Minnesota Prairie Roots

IT’S TIME FOR FRIDAY FLOWERS, a new Minnesota Prairie Roots feature focusing on recognition, celebration and encouragement.

Each Friday, selected individuals, businesses and/or organizations will receive virtual flowers. These are intended to recognize those who deserve recognition, celebrate with those who are celebrating and encourage those who need encouragement.

So, with that said, this week’s virtual Friday flowers go to:

This week's Friday flowers come from the Virginia Clemens Rose Garden in St. Cloud, where I photographed these beautiful roses this past summer.

Burkhartzmeyer Shoes, a third-generation family shoe store celebrating 60 years in downtown Faribault. This is one of those old-fashioned style shoe stores with great customer service. Best of all, Burkhartzmeyer Shoes employees still tie white cotton string around boxed purchases. A sucker is optional. For more information, go to http://burkhartzmeyershoes.com.

Brad and Patty Holter, grieving the loss of their son, Curtis, who died Sept. 30 after he was struck by a truck while biking across a Faribault street. He would have turned 13 on Nov. 4. The Holters celebrated Curtis’ birthday by going to his favorite restaurant, an Italian place at the Southdale Center in Edina. They also met family members at Calvary Cemetery with a chocolate cake and joined hands surrounding Curtis’ grave. Patty says the family “attempted to sing Happy Birthday…….the tears did overtake the words.” Brad and Patty, may you always find comfort in cherished memories of the son you loved. Check out my Oct. 24 post about Curtis, “God gave us tears for a reason,” and this website, http://curtisholter.org.

My niece, Lindsey, who is taking her Graduate Record Exam today, one of her last requirements before applying to graduate school for physical therapy. Lindsey, we need compassionate individuals like you to care for us aging baby boomers. Best wishes on your GRE from your parents and me.

The Faribault Rotary Club, which brought Rachel’s Challenge to Faribault this week. Rachel’s Challenge shares the story of Rachel Scott, who was killed in the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. The program brings messages of hope and inspiration that includes five challenges. Among those: To start a chain reaction of love, kindness and compassion in your family and community. Visit http://rachelschallenge.org.

My Aunt Marilyn, who each Halloween sends me a greeting card from Annie Mary Twente. See my Nov. 4 post, “Annie Mary Twente sends Halloween greetings.” I enjoy this annual tradition that always makes me smile.

Mike, who celebrated his 50^th birthday on Nov. 4. He is among the kindest and most caring individuals I know. Mike is quick to listen, slow to judge, willing to help and always supportive. So if you’re in Faribault, stop at Erickson Furniture and wish Mike a belated “Happy 50^th!”

That’s it for this week’s Friday flowers recipients. If you know of an individual, business or organization deserving of virtual flowers, submit a request to me for consideration via email or via a comment. Deadline submission is Wednesday of each week. One nominee per week, please.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Rachel Scott, the inspiration for Rachel's Challenge.

SWAT TEAMS pushed toward the school. Students fled. Parents checked lists for students’ names. Mothers embraced sons and daughters. Tears fell.

I watched as the tragic scene unfolded Tuesday night in the Faribault High School Performing Arts Center during a presentation of Rachel’s Challenge. The non-profit, through video footage and a speaker, shared the story of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre that left 12 students and one teacher dead and 27 wounded in 22 minutes. Rachel Scott, 17, was the first killed, as she sat outside eating lunch.

Her story inspired formation of Rachel’s Challenge, now the largest school assembly program in the country. The program reverberates with the message to treat others with kindness, just as Rachel did.

“People will never know how far a little kindness can go,” Rachel wrote in a “My Ethics, My Codes of Life” essay she penned for a high school class shortly before her April 20 death. She urged others to begin a chain reaction by showing kindness and compassion to others.

This teen, who befriended others, chose Anne Frank as her role model, kept journals and expected to die young, has significantly impacted the world, just as she predicted. At age 13, Rachel traced her handprints on the back of a dresser and wrote: “These hands belong to Rachel Joy Scott and will someday touch millions of hearts.”

Rachel Joy Scott touched my heart Tuesday night. And judging from the attentive audience, some of whom were wiping tears from their eyes like me, she touched many hearts.

Owatonna native Sarah Branion was so inspired by Rachel’s message that she decided to dedicate her life to Rachel’s Challenge, she told audience members. She presented Tuesday evening’s program, one that included five challenges.

Tagged as “Rachel’s Challenges,” Branion encouraged attendees to:

1) ELIMINATE PREJUDICES in your heart. Look for the best in others. Give people three chances before judging or labeling them.

The back of Rachel's last journal, found in her backpack. She wrote on the cover: "I won't be labeled as average."

2) DARE TO DREAM. Write down your goals and keep a journal for 30 days, leaving a legacy for your family. (Rachel left six journals for her family.)

3) CHOOSE POSITIVE INFLUENCES. Input determines output.

4) Use KIND WORDS. Little acts of kindness can make a huge difference in the lives of others.

5) START A CHAIN REACTION of love, kindness and compassion in your family and community.

As I contemplated those five challenges, I also considered the words of Craig Scott, Rachel’s brother. He was with his friends, Matt and Isaiah, in the school library, where most of the Columbine students died. Isaiah, one of only a few black students in an all-white school, was taunted with racial slurs before he was killed. Craig recalled Isaiah’s final words: “I wanna see my mom.”

Rachel’s first challenge: Eliminate prejudices in your heart.

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(For more information about Rachel’s Challenge, go to http://rachelschallenge.org. Thank you to the Faribault Rotary Club for bringing this powerful and inspiring program to Faribault. Images are courtesy of Rachel’s Challenge.)

A.M. (Annie Mary) sends greetings each October.

HALLOWEEN BRINGS the macabre, the horrible, the frightening.

And for me, it also brings a message from Annie Mary Twente, or someone impersonating her. As legend goes, the 6-year-old fell into a coma and was buried alive in 1886 in Albin Township near Hanska. For the complete story, go to www.minnesotamoments.com and read blogs I posted there on Oct. 30 and 31, 2008.

For years and years and years, I’ve received a Halloween greeting card from the ghost of Annie Mary. This year was no exception, except for the card’s two-day late arrival.

As always, the envelope bore no return address, only the initials “A.M.”

As always, the envelope bore a postmark from my hometown of Vesta.

Inside this witch-themed card, the little ghost girl signed her name and the chilling message, “I MISS YOU!” I don’t know why those words send shivers tingling down my spine, but they do. It’s as if Annie Mary is taunting me, in the sing-song chant of a child: “I MISS YOU! I MISS YOU! I MISS YOU! Na-na-na-na!”

I suppose if I considered this rationally, I would realize how very nice of Annie Mary to remember me on Halloween. But I can’t get past the possibility that she is trying to haunt me, to scare me, to….

Despite my concern over the intended meaning of A.M’s Halloween greeting, at least I have not been the recipient of correspondence from Norman Bates, the psychotic owner of the Bates Motel. My cousin Dawn tells me of years past when Norman contacted her, even sent dead box elder bugs. She is thankful, she says, that he has forgotten her and moved on.

I have five words of advice, Dawn. Don’t let down your guard.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Recipients of "Friday flowers" will receive virtual flowers, like these coneflowers in my garden, via a Minnesota Prairie Roots post each Friday.

WEDNESDAY MARKS the deadline for submitting nominees as possible recipients of virtual “Friday flowers,” a new Minnesota Prairie Roots feature.

Each Friday, I will post the names (first only, in most cases) of individuals, businesses and/or organizations that are deserving of “Friday flowers.” See my Oct. 30 “Friday flowers” post for examples and a more detailed explanation.

Perhaps you know of someone going through a tough time. Offer your encouragement via “Friday flowers.” Has a business or individual gone the extra mile? Share your gratitude. Look for the positive in those around you and publicly show your appreciation via Minnesota Prairie Roots.

To suggest a name for consideration, email me or submit a comment on this post. My blogging software allows me to review all comments. I can simply pull the necessary “Friday flowers” information, save the info for my weekly post and delete your comment.

All submissions should include a sentence or two explaining why you nominated this person, business or organization. Please, only one submission per week. I reserve the right to edit and/or decline requests.

Check back on Friday to see who will receive this week’s virtual “Friday flowers.”

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Jack-o-lanterns cozy together at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf annual Scarecrow Fest.

EVERY OCTOBER, for as many years as I can remember, my family has driven across the viaduct to the east side of Faribault to view the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf Scarecrow Fest. Fall simply would not be fall without this event.

So Saturday my husband and I, minus the kids because two are grown and the other is a teenager, trek across town to the MSAD campus.

When I step from the van, I notice something I have not previously seen. How could I have missed the handprints? But they are here, a long row of handprints embedded curbside in the cement. These have nothing to do with the fest, but I pause before aiming toward the scarecrows.

Handprints in the sidewalk at MSAD.

Ever have a bad hair day like this student in "MSAD Ghost Scare?"

As Randy jots down information about the scarecrow displays, I search for the unique, the interesting, the artsy, the frightening—anything that may make for an interesting photo.

Some scarecrows make me smile, even laugh out loud, while others produce an “I’m not photographing that, it’s too scary” reaction. Halfway through our walk, our fingers are freezing and we are wishing we had dressed for the cold, brisk wind that sweeps across this campus. You would think we would learn. Every year we complain that we are cold.

As we walk, we observe how the winds have ravaged some of the displays. We guess that vandals have destroyed a few too.

And then, as we round the bend by the softball diamond, the cold-nipped fingers, the biting wind are forgotten. I discover candy inside a plastic pumpkin. Deb Kasper and her fourth hour Faribault High School American Sign Language students have left Snickers bars, Tootsie Pop suckers and other treats.

I grab a Snickers, not thinking to also take one for my husband. Back in the van, I rip off the wrapper and stuff the bite-sized piece into my mouth. But instead of biting into smooth chocolate and creamy caramel, I chomp into a chunk of weather-hardened candy.

My surprised reaction elicits laughter from Randy, whom I can almost hear thinking, “that’s what you get for forgetting me.”

So, before he can toss a barb, I am back at the plastic pumpkin snatching a Snickers bar for him, and another for myself. Snickers, even if half-frozen, still taste pretty darned good.

So Deb Kasper and students, your chocolate bribery worked. I award you the Woman’s Choice Award in the 16^th annual MSAD Scarecrow Fest.

Friendly Casper greets visitors at the award-winning display where I discovered chocolate.

This "Halloween witch" won a blue ribbon for the ECE class.

Remember when the house landed on the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz? Look at these legs.

These darling ghosts won my heart at the "Ring around the ghosty" display. Arent' they cute?

Now here's a dog I could love in the "Old lady escaping a dog" display.

Check back for more Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf Scarecrow photos in a future Minnesota Prairie Roots blog post.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A serene and picturesque cemetery rests next to the 1862 and 1894 Valley Grove churches near Nerstrand.

My favorite of all the gravestones at Valley Grove, beautiful in simplicity and beautiful in name, Berit Hope.

FOR YEARS, CEMETERIES scared me. Not in the sense of ghosts or spirits or anything evil. But rather I cringed at the thought of stepping upon graves, knowing that underneath the layers of earth and of grass, within a box, a body lay.

Eventually my perspective changed, evolving as I aged. With maturity come wisdom and an acceptance of death. Loved ones pass on—first my grandparents, then great aunts and uncles, a cousin, a brother-in-law, friends’ husbands, my mother-in-law, a nephew who died too young, an uncle, and, finally, my own father nearly seven years ago.

With each death, I grieve. Yet I become more comfortable, stronger in my faith, more at ease in cemeteries where my loved ones lie.

I’ve come to appreciate cemeteries as a reverent place of peace, of art and of history.

The peace comes in understanding that life after death brings total peace.

The artistic angle stems from headstones viewed as works of art with words and images sculpted in stone.

History lies in the inscriptions of dates and names and carefully-chosen words, all of which tell the stories of individuals who once walked this earth, loved and were loved.

There is so much to learn and value in a cemetery, in a place like Valley Grove Church Cemetery, founded in the late 1800s by Norwegian immigrants northwest of Nerstrand.

I doubt that I’ve ever visited a more serene cemetery, set high on a hill overlooking fields and woods. This is a place of peace, of art and of history—restful and pleasant, rooted deep in the land.

A strong Norwegian name, in strong letters at the base of a weathered and strong tombstone.

For the Feldman children of Northfield, Emmalee and twins Owen and Cooper, a red wagon memorial.

A family gravestone that seems oddly out of place in this primarily Norwegian cemetery at Valley Grove. Perhaps these were refugees welcomed to America.

Across the fence line, a spectacular autumn view from inside the Valley Grove Cemetery.

A touching tribute to Emmalee Feldman, who was born with a heart defect and lived only 13 days. Her brothers, Owen and Cooper, were born prematurely on Feb. 8, 2009, and lived for 19 minutes.

Trees and prairie embrace the country churches and cemetery of Valley Grove northwest of Nerstrand.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

DO YOU EVER WISH for a bouquet of flowers to lift your spirits or simply to celebrate?

I do.

So with that, I’d like to introduce a new feature on Minnesota Prairie Roots. Each Friday I will give away virtual “Friday flowers” to deserving individuals.

These will go to those who deserve recognition or thanks, who need uplifting/encouraging or who are celebrating. It’s as easy as that.

Kind of.

You too can submit “Friday flowers” requests to me either via e-mail (if you have my address; sorry, I’m not publicly divulging it) or via the comment option on this blog site. If you submit via a comment, I will simply pull the necessary information from your comment, incorporate it into my “Friday flowers” blog and then delete your comment.

To protect privacy, I ask that you submit only first names for “Friday flowers” recipients. I will review all requests and reserve the right to decline any requests.

Submission deadline is Wednesday of each week.

Then, each Friday, check to see who has received virtual “Friday flowers” on my blog. If I posted a request from you, let the recipient know by referring him/her to Minnesota Prairie Roots.

My goal here is to show gratitude and compassion to others and to celebrate the joys in life.

My first "Friday flowers" image comes from Lyndale Park Gardens near Lake Harriet in Minneapolis. I toured the beautiful gardens this past summer.

TO KICK OFF “Friday flowers,” I am sending virtual flowers to:

My friend Jenny, who is turning 45 today. Thirteen years ago Jenny put aging into perspective when she told me, on my birthday, “Well, it’s (your 40^th birthday) better than the alternative.” I’ve never forgotten Jenny’s sage words.

My sister Monica, whose husband is undergoing surgery this morning to “fix” toes crushed in a work-related accident about a month ago.

Edell, my editor at Midwest Mix Magazine. Her 31-year-old brother died recently from accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.

A dear high school friend, Sharon of Wyndmere, N.D. Sharon became a grandma last Saturday, when her daughter, Miranda, gave birth to Colton Joseph. This proud “Mammie” (as Sharon calls herself) has shared some 30 pictures of her adorable 7-pound, 8-ounce grandson with me. Colton has so much hair that he looks ready for his first haircut already.

All of the mothers who must warn their children about the convicted child murderer and rapist moving into my neighborhood in two weeks. He served only 10 years in an Ohio prison for assaulting and killing a 19-month-old boy. This has been a difficult week for all of us, especially as we ask, “Where is justice for this child?”

My friend Lisa, who knew I was having a trying day yesterday and offered to lend me her copy of Liar Liar with Jim Carrey. Instead, I watched The Office last night and laughed. Check out Lisa’s website at http://lisamboltsimons.com.

Milo, president of the Faribault Diversity Coalition, who is organizing efforts to “Bring Warm Clothes” to those in need in the Faribault community. See http://faribodiversity.blogspot.com.

SO THAT’S HOW “Friday flowers” works. This concept may need some tweaking. I’d love to hear your feedback, meaning send me your comments and your suggestions for “Friday flowers.” Please tell me why your suggested recipient needs or deserves virtual flowers.

Remember, the weekly deadline is Wednesday. And please, only one “Friday flowers” request per week.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I captured this image at Issacson Implement in Nerstrand on a dreary and drizzly afternoon about a month ago.

THE SHADE SNAPS up to reveal another dark, gray morning. And more rain.

As much as I dislike these endless, cold, wet and dreary Minnesota days, my concern over the weather ranks low.

But the farmers, oh, the farmers. How will they bring in the corn to feed the cattle or pay the bills? How will they harvest the soybeans? How, in these mucky fields?

Many years of farm living and listening to my dad agonize over the weather instilled in me an understanding of the farmers’ plight. These tenders of the land exist at the mercy of uncertain skies and a fickle market.

I told my dad once, and probably more than once, that I wanted to be a farmer just like him. He discouraged me. He was right. I am a worrier. And right about now, if I was a farmer, anxiety would weigh heavy upon me like the oppressive gray skies.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Gordon Fredrickson's latest picture book.

Gordon Fredrickson dresses the part of an old-time farmer when he shares his books and stories during educational programs, at book signings and elsewhere.

WITH HALLOWEEN just days away, the timing is perfect to reveal Minnesota writer Gordon W. Fredrickson’s latest picture book, A Farm Country Halloween, published by Beaver’s Pond Press of Edina.

I’ve become a fan of this Lakeville author, who also penned A Farm Country Christmas Eve and If I Were a Farmer, Nancy’s Adventure.

What so endears me to Fredrickson’s books are his clear love of the country, his strong values, his accurate depictions of farm life and his ability to spin entertaining tales.

In A Farm Country Halloween, readers join the Carlson siblings on a trick-or-treat route through their rural neighborhood in 1950. Based on a real-life event, the youngsters journey from house to house, accepting treats like wax paper wrapped fudge and Cracker Jacks. They are polite and obliging, as most kids were in the 1950s.

But just like kids today, the Carlson youngsters don’t always listen to their parents. That leads to a frightening incident that puts the scary in this Halloween story. I’m not going to spoil the plot for you. Let’s just say that Jimmy, Maggie and Joey learn their lesson and realize that they should have obeyed their parents.

That’s the thing about Fredrickson’s stories. He weaves lessons into the very fabric of his tales.

And by tapping into real-life experiences from the 1950s, he also preserves history, bringing back fond memories for older readers and educating younger readers about the past. The charming illustrations by artist Michaelin Otis are also period accurate.

I reminisced as I read A Farm Country Halloween. I never trick-or-treated in the country, even though I grew up on a farm. But I hit nearly every house in the rural farming community of Vesta, where I bagged popcorn balls and candy bars and suckers. (Just for the record, I disliked those hard, tooth-chipping homemade popcorn balls.)

If only I was 10, I would dress as a gypsy this Halloween, just like I did so many years ago. I would pull a plastic gypsy mask across my face, wrap my mom’s colorful skirt around my skinny (well, not-so-skinny) waist, dangle bracelets upon my wrists and jangle my way through the night.

Such are the memories prompted by A Farm Country Halloween.

For more information about Fredrickson, his books and speaking engagement options, go to www.gordonfredrickson.com.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Photo and book cover image courtesy of Gordon W. Fredrickson

IT’S ONLY 8:15 on Saturday morning and already this day is not going as planned.

I had hoped to sleep in, meander on to downtown Faribault for the fall festival, where I will sample chili, wander through shops and simply enjoy my day. Later, I will visit art studios on the South Central Minnesota October Studio Tour.

But I will do none of that. Instead, I am dressed in my grubbiest clothes—worn-out jeans, an old T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, another sweatshirt, a stocking cap, brown cotton work gloves and tennis shoes. Not exactly “I want to be seen in public” attire.

No one really cares, though. I am at the Rice County Solid Waste Landfill with my husband unloading broken bricks from our should-have-been Cash for Clunkers, hail-pocked, rusty 1988 wood grain-paneled maroon van.

Handful by handful, we removed more than a ton of broken chimney brick from our van Saturday morning.

We are here because we must make hay while the sun shines. Translation: The morning fog has lifted to reveal a rare sunshine-filled sky absent of rain clouds, an ideal day for outdoor tasks.

So we are here dumping the old chimney bricks that have been piled on our driveway for weeks, soaking up the never-ending rain.

“My fingers are cold,” I complain only 10 minutes into the job. Already moisture has soaked through the thin cotton fabric, offering minimal protection from bricks that feel like chunks of frigid ice.

I am flinging bricks from the back of the van like a mad woman. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Bricks slam onto the mud-slicked floor of the cement demolition bunker, scattering upon impact. “We should have brought a shovel, a pail,” I say, chastising myself for failing to think ahead. Next trip.

Twenty-two minutes later we are driving through the muck and water away from the bunker and back to the weigh-in scale. We have just, by hand, deposited 1,300 pounds of bricks here. And now we are on our way home for another van load.

I am rubbing my hands together, trying to warm them as the van’s heater spews warm air. And I am trying not to breathe in the soot that lingers in the van, the soot that leaves an acrid taste in my mouth that won’t go away. We should have worn protective masks.

Back home we pile the remaining bricks into the van, scraping the last bits and pieces from the driveway with a scoop shovel. By 9:44 a.m. we are on the landfill scale, which tells us that we’ve just unloaded another 1,040 pounds of bricks. Finally, we are rid of all the bricks that once comprised a chimney in our house. Thank God for the woman who bought the stacks of unbroken bricks to recycle as landscaping for her garden

As we drive into town, I suggest that we reward ourselves with doughnuts. I am hungry from the hard labor and fresh air. And I need to fuel up for the yard work that lies ahead. We stop at a grocery store bakery where I hope we’ll go unnoticed in our rag-a-muffin clothes. Of course, we run into someone we know, Ray and Donna, looking for pumpkin doughnuts. We decide on caramel rolls, without the nuts, for our still-slumbering teenaged son (who really should be up helping us).

Soon we are home wolfing down those scrumptious caramel rolls, washing away the soot with glasses of milk.

Then it’s back outside to dig up dahlia tubers, plant tulip bulbs, transplant iris. Mud, thick and gummy like paste, sticks to my gardening shovel. The soil, heavy and cold, freezes my fingers. I consider the farmers, who have been unable to harvest corn and soybeans because of the wet conditions. I have nothing to complain about, nothing at all.

I rise from the earth in my mud-stained jeans, swipe my arm under my drippy nose, then head toward the garage. My husband is there, tinkering with the snowblower on this Saturday, when the sun shines, when I’d rather be touring art studios than tossing bricks or digging in the heavy, cold dirt.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling