Driving down Interstate 90 through the flat, open farmland of southwestern Minnesota, you expect to see cornfields, wind turbines, and maybe a grain elevator. You don't expect to see a 65-foot Uncle Sam head staring back at you over the prairie grass.
Luverne, Minnesota just put itself on the global map in the most eccentric way possible. The town of 5,000 residents erected a giant wooden-style soldier named Verne the Patriot. Standing precisely 65 feet and 7.5 inches tall, Verne smashes the previous world record for the tallest nutcracker. The pedestal lifts him another nine feet into the sky. Meanwhile, you can explore related developments here: Skiing in Lesotho is a Terrible Luxury Holiday but a Brilliant Geopolitical Flex.
He isn't just a static pole with painted eyes, either. Verne comes complete with a working jaw, a red-striped top hat, and a star-spangled outfit designed to honor America's 250th anniversary.
If you think a giant holiday figurine in the middle of July feels random, you haven't looked into Luverne's local history. This isn't a hasty roadside tourist trap cooked up overnight. It's the culmination of a two-decade obsession that started with personal grief and ended up transforming a rural community. To understand the complete picture, check out the recent analysis by Lonely Planet.
The Story Behind Luverne's Nutcracker Obsession
To understand why a prairie town built a monument almost twice as tall as the previous record holder in Neuhausen, Germany, you have to go back to January 2001.
Betty Mann, a longtime Luverne resident who is now 96 years old, was going through an unimaginably painful period. She had just lost both her husband and her daughter in a short span of time. Following a brutal holiday season, she walked into a local Cracker Barrel restaurant with her daughter-in-law.
Looking at the holiday clearance items, she decided she wanted something to bring a little comfort. She bought a simple wooden nutcracker off the shelf.
That single purchase sparked a lifelong passion. Mann kept buying them. Friends gave them as gifts. Travelers brought them back from trips. Her collection grew from a dozen figures to hundreds, then to thousands. By 2016, her personal stash had expanded so much that she donated more than 2,500 pieces to the Rock County Historical Society, where she served as president.
Other donors followed her lead. Today, the local museum holds 7,554 distinct nutcrackers. Not a single one is identical. Because the entire population of Luverne hovers around 5,000, the town officially boasts more nutcrackers than human beings.
Turning a Weird Local Artifact into a Tourist Magnet
Having thousands of wooden soldiers sitting in a museum basement is nice for local history buffs. Getting highway drivers to pull off I-90 and spend money in town is a totally different challenge.
A few years back, city leaders brought in a regional tourism consultant to evaluate Luverne's economic options. The town already had some natural beauty, including Blue Mounds State Park with its resident bison herd. But natural parks don't always keep small-town main streets afloat.
The consultant took one look at the historical society's massive collection and told Mayor Patrick Baustian that the city was sitting on a goldmine. The community had an absurd, charming, highly shareable story that nobody outside the county knew about.
A local committee formed to brainstorm ways to maximize the town's strange claim to fame. The answer was obvious. Go big. Build something so colossal that drivers on the highway couldn't possibly ignore it.
They set their sights on the Guinness World Record. Germany had held the crown with a 33-foot figure. Luverne decided to double it.
Constructing a 65-Foot Patriot on the Prairie
Building a monument of this scale isn't as simple as carving a piece of pine in a garage. It took several years of planning, structural engineering, and fundraising.
The total price tag came out to roughly $600,000, funded entirely through private donations, community drives, and regional development grants.
Engineers and artists in Utah spent months fabricating the giant steel-and-fiberglass components. Each section had to be hauled across state lines on flatbed trailers before final assembly in Minnesota. Three weeks before the formal unveiling, heavy construction crews used industrial cranes to hoist the massive head and top hat into place behind a local shop called Those Blasted Things.
Katie Walgrave, who designed the statue and runs the rock shop with her family, watched the construction unfold right outside her store windows. The location was strategic. Sitting right off the highway exit, the shop gives travelers an immediate place to park, stretch their legs, and check out the towering figure up close.
When hundreds of locals and tourists gathered for the official ribbon-cutting ceremony, the organizers handed out red, white, and blue cookies alongside slushies. Walgrave took the microphone and officially introduced the giant to the world as Verne the Patriot.
The impact was instantaneous.
Walgrave reported that foot traffic at her family business quadrupled within three weeks of the statue going up. Visitors from as far away as Wales and China have already stopped by to snap photos with Verne. Nearby gas stations, diners, and shops are seeing a noticeable surge in summer road-trippers.
Why People Drive Hundreds of Miles to See It
On the surface, driving across the Midwest to look at a oversized wooden soldier sounds silly. Roadside attractions have always relied on a blend of novelty and humor. Yet for many who make the trip, the destination carries a surprisingly deep emotional weight.
Consider John and Francine Hawkinson, who drove nearly 200 miles from Lakeville, Minnesota to attend the unveiling. Just a month prior, a devastating house fire destroyed their home. Along with their belongings, Francine lost her cherished collection of nearly 300 nutcrackers.
Each piece in her collection represented a milestone in their life together. They had a sailor figure honoring John's military service in the Navy, alongside matching bride and groom figures from their wedding day.
When John read about Luverne's project, he surprised his wife with a trip to see Verne. Standing at the base of the world's largest figure, surrounded by thousands of others in the town museum, offered a rare moment of healing. Just as Betty Mann started her original collection to cope with loss, visitors are finding comfort in the town's quirky obsession.
Essential Visitor Information for Your Trip to Luverne
If you're planning a Midwest road trip or driving along Interstate 90, stopping in Luverne is an easy side trip. Here is what you need to know before you pull off the highway.
Exact Location and Access
Verne the Patriot stands right outside Those Blasted Things, located just off Interstate 90 in Luverne, Minnesota. Luverne sits roughly 30 miles east of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and about 200 miles southwest of Minneapolis. Parking is free and accessible for cars, RVs, and road-trip vans.
Seeing the Full Collection
Don't just take a selfie with Verne and leave. Drive two minutes into town to visit the Rock County Historical Society. That's where you'll find the indoor museum housing over 7,500 nutcrackers spanning various eras, themes, and countries.
Annual Events
If you want the full experience, time your visit during the annual Nutcracker Fest held every summer. The festival features street vendors, local food trucks, community games, and specialized museum tours.
How Small Towns Win Big on the Highway
Luverne's success highlights an important lesson for small-town tourism across the country. You don't need a multi-million dollar theme park or a major sports franchise to draw a crowd. Sometimes, all it takes is leaning into your weirdest local quirk and taking it to an extreme.
By taking Betty Mann's personal story of grief and recovery, combining it with local ambition, and erecting a record-breaking 65-foot monument, Luverne turned a quiet farming exit into a mandatory road-trip stop.
Next time you find yourself cruising down I-90 near the South Dakota border, keep your eyes on the horizon. Look past the cornfields for a red-striped top hat standing 74 feet above the prairie grass. Pull off the exit, grab a cold slushie, look up at Verne's working jaw, and make sure to stop by the historical society to see where a 7,000-piece obsession truly began.
