Denker: Why you don’t need a cabin to enjoy summer in Minnesota

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Born and raised here in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, I am well-versed in Minnesota’s legendary cabin culture. And for good reason.

There’s nothing quite like a weekend up north: ricocheting in and out of a frothy wake on an inner tube next to your best friend, toasting marshmallows for s’mores around a campfire while you swat away mosquitoes, even pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants for a walk through the North Woods on one of those weekends when highs barely climb out of the 50s.

Still, the reality for most Minnesota families, who don’t have a cabin — mine included — is that our summers will be mostly spent right here at home: saving money, and perhaps working weekends or odd hours.

In a state with some of America’s coldest winters, we cherish our summers. And I am here to tell you why summer can be just as special right here in the city.

Last week I had an itch to get out of town. I had this desire to run away from it all, but even with Sun Country’s advertised low airfares, the prospect of a few nights at a hotel just wasn’t feasible. And to be honest, I’m not a great tent camper. So I figured I’d see what it would mean to stay right here, and to embrace the best of Minnesota summer in Minneapolis.

Our kids are old enough to stay home alone, but they’re still not all that used to Mom and Dad doing things that aren’t centered around them or youth sports. As parents, I think it’s important to show kids sometimes that you have hobbies, too.

After I managed one par — maybe? — and after not losing too many golf balls, we came home and ordered pizza for the family from our local Carbone’s, and we were able to pick it up without having to go through a third-party delivery app.

(By the way, if you have kids who want to try out golf in Minnesota, I highly recommend the Youth on Course program. For an annual cost of $40, kids can play for $5 or less at participating courses, which include most of the ones near our home in Minneapolis. I admittedly grew up thinking of golf as a “rich person’s sport,” so I love that Minnesota is trying to provide access to all kids. You can also find lots of used sets of clubs, especially for kids, on places like Facebook Marketplace or local Buy Nothing groups, or at secondhand sporting goods stores like Play It Again Sports.)

On Saturday, I’d planned to take the kids to see their grandpa at his part-time retirement job at another public golf course where they’d be able to play a birdie course. Our plans were derailed, though, when we realized my son had misplaced his prescription sunglasses. We spent most of the afternoon retracing his steps through the neighborhood, combing through overgrown grass at the local high school football field where he’d gone to camp that week. Despite lots of diligent looking and frustration, we never found the glasses.

But somehow the change in plans led to some enjoyable family togetherness anyway. We ran into a neighborhood friend at the park, and he helped us look, too. The kids did cartwheels as the sun reached its peak. Another neighbor played fetch nearby with her dog.

As I looked around me that Saturday night, I was reminded that what truly makes summer special is each other. Not just our families or friends, but the whole community.

The crowd gathered for the movie at the band shell that night looked different from the Minnesota I remember when I grew up in the suburbs in the ’90s. I heard multiple languages being spoken; families brought food from a variety of ethnic backgrounds.

While we were not at a cabin, this was still lake culture: water, air, trees, music, food, community.

When the sun had dipped below the horizon on one of the longest summer days in the Lower 48 states, and we settled into our spots on wooden benches in front of a band shell first constructed in 1888, I didn’t feel that desperate desire to escape anymore, at least for a moment. I felt like I had everything I needed, which is a feeling that our current culture of consumerism tries to beat out of us at every turn, on every social media app.

At that moment, my youngest son turned to me. He was the one who’d lost his sunglasses earlier, and he felt really bad about it.