I came from Northern California and didn’t expect to fall in love with Minneapolis. I didn’t like snow or ice, was scared of driving in winter, and was overwhelmed to know that the temperature could drop so low as to be lethal if one wasn’t prepared for it. My first reaction to this place was resistance and denial, followed by a grudging tolerance. After a few years, there came the occasional (and surprising) gasp of delight upon waking to the beauty of freshly fallen snow. Now, seven years later, I find myself anxious for winter’s arrival. I can’t wait to see everything coated in white. I miss walking at night in the unexpected silence that winter brings. I want to slide on frozen lakes again, and see my dog leaping with joy through deep snow. My friends in California think that living here is crazy; I used to feel the same way. Now I’m grateful to live in a place that requires some patience and attention to appreciate; a place I had to learn to love. If it were a love-at-first-sight kind of city, everyone would be here.