Minnesota Prairie Roots

Slices of Dan and Jan's homemade pizza.

The pizzas are baked for 3 - 5 minutes in this 700-degree outdoor brick oven.

“You’ve come a long way since the days of meat and potatoes,” I tell Jan as she slides another pizza into the outdoor brick oven.

“And vegetables,” she adds, meaning the side vegetable dish that always accompanied the mainstay meat and spuds.

We laugh, sharing the bond of former farm girls who grew up on meat and potatoes.

I have been watching Jan and her husband, Dan, for quite some time now as they work together in their Northfield backyard. Dan prepares the pizzas, rolling homemade crusts and then topping them with a variety of meats and vegetables and cheeses.

Chicken ranch pizza with chunky chicken, ranch dressing, Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce and bacon, my personal favorite. Fresh tomato and basil. Shrimp. Pepperoni.

We—Parts Department Inc., Northfield (NAPA) employees and their families—are gathered here for a pizza party, an end of summer celebration. As the sun sinks, Dan and Jan are still making pizzas. They began hours ago.

But those of us here cannot seem to get enough of these delicious, thin-crust homemade pizzas baked at 700 degrees for three to five minutes in the outdoor brick oven. I eat more pizza than I think I’ve ever eaten in my life.

But this is darned good pizza.

Dan and Jan know how to cook.

We’ve been to their house many times for their home-cooked food. Last winter they made barbequed ribs in the brick oven and served those along with crab legs at a company party. They’ve also baked turkeys and bread outdoors.

The interior oven temperature remains unaffected by the air temperature, Dan says. If it’s 20 degrees below zero outside, it’s still 700 degrees inside the brick oven.

“How did you learn how to cook in this?” I ask.

Dan laughs, admits to a few disasters, like the first time he placed the pizza on a pizza pan inside the oven. That failed. The pizza goes directly onto a rack in the oven, not on a pan.

After watching the couple expertly make pizzas and after sampling more pieces than I should have, I concluded that if Dan and Jan ever leave the auto parts business, they could successfully open Dan & Jan’s Pizzeria.

Dan prepares a pizza crust at his backyard work station.

Dan prefers to use sliced, rather than shredded, mozzarella cheese atop his homemade pizzas.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

“Excuse me, but is there a bathroom around that I can use?” I ask two women sitting on a bench outside the fenced Kenyon Municipal Swimming Pool.

I figure there’s one in the bathhouse, but I’m not sure I should use it and I really don’t want to use the porta-potty across the park.

“Yeah, there’s one by the pool,” one woman points.

“Thank you,” I say, after asking about the location of the bathroom entry.

As I round the corner of the changing house, I abruptly stop. There, just down the hill from the pool and next to the boarded ice skating rink site, is a bike corral.

The bike parking lot, next to the pool and ice rink.

I’ve never seen anything like this bike parking area—bright orange snow fencing fastened to a rectangle of fence posts. Inside are two bikes secured in a rack, three bikes simply dropped upon the worn grass and two bikes leaning on their kick stands.

“BIKE PARKING,” the sign reads.

And to think that I would have missed this quirky small-town bike parking lot if I had been willing to pee in a porta-potty.

A sign indicates that this fenced parking space is reserved for bikes only near the Kenyon pool.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Morgan Grain & Feed, located in Morgan on the southwestern Minnesota prairie.

I feel badly because somewhere during the process of putting together a feature package on country grain elevators for the fall issue of Minnesota Moments, a photo of Morgan Grain & Feed was omitted.

And then when I blogged about the magazine elevator stories several days ago and posted additional elevator pictures that didn’t make print, I couldn’t find my photos from Morgan.

The reason is simple. I have too many folders of pictures. And sometimes if I have only one or two images of something, those photos end up buried somewhere. Today I discovered the Morgan Grain & Feed shots in a file labeled “travel.”

That was after I thought I had searched everywhere a few days ago, finally concluding that I had inadvertently deleted the images.

So to Morgan Grain and Feed, this blog is for you because you’re too important to the Redwood County economy to be forgotten.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The Twiehoffs' pickup truck sits outside their produce-filled pole shed in eastern Faribault.

Old-fashioned gladiolus are a mainstay at Twiehoff Gardens.

Perhaps it is the down-home goodness of the folks who run the place. Or maybe it’s the unpretentious way fresh fruits and vegetables and other merchandise are displayed in the no-frills pole shed. Whatever, the specific reason, simply put, I love Twiehoff Gardens along St. Paul Road in Faribault.

This is the kind of place where fresh means fresh.

Dried dirt still clings to freshly-dug potatoes and to the papery skins of onions. Sweet corn, picked from the field that morning, fills wooden crates. Gladiolus come clipped from a garden that lies only yards from the shed. Apples are from the orchard across the road.

There’s nothing glitzy about merchandising. Onions in a weathered trailer. Piles of fresh beans and cucumbers tossed in cardboard boxes. Tiny pumpkins on a shelf. Sweet corn displayed in old wooden crates. Crude, hand-lettered signs listing products and prices. Glads stuck in recycled, water-filled plastic buckets scattered around the cement floor.

Everything here speaks to wholesomeness, to an appreciation of the earth, to the Twiehoffs, who tend the land, reap the harvest.

There’s nothing fancy about this place. Nothing at all. And that’s exactly how I like it.

Bags of birdseed are always available.

Squash awaits customers.

Summer squash by the box full.

A homemade sign indicates the produce available.

© Copyright 2009 by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Based on a letter to the editor that I read today in The Faribault Daily News, I fear that one of my greatest childhood fears may be coming to fruition.

Val of Faribault wrote: “I thought I was seeing things, but I am sure I saw something in the sky last Saturday that looked like an orange flame. This was about 9 p.m., and I was driving south on Willow. After a few minutes it disappeared behind the clouds, and it never reappeared. Did anyone else see this, or am I slowly losing it?”

Could this, I wonder, be a UFO with green aliens aboard, sent from Mars to scoop up unsuspecting earthlings?

That image of UFOs run amok in the night skies remains vividly imprinted upon my memory. I recall riding in the backseat of the car after a visit to my grandpa’s house in Redwood Falls, looking out the window at the pitch black sky, wondering exactly what I might see.

This came at the height of the UFO craze and talk of aliens and little green men.

Val saw none of this. But I still have to wonder if…

And my fear seems somewhat justified, since I live along Willow Street.

Judy Ostrowski applies henna art at Depot Park in Kenyon.

My earliest knowledge of tattoos traces back to Easter, when my siblings and I stamped our arms with the temporary tattoos found in egg dying kits. My mom warned us not to tattoo ourselves before Easter morning church services. But we didn’t always listen.

My earliest contact with gypsies came one childhood Halloween, when I chose a gypsy face mask at the Ben Franklin store for my costume. Dressed in a peasant blouse and a colorful old skirt and with the alluring plastic face of a gypsy woman, I felt transformed.

All those past experiences flitted through my thoughts when I saw Judy Ostrowski of Minneapolis in her traveling (in my mind) tent at the Kenyon Rose Fest. She looked quite exotic in her vibrant dress and wrap-around golden head wear. Rather like a gypsy, I concluded.

So I stopped at her Mehndi Moon tent to see what wares this gypsy woman had brought to town. Judy was peddling Judy O’s hats. “Everyone in Minnesota needs a hat,” she tells me.

And she had come with jewelry.

And tattoos. Judy is a henna tattoo and body art artist.

So while my husband stood in line for turtle donuts, mini-donuts drizzled with caramel and chocolate and sprinkled with nuts, I circled the gypsy woman’s tent, photographing her as reddish-brown dye flowed from a small bottle onto the forearm of a young woman.

Her art, Judy tells me, is intuitive.

I should have asked more questions of this artist who had come to a small southeastern Minnesota town with her tent and talents. But turtle donuts beckoned.

Some of Judy's work, created intuitively.

Judy O's hats, in my opinion, speak to the gypsy spirit.

To learn more about henna tattoos, read “Mehndi: The Art of Henna,” by my writer/friend Lisa M. Bolt Simons of Faribault and published in the fall issue of Midwest Mix Magazine. Lisa actually got henna tattoos.

You can download this free-distribution southern Minnesota arts magazine from the website.

I had the privilege of writing two stories for the debut issue this summer and several more pieces for the fall issue. Those include two book reviews, a feature on the release of my favorite Betsy-Tacy books (the high school ones) as Harper Perennial Modern Classics and a brief piece on a northern Minnesota-based writing opportunity.

You’ll find plenty of other interesting stories and photos in Midwest Mix Magazine that focus on the arts in southern Minnesota.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The Swamp Kings, a metro-based country and blues band, performed at the Blue Collar BBQ and Arts Fest.

Ten days ago I took in the first-ever Blue Collar BBQ & Arts Fest in downtown Faribault.

With a variety of art, delicious food, good music and perfect weather, this made for one terrific way to spend a Saturday afternoon in August.

You can read about my experience in a blog just posted at www.midwestmixmagazine.com.

And to pique your interest, here are some photos from the BBQ & Arts Fest.

Shirley Smith of Ostrander brought her hand-painted glassware to the Faribault arts fest.

Artist Laura J. Grote of Faribault set up her easel and worked on engraving a hummingbird.

Employees of Monte's Steakhouse in Faribault grilled kabobs and sweet corn for fest-goers.

"Organically Mexican" art was available from Northern Southern Trading Company of St. Paul.

Jeff Pridie of Faribault painted with BBQ sauce, an event offered at the kids' booth, mixing food and art.

Barb Bruns of Morristown showcased her oil paintings.

Dianne Lockerby of Faribault sold her unique pottery.

Artist Whitney Reuvers of Faribault is in to recycling. She painted this cityscape acrylic on cardboard.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Gary Schmidt's 1899 former Vesta elevator.

Nicollet Farmers Exchange Company

The fall issue of Minnesota Moments has just published and it’s an edition you’ll love, especially if you have rural roots.

I pulled together a feature package on country grain elevators that includes several of my stories and lots of photos. Sharon Harris, a literary contact from Menahga, tracked down elevator poems, two of which were published. I think you’ll enjoy the poetry of Charmaine Pappas Donovan and Anthony Swann.

One of my stories comes from my hometown of Vesta, where Gary and Barb Schmidt own two elevators that were moved onto their country acreages. Gary’s enthusiasm made this an especially fun assignment.

Another article focuses on a Montana man, Bruce Selyem, who photographs grain elevators around the country. That inspired me to photograph numerous Minnesota elevators. A sampling of those images accompanies this piece.

Yet, I have many more worthy photos that never made publication due to space limitations. So I’ll share some of those here, including several favorites from Cleveland, which is just east of St. Peter. While shooting images of a trio of grain bins there, a cop car came cruising around the corner aimed straight for me. I was a bit annoyed because I was attempting to photograph a fading rainbow behind the bins and had minimal time to get my picture.

Well, the young officer pulled up to me in his squad, rolled down the window and said, “You saw it too.” He was, of course, referring to the rainbow. But just to make sure he didn’t think I was a troublemaker, I explained my photo project to him. He continued on his way and I’m pretty sure I made his Fourth of July just a bit more exciting.

In addition to the country grain elevator stories, the issue includes a travel feature I wrote on Minnesota’s Machinery Museum in Hanley Falls, which lies between Marshall and Granite Falls. I’ve always wanted to tour the museum and finally made time on a “trip back home” to do that. The museum closes at the end of September and then reopens in May. If you’ve never been there, it’s worth the drive. Plan several hours for your tour.

The September/October issue also includes more articles I’ve written and a selection of other interesting stories by several writers. Check out the website at www.minnesotamoments.com if you’re unfamiliar with the publication. And if you’re already a subscriber, expect your copy in the mail soon.

I hope you enjoy reading the country-themed stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

I like this photo because the grain bins mimic the doors on this building at the Nicollet Farmers Exchange Co.

Colorful advertising contrasts with the original brick building at the Nicollet Farmers Exchange Co.

I took this artsy shot at Minnesota Valley Grain in Le Center.

Heavy, dark skies prevailed, matching the color of the People's Elevator in Cleveland, which is now for sale.

And then the sun broke through the clouds, creating beautiful lighting for this photo taken July 4 at the People's Elevator, Cleveland.

One of my favorite images came from inside Gary Schmidt's 1899 elevator, where this chalkboard hangs, recording grain storage.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The family matriarch oversees the making of pupusas from her chair.

She perched on a chair, back rim rod straight, eyes fixed on the griddle before her.

I watched, considering how I could, unnoticed, photograph this lovely old woman with lines etched deep in her skin by weather and smiles and age.

Just the way she held herself, like a queen presiding over royalty, intrigued me. Her entire demeanor spoke to wisdom and respect and knowledge earned perhaps by years of struggle.

None of this I knew with certainty. All of this I speculated solely from observation.

She sat, some five feet from a food tent during International Market Day at Central Park in Faribault. Under the tent, members of her extended family tended to frying pupusas and to customers who were waiting to buy the beef and cheese-filled flat bread.

I waited too, seeking the opportune moment to snap images. After awhile, I decided simply to walk near the woman, aim my lens and push the shutter button. I snapped two profiles before she noticed the whirr of my camera and turned toward me. I lowered my camera, bent low and asked if she was in charge.

She gazed up at me with a puzzled look, then spoke in Spanish. Just like that, a boy, about 12 years old, stood beside us. I repeated my question. He translated. She spoke. He translated back: “Just watching.”

I chuckled, not quite believing this matriarch.

“Is she your grandma?” I asked the boy.

“No, that’s my grandma, and my mom,” he said, pointing toward the tent. “She’s my great grandma.” Four generations together. The boy told me she was 86.

I hung around, standing in line for a pupusas and hoping to capture more images of this elder who had so captivated me.

She did not disappoint. Although I missed getting a picture, I saw this regal woman rise up from her chair, reach across the hot griddle and pat the top of a pupusas. Just like that. And she wasn’t in charge?

A bit later I was rewarded again. From across the tent, I observed a man embrace her. I quickly took a picture, with no time to properly compose the frame.

If love has a face, then I saw it, in that moment, in the smile and eyes of that beautiful old woman.

From a mere five feet away, the old woman quietly observes as family members fry flat bread.

Beef and cheese-filled pupusas fry on a griddle.

A man, probably a family member, embraces the old woman in a touching moment outside the food tent.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

When it comes to blogging, I never have a shortage of ideas. My computer is filled with files of photos and my notebooks with pages of notes. Just the other day I compiled a list of blog topics because I simply did not want to forget something. The list numbers nearly two dozen items.

I know some of you who have seen me out and about may be wondering, “Why hasn’t she written about (here’s where you fill in the blank)?” I promise. Your blog is coming.

Here’s my current list of blog topics, in no particular order:

Kenyon horse pull

Minneapolis henna artist

Bike parking at the Kenyon swimming pool

Pequot Lakes

Hackensack Library

Bemidji art

Bemidji candy shop

Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox

Loons

Itasca State Park

Courthouses

The Mississippi River

Twiehoffs’ in Faribault

Munsinger Gardens in St. Cloud

The Blob

Lake Harriet

The Rose Garden

Homemade pizza

Tim Swanson’s 1959 Chevy

Treasure City in Royalton

The Turkish Scarf Project

Aztec dancers

Paintings

Some of these topics date back to a month ago, when my family vacationed in northern Minnesota. Others are places I’ve been just in the past week.

Sharing my photos and the stories I’ve gathered now ranks as my favorite type of writing. I enjoy it almost too much, if that’s possible.

If you haven’t visited the Midwest Mix Magazine website, check that out too. I have a few blogs there and at least one more to be posted soon on the Blue Collar BBQ and Arts Fest in Faribault.

In the meantime, I promise to keep blogging and, hopefully, entertaining and informing you through my writing and photography.

I’m also working on stories for the holiday issues of Minnesota Moments magazine and Midwest Mix Magazine. So…, I best get busy writing, after I hang out the laundry.