As famous salty mama Morgan Wallen said, «Get me to God’s country.» But by «God’s country» I mean a place where there are Culver’s upon Culver’s, endless streams of cheese curds, corn as far as the eye can see, and puppy chow aplenty. They say there’s no place like home, and that remains true. It’s just the feeling of it. The feeling of knowing that you’re no more than 5 miles away from the nearest casserole. Knowing that the weather is as unpredictable as our sports teams, and taking comfort in that. Knowing that whenever you need to scootch by someone at the grocery store, you will get an «ope sorry» in response to your «ope sorry.» 

The Midwest contains multitudes. There are as many ways to be Midwestern as there are Midwesterners in the world. And some of us are ex-pats, forced to be the token flatlander among our friends. But there are a few things we can agree on.