In the dead of winter, Hawaii might seem like the only place for Minnesotans to hang ten. But a few times each year: The southeast winds blow in up from Canada kicking up the perfect waves on Lake Superior.
For all they’ve tried, searchers haven’t found Sasquatch in the Pacific Northwest or the Abominable Snowman in the Himalayas. But if you believe the stories being told in central Minnesota, another mysterious creature is on the prowl in the Crosby-Ironton area.
You may have seen them on our lakes in the summertime: Kiteboarders riding both wind and waves. But the thrills don’t stop there.
You can go anywhere in this state and find examples of Minnesota Nice, but movie audiences have also had a look at our grumpier side.
The sweet, crisp sounds of fingers flying across a fret board lets you know that quality still matters. And there’s nothing less inside the Franklin Avenue guitar shop of Charles A. Hoffman.
Eighty years after the end of prohibition, there’s a company distilling whiskey legally in Minnesota.
It’s a winter sport that’s been around more than 500 years, played by gliding a heavy stone down a sheet of ice.
When you book a hotel room, you expect comfortable surroundings that help you relax. But one innkeeper in north-central Minnesota keeps things a little more on edge.
From Raggedy Ann to Barbie, dolls have been popular gifts under Christmas trees for centuries. For one woman in Albert Lea, dolls became part of her passion.
In less than a week Santa will be loading his sleigh and visiting the homes of children all around the world.
In the winter, Minnesota skaters can get a smooth sheet of ice by hosing down their outdoor rinks. But in Sandstone, they look at ice more vertically.
Against a picture perfect autumn sky is a building in Hibbing equally as breath taking. It’s a place of learning and where history lessons are embedded in the walls.
At this time of year, the skyline of Duluth is much brighter at night. Nearly 4 million lights are glowing nearby in Bayfront Festival Park along Lake Superior.
With a sharp tug of his chainsaw’s rope, Pat Scrimshaw looks every bit a logger heading to the north woods. But the big white pines he slices up produce looks – not logs.