Minnesota Prairie Roots

"Emily Broken Nose" by Suzi Rhae Ross on the corner of 3rd St. N.W. and Minnesota Ave. N.W. in Bemidji. This artwork is not for sale.

A close-up of my favorite sculpture, "Grannie's Garden."

WHEN YOU THINK OF BEMIDJI, what comes to mind?

If you’re like me, you would probably answer “Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox,” right?

And you would be right. But as I discovered on a recent visit to this northern Minnesota city, Bemidji is about so much more than the legendary lumberjack and his sidekick bovine.

Bemidji is also a thriving arts community. I learned this almost immediately after signing Paul’s over-sized guestbook at the Tourist Information Center located next to the Paul Bunyan and Babe statutes along Lake Bemidji. The woman staffing the center made sure I got a brochure directing me to the Bemidji Sculpture Art Walk.

This year’s walk features 50 sculptures scattered on street corners throughout the historic downtown. The latest art went up in mid-May and will be on loan to the community for a year. And although I was told to vote for my favorite, I never actually cast my ballot for the People’s Choice $1,000 winner.

Sorry, Lee Leuning and Sheei Treeby, because I would have selected your “Grannie’s Garden,” positioned on the corner of 4^th St. N.W. and Beltrami Ave. N.W. And if I had an extra $45,000, I would have considered buying your bronze sculpture of an old woman with an apron full of vegetables. Her unforgettable, kindly face and connection to my rural roots instantly endeared her to me.  She would have fit perfectly in my backyard.

I didn’t see all 50 sculptures, but I viewed enough to applaud this public art project. This outdoor art gallery offers just one more reason to visit Paul Bunyan’s hometown.

"Grannie's Garden" by artists Lee Leuning and Sheei Treeby.

Pokey Park's "Leo," on the corner of 3rd St. N.W. and Beltrami Ave. N.W. and for sale at $15,000.

"All About Time," a quirky $2,000 art piece by Sherry Olson on the corner of 6th St. N.W. and Beltrami Ave. N.W. and the 2008 People's Choice winner.

I moved in close for this image of the haunting face of "Woman at the Well" by Daphna Russell on the corner of 3rd St. N.W. and Minnesota Ave. N.W. For sale for $4,600.

Artist Suzi Rhae Ross created "Morgan's Fancy" displayed at 4th St. N.W. and Bemidji Ave. Cost, $2,500.

Wanda Reise Odegard's "Niimii" has been part of the permanent outdoor art collection since 2000.

CURIOUS PERSON THAT I AM, I desired more information about the Bemidji Sculpture Walk. So I talked to scrap metal sculpture artist and BSW co-founder Al Belleveau. Here’s one man passionate about the outdoor gallery, now in its 11^th year in Bemidji.

He is quick to credit his wife, Catie, for suggesting the BSW after she saw a similar sculpture walk in Grand Junction, Co.

And I thought this was unique to Bemidji. Not so. According to Al, the Bemidji art project is among a network of sculpture walks located in cities across the country. Bemidji partners with Sioux Falls, S.D., which hosts the nation’s largest outdoor transient sculpture walk. Some sculptures rotate between the two towns.

In Minnesota, Bemidji is the only city with an annual rotating sculpture walk.

Al gets calls or e-mails from interested artists almost daily. Those artists complete an entry form and a committee reviews the applications, considering safety, aesthetics and durability (the art must withstand cold, snow and road salt, Al says). This year’s sculptures come from a good smattering of Minnesota artists, Al says, and from artists in California, Arizona and South Dakota. All receive a $300 honorarium with local businesses sponsoring the artwork.

Pulling visitors into Bemidji’s historic downtown was part of the impotence behind the sculpture walk, says Al. He would watch people take pictures with Paul Bunyan and Babe, then jump in their cars and leave. He wanted to change that—to get people into the coffee shops, restaurants, clothing stores, art venues and other downtown businesses.

That has happened with the sculpture walk. Al compares the sculptures to mushrooms, “like the fruiting body for a deep network of the arts” that also includes theater and music. Bemidji is becoming recognized as an art town, he says, and that has much to do with “the art is in your face” sculpture walk.

“Our gallery is outdoors,” Al says. While most of the sculptures are in Bemidji for only a year before new ones rotate in, some have been purchased for permanent indoor or outdoor display. The first in that permanent collection was “Niimii” by Bemidji artist Wanda Reise Odegard. Dedicated to all pow-wow dancers, “Niimii,” meaning “the dances,” is located near the tourist information center.

Visitors can contribute monies toward purchase of the sculptures or can also buy individual sculptures. Most are for sale and the BSW earns commission from the sales. The number of sculptures displayed every year depends on funding.

Considering all the sculptures is “like being in a candy shop,” says Al. “It’s hard not to buy the last candy bar.”

Speaking of which, Bemidji has one delectable downtown candy shop, Chocolates Plus. But that’s another story.

Another angle of "Niimii," a Bemidji tribute to pow-wow dancers.

(Watch for more info on Bemidji in future blogs.)

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

An eagle represents freedom on the veterans' memorial at the Waseca County courthouse.

HOW CAN IT BE, I wonder as I eat my BLT sandwich at noon, that half the day has passed without my considering that today is 9/11?

Have I become so complacent in eight years that I forget the significance of this day?

So I think. And I remember.

I remember the phone call from my husband alerting me to the first crash of an airliner into the first World Trade Center tower.

I immediately switch on the television set, not quite believing what he has told me. And then not long thereafter, I hear the sheer disbelief in the news anchor’s voice as the second jet steers into the second tower.

The horror of it all brings tears and an incredible feeling of fear unlike any I’ve ever felt.

On the floor, my 7-year-old son, who is home sick from school, and his friend Sam play, seemingly oblivious to the real-life action playing out on the screen.

But later, I watch as they stack wooden blocks into towers and then ram toy airplanes into the spires, sending blocks tumbling across the living room carpet.

How, I wondered back then, back eight years ago, could I explain to them that what they saw on television was real, very real, and not just a television show?

#

Here’s a poem I penned shortly after 9/11:

Flags fly in Kenyon in August.

September 11, 2001

You clutch your silver toy jetliners

then blast them into the twin towers,

blocks scattering across the floor.

Like that show on TV,

you tell me,

where the planes crashed

into those two tall buildings.

—————————————-

Somehow I must tell you

that this was no show on TV,

but real people

in real buildings.

Moms and Dads

with little boys just like you,

boys who build towers and fly toy airplanes.

—————————————————————

How do I begin to show you the truth

behind a scene so terrifying

that it keeps replaying in my mind?

Hollywood could have written the script,

the latest disaster film, grossing millions

for an industry embedded in itself.

You’re right; this could be a show on TV.

———————————————————-

Except this is very real,

so real that I want you to believe

those were just pretend buildings, pretend airplanes.

But you see the worry in my eyes,

hear the sadness in my voice.

You know the truth,

even before I tell you.

——————————-

My son, only seven years old,

too young to fully understand

the evil that has invaded the world,

the fear that grips the American heart, my heart,

the sense of security forever lost.

Like so many blocks scattered across the floor,

we must pick up the pieces and rebuild, peace by peace.

——————————————————————————–

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Arroz con pollo tastes much better than it looks.

Any time I can hand kitchen duties over to someone else, or eat food prepared by someone else, I’ll jump at the chance. I freely admit that “I hate to cook.”

So when my daughter Miranda, who has worked the past two summers in the Concordia Spanish Language Village kitchen, offered to prepare a meal for us, I quickly agreed.

This woman knows how to cook. And she didn’t learn it from me. Thank you, Concordia staff, for teaching my daughter how to cook.

She prepared arroz con pollo, a delicious Latin American dish of chicken and rice seasoned with fresh garlic, onions, red peppers and fresh cilantro.

Even my finicky son proclaimed the food tasty, although he did push the red peppers to the side of his plate.

For me, Miranda prepared a lettuce salad topped with a tomato picked from our backyard. She cut the tomato into the shape of a rose, a skill she learned from the head cook when the Mexican ambassador visited the language village. The ambassador was served a tomato rose-topped salad, just like me.

Miranda completed the meal with a mixture of fresh fruits, including mangoes. Now, I’ve never bought a mango, never eaten a mango. Actually, if someone placed a mango in front of me, I would ask, “What’s that?”

Yes, I have much to learn about food. But I’ve got my Spanish major, “I’ve lived in Argentina,” “I’ve cooked Latin American food for two summers,” daughter to teach me.

Arroz con pollo (rice with chicken)

Sautee 3 cloves minced garlic and half an onion, diced, in vegetable oil. Mix with 2 ½ cups instant, raw rice. Stir the rice mixture into 2 ½ cups chicken stock that has been brought to a boil. Turn off the heat and allow the rice to sit, covered, per package instructions.

In vegetable oil, sautee 1 ½ to 2 boneless chicken breasts (cut into small chunks) with half an onion, diced tomato and diced red pepper.

When the chicken is cooked, add the chicken mixture to the rice. Heat over low heat for several minutes, adding more chicken stock as needed.

Mix in fresh chopped cilantro and serve. Makes 6 servings.

Note: Miranda said this is not the “official” Concordia arroz con pollo recipe, but her adaptation of it.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Postage due

LAST WEEK MY FRIEND Jane made a special trip to the post office to have an envelope weighed. She wanted assurance that the envelope had adequate postage for mailing from Duluth to my Faribault home.

Well, yesterday I got an e-mail from Jane. The package was returned to her postage due. “Apparently our two post offices don’t agree,” she wrote.

Huh?

#

The Case of the Mysterious Wire

ON TUESDAY MY WASHING MACHINE started squealing, right before the rinse cycle. That evening my husband determined the source of the problem—a bad water pump—and showed me a curved piece of broken wire.

Wednesday evening he returned from work with a new water pump and that broken piece of wire.

“Do you know what this is?” Randy asked, holding up the wire.

“Uh, no,” I replied.

“It’s from an underwire bra,” he said. “Karl (that would be Karl, our friend and the appliance man) said he sees a lot of these from washing machines.”

“Well, I don’t wear that kind of bra,” I said, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

But I do know two young women who may be getting a water pump bill for $65.73.

#

My fake body part

MY SISTER MONICA and her family have nearly completed a major home addition. A few finishing touches need yet to be completed, like installing steps to the front door.

So when I stepped out of the front door on Sunday, I did so carefully. Even so, the step down was a bit further than I anticipated.

“Wow, that’s a long drop,” I said.

“You should just jump, like this,” my 7-year-old niece Cortney said as she leapt to the ground.

“Well, I can’t do that,” I said. “Part of my leg is fake and I need to be careful.”

Cortney stopped dead in her tracks.

“Remember when you came to visit me in the hospital?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, they cut out part of my bone and gave me a ceramic one,” I said, trying to explain to her what getting a new hip means.

“They took off her leg and put on a new one,” my sister said, trying not to laugh.

Well, sort of, but not exactly.

Cortney covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear that!” she yelled.

#

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I had never heard of David Bradley ag equipment until I saw this sign posted by a collector with a sense of humor. Be sure to click on this photo so you can read the small print under the big red lettering.

SOMETIMES I SUPPOSE my husband simply wishes I would just stay home and let him do his guy thing. But last Saturday I decided that, since I hadn’t attended the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines, Inc., show in years, I would tag along with him.

Randy made for an excellent tour guide, patiently explaining this engine to me and that engine to me, identifying tractors and answering my many questions. I’m always full of questions.

And I’m always looking for the interesting and unique. So I stray away, drawn to the unusual. That happens often as I tend to see what others may not notice.

But that’s OK. It makes life more interesting.

I discovered there’s a lot more to see at a steam and gas engines show than mechanical stuff.

Here’s the proof, straight from my camera.

I nearly missed this gem of a vintage picnic basket tucked near a machine. Even though I think it had been modified with custom decals, I still like it.

Cowboy boots hanging on the exterior of an 1860s log cabin marked the building as an on-site shoe repair shop. Inside, Randy Malecha of Willie's Shoe Repair in Northfield demonstrated his craft.

Upset or frustrated? These folksy gingham DAMMIT dolls from the craft/flea market offered a creative way to vent frustrations. Not that I condone cursing...

Whoa! I did a double take when I saw this gigantic trap. "How many varmints can that catch?" I wondered as I side-stepped The Thing.

(Watch for more Rice County Steam & Gas Engines show photos in upcoming blogs.)

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A back shot of Tim Swanson's 1959 Chevy Impala.

A FEW WEEKS AGO while attending a car show in Faribault, I saw my dad’s car. Well, not exactly Dad’s car, but close enough.

Tim Swanson of Faribault owns the 1959 four-door black and white Chevrolet Impala that so reminds me of a car from my childhood. Unlike Tim’s car, my dad’s Impala was mostly black with a white stripe running down each side.

Tim’s Chevy features a Tuxedo Black paint job accented by Snowcrest White across the top and trunk of the car. If anything, you have to appreciate those classy color names, which Tim verified for me in a thick Chevy manual.

He’s pretty proud of the car he redid, stripping it down to the metal, removing “crappy carpeting” (his words, not mine), replacing the seat covers and more. And he should be. This car shines, literally, and with pride in ownership.

Even though Tim isn’t nearly old enough to remember 1959, the 59 always has been his favorite year, he tells me. And that, he explains, traces to the plastic car models he built as a boy. They were always 59s.

He’s even more precise about what he likes specifically on his 1959 Chevy. It’s the teardrop taillights.

I have to agree with Tim. The taillights look like exotic eyes with the curves of the trunk mimicking nicely-arched eyebrows. I’m sure Tim doesn’t quite view it the same way as me.

As I circled Tim’s car, I thought of my dad, who died six years ago. I remembered how all of us kids piled into the backseat of his Chevy so many decades ago. And I wondered why he ever sold that attractive Impala to one of the Rohlik boys.

Couldn’t he just have driven the car another 40 years?

A gorgeous taillight on the 1959 Chevy.

The 1959 Chevy Impala had a factory list price of $2,710.

Tim Swanson owns this 1959 four-door Chevrolet Impala, one of 85,238 built.

The beautifully-redone interior of Tim Swanson's 1959 Chevrolet Impala four-door.

No, this isn't Tim Swanson's car, but a 1960 customized Chevy I photographed in downtown Kenyon, Minn. It really doesn't look all that much like the original, but, hey, it's still kind of cool, isn't it?

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Treasure City stops traffic along U.S. Highway 10.

Consider for a moment every souvenir shop, Dollar Store, Ben Franklin and Woolworth’s store you’ve ever shopped in your life.

Then think way beyond that, and you have Treasure City in Royalton.

Earlier this summer I briefly toured this kitschy place along U.S. Highway 10 between St. Cloud and Little Falls that advertises “Gifts, souvenirs, jewelry and snacks. Something for everyone.”

Unfortunately, I arrived only 10 minutes before closing, which left me with little time to explore a store that would take hours and hours of meandering down narrow aisles to truly see every treasure stashed here.

But I saw enough to know that any kid would love this place. Perhaps that’s why it’s become so popular with northbound vacationers. I can almost hear Mom promise: “We’ll stop at Treasure City if you kids stop fighting.”

Or the kids whine: “Mom, Dad, can we stop at Treasure City? Can we? Can we?”

Yup, it’s that kind of place, the perfect pit stop on the way to the lake cabin, the perfect way to keep kids, and parents, happy.

But I have one question: Are those $12.99 alligator heads really “Genuine American Alligator Products” from New Orleans, La., as the price tags say?

Merchandise crams nearly every inch of space in Treasure City. Click on the photo to enlarge it for a better view of the endless treasures.

Keep the little princess happy with a pastel cowgirl hat.

For the bug lovers, there are plenty of creepy crawlies.

Unique decor for a signature style.

All the pretty little ponies, just waiting for a new home.

The north end of Treasure City, next to the parking lot.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

This little guy seems oblivious to the activity around him as he lazes on a blanket with his International toy tractor. I waited patiently for just the right moment to capture his "not-a-care-in-the world" demeanor.

IF YOU PLOPPED me down on a bench in the middle of some crowd-drawing event, I could sit contentedly for quite some time just watching the people.

Sometimes they can be as entertaining as the entertainment.

That’s not to say I don’t appreciate whatever activity has drawn me to a location, like the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines, Inc. show in Rice County this past weekend. The rows and rows of tractors and steam and gas engines and other activities kept me plenty interested.

But so did the people.

From the arthritic old man I watched shuffle between tractor rows to the “look-at-me, I’m a John Deere guy” guy to the cute little kids, this show presented plenty of people-pleasing moments for me to photograph.

I like best of all to snap images unobserved and then, afterward, to ponder the emotions I’ve photographed.

Here are some of my favorite people shots from several hours of wandering at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines show on Saturday.

The expression on this baby's face is precious. And so is the loving way the father holds his child as they await their turn in the tractor parade.

I like the determined look on this retired farmer's face as he passes a gigantic Rumely steam engine.

