Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Seeking a gallery venue for a 91-year-old Faribault artist April 10, 2010

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I HAD PLANNED an entirely different post for today. But then I read the obituaries in today’s Faribault Daily News.

I never knew Shirley Yule, the 91-year-old woman who died on Thursday. I do, however, know her 91-year-old husband.

Last fall I met Rhody Yule while returning to Faribault from a shopping trip to nearby Dundas. Rather than driving the usual and quickest route along a state highway, my husband and I follow some back, Rice County roads.

It is then that I discover Rhody. Well, I don’t exactly discover him initially. I discover his garage, which, on the front, is covered with 10 paintings of famous people like John Wayne, Mother Teresa and John F. Kennedy.

Portraits painted by Rhody Yule and hung on his garage in rural Rice County, Minnesota.

Now that catches my attention. To make a long story short, I knock on the house door and am welcomed inside by diminutive Rhody, who has painted the portraits and many, many more. You can read all about Rhody in a feature story that will publish in the May/June issue of Minnesota Moments magazine.

Rhody Yule moved from his rural Faribault home one week after I interviewed him and now lives with family in Hastings, Minnesota.

My interest in Rhody, though, extends beyond my writing. I am determined that this talented artist have his own art show. So about four months ago, I contact the local art center. I learn that, if Rhody is to do an exhibit, he must go through the process of submitting an application. And, I am told, the earliest art gallery opening isn’t until early 2011.

Even though I understand the necessity of procedure and rules, I am concerned because Rhody is, after all, 91 years old. Now, with the passing of Shirley, who had been in a nursing home after falling and breaking an elbow and hip, I am even more worried. All too often when one elderly spouse dies, the other soon follows.

So, as I write, ideas are already spinning through my head. Can I find an alternative location in Faribault for a Rhody Yule art show sometime within the next few months? I really want to keep the show in Faribault, where this man has lived and worked most of his life. A co-worker has volunteered to design promotional materials at no expense.

What do you think? Do you have any ideas?

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An unexpected guest tours my Faribault home April 9, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:08 AM
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WOULDN’T YOU KNOW, on the day the beds are unmade, because I’m washing sheets; dirty dishes are stacked on the counter; dried fern leaves litter the carpet; Minnesota Moments magazine proofs are strewn across the dining room table; and cardboard still covers a hole in the wall (has for six months), I get an unexpected guest.

And it’s 100 percent my fault.

If I wasn’t the curious person that I am, this man never would have set foot inside my unkempt house.

But I had to go and stick my nose (my whole being really) out the front door (onto the sidewalk really), literally.

I can’t help myself. As I’m working at my computer, I notice him loitering in front of my house with his fancy, schmancy camera. He’s taking photos. But of what? There is nothing I can envision that is worthy of a photograph.

This deserves investigation. But by the time I find my shoes, pull open the door and run down the steps, he is already walking away.

“Sir, sir,” I yell, feeling a bit foolish about the formality of my words. But since he is a stranger, I figure politeness is my best approach.

“I’m curious,” I say. “What are you taking pictures of?”

He is in town, visiting from Alaska, and once lived in the neighborhood, he tells me.

“Oh, I live down there,” I say, pointing to my house, the green house, on the corner.

“504?” he asks.

Yup, that would be it, my home for the past 25 ½ years.

“I grew up there,” he says.

I decide then and there that I’m going to invite him inside.

He is pleased as punch.

“I’m Audrey,” I say.

He’s Randy.

Once inside, I give him the tour and he can’t get over how bright the interior is with all of the paneling gone. He helped his dad nail the hideous 70s décor in place, he says.

And while we talk, he snaps the occasional picture while I apologize and try to tidy up my home. I can just imagine Randy showing these photos to his family.

They’ll likely think, maybe even say, “Oh, she sure has a messy house.”

Yeah, well at least it’s light and airy and stripped of all that dark, dark paneling.

Thankfully for me, my unexpected guest seems not to care. I fill him in, room-by-room, on the changes we’ve made: new sheetrock, new carpet, new windows, new insulation, new furnace, even a new toilet.

But not a new kitchen sink. It’s still the same hideous brown of his youth.

