WHEN WE CONNECT, when we give of ourselves, beautiful things happen.
Several months ago, I was the recipient of an unexpected gift. Hours later, I was the giver.
Such moments make life joyful and meaningful, causing us to pause and consider how much our words and our actions matter. For we are, if anything, all alike in our basic humanity. We need each other. We hold the power within ourselves to make a positive difference in the lives of others.
Ann did exactly that for me. I was out protesting, as I am nearly every Saturday morning in Faribault, when Ann showed up with a brown paper gift bag. A little background: Ann lived up the hill from me many decades ago and we’ve since bumped into each other occasionally about town. This winter we reconnected on the protest line.
At the third No Kings Day protest in March, Ann arrived in a vivid 1960s/1970s vintage vibe sweater she’d crocheted. I loved her flower power sweater so much that I blurted, “I need one!” Of course, I really didn’t expect Ann to craft a sweater for me. But she suggested I talk to her again in the fall, when she had more time for crocheting.
Fast forward a month and there was Ann holding that gift bag toward me on the protest line. “I made something for you,” she said. Inside I found not a flower power sweater, but a handcrafted flower power tote bag. Ann’s unexpected gift brought me nearly to tears as I considered the hours she spent crocheting, crafting something she knew I would appreciate and love. And I do.
Ann apologized that it wasn’t a sweater, explaining that she’d made several already and couldn’t tackle another. That didn’t matter to me. I never expected a sweater. So to receive this surprise from Ann, who is an incredibly strong, kind, compassionate and caring woman, meant a great deal to me. I felt enveloped in the warmth of her kindness and love.
Hours later, I extended kindness to a shopper in the produce section of a local grocery store. When I commented on the price of strawberries, Pam (not her real name) and I commiserated over the high cost of groceries and everything in general. That led to a political discussion and venting from both of us about the current administration, the war in Iran and more. I invited my new friend to protest with me on Saturday mornings.
But Pam can’t. She’s a caregiver for her disabled husband. It’s hard for her to leave him, even to shop for groceries. Pam shared more, which I will keep confidential. But it was enough for me to offer her encouragement and to acknowledge the challenges she faces as a caregiver. Her husband was having an especially difficult day, which weighed heavy on Pam. I could see that she needed affirmation, acknowledgment of her feelings, and support.
I could offer all of that to Pam as I, too, have been a short-term caregiver. I didn’t tell her that. This was Pam’s story, not mine. But I tried to uplift her. “Can I hug you?” I eventually asked. Pam accepted my offer. And then we embraced, not in a superficial pat-pat on the back way, but in a tight hug that held the emotional depth of two women who understand the importance of human connections.
Tears brimmed her eyes and mine when Pam told me we were meant to meet that afternoon in the produce department of a local grocery store. I agreed. The cost of strawberries jump-started our conversation. But humanity and my genuine concern for Pam took us beyond casual conversation to a memorable moment. To a hug. Warm and genuine and real. A gift to both of us.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Westward bound deep into Minnesota farm country May 28, 2026
Tags: agriculture, barns, Brown County, commentary, farm fields, farm sites, farming, land, landscape, Mankato, memories, Morgan, New Ulm, Owatonna, photography, Redwood County, rural Minnesota, sky, southern Minnesota, travel, Vesta
THROUGH SEVEN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA counties we traveled—Rice, Steele, Waseca, Blue Earth, Nicollet, Brown and, then, home to Redwood. Westward bound.
Only occasionally now, mostly for the annual family reunion and on this day a beloved aunt’s funeral, do Randy and I follow this 125-mile route back to my native Redwood County.
Every trip, I see the immensity of sky and land as the landscape unfolds before me. The farther west we drive, the more rural the look, the feel, with the exception of Mankato and New Ulm.
We bypass the small towns along four-lane U.S. Highway 14 while passing endless farm sites and fields.
I have my eye on the view from the passenger side of our van, scanning the land, watching for photo ops. Photography can be a challenge while traveling at highway speeds. Still, I try, managing to capture images that document the ruralness of this place.
Barns, especially red ones, always grab my attention. They symbolize agriculture more than any other building. Yet, most no longer center a farming operation. Absent of animals, many barns have been repurposed or have fallen into heaps of rotting wood. I always appreciate a well-kept barn still standing strong against elements and the passage of time.
This trip I’m also cognizant of crops at the beginning of the growing season. Corn is popping up in rows across the land, green shoots reaching toward the sun, the sky. Green is good. When my next trip this direction comes in late July, that corn will stand towering and dense across acres of fields.
I may not be a farmer, but my connection to the land more than 50 decades removed from my childhood farm remains strong. I still look at the crops. I still hope to spot a herd of Holsteins. I still see a silo and mentally climb the interior ladder to throw down silage. I still eye a grove of trees with the playfulness of youth.
While nostalgia runs high on trips like this deep into Minnesota farm country, reality is that farming remains as challenging as ever with ever-rising expenses, low commodity prices and the uncertainties of weather. Will rain fall when needed? Will storms come with devastating wind and hail? Always, always, the risks exist from planting to growing to harvest.
But on this day, mile after mile after mile, I see the hope of a farmer. I see a way of life. I see dreams.
And I feel small in this place where land and sky dwarf farm sites, where fields stretch across endless acres, where the highway ribbons ahead of us across seven rural southern Minnesota counties, westward bound.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling