Minnesota Prairie Roots

Historic Shumway Hall on the Shattuck campus, decorated for the annual Christmas Walk.

RAILINGS, WINDOWS, DOORS, festooned in greenery and in red bows, are all dressed in the finery of Christmas in this place of stone and of wood. This is Shattuck-St. Mary’s School in Faribault.

Today I bring you this third, and final, photographic holiday post about a place that I find truly remarkable and inspiring for its architectural beauty, deep-rooted history and academic, artistic and athletic excellence.

Thank you to Shattuck-St. Mary’s for opening its doors to the community during the 7^th annual Campus Christmas Walk and “Sounds of the Season” ice show in early December. I attended both and, as you will see, left with a camera full of images and a heart full of Christmas.

Christmas trees and wreaths set a festive mood on the Shattuck campus on Faribault's east side.

Faribault artist Jim Pichner sold his stained glass artwork during the Christmas Walk holiday market.

Stair railings and banisters, worn by hands and years, are dressed up for the holiday season at Shattuck.

An angel in a windowsill inspires on a stairway landing.

A wreath on Shumway Hall.

Skating to "Frosty the Snow Man," this group of young skaters draws loud applause from the crowd at Shattuck's ice show.

Students from Shattuck-St. Mary's figure skating program wow the crowd during the "Sounds of the Season" free ice show on December 12.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Garden art, created by my neighbor Cheri from recycled vases, plates and more, provides a bright spot in the snowscape of my backyard.

TODAY MARKS THE SHORTEST day of the year, the winter solstice. Here in southeastern Minnesota, the recent foot of snow makes this seem like an already long winter. And it’s not even January.

Predictions for a major winter snowstorm later this week already have me worrying about travel. Will my daughters get home for Christmas? Will weather delay extended family gatherings that we must attend hours away?

Since there’s not much I can do about the weather, I must accept the cold and snow. Or, as in the case of St. Paul poet Todd Boss, embrace it. For the third winter, Boss is publishing an online winter poetry journal appropriately named Flurry.

Up until several weeks ago, when I discovered Yellowrocket, a book of poetry on the “new books” shelves at Buckham Memorial Library in Faribault, I had never heard of Boss. He authored this volume of down-to-earth poems that quickly won me over as a Boss fan. I’ve read and reviewed that collection, with that review awaiting publication.

But back to Flurry. In November, I e-mailed Boss about Yellowrocket, but mostly about his online poetry journal.

“Flurry is gaining momentum as a regional magazine (Minnesota and the Dakotas) whose focus is limited and the publication period of which is narrow. I kinda love how specialized it is. Poems about snow, basically is what we’re talking about,” he writes.

Yup, from December 21 until the March 20, 2010, spring equinox, you can immerse yourself in poems that focus on winter. This year, Boss has expanded Flurry’s geographical area to include his native Wisconsin. He solicits most of the material, but also reads submissions.

I’m no poetry expert, so I won’t pretend to understand every poem I read. But when I read a poem I like, I know it. That’s really the beauty of poetry. Poems elicit different responses depending on our emotions, experiences and even our geographical location. Boss understands that.

Right about now, I figure a whole lot of people, from the snow-covered Midwest to the snow-socked East Coast, can relate to the types of poems you’ll find on Flurry. Poems like Raul Sanchez’ Wild Dame that is kicking off the third season of Flurry; the two-line Sun Dogs by Denise K. Lajimodiere or The Soft Fate by Madelon Sprengnether in volume two; or Jill Breckenridge’s Winter Blessing and Deborah Keenan’s Something New About Winter in volume one.

Decide for yourself and check out Flurry at http://www.toddbosspoet.com/Flurry*/Flurry*.html.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

My daughter's Santa Mouse book, the one I read to her so many times that I had the words memorized.

“SO THAT’S WHY we haven’t caught the mouse,” he says. “The mouse was in the drawer.”

I am not laughing. Not at all. I do not laugh about mice.

But they—the two guys in my life—find this incredibly humorous.

First, a little background: I am afraid of mice. Because of that, I will not venture into our basement after dark. I am no dummy. I know that mice tend to scurry about in darkness.

I am not taking any chances. So one evening this past week, I ask my husband, Randy, “Can you go in the basement and get a book for me? It’s in the bottom dresser drawer.”

He looks at me, obviously thinking, “You have two legs. Get it yourself.”

But I am stubborn when it comes to rodents. I have had too many unsavory encounters with these skittering varmints to risk another.

And besides, I really want this book, Santa Mouse, which was a gift from my Aunt Dorothy to my oldest daughter more than 20 years ago.

My husband reluctantly obliges my request. Upon his return, Randy concludes that a mouse, which has twice snapped traps in our basement laundry room, must have been hiding in the dresser, in the book, the entire time.

“Ha, ha, ha,” my guys chortle. I scowl at Randy and my teenage son. They laugh some more. Loud guy laughter.

I am not going to give them the satisfaction of even the slightest hint of laughter escaping my lips. I must not show any signs of weakness regarding my stance on mice. If I laugh now, my husband will have me checking mouse traps next. And that would be worse than entering a dark basement.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Our $50 Frazier fir Christmas tree purchased for $27 awaits decorating a week before Christmas.

‘Tis the week before Christmas and we finally have a tree,

The one we bought Thursday night for a really low fee.

I thought it quite fresh when we pulled it inside,

But the carpet is already littered with needles that are dried.

The branches are thawing and bending low,

No longer like rigid soldiers all lined in a row.

It’s a beautiful tree, this Frazier fir that we got,

Unlike the budget pine tree that we have typically bought

But when you wait until the last minute like we did this year,

You’ll get a bargain price that brings lots of good cheer.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I photographed these bleeding hearts in my garden this past spring.

MINNESOTA PRAIRIE ROOTS continues to focus on the spirit of Christmas in handing out this week’s virtual Friday flowers.

Everywhere you turn, opportunities abound to give to others during this holiday season. And I hope you are doing just that, whether through a food shelf or blood donation, a secret angel gift, a card sent, a smile given. Your selfless giving from the heart will affect others in ways you will never know.

Take the stranger who gave a Christmas card and money to a couple shopping for groceries at Faribault’s Walmart on Sunday. The man disappeared before Tom Dominick and his wife could thank him, so Tom wrote a letter to the editor of the Faribault Daily News expressing his gratitude.

“You sir (a total stranger), could not have known the issues of hard times we’ve endured, nor can you know how much you touched us and restored our faith in mankind,” Tom said in part.

You see, Tom and his wife are raising their grandchildren and it isn’t always easy.

The stranger included this inspiring message: “Christmas began in the heart of God, it is complete only when it reaches the heart of man.”

The Dominicks experienced the blessings of that message. “Well, you did reach our hearts, in fact I got a WARM feeling at that moment and laid in bed for hours thinking of what you did,” Tom wrote.

That is the spirit of Christmas.

So these December 18 virtual Friday flowers go to the stranger who reached out to the Dominick family. These flowers also go to all of you out there who are making this Christmas better for others. God bless you.

Photo © Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Shattuck-St. Mary's crest embedded in the new Upper School entrance creates a dramatic first impression.

FINE CRAFTSMANSHIP and art meld at a private school in an old Minnesota river town, imprinting a deep sense of history upon all who visit here.

This is Shattuck-St. Mary’s School, founded in 1858 in Faribault.

I wandered the halls of the Shattuck campus on Saturday during the school’s annual Christmas Walk. (See my December 14 post.) I simply cannot get enough of this place, where wood and stone blend to create an environment that speaks to the past and to academia.

In this second photographic tour, I share some of the charming artistic details that define Shattuck-St. Mary’s. It seems more East Coast institution of higher learning than Midwestern prep school.

If one place captures the historic beauty of Shattuck, it would be the grand stairway area in Morgan Hall.

Art pieces, like this lion head, adorn the Shattuck campus library.

Stained glass windows, an interesting ceiling and warm colors create a cozy upper story alcove.

Sidewalk art outside one of the many heavy wooden doors that are part of Shattuck's charm.

The majestic pillars of Shumway Hall frame flags on a winter day.

Words imprinted upon sidewalk brick outside Shumway Hall speak to the respect former students hold for Shattuck-St. Mary's School.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Two men, dressed as Laura Ingalls Wilder and Heidi (from Johanna Spyri's book) and who shall remain anonymous, vie to unwrap a gift.

Disguised in a bonnet, this bearded contestant struggles to open the gift.

THEY COULD HAVE been characters in a theatrical performance—sweet Heidi from the Swiss Alps, determined Laura from the prairie or a crazy-looking little Who from Whoville.

But instead, they were fierce competitors in the December Family Game Night at Trinity Lutheran Church in Faribault.

My friend Billie Jo coordinated the event which included contestants vying to unwrap a gift. If that sounds easy, then you would be wrong. Billie Jo wrapped the coveted present in layers and layers of packaging and wrapping paper with yards of heavy-duty tape.

The first challenge—to roll doubles with dice. Just a footnote here: Don’t ever take me to Vegas. I never rolled doubles. However, I should clarify that I missed many opportunities because I was busy photographing the craziness.

Once Lady Luck struck, contestants had to don a cap, scarf and mittens (in some cases, oven mitts), then attempt to unwrap the gift before the next competitor rolled doubles and stole the present.

Before we got started, I raised my hand (because Billie Jo is a teacher) and asked if we could use our teeth to open the gift as one unnamed competitor did last year. Fine with her, she said.

So the race began.

Soon we were all laughing and shouting encouragement and laughing some more. There’s something about a bearded man in a gingham bonnet that’s just downright amusing. Maybe you had to be there. There’s also something incredibly hilarious about a friend suddenly transformed into a Dr. Seuss-like character by a neon orange hat.

Eventually, the second youngest of the game players successfully unwrapped a gift card to a major national retailer.

And then we moved onto more games—tossing greeting cards into clothes baskets, passing candy canes and paper gingerbread boys to each other, none as easy as they sound.

Oh, and we also exchanged white elephant gifts that included unwanted cologne, a high school graduation picture and a gaudy holiday-themed photo frame. My 15-year-old son was thrilled to get the frame, which will be regifted for the 2010 Christmas party. This year marked the second time the frame has been gifted, so it’s now part of our tradition.

Laughter defined our Christmas party. And it felt good, very good, to break from the hustle and bustle of the holidays for such silliness among friends.

A charming Who from Whoville finally succeeds in opening the gift.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

ON MONDAY, MY COUSIN Dawn e-mailed with interesting news. She had received a letter on Saturday from Norman Bates, proprietor of the Bates Motel in California, confirming a room reservation for that evening.

And yes, this would be the same motel of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho fame. If you’ve seen the 1960 movie or even heard about it, you know that it includes a murder in a motel room shower.

Dawn went on to complain that her Bates Motel correspondence arrived too late. She already had plans for the evening. “I guess Norman has gotten a little slow in his old age,” she e-mailed. “I was excited though that he remembered me. He must have taken a trip to St. Paul because that is where the post mark was from. Imagine that!!”

Yes, imagine that, Dawn.

And imagine my excitement when I realized early last week that the anniversary date of the notorious murder at the Bates Motel was coming up on December 12. I was nearly giddy with glee over the possibility of having some fun at my cousin’s expense.

This would be the perfect date, I decided, for Norman to reconnect with Dawn. She had previously received letters—one even included a dead box elder bug—from the motel proprietor. Dawn said she was thankful that Norman had forgotten her and moved on.

Big mistake, Dawn.

Although I could not find a dead box elder bug anywhere in my house, I managed to compose a chilling letter (yes, I’m confessing to the letter-writing crime), which read in part:

“You will be pleased to hear that your room, suite #1, has recently undergone extensive updating that includes a lovely new shower enclosure in an expanded bathroom.

We promise only the best of accommodations. I’m certain you will find your stay to be most pleasant and enjoyable.

Because we are located off the main highway, you will also discover this to be a quiet escape from the stresses of everyday life. A picturesque lake is located near the motel for your relaxation.”

And then, I cunningly ended the letter with this pleasantry:

“If I can be of further assistance, contact me via e-mail at ohcysp@batesmotel.com.”

Of course, there’s no such e-mail address. But, if you read the first word backwards, it spells psycho. Did you catch that, Dawn?

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

(Read my November 4 post, “Annie Mary Twente sends Halloween greetings” for more background behind the above post.)

“We Wish You a Merry Christmas”

Bough-decked Shumway Hall welcomes visitors to the Christmas Walk.

"Deck the Halls:" A hallway leads to the 1889 Morgan Hall.

SHATTUCK-ST. MARY’S SCHOOL. Even the name sounds impressive. And this place, on the east side of Faribault, truly ranks among my community’s most prestigious institutions.

Founded in 1858 as an Episcopal mission school, Shattuck today serves as a boarding and day school for 437 students in grades 6 -12 from 36 states and 20 countries. It’s nationally-known for turning out top-notch hockey players, for outstanding academics, for figure skating and more.

And this time of year, the school is also known for opening its doors to the community during the annual Christmas Walk. On Saturday, I toured the Shattuck campus, taking in the sights and sounds of Christmas.

But, I also absorbed the beauty of these historic stone buildings, which enticed me more than the holiday décor. It’s not all that often I get inside these doors.

Because pictures sometimes are worth a thousand words, I’ll showcase the Shattuck campus in the images I composed as I wandered the halls.

I was a bit smitten by this school with its stunning stained glass windows and heavy, dark wood. In the slate and wooden steps that dipped from years of footsteps, I felt history.

So join me on this Christmas walk, themed to Christmas songs, for your holiday enjoyment.

“O Holy Night”

A place to relax next to one of many stained glass windows at Shattuck.

“O Christmas Tree”

An inviting corner in the Shattuck library.

“Here Comes Santa Claus”

Santa visits with Christmas Walk guests.

“Frosty the Snowman”

An example of artwork sold at Shattuck’s holiday market.

“Feliz Navide”

Aiming to break a pinata during Christmas Walk festivities.

“Angels We Have Heard on High”

Two angels create a simplistic, yet impressive, holiday display below stained glass windows in a stairway at the Shattuck campus.

“I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”

A view of Shumway Hall from the Shattuck campus library.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

(Watch for additional posts from the Christmas Walk at the Shattuck campus. I ran out of time to tour the St. Mary’s campus. But there’s always next year.)

The advent calendar that has caused much discord at my house.

“PEACE ON EARTH, good will toward men.”

Or, more accurately for my family, this should be rephrased as “Peace at our house, good will between siblings.”

Yes, thankfully, rivalry and teasing among my three offspring have pretty much ceased. Maturity and living under three separate roofs explain everything. The girls have been gone for years—off to college and one now onto a career. That leaves only my 15-year-old son at home with me and my husband.

I don’t miss the bickering, especially during the holiday season. Every December, I could expect my kids to squabble over—get this—an advent calendar.

My Aunt Dorothy crafted the felt calendar some 20 years ago. It’s darling with red rickrack trimming a large piece of white felt adorned with a Christmas tree and numbered pockets. Inside each pocket, Dorothy placed tiny, holiday-themed items like a snowman, bells, gingerbread boy, dove and so forth. (I’m uncertain, though, what a mouse has to do with Christmas.) Each day, my kids were to remove the “ornament” from the appropriately-dated pocket and attach it to the tree.

In a perfect world, the kids would take turns. But, as all mothers know, this is not a perfect world with perfectly-behaved children.

So, each December morning, it became a race to see which kid would make it downstairs first to nab the ornament from the pocket and slap it onto the tree. This system, of course, failed. All attempts to resolve the conflict also failed.

Fast forward to 2009. “Are you putting the ornaments on the advent calendar every day?” I ask my son.

“Yes,” he replies with less enthusiasm than I expect.

And then he admits, upon my probing, that the advent calendar tradition has lost much of its appeal. That, he confesses, has everything to do with the lack of daily competition among him and his sisters.

Perhaps I should put a little excitement back into this tradition. Since he’s still sleeping, I’m going to pull the holly from the December 12 pocket and hang it on the tree.

There, the deed is done.

Will my 15-year-old notice? Will he care? Have I just destroyed peace and good will in my house?

Some of the felt ornaments adorning the advent calendar Christmas tree. See the holly? I added that ornament.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling