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I don't envy the Minnesota flag commission. There's nothing our state loves more than obsessing over the finer points of its own identity; we love talking about the State Fair, or Lindström's umlauts, or duck-duck-gray-duck. And now this unlucky committee has to pick a single set of symbols to represent us all.
It's an unenviable task and assuredly no one will get exactly what they want. But I have an unconventional suggestion that might ease the choice, just a little bit.
Having perused the designs created by the public, it's safe to say that two themes predominate — two broad camps into which most of the submissions settle.
First, one set of flags celebrate Minnesota's frigid winters, adorned with chilly whites, blues and purples, north stars and northern lights. But almost as numerous is a second set, celebrating the Minnesota summer wilderness, with greens and oranges, lakes, forests and loons (so, so many loons).
The individual designs vary, but more than anything else, it's this divide that captures Minnesota's essence: the divided identity of a state caught in an endless rotation between brutal winters and lakeside summers. Really, these seasonal extremes are the very core of our culture. Life here flows with the changing weather. As a transplant, I've frequently marveled how much it feels as if I live in two totally different states in January and July.
All well and good. But what is a flag designer to do? How could we possibly capture both halves of our shared existence in a single design?