< by Jill >

It crystallized slowly, as most preferences do, but with such subtlety that I didn’t notice until one day, while watching Nate trim his beard, I realized: I love lumberjacks.

I love plaid.

I love pancakes.

I love tall men.

I love maple trees.

And by gum! I love beards.

There’s a reasonable explanation: I was born in Minnesota, land of lumberjacks. Specifically, the home of Paul Bunyan. And while he may have been authored into existence by a Michigan journalist, Paul Bunyan lives in Minnesota.

I’m sure of this because I met him. It happened one sunny weekend in the 1990s, when my family road-tripped to Brainerd, Minnesota to visit Paul Bunyan Land. While my sister and I sniffed out the pancake banquet hall (it really exists) my parents submitted our names to the ticket booth. Then, we passed through the gates and fell in the shadow of a 26-foot-tall giant. As our eyes met his intense stare, his voice boomed, “HELLO ANN AND JILL!”

We just about lost our marbles. Paul Bunyan — sixty-three axe handles high, with his feet on the ground and his head in the sky — KNEW OUR NAMES! It was the greatest day of my short life. Obviously, it instilled a deep love of bearded giants in plaid. And although Nate’s not a lumberjack of unusual skill, he’s got the height, beard, plaid, and legendary work ethic.

This Monday, you’ll read one of the many tales of Paul Bunyan. Then, in the following days, you’ll hear folktales and fables from around the country. It’s a departure from our typical storytelling format, but a good chance learn a little Americana.

The 26-foot-tall statute of Paul Bunyan. Photo courtesy Brainerd.com

Nate, my personal Paul Bunyan.