The Pauly I’m referring to is Mr. Paul Bunyan. I call him that because we’re tight. We’re close. We’re besties. I used to stop by to see him once per year back in my younger days. I had to apologize today, as I hadn’t visited for a while.
Pretty much every year my family and I go on vacation to a resort near Park Rapids, MN. When I was younger, we’d do all sorts of activities—one of the most memorable being taking a visit to Paul Bunyan.
The statue in Akeley, MN—which I’m going to pretend is life-size—was a staple of each journey north. It faded as a tradition, but as we happened to drive by on this trip, I got overly excited. So my patient father pulled over and let me get my picture with Pauly.
As you can see, he’s pretty big. He’s also so content, even though he’s been kneeling there for lord knows how long. I’m not sure when or if Babe the Blue Ox ever visits Paul, but I’ve never seen him there.
Vacations in Park Rapids always bring me back to my childhood and often reveal the giddy childish excitement that still evidently remains.