Oh, yeah, and Randy notices the “new” tree. Yeah, the one that we planted 23 years ago and which he passes coming and going via my backyard, after he’s thanked me profusely for allowing him inside his childhood home.

It was my pleasure, Randy, and you’re welcome back to reminisce any day. Just call ahead next time.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A place of peace, inside Friedens Kirche April 8, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:41 AM
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Friedens Evangelical Lutheran Church near New Prague

ONLY 34 YEARS AGO, the last German services were held in Friedens Evangelical Lutheran Church, rural New Prague.

This surprises me—that German services continued up until 1976.

But I find that fact, printed right there in a church brochure I pick up recently while en route to Jordan, Minnesota. These days, lured by their historical and reverent beauty, I can’t pass by an old country church without stopping and tugging at front doors, hoping to get inside.

Typically, I am disappointed because most often church doors are locked.

On this March afternoon, though, I feel blessed because a side door to Friedens is open. A worker, who is laying new flooring, is sitting in a van next to the church eating his lunch.

“You can go inside, but I can’t give you permission to go inside,” he insists several times. I am persistent, though, and he finally concedes that my husband and I look like “decent folks.”

We are, and I intend to enter the church with or without his approval.

My only desire is to see the interior of this old, stately double-spire brick house of worship that stands proudly along Le Sueur County Road 30.

Once inside, I am not disappointed. In fact, I am pleased to discover that the sanctuary resembles the Wisconsin Synod church of my youth, St. John’s Lutheran Church in Vesta.

The ornate gold-trimmed white altar, specifically, takes me back decades to the place where I worshipped every Sunday. Friedens’ altar appears a carbon copy of the altar in the old St. John’s church building. I figure this altar is typical of that era—Friedens was founded in 1864 and this building constructed in 1913.

Inside Friedens Lutheran

The ornate altar and the statue of Christ are similar to the ones that once graced my childhood church in Vesta, Minnesota.

Inside this old Wisconsin Synod church, I admire the gentle curves of the balcony, sunlight streaming through beautiful stained glass windows, lamps dangling from chains above the pews, even the twists of the bell rope.

Looking toward the curving balcony of Friedens.

Jesus invites the children to come to Him in one of many stained glass windows inside Friedens.

Friedens' German heritage is reflected in this stained glass window, which translates, "My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth."

This house of worship inspires me, brings back so many memories, even though I’ve never been here until today.

But then my husband brings me out of my reverie. “Should I ring the bell?” he asks.

I admit that it is tempting to grab the rope and pull as I round the stairs into the balcony. This, I know, will surely prompt the floor-layer to evict us and label us anything other than “decent folks.”

I walk past these two windows on the stairway leading to the balcony.

Mary and Martha depicted welcoming Jesus in this balcony window.

Soon I have finished photographing the interior of this lovely old church. I am standing outside now, braced against a brisk March wind taking pictures of the exterior.

Back inside the car, we begin to pull away when a man in jogging clothes emerges from the house across the roadway. He’s half-walking, half-leaping, struggling to pull on a pair of shoes. He is, I figure, the pastor, and I am right.

We stop and the Rev. Henry Koch introduces himself. I explain that I am a writer and that I love old churches and that I was raised Wisconsin Synod Lutheran. We laugh together when I say I’m not a traitor because today I am a member of a Missouri Synod Lutheran congregation. My conservative Lutheran guilt prompts the synod transfer confession.

We talk a bit about the weather, which has been an adjustment for this clergyman. He moved here from Florida several years ago, likes it here and says this is a good place to raise his son.

As I look around this rural setting, I understand. Here, in the shadows of a church that bears four crosses high atop four towers—two on the original church and two on the fellowship addition—seems an ideal place to raise a family.

And under the care of this congregation—Friedens, the German word for “peace”—I can only imagine the peace that also comes in living here upon the land settled by Hannoverian German Lutheran families in the mid-1800s.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hey, Ole, can you tell me about Eidsvold, Minnesota? April 7, 2010

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Is this a hitching post at historic Eidsvold, in southeastern MN.? This ghost town's one remaining building stands in the background.

FROM OUR ROADSIDE perspective, the cement post near the ditch along Goodhue County Road 30 appears to be a historical marker. After all, a road sign posted by the county historical society denotes this as the former site of Eidsvold.

But when I walk up to the marker, I find no words, only a plain column topped by two iron semi-circles embedded in the cement.

My husband and I, who are on a Sunday afternoon drive into the historical Sogn Valley area of Minnesota, conclude this is a hitching post. Are we right?

We wonder too about the dilapidated building a stone’s throw away. Ignoring signs to keep out, we move in closer. I step over fallen branches to peer inside the structure, where oats spill from an open doorway.

Wood, muted gray by exposure to the elements, and rugged limestone, stacked irregularly to form an interior wall, invite me to wonder about this building’s history.

Who built this structure? When? And was it always used for grain storage?

I wonder, because I am always and forever wondering.

Who lived in this ghost town presumably named after Eidsvoll, Norway?

Up close, this sure looks like a hitching post to me. Am I right?

The Goodhue County Historical Society placed this historical interest sign at the ghost town of Eidsvold. The sign was erected to preserve the history of this former post office site and to recognize its historical contribution to the area.

A peek inside the interior of Eidsvold's single remaining structure reveals oats strewn on the floor.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Easter egg hunt rule #1: Remember where you hid the eggs April 6, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:54 AM
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My extended family gathers for instructions before the Easter egg hunt begins.

IF YOU’RE HIDING candy-filled plastic Easter eggs, then you really ought to remember where you place them. That’s the lesson learned Sunday afternoon at the annual family Easter egg hunt.

Typically, this job is tasked to the couple hosting Easter dinner. But this year my youngest brother and his wife, who had Easter at their house in 2009, have the eggs. And they don’t arrive until mid-afternoon.

So to expedite the process after their late arrival, we adults banish the kids to the house (although no one checks to see if they might be peering out windows), each grab an egg-filled bucket and set out on our mission.

Just to explain, each kid is assigned a specific egg color and “kid” is defined as anyone up to college graduation age, although that rule has been broken occasionally.

I choose to hide 14 eggs for my 8-year-old niece, Cortney, thinking that way I don’t have to hide them so hard. Plus if I choose my 16-year-old or my 22-year-old and then make the hunt too tough, I could be the target of their frustrations.

My 16-year-old son finds an egg.

Finding good hiding spots doesn’t concern me as I begin the trek around my sister and brother-in-law’s country home. I am more worried about whether I can remember all 14 hiding spots. So I devise a system, circling the house, mentally focusing on egg placement and “marking” hiding places as best I can. For example, when I dig an egg into the grass, I “X” the location with two sticks. Another time I bury an egg under the dry grass next to a small rock.

Fortunately, my memory method works because, as I soon discover, I’ve made the egg hunt too challenging for my 8-year-old niece.

Where, oh, where can those eggs be hidden? That's my niece, Cortney, in the foreground looking for eggs.

Sensing Cortney’s frustration, I begin giving hints. “You know David and Goliath,” I say. “What did David put in his sling to shoot at Goliath?” She looks at me blankly. “You don’t know that story, do you?”

OK, then. This is going well.

So I resort to leading her into the vicinity of hidden eggs and then encouraging her. “You’re getting hot,” I prod as she zeroes in on the location. “You’re getting cold,” I warn whenever she moves further from the hiding spot.

That seems to work as eventually my now-smiling niece finds all her green eggs.

Yahoo! Cortney finds her first Easter egg, "hidden" openly in a tree.

I am relieved, not only because Cortney finds the eggs, but because I remember all 14 hiding spots.

But not my oldest brother. Long after the rest of us have settled onto the deck and the kids are emptying candy from their plastic eggs, Doug and my 13-year-old niece are still prowling the yard for two elusive eggs.

Cortney empties candy from eggs.

We are already cracking jokes about Doug’s inability to remember where he’s hidden Stephanie’s eggs. Maybe a map would help. Maybe he needs to call in sick on Monday and spend the day searching…

But deep down, each of us knows, but won’t confess, that we could be the ones out there searching for eggs in the hiding places we can’t recall.

Even Buddy the dog relaxes on the deck while my brother and niece search for the last two Easter eggs.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An Easter egg message April 5, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:12 AM
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THEY WERE, IT appears, trying to mess with my mind.

“They” would be two of my three kids—the two who were home to dye Easter eggs Saturday afternoon.

Dying eggs typically becomes a creative challenge in our household. Who can combine colors for the most appealing, or yucky, egg?

This year, though, the creativity was directed toward language, not visual arts.

My second daughter—the daughter who is home—is suddenly inspired. And as she writes her message with white crayon on a white egg, she is already giggling and looking directly at me.

This can’t be good.

As she dips the egg into the red-orange dye, spooning the liquid across the surface, the words begin to emerge.

She looks at her brother, encourages him to take a peek, all the while shielding her project from my peering view.

He looks and laughs a loud laugh of approval.

I am thinking hard now, wondering about this Easter egg greeting. Whatever the message, I am certain it is being written at my expense.

“Oh, I know, I know,” I suddenly exclaim. “It’s the mouse, the mouse.”

Although I do not guess her precise words, my daughter has written “Happy Easter! Guess who?”

"Happy Easter! Guess who?" my daughter wrote on an Easter egg she created especially for me.

The “Guess who?” part is all too familiar. At Christmas I received a plastic mouse from my cousin Dawn (although she doesn’t admit it) that repeated “Merry Christmouse! Guess who?” After awhile, that little phrase got pretty annoying. I suppose the mouse wouldn’t have been that annoying if my annoying kids hadn’t continued to torture me with the annoying mouse missive.

Now, I admit, they’ve gotten me again with that creative greeting on an egg.

Then, as I’m cleaning up after our egg dying session, I page through the Sunday comics laid down to protect the table. I find “Sally Forth” and a speech bubble that perfectly fits the occasion. The topic of the comic strip, surprisingly, is about Easter, albeit about eating the ears off a chocolate bunny

I lay the “Happy Easter! Guess who?” egg down atop the comic strip, next to this text:

“I’m trying to get inside my mom’s head…”

Focus on the speech bubble just to the right of the egg. It fits perfectly the motivation behind my daughter's Easter egg message, from my perspective anyway.

And they did.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Easter hope April 4, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:37 AM
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German words on a resurrection window at Trinity Lutheran Church, Faribault Minnesota.

IN THE LANGUAGE of our forefathers, the German words are as powerful, meaningful and promising today as they were yesterday.

“Ich bin die Auferstehung und das Leben.”

I am the resurrection and the life.

Yes, Jesus is the resurrection and the life.

As you celebrate Easter, may those words assure you of everlasting life through our risen Lord.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

Alleluia!

"I am the resurrection and the life." A stained glass window in the Trinity Lutheran Church sanctuary, Faribault, Minnesota.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering my dad April 3, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:40 AM
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Elvern Kletscher, right, and a fellow solider in Korea.

I PULL OPEN the bottom file drawer and reach inside, rifling through the folders until I find it: “Elvern K. (Obits, death certif.)”

Today marks seven years since my dad, Elvern Kletscher, died at age 72 of esophageal cancer.

Every April 3, I reread my father’s obituary. I remember the man who enjoyed making tomato juice and horseradish. I remember the farmer who milked cows and worked the land. I remember my soldier-dad who struggled with the demons of war. I remember the father who loved his family and his Lord and left his children and grandchildren with a legacy of faith.

So it is while attending Good Friday services at my church that I think of my dad and his death.

I blame the pastor.

He begins his sermon by painting a picture of a loved one upon his/her death bed surrounded by family.

I am here, at the Veterans Administration Medical Center in Minneapolis on a Tuesday evening with my husband and son. We are at my dad’s bedside, two days before his death, although we do not know then that he will live only two more days.

The focus, says the pastor, is on making the patient comfortable.

I seek out a nurse for a glass of ice water to quench the thirst of my dying father. I lean in close, place a straw between his parched lips, so he can drink.

The family is gathered there, continues the preacher, to hear the dying wishes of the loved one.

“Take care of Mom,” he says. I listen to my father’s wishes as tears stream down my face. I can barely endure the grief. Although I am well aware that my dad will soon be gone, “soon” has always been an undefined time that I cannot comprehend.

It is then that the pastor’s message fully makes the impact he desired. I sense the grief the disciples felt in realizing their Lord would die. Tears seep into the corners of my eyes and I wonder if I will break down and flee from the sanctuary for the pain of this moment.

I am crying now, weeping, as my dad comforts me. He tells me not to cry, that he is going to a better place. I know that he speaks the truth. Yet I cannot endure the words. So I leave his side, but for a brief time, to stand outside his hospital room, to cry my tears of sorrow.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Mad about March in Minnesota April 2, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:01 AM
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My crocuses bloomed in mid-March, much earlier than normal for spring bulbs in Minnesota.

IF EVERY MINNESOTA March matched this past one, then I’d be a happy Minnesotan.

Typically, I dread this month that brings significant snowfall and biting winds, gray skies and a bleak landscape.

But this month just passed, this March, this I can take.

For the entire 31 days of March, our northern state, or at least the southeastern part where I live, received not a single flake of snow.

That is cause to celebrate because, up until then, this had been an incredibly long winter of too much snow.

I’ll take a snowless March any year.

Yeah, I know there are those naysayers who will complain about the dry conditions due to the lack of moisture. Yes, I understand that a dry landscape equals fire danger.

But, please, let us not bemoan a shorter winter, an earlier spring, butterflies in March, 70-degree days, shirt sleeves and shorts, blooming crocuses, farmers seeding oats on March 30…

In non-Minnesotan fashion, let us accept this gift without feeling guilty, like the other shoe will drop in April.

Yes, the weather’s “not too bad” and “it could be worse.”

So enjoy it, while it lasts.

A Goodhue County farmer had just finished chisel plowing a field when I snapped this mid-March photo.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Happy anniversary to Jeff and his Minnesota northwoods bride! April 1, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:13 AM

CONGRATULATIONS TO MY COUSIN, Jeff, and his wife, Janet, who earlier this week celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary.

Jeff and Janet were married March 30, 1990, at the St. Louis County Courthouse in Duluth with Janet’s two young daughters attending.

So, big deal, you say.

But this wedding, or should I say the announcement of this marriage, was, indeed, a very big deal.

Jeff shared the news with his parents, who live hundreds of miles away, via a printed announcement: “And four shall become a family.” He then revealed the basics of his unexpected (at least to his parents) marriage.

My aunt and uncle, who were unaware that their son even had a girlfriend, were shocked. They reacted as Jeff hoped. Marilyn called the Floodwood school where her son was teaching.

I’ll let Jeff tell the story from here: “There I sat, the secretary at her desk to my right, the principal at his desk in his office to my left, both just feet away, overhearing one side of this awkward conversation about my recent wedding.

“Mom, of course, had many questions—about Janet, about Heidi and Amber, about planning a wedding reception. Well, I was able to calm Mom down enough to tell her to look at the back of the card and remember what day it was, or what day had just passed.”

That would be April Fool’s Day. On the back, the new groom had written: “rehcstelk ffej morf gniteerg sloof lirpa na.”

From right to left, Jeff’s message read: “an april fools greeting from jeff kletscher.”

Yes, my creative cousin had just pulled off one of the best family April Fool’s jokes ever.

His mom responded with something like, “You’re terrible.”

Today, this April Fool’s prank remains the stuff of family legends.

In four months, the extended Kletscher family will celebrate this marriage hoax at the annual family reunion. We’ll have cake and homemade wines to toast Jeff and his fictional northwoods bride.

The party is not only a tribute to this legendary marriage, but also an attempt to infuse new energy into our yearly gathering. We are planning wedding-themed games and other surprises that may leave Jeff wishing he (and Janet) had stayed home.

#

EARLIER THIS WEEK, I e-mailed my cousin wishing him and Janet a “Happy 20th anniversary!” I also inquired about his plans for this special occasion.

He responded that they would be attending Maundy Thursday church services. “We have decided to keep things low key, as we know that the party at the end of July will be exciting,” he explained.

I immediately realized that Jeff had his anniversary date wrong. He was married on March 30, but Thursday, today, is April 1.

So, I e-mailed him back, noting the error and suggesting that he give Janet a dozen roses.

Of course, he offered a logical explanation for his mistake. “You are indeed correct, March 30th, but as time goes on, we have settled on celebrating on the 1st of April,” Jeff wrote. “Just easier for me to remember—you know how men are with keeping dates straight in their minds. I have a tough time remembering dates.”

I’m glad you said that, Jeff, and not me.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling