Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Already missing my fifth eye February 19, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:33 AM
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My fifth eye, my Canon EOS 20D.

I’M NOT A CONTORTIONIST. But when I shoot photos, I manage to twist my fingers and body into abnormal bends. Sort of like Gumby.

But that’s not the point of this post.

My purpose is to tell you that I will be without my camera for a week. That makes me nervous, uneasy, tense, stressed and uncomfortable.

I’m really attached to my camera. I mean really. My Canon EOS 20D is like my fifth eye. I wear prescription lenses, so 2 natural eyes + 2 eyeglass lenses + 1 camera lens = 5 eyes.

I cannot imagine an entire week without shooting a single image. My camera is always there, sitting on the floor of my office, ready to grab for a quick interior shot or when I’m heading out the door.

But I’ve known for quite some time that I needed to get it checked. Spots have shown up in my photos, always in the same location. Sometimes they are noticeable, sometimes not, depending on the subject I am shooting.

After googling the topic and consulting with friends who are professional photographers, I verified that the likely problem is dust on the sensor. I hoped, but didn’t expect, that I could get my camera cleaned in Faribault. I can’t. And I’m too scared to buy a kit and try cleaning the sensor myself. Why risk damaging an expensive camera to save a few bucks?

So today I’ll drop my Canon off at National Camera Exchange in Burnsville and they’ll send it over to their Golden Valley store for cleaning. In a week, I can pick it up.

That’s 604,800 seconds without my fifth eye.

I hope I can see OK.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Snow peas at the farmers’ market February 18, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:45 AM
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Faribault Farmers' Market sign, photographed during the summer.

MY HUSBAND AND I HAD some fun recently at our teen’s expense.

We were talking about food samples at the grocery store and I was raving about the bread. My spouse was telling me about the fish from Vietnam and how a shopper declared he wouldn’t eat anything from that country because of the parasites. I’m guessing he was a Vietnam War veteran.

Our son caught snippets of our conversation, remaining checked out for most of the exchange as is typical of him. Apparently any words said by the parents are not worthy of his full attention.

That is why, whenever he jumps into the middle of a discussion, his statements usually make no sense.

“What, you got bread at the farmer’s market?” he interjected into our grocery store sample conversation.

Now if we were teenagers, my husband and I would have rolled our eyes. But we didn’t.

One of us responded with something like, “You think there’s a farmers’ market in winter?” Well, maybe in some communities, but not in Central Park in Faribault, Minnesota, in February, even if the temp soared to nearly 50 degrees recently.

Besides, we added, it’s not like the local vendors would have any fresh fruits and vegetables to sell.

Then my husband, who possesses a sense of humor that balances my seriousness, thought for a moment.

Of course, he said, they could sell iceberg lettuce and snow peas, and, I added, freeze pops and snow cones.

And, oh, yeah, the Dairy Queen folks could peddle Blizzards.

By that time, the teen had already begun checking out. I could see it in his rolling eyes, in the dismissive shake of his head, in the vibe that indicated he thought his parents were nuts.

We just laughed.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

February heat wave in Minnesota February 17, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:50 PM
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SEVENTY-FOUR DEGREES and sunny in St. Louis.

Eighty degrees and sunny in Florida.

Foggy and 40-something-degrees in Minnesota.

Thursday held the promise of another warm day in Minnesota. And by warm, I mean anything above freezing. I expected temperatures to reach near the predicted 60 degrees here in southeastern Minnesota. But I had to settle for the 40s, primarily, I think, because the fog failed to lift until late in the day.

But after this long, snowy winter, I’ll take it…because tomorrow winter returns with colder temps and snow on the way for the weekend.

For now, though, for today, patches of grass edge snow banks that are shrinking in February warmth.

Winter, spring and fall. Four seasons captured in this image I took along the edge of my driveway Thursday.

Puddles form in the low dips of the sidewalk. Mud sucks at my boots as I pick up building debris in my yard. Neighborhood children ride their bikes and zoom on their scooters.

Neighbor kids traded winter coats for sweatshirts and rode their scooters and bikes after school Thursday.

In reality, February is still winter and not the spring I await.

I need only click on my computer and open my e-mail for a reality check.

“As for spring, feel free to head our way. It’s 74 degrees and sunny here today, guaranteed to melt any snow you still have hanging around in Minnesota!” writes my editor from St. Louis, Missouri. I send the e-mail to “trash.”

Click.

I can’t escape the taunting, the flaunting. My oldest daughter sends me a text message from Florida, where she arrived last night. “…soon we will go to the beach…it is around 80.”

Click.

A vintage lawn chair on my backyard patio remains immersed in a sea of snow. The snow level has decreased considerably, though. Only the tip of this chair has been visible most of the winter.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Mice in the fish bowl

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:56 AM
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PEOPLE WERE STARTING to talk. So it was time, high time, we did something about the problem.

It wasn’t like we didn’t want to solve the problem, but we couldn’t, not until this past Saturday when the Rice County Landfill was open on a weekend we were free.

We needed to clear the debris—wood siding, old windows, an old door and more—from the side of our driveway. It had been there for weeks, underneath layers of snow. Because we live in a fish bowl, aka a busy street, people know exactly what we are doing and they feel free to comment.

 

Just a portion of the demolition debris piled under the snow along our driveway.

“When are you going to get rid of that junk along your driveway?” they would remark.

We would explain that we couldn’t until the second Saturday of the month, when the landfill was open for several hours. My husband couldn’t take time off work during the week to do this job.

So this past Saturday was the day, the day we would finally tidy up our property.

Friday evening my husband and son bundled up and loaded half of the demolition debris from our home improvement project into the back of a company pick-up truck. I would have helped, except for one minor situation. Only days earlier, while shoveling snow from the driveway, I heard the tell-tale scritch-scratch of feet, mice feet, in the debris pile.

That was my conclusion, based only on the memory of mice scritch-scratching in the walls of my childhood home. At that very moment I knew I could not, would not, disturb their temporary shelter. Deeply engrained in my memory is my dad’s story of a mouse skittering up his pant leg.

 

I heard scratching from within this debris pile. My family told me I likely just heard a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind. I told them I likely knew what I was hearing and it wasn't a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind.

So I stayed clear, tucked safely inside the house, as the guys hoisted old windows and wood into the back of the pick-up Friday evening. They claimed they did not see a mouse, not a single one, but I was uncertain whether to believe them. Sometimes, they have learned, it is better not to tell me the truth about topics like…mice.

Saturday morning, while the teenage son slept, his dad and I rose early to haul the first truck full of debris to the landfill.

When we arrived back home and I realized I would now have to dip into that snow-covered demo stash and possibly stir up a mouse, I stepped back. Literally. My brave, brave spouse forged ahead. When no mice, not even one, appeared, I pitched in, lifting and tossing.

So to those of you who’ve wondered when we were going to clean up that junk along the end of the driveway, look, it’s gone. Gone. All gone.

And so too are the mice. I wonder where they’ve gone. Could they possibly have…? Nah. Better to not even think that, let alone write it.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Trying to sort through educational options February 16, 2011

I’M UNCERTAIN WHETHER I should admit this given I could be labeled as a “bad parent.” But I’ll risk criticism.

I am weary/tired/exhausted from trying to figure out every detail that goes into educating today’s child.

Can you blame me? I’ve had children in school for 20 years.

So…, given that, I felt a sense of relief last Thursday evening when my husband and I walked into Faribault High School to help our 17-year-old register for his last year of high school. I’m not sure why we had to be there, except to sign the registration paper. Our son knew, for the most part, what classes he wanted. He input the information into a media center computer without our assistance and questioned aloud why he couldn’t register online from home. I wondered too.

His Dad and I waited and pulled a few books from the library shelves. I scanned the magazine shelves—O, the Oprah Magazine; People; and periodicals about cats and dogs. I yawned, more than once. I was tired and really hadn’t wanted to venture outside on such a brutally cold winter night.

But I am the parent and this was required of me, to be here. I also had questions about AP classes, PSEO, SAT, PSAT and CLEP. Acronyms. So many. So much to consider and decide regarding my son’s education.

I’ve been pushing him to earn as many college credits as he can in high school. I know he’s capable and I also know he won’t get as much financial aid as his sisters given we have only one dependent now.

If all goes as planned, meaning he scores well on Advanced Placement tests, successfully completes several college classes and passes College Level Examination Program tests, my son should have a good semester of college behind him when he graduates from high school.

But we’re still trying to sort through the process, and it’s like panning for gold.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Harvesting ice in Waseca February 15, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:06 AM
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ACCORDING TO KLETSCHER family history, my dad and Uncle Mike harvested ice from the Redwood River in Marshall many, many decades ago.

I learned that historical tidbit last year from my Uncle Merlin, who helped me with questions for a family reunion trivia competition. My dad never spoke of this winter work, once common in Minnesota. He died in 2003, Mike in 2001, so I’ll never know anything more about their ice harvesting experience.

 

Harvesting ice on Clear Lake.

On Wednesday, February 16, anyone interested in learning about this winter activity should head over to Waseca for the 10th annual Ice Harvest from 9 a.m. – 3 p.m. at Clear Lake Park.

There visitors will participate in the traditions of ice scoring, cutting, and then storing blocks of harvested ice, in sawdust, in an ice house.

Local students will be there, too, joining in sledding, sleigh rides, snowshoeing, wood cutting and more.

The Waseca County Historical Society, FarmAmerica and AKorn Productions are hosting the event. For more information, contact the WCHS at (507) 835-7700 or go to www.historical.waseca.mn.us.

READERS, IF YOU have stories to share about harvesting ice, submit a comment. I’d like to hear more about this winter activity.

Photo courtesy of the Waseca County Historical Society

 

The valentines of yesteryear February 14, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 3:40 PM
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MY MOM IS A PACKRAT, a saver, a keeper.

Many, many times I’ve bemoaned her saving of Styrofoam meat trays, shoeboxes, twisty ties, bread bags and other such trashable or recyclable stuff. Why does she keep this, I wonder, and then answer my own question. She lived during The Depression. She understands the meaning of “Waste not, want not” and “A penny saved is a penny earned.”

I’ll never change her ways, so it’s best, for the most part, simply to accept that she will save anything and everything.

And sometimes I’m glad she does because I’ve come to appreciate links to the past, like the valentines she displays each year in her living room.

Aren’t they beautiful? I can’t even begin to compare the valentines of today to the valentines of yesteryear.

A car valentine belonging to my mom.

 

Another of my mom's vintage pop-up valentines.

Roses define this valentine my mom received decades ago.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The flirtatious Bread Man

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:48 AM
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THE BREAD MAN was giving out bread samples on Saturday at a local grocery store.

I call him the “Bread Man” because I don’t know his name. He has a few decades on me and he’s the nicest, smiley-est demo person I’ve ever met. I’m pretty certain he also sells a lot of bread. He’s a convincing salesman.

I once worked as a grocery store demo person. I can appreciate the Bread Man’s skills.

After sampling a few mini-slices of artisan style bread, I picked up a bag of the Sicilian Baking Stone Bread which the Bread Man recommended. With the 50-cent off coupon he offered, the loaf cost only $1.49. I couldn’t pass on the deal as it would be the perfect accompaniment to a Sunday noon birthday meal for my 17-year-old son and 25-year-old daughter.

The Bread Man plied me with his offers and I quickly snatched up a loaf of Sicilian bread.

I also could not resist the flirtatious salesman. “If you like the bread, come back and give me a hug,” the Bread Man told me and another woman. “If you don’t like the bread, come back and I’ll give you a hug.” We all laughed.

And then he called me “young lady.” I haven’t been called “young lady” in, well, uh, a long time. That Bread Man…

Some time ago, while dining at a now-closed Faribault restaurant, my daughter and I were presented with bread and a saucer containing a mix like this. I wondered why the restaurant was serving chocolate with bread. Really. I'm not making this up. My daughter quickly explained that this was balsamic vinegar mixed with olive oil for bread dipping. Balsamic what? I am not used to such fancy food. When I bought the Bread Man's Sicilian bread, I also made my own dipping sauce with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. My only question: Are you supposed to swirl the two together? I am not a foodie. I need your expertise.

 

Olive oil mixed with balsamic vinegar created the perfect, healthy dip for the Bread Man's Sicilian bread.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Ugly chapped hands February 13, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 12:42 PM
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My not-so-beautiful left hand.

THIS IS THE HAND of a writer. My left hand. I would show you my right hand, too, but I can’t hold my camera and photograph my right hand with my left hand. Never mind.

I’m not showing you my appendage because it’s pretty. It’s not.

It’s really rather ugly. My right hand is worse, with cracks and dried spots of blood edging split skin.

The dry, cold air of winter has been rough on my skin. Cleaning a paintbrush with mineral spirits more than a dozen times during the past two weeks has added to the epidermis damage.

I doubt my hands have looked this bad since I was a child. Back in the day, back on the farm, my hands cracked and bled every winter. That was a result of working in the brutal outdoors, protecting my hands with only a thin pair of brown cotton chore gloves as I fed calves and cows, bedded straw and pushed manure into barn gutters.

Dipping my hands into buckets of hot water to mix milk replacer for the calves temporarily warmed numbed fingers. But it also caused them to chap.

My mom offered a solution: Corn Huskers lotion

Oh, how I detested that slimy, clear gel that she insisted we slather across our skin. I’m not here to endorse or not endorse any hand care products, but this lotion did nothing to improve the condition of my chapped hands.

Only the arrival of warmer weather, of spring, signaled relief from the itching, bleeding and cracking.

So, now, like decades ago, I am awaiting the spring renewal and healing of my hands.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Keeping a small-town Minnesota movie theater open February 11, 2011

“WE’RE DOING IT for the community…it really is important to us to keep this asset in our community.”

Those words scroll across my computer screen like credits on a movie screen.

Credit for the above statement goes to my cousin, Tim Kletscher, who along with his wife, Susie, last week bought the DeMarce Theatre in Benson. With a $50,000 forgivable loan from the Benson Economic Development Authority and the promise of future investments, the couple signed papers that will keep this western Minnesota movie theater going.

The DeMarce Theatre, a long-time business in downtown Benson in western Minnesota, will remain open. The neon lights on this building are lit during movie times.

Larry DeMarce, 74, who has operated the family movie theater for more than 40 years, will stay on as manager. “He really is the face of the theater and really is a local icon,” Tim says. The theater has been in the DeMarce family since 1925 and is the only movie theater in Swift County.

For Tim, 38, an elementary school teacher, and Susie, 40, a stay-at-home mom, their purchase represents an investment in the future of a town which may have been without this entertainment option. DeMarce planned to retire soon and the time was right for the pair to buy into Benson.

“We bought the theater to keep it going, to help out the community, to provide a ‘part-time’ job for our kids when they are older, and for something for me to have when I retire from teaching,” Tim says. “It (buying the theater) was always something we’ve talked about the past few years, but never said anything to Larry until November.”

For the residents of Benson, population 3,376, keeping the theater open is good news. “Tim and I will be giving people a chance to take a break from reality, get out of their homes and help keep downtown Benson alive,” Susie says.

That’s important in this community, where the nearest theater is in neighboring Morris, in