The Minnesota Farm Woman

My vacations are usually pretty calm and relaxing. I don’t climb mountains, parasail, or surf the big waves in shark-infested waters. For the most part, I eat, shop, visit, and relax, with perhaps a glass or two of good wine thrown in. I’ve often wondered why, with such low-key plans, the airlines seem to want me to always have a heart racing, catch-your-breath adventure on flight days. Travelling this year with my BFF, we had an uneventful flight to sunny warm Arizona and a wonderful but very short week there. After being dropped off at the Phoenix airport, I attempted to check in electronically but got the message “See attendant.” Uh oh. Come to find out, our flight was delayed due to bad weather in every state other than the one we were in and the one we were going to. The chances of catching our connecting flight from Minneapolis to Bemidji looked dismal. The airline, of course, would put us up for the night. Not in sunny warm Arizona, though. We couldn’t have that kind of luck. We would be staying in below-zero Minneapolis, which wouldn’t have been so bad but for the fact that we had no jackets. Since we didn’t have room to pack a heavy Minnesota winter jacket in our carry-on bags, our jackets were locked in the car back in Bemidji. During the delay, we had a late lunch at a very crowded Mexican restaurant. So crowded, in fact, that by 3 p.m. they were out of salsa. Yes, I know that Mexican restaurants NEVER run out of salsa, but this one did. The margarita-drinking guys seated at the next table, which in this crowded venue meant that we were close enough that had we lived in another culture, we would have had to get married, said that the only thing worse would have been if they were to run out of tequila, and I think they were working on that. After a nice safe flight to Minneapolis, we found we had 10 minutes to get from point A to point Z at the other end of the airport to make our connection. We decided to make a run for it. I don’t run, but I walked very, very fast. Fast, that is, until I got to the down escalator, which was turned off. If you’re flying to the northern part of Minnesota, no matter what airline you take, your flight departs from the farthest lowest corner of the airport. There were no other stairs heading down. The escalator stairs were not wide enough for a person to carry their suitcase normally, so it either needed to be pushed down ahead or dragged behind. Neither was working. I held up the whole line of sweating, wheezing people trying to make that flight, but I think they were secretly thanking me for giving them time to catch their breath. As we all made the final dash to our gate, we learned that the flight was delayed due to “mechanical issues”. You would think that they could have told us that when we arrived at point A, but perhaps the airport security team entertains themselves by watching an old Farm Woman run through the airport pulling a suitcase, purse, and tote bag full of citrus fruit and takes bets on whether or not she will lose her grapefruit. When it comes to flying, I think the term “mechanical issues” is often used instead of “we’re waiting for all our late flights to arrive so we won’t have to pay for motel rooms for everyone and his mother.” We arrived safely at 11:30 p.m., only 30 minutes later than expected. It was 17 degrees below zero, with a wind chill factor of 35 below. Our jackets were locked in the car across the parking lot. Whoever said that a good brisk walk got the blood moving and warmed you up never lived in northern Minnesota. Welcome home.