One can only imagine the thoughts fleeting through this boy's mind as he sits behind the wheel of this Co-op (I think) tractor. He seems genuinely focused to me.

And then there was this guy dressed in flamboyant John Deere clothing. I turned, saw him and quickly snapped one unforgettable image before he was gone.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Sailboats sit upon the waters of Lake Harriet.

Rental boats add a splash of color along the shoreline.

Decades have passed since my mom dropped me and my suitcase off at the Greyhound bus stop, a.k.a. my Uncle Harold’s gas station, and sent me packing for Minneapolis. I rode that bus 130 miles to the heart of the big city. Just a country kid, all alone.

My Aunt Rachel would pick me up at the depot and we would head to south Minneapolis, where I stayed for a week in the summer with her and Uncle Bob.

We took in the sights, sometimes catching a city bus downtown, other times biking or walking to Lake Harriet. Memories of those days with my godmother rushed back last Sunday when I picnicked at Lake Harriet with my family.

But this was not the lake I remembered. Today, the Lake Harriet area bustles with activity. From a picnic table that was practically perched on the walking and running trail, I watched a constant stream of joggers race by, their stomachs flat as washboards, their legs bulging with toned muscles. This I noticed as I scooped another spoonful of hash brown potatoes loaded with sour cream and cheese.

And the bikers—couples on tandem bikes, serious riders in their tight shorts, families—nothing at all like Rae and I on our old bikes. My daughter, Amber, who lives in south Minneapolis, warned us several times to “watch for bikers.”  She really didn’t want one of us wiped out by a whizzing bike due to our inattentiveness.

She knows me too well. I found plenty of distractions, most noticeably the jetliners roaring overhead every few minutes. I have this thing about low-flying jets. I really don’t like them, a dislike that traces back to several Air Force fighters flying so low over my childhood farm that I instinctively dived under the B Farmall tractor.

The whole time we were picnicking, I was trying to block out those incredibly low, sound-deafening jets.

After lunch we meandered toward the Lake Harriet Bandshell, which temporarily distracted me from all those planes. Inside the bandshell, a couple practiced the tango, or was it salsa? I can’t remember which.

The lake side of the Lake Harriet Bandshell.

A couple dances upon the stage of the bandshell.

And then I looked down, to an unexpected surprise. Poetry upon bricks in front of the bandshell. Rather than the typical names and dates stamped upon bricks as a fundraiser, there were poetic phrases:

These words I pondered as we walked along the water’s edge, as sailboats sat silent upon the lake, as ducks spread ripples swirling across the water, as another airliner roared overhead.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The first-ever 1938 Minneapolis Moline UDLX, one luxury tractor with an enclosed cab.

Inside the cab of the rare Minneapolis Moline UDLX, a comfort tractor that even includes a radio, that box behind the steering wheel.

“If I owned your tractor,” I tell Dennis, “I would have to live in it.”

And that’s the truth. His 1938 Minneapolis Moline UDLX would fetch $140,000 – $160,000 at public auction, Dennis tells me.

Ah, yeah, that’s worth more than my house, I think.

But then Dennis’ Minneapolis Moline is only one of 150. And with serial number 310001X, it was the very first production comfort cab tractor ever built. That’s as in the first one to roll off the production line.

Dennis, who has owned his tractor for six years after buying it at an auction in Iowa, says Minneapolis Moline began manufacturing the UDLX in June 1938, but stopped production in December. No one was buying the tractors because of the $2,200 cost, he explains. A typical tractor of that size sold for $800 in 1938.

And farmers were a bit skeptical about needing the comfort of a cab and luxury features like a cigar lighter, sun visor, radio, seating for two and a dome light.

The 5-speed transmission with high range allows the tractor, which I think resembles a car more than a tractor, to travel up to 40 mph.

“Farm during the day, drive to town at night,” a sign on Dennis’ tractor reads.

Just imagine a bachelor farmer picking up his girl for a night out on the town in a Minneapolis Moline UDLX…

NOTE: I saw Dennis’ rare 1938 Minneapolis Moline UDLX at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines, Inc. show, which ends on Sunday, September 6. Gates open at 7 a.m. and close at 5:30 p.m. at the show grounds just south of Dundas (Northfield) along Minnesota Highway 3. Watch for more photo blogs from this event.

Signage on the Minneapolis Moline UDLX.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling