for her Solomon.

Solomon, my friend ... Venice will never ever forget you. Rest easy, my Brother.


King Solomon, the Venice Snake Man, quickly departed from this world on Saturday, August 17. His passing brought shock and sorrow to so very many in Venice and beyond. On the morning of August 17 Solomon played basketball in Venice, and then performed the Snake Show at his usual spot, on Ocean Front Walk and Windward. After that he went to Burton Chace Park for the Leela James concert. Before the concert started he collapsed out of the blue, the paramedics were called, and he was transported to UCLA Medical Center in the Marina, where he was pronounced dead on arrival at 6:47pm. The results of the autopsy are deferred for three months because of down-town testing back-log, and an official cause of death has not been released.  


The Venice plaza between the flagpoles will never be the same without the Snake Show that he performed there for the past eighteen years. The tourists took pictures, and those millions of pictures are now all over the world and on the internet. All locals knew him, and most faces would sketch a smile at the sight of him. After a quick verbal ex-change, the passer-by would leave feeling uplifted by Solomon’s trademark words of encouragement and the compliments that he was so generous with. He was born on March 29, 1961, on Hope Street, in downtown Los Angeles, and his real name was Willie Lee Turner. His parents had come from Oklahoma, and his ancestry was African-American, Native American and French Creole. The memorable parts of his childhood were the times he rode his bicycle (on some occasions, a horse!) from Watts, where he grew up, to the bike trail in Manhattan, Hermosa and King Harbor. Back then he was one of the very few Black kids to ride in that area, and the white kids would try to harass him. He and his parents also spent time around bonfires on the sand of Santa Monica beach. Two tragic events happened to him while he was in his 20s, which made him question the righteousness of this world and whether he wanted to be part of it in a traditional sense. The first one was the death of his mother, Arnita Turner, when she was in her early 40s, which he blamed on the pills that the doctors were giving her for high blood pressure. It was common for experimental drugs to be tested on Black people without their knowledge. The second was his first daughter’s, whom he named after his mother, contamination with meningitis in the hospital when she was an infant, which made her severely mentally and physically disabled. He blamed that on the hospital using dirty needles. 

He tried working regular jobs, but had a hard time being controlled by the system. He even en-rolled in the Coast Guard, from which he got an honorary discharge because he didn’t want them to pull out his wisdom teeth. That was a wise decision! Venice didn’t come onto his radar until the late1980s. And after that he was never the same, much like Venice will never be the same without him. He started calling himself Solomon and be-came The King, King Solomon. Back in those days Venice allowed and encouraged people to break out of the mold and express their authentic selves, and he truly was The King. 

At first he sold T-shirts with socially conscious messages on the Boardwalk, such as Love Sees No Color. In the 1990s he spent years being a full-time dad for his baby daughter Jasmine, as well as his oldest son, David. At this time he also spent more time concentrating on making art and music, two hobbies that he enjoyed and practiced throughout his life. He took photographs and created beautiful collages with his own photographs, cut-outs from newspapers and magazines, and found objects. His artwork carried strong political/social messages of justice, freedom and equality. Creating music was a constant part of his life, and he loved singing and playing the flute, guitar, drums, ukulele, banjo and any other instrument he could get his hands on. In 2001 he was jogging along the ocean in Venice, and in alignment with the flagpoles at the end of Windward, on the wet sand, he found a rubber snake that had washed ashore. He picked it up, and was playing with it on Ocean Front Walk, by the flagpoles. A Haitian historian visiting Venice walked by and said: “Hey, I have a snake just like that, I got it at a garage sale.” Solomon thought, “Ya, right.” A few days later the guy came back and gave him the second snake. They both had “Made in China 1989” written on them. He started playing with both snakes, with his eyes closed, and when he opened his eyes, there were a bunch of people watching him, mesmerized by his presence. And that is when the idea of doing the Snake Show came to him. 

Betty White, of the famous Elton and Betty White Show that was taking place on the Boardwalk at that time, told him: “Take off your clothes, you’ll make more dough!”. He found a wooden ladder abandoned on Venice and Lincoln, and started performing between the flagpoles, on Windward and Ocean Front Walk, in alignment with where the snakes came to him. And that is the story of how the famous Snake Show got started. His mastery of making the snakes look real (they weren’t!) combined with his incredible balancing and yogi poses on the ladder, his physical beauty, his kind and wise words, made the show a hit. It was original, different, out of the blue, unexpected and unique. It was what Venice was all about, what people came to Venice for. The sight of systemic police injustice trans-formed Solomon’s calm, composed and thoughtful demeanor into outrage, and he was not afraid to speak out against it. That resulted in constant police harassment and numerous arrests on bogus charges. A Black man speaking truth to power in the most crowded part of Venice did not fit in with the restrictions of the system that we live under. If his family and friends would not have intervened with private attorneys and tens of thousands in bail money, the cops’ efforts to keep him locked up would have been successful. This is the real story of being a Black non-conformist man in America. 

When the lottery system of allocating freshly painted boxed spots on the Boardwalk to the performers and artists was instituted in 2005, he was one of a few, if not the only one, who refused to be part of it. Through all his struggles, Solomon re-fused to compromise his conviction that freedom of speech is a right, not a lottery prize. In 2015, when the cops succeeded in banning him from the Boardwalk for a year as a plea deal on a totally bogus charge, he moved to Santa Monica and started performing there, at the top of the pier. In January of this year he came back to Venice and continued doing his show in the original spot, to the delight of locals and tourists alike. Aside from his show and with his clothes on, he was a big part of the Venice community, ever-present at rallies, community meetings, gatherings, local hang-out spots and the basketball courts. He had more friends than anyone else I know. People loved his perseverance, strength, beauty and optimism. He often said that he lived by miracles, and encouraged the rest of us to believe in miracles as well.

I personally met Solomon on my first day after moving to Venice in October of 2004. Dr. John introduced me to him at a table outside of Cafe Collage, which at the time was the local hang-out spot. We started dating just a few weeks later, and continued, on and off, until now. The time I spent with him was by far the highlight of my life so far, and he inspired me to be the person that I am today. From riding bikes to decorating bikes, to buying and restoring my own VW bus, to my local activism and the work I did for the Beachhead, to making my own collages and paintings, to the way I carry my-self and deal with others, my philosophy of life and my expanded horizons, all that and more has his mark on it. He’s had the biggest influence on my life, was my best friend, my passion, my source of strength and happiness. 

On August 17 I drove to Malibu and parked in a ranch, on the grass, under a big tree. I was sup-posed to get out and listen to live music, but I was overwhelmed by sorrow and spent hours in the car sobbing. I longed to be connected with him and repeatedly tried calling, but his phone was off. A deep, unprecedented and overwhelming need to hold his hand took over me. The urge was so strong that I held my two hands together and pretended that one of them was his. I held them really tight for quite a while, while tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face. It was at this exact time that he was going through his transition into the next form of energy. I didn’t know it at that time. The following day I scolded myself for being so needy, but when I found out about his passing I realized that he needed me to hold his hand during his transition just as much as I did, and I am honored to have been connected with him like that. Venice lost one of its greatests, and it will never be the same without him. We can find solace in our fortune to have known him, to have enjoyed his presence, to have been blessed by him. He truly was larger than life. 

Solomon is survived by his five children Arnita Turner, David Turner, Joshua Turner, Elisha Turner, and Jasmine Turner; his step-daughter Crystal Spradley; his sister Cassie Turner; his former long-term partner Jill Horowitz-Groeschel, Jasmines’s mother; and Eva Marie Svensson, Joshua’s and El-isha’s mother. A memorial for Solomon will be held on Sun-day, September 1, 5-8pm, at Beyond Baroque, 681 Venice Blvd. May he rest in power, love and peace. May he know that he was deeply loved and is now just as deeply missed.  
- By Greta Cobar

Clogtown: The Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux Community Wacipi - A Pow WOW!

Everyone who lives in the United States of America should attend a Native American Pow Wow at some point, not only because they're super fun and extra cool, but because you will see up close the deep reverence our original residents have for their land - and their history. As we all should.

The Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux Community Wacipi was held this past weekend at The Meadows at Mystic Lake, and was nothing short of spectacular. I hadn't been to a pow wow since my Augsburg College days, and my Mom had never been to one, so we changed that yesterday when I loaded her (and her new prototype leg!) up and headed out to Shakopee for a day of honoring the beautiful history of this place, as well as the beautiful (seriously, stunning!) people who taught it to us through their costumes, food, crafts, art, and dance. Wacipi (or Pow Wow) actually means "They Dance". And dance they did.

Collectively, the dancing looked to be one big sun dance, as the ominous morning clouds and wind soon cleared out and opened up to the bluest skies possible, and bright sunshine that caused the sparkling costumes to gleam even more brilliantly. A huge wind turbine stood tall above the American flags, showing that the Native people are still far more in touch with our earth and natural resources than our sorely lacking government.

We got to sit in the box reserved for the tribal elders (and handicapped people), and it was a front row seat to the grand entrance of all the tribes dancing in to the Pow Wow grounds. After a solemn prayer in a tongue I didn't recognize, but wished I did, an announcer introduced all the different tribes and dance groups, all with a sense of humor and fun, though the singing and chanting sounded pretty serious.

I left the box to get a closer look, and was suddenly overcome with emotion as I watched all the wonderful dancers file past with such regal dignity. I got choked up thinking about how poorly our government has treated Native Americans historically, and yet these tribes are still thriving.

They are keeping their traditions alive, and passing them down to generation after generation. And the way they honor the earth. And their ancestors. And the fact that they still allow the white man/woman to join them in their celebrations, forgetting what atrocities their ancestors committed and understanding that we all share this place together now, so we might as well dance. It was deeply, deeply moving.

The whole affair reminded me a lot of the Merrie Monarch Festival that takes place each year in Hawai'i, when its native people perform their hulas and stories for everyone in Hilo ... even the developers trying to turn sacred lands into golf courses or telescopes. We would be such a better country if we all recognized how truly spiritual and important the native teachings really are.

Here in Minnesota, the dances were broken up into categories like: Fancy Shawl, Jingle Dress, Golden Age, Chicken Dancers, Grass Dancers and all ages competed to be the best. Tiny kids in full regalia danced or were held by gorgeous women in their breathtaking costumes or regal men in elaborate headdresses that told their own stories. It was a true feast for the eyes in every direction one looked.

It was also a legitimate feast, as food vendors were lined up (at the bottom of a hill that gave me a major wheelchair pushing workout, but we did it!) to sell the native delicacies. Indian tacos were the big draw of the day, with several different vendors dishing them up, all with long lines. Indian tacos are just like regular tacos only they are served on crisp, airy fry bread. The same fry bread is also done up as dessert, with strawberries and cream or cinnamon and chocolate. I want more today, as typing this is making my mouth water. Wild rice hot dish, walleye sandwiches ... it was a true taste of native Minnesota.

Native crafts were also on display, with blankets, leather goods, and a whole lot of things done up in native beadwork. Mom and I each got a souvenir, and we will both wear them with deep pride, tell anyone who asks all about the wonderful Pow Wow we bought them at. We were honored to be there, and the jewelry will be a reminder to us both of a very special day we spent together honoring our state's native people. We'll be gushing about it for some time to come, for sure.

At a time when there is so much talk about immigration and walls and borders and all of that, I wonder how Native Americans can even stand to hear any of it. Our government STOLE their land, and did everything they could to eradicate any memory of them or their traditions. ANY citizen of the United States that is not Native American came from an immigrant family, and would do well to zip it as far as any negativity toward new immigrant families. And would do even better to lower your head in respect when anyone Native crosses your path, in both humility and in thanks - for not only sharing THEIR original land with us, but for doing it so beautifully.

I don't know how to say thank you in the Dakota language, so I looked it up and hope it's right ...

PIDAMAYA DO!  to all involved with the remarkable Wacipi weekend! Wow.

*Yesterday was also the last day of Hearts Of Our People! I hope you made it to that exceptional exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Art.

Clogtown: Sofia Of Heredia, Richfield's Sister City!

I was walking to the Richfield Farmer's Market last weekend, and decided to cut through what we kids used to call Memorial Park (with the water slide that cut up half of Richfield), and is now called Heredia Park. It's the little park behind the Richfield Cop Shop/City Hall, and I had no idea when its name as changed - or why.

Then I saw a bronze statue of a little immigrant girl soccer player called Sofia. The only piece of public art in the park and it's of a child from another country making their way in Richfield. I was delighted, surprised, and honestly, a bit relieved - that Richfield holds such reverence for our immigrant neighbors, and chose to celebrate them in this lovely way.

The work is accompanied by a poem from Guillermo Hernandez , also the sculptor, from what I learned is Richfield's sister/peace city, Heredia, Costa Rica - since 1991! They even have a "Boulevard Richfield" in that town! I had no idea. But I'm super proud of my hometown, recognizing that we are a country of immigrants, and it is something to be celebrated. Excellent.

Pura Vida Sofia!

Clogtown: The Minnesota Loons At Allianz Field!

I hadn't been to a professional soccer game since the Minnesota Kicks days, so when my friend Christian called up and asked if I'd like to join his family to see a Minnesota Loons game at the new Allianz Field in St. Paul, I was all the way down. They're really called Minnesota United, I suppose to sound like a British football club that is already super established, but to me, they're the Loons. And I love that (and that they play a loon call when they score!).

Allianz Field is lovely and modern and cool, and SUPER hot when you're on the sunny side before the sun sets. The heat didn't put a damper at all on the very impressive team spirit that was in effect the entire game. The chanting ("M.N.U.F.C!!! Minnesota Black and Blue! Come on, You Loons!!") and singing and flag waving didn't let up ONCE during the entire game, and even though they're a new team, the Loons have very clearly already found a place in Minnesota's hearts. They love their Loons, waving their scarves in support throughout the whole game.

The area where all the flag waving and chanting begins is called "The Wonder Wall" and if there is a victory (which there was not for our game vs. Vancover's Whitecaps - it was a draw), I guess the whole crowd sings the Oasis song, "Wonderwall". I don't really get that, as it would be cooler if there was a victory song by any number of awesome Minnesota bands ("Let's Go Crazy" at every other Minnesota sports team score, for example) to celebrate, but it sounds like it's pretty fun when everyone sings along - and the Loons win!

There's good food, good looking men (and women, to be fair) in the stands, good drinks, good sight lines, and it's all a pretty affordable night out, with a gorgeous view of the Minnesota sunset to top it off.

It's exciting that football/soccer seems to be gaining more fans here again, and you can count me in as a Loons fan, because my first experience was a complete blast! I'm impressed. Thank you, Doten Family, and GO LOONS!