Most Minnesotans go north for their reprieves. And for good reason: it’s wooded, quiet, other-worldly, and has a sky that starts to feel bigger, like you’ve crossed the river into the west. Plus, it’s the lake country most outsiders associate the state with.
But, having grown up in the less-lovable but more farmable plains of the south, openness and waving grasses and a clear idea of where I’m going for the next five miles all make me feel most at home. So, my secret confession: the prairie parks of western and southern Minnesota are the most beautiful.
I also despise places that are overly touristed. I grew up in a county with one stoplight, and I still fight the urge not to just breeze past that red when it’s clear no one’s coming. Waiting in lines is not my thing, nor is showing up in a gorgeous place mobbed with people taking photos. When I vacation, I seek solitude, beauty, and traffic where 1 minute = 1 mile.
Thus far, western Minnesota is relatively unbooked. You don’t have to pounce on state park camp-in sites a year in advance and pray for good weather. In fact, I made a reservation three days in advance for both Lac qui Parle and Glacial Lakes State Parks and had my pick of some of the most gorgeous campsites I’ve ever stayed at. Lac qui Parle - “lake that speaks” in French - draws a larger birding community, as it’s a popular stop for migrating Canadian geese. Glacial Lakes is where I went to celebrate finishing “Pioneer Girl” - it preserves some pretty rare native prairie grasses that folks in covered wagons would have been wading through.
Glacial Lakes State Parks, right before it started raining
Both of these parks had gentle rolls, glassy prairie lakes, waving fields of grasses, and excellent biking roads. They’re also proximate to some really interesting small communities. Milan is near Lac qui Parle, which is now over half Micronesian thanks to one local banker’s foray into the Peace Corps in Micronesia. When we were there, the park across from the folk art school was filled with a Micronesian family reunion - music, soccer, food. The grocery store stocked surprising Swedish imports along with some Southeast Asian food supplies. As we biked into town, multiple church bells went off. “Are we in a deserted Disneyland set?” J asked.
Glacial Lakes State Park is a nice bike ride away from Starbuck, MN, right on the shore of Lake Minnewaska. It’s a former railroad town that now lays claim to being home of the largest lefse (a Norwegian flatbread) ever baked: 70 pounds, 9 feet and 8 inches in diameter. And, in an age of rural school consolidation as a sustainability measure, the community decided they wanted to create a local option and created Glacial Hills Elementary, an excellent charter school that connects the kids with the local geography and history.
And this is where I feel the rub of anyone who has found something gorgeous and relatively undiscovered: you should go visit, of course, but just don’t make these quiet open spaces too crowded. Tell only those you trust.
J showing me where the enormous lake is at Lac qui Parle on a Sunday hike before packing up camp
On the banks of Salt Lake in Lac qui Parle, where thousands of birds rest during their migration journey
J pulling into our campsite at Lac qui Parle: A quiet clearing in the grass.