AS MY FIFTH MOTHER’S DAY without my mom approaches, I’m thinking of her, missing her, remembering her.
She lived a long life, living until nearly ninety, something none of us expected given her heart issues. Several times we were called to her hospital bedside to say goodbye. I remember one instance when Mom was not expected to make it through the night. The next morning she woke up much-improved and told us, “I guess God wasn’t ready for this stubborn old lady.”
I’ll never forget that. But I would argue that Mom was not stubborn. She was kind, caring, compassionate, loving and patient. With six children, she had to be patient. I raised three children and understand the patience required of mothers.
We all hold memories of our moms—positive, negative and otherwise. Moms, like all of us, are imperfect. But they try. They do their best.
And sometimes they leave us a gift that offers glimpses into their lives. My mom left a stack of notebooks journaling her life from 1947-2014 with a few years missing. These are not diaries with personal feelings and thoughts expressed, but rather a documentation of daily life.
I treasure these notebooks filled with her handwritten observations and notes about life in rural southwestern Minnesota. Hard work filled her days. I pulled out her stenographer’s notebook dated 70 years ago to learn what she was doing in the 10 days before my birth.
There was the usual washing clothes in the Maytag wringer washer, mending, housecleaning, baking and preparing meals. But Mom also picked grapes with my dad, made grape juice the next day and the following day made 32 jars of grape jelly and 18½ quarts of tomato juice. And she was only days away from delivering me.
The day before I was born, Mom dusted floors, baked bread and cherry nut cake, took 13 dozen eggs into town and then celebrated her wedding anniversary with her in-laws. I’m tired simply reading that list of work she accomplished while nine months pregnant.
At 3 a.m. the next morning, Mom awoke in labor and arrived at the Redwood Falls hospital at 4:20 a.m., giving birth to 8 lb 12 oz. me 36 minutes later. That’s cutting it close, in my opinion. But when you go into labor in the early morning, need to get your one-year-old son to his grandparents’ house, and then travel 20 miles to the hospital, well, the time lapse seems reasonable.
Six days after my birth, Mom returned home. I should note here that on her fifth day in the hospital, Mom wrote, “Days are plenty long.” I suppose for a woman used to being busy all the time, lying around proved difficult. But she should have enjoyed the respite from work while she could.
Shortly, Mom was back in full work mode, not only caring for a newborn and a one-year-old and doing other routine household chores, but also feeding a crew of men picking corn on the farm for several days running.
Oh, how I admire this generation of Minnesota farm women who fed and cared for their families and others without the modern conveniences of today. No automatic washer, dryer, dishwasher, microwave. No bathroom or phone in our old farmhouse. Food came mostly from the farm, not the grocery store. And that meant gardening and putting up produce.
I’m thankful my mom found time to journal daily. Even if her entries were only several lines long, she apparently thought this documentation important. And I suppose in farming it was, allowing her and my dad to look back on the previous year’s weather, planting and harvesting progress, and such. But I think, too, writing in those spiral bound notebooks gave her a creative outlet and time for herself.
Mother’s Day offers a time to reflect on motherhood. Most give selflessly, love unconditionally, do the best they can. Mine did. And she left, too, her words chronicling everyday life as a mother and as a farm wife. As a writer I cherish this gift, not only on Mother’s Day, but always.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Persistent peaceful protest April 23, 2026
Tags: America, children's picture book, commentary, concerns, current issues, democracy, Faribault, First Amendment rights, free speech, Iran War, Minnesota, Operation Metro Surge, peace, protest, protest signs, protesting, rural Minnesota, war
THEY PROTESTED during the Vietnam War. Larry, Karl and Mary, who was tear-gassed at the University of Minnesota back in the day. Nearly 60 years later, they are on the protest line again, holding signs, voicing their concerns.
And I’m there, too, standing along Minnesota State Highway 60/Fourth Street in Faribault exercising my First Amendment rights to free speech. I never thought that at my age, I would become a protester. But nearly every Saturday morning from 11 a.m.-noon for the past three months, I’ve stood in solidarity with Larry, Karl, Mary, Kate, Mercedes, Randy, Raven, Matt, Barb, Kirsten, John, Gary, Wendy, Elizabeth, Josh, Sheri, Mark, Ann, Reed, Susan, Donna, Travis, Carrie, Allison, Hannah…up to 175 people at the most recent No Kings Day protest.
I’m proud to call these kind, compassionate and caring individuals my friends. Some I’ve met on the protest line; others I knew previously. Whether friendships old or new, I value every single person who is taking a public stand against the chaos unfolding in this country. There is value in protesting.
We express our concerns in the signs we craft, or buy, and hold for passing motorists to see. Concerns about immigration enforcement, the environment, Constitutional rights, the Epstein files, voting rights, the future of our democracy, human rights, data centers, the economy, incompetency of elected officials, un-presidential images with comparisons to Jesus…and most recently the war in Iran.
I have a stash of signs in my basement and continue to create new ones. When issues pop up, I pull out the markers, the tag board or cardboard, the stencils and write a message. There’s no shortage of concerns I hold for this country and world under the current federal leadership.
Lately I’ve held “Peace, not war” signs. It’s an issue on everyone’s mind, this unnecessary war our president started without Congressional approval, without a clear understanding of the Iranian regime’s mindset, without an exit. American soldiers are dying. The economy is a mess. And on and on. Threats to bomb away a civilization don’t sit well with me. Nor do comparisons to Jesus or attacks on Pope Leo XIV.
Peace has always felt elusive. Even on the protest line, where we practice peace, we sometimes find ourselves under verbal attack from motorists who clearly support the president and his agenda. We’ve been yelled at, called “stupid, retarded, mentally ill, dumb a**es” and more while getting the middle finger sometimes accompanied by a “f**k you!”. We just smile and wave, refusing to give these angry MAGA individuals the negative reaction they desire. That said, when they drive dangerously close to us at a high rate of speed, they cross the line from free speech to public endangerment.
Nearly 60 years ago, Larry, Karl and Mary were young adults protesting the Vietnam War. I admire that they are back on the protest line. They understand the importance of speaking up, of not remaining silent.
Creatives like Wendy Anderson Halperin also understand how we can use our voices to make a difference. I recently found her book, simply titled Peace, at my local library. Published in 2013, this children’s picture book is especially relevant today. I encourage you to read it, to study Halperin’s detailed illustrations and to read the many quotes woven into the artwork. Quotes that are thought-provoking, uplifting, revealing, encouraging.
I leave you with two quotes printed in Peace:
“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”—Jimi Hendrix.
“Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and greed. If people all over the world would do this, it would change the earth.”—William Faulkner.
RELATED: Sahan Journal, a nonprofit digital newsroom in Minnesota dedicated to reporting for immigrants and people of color, published an outstanding article on April 21 about more than 70 Minnesota children detained by federal immigration agents during Operation Metro Surge. This is an eye-opening story that should be read by everyone, regardless of political affiliation. Click here to read.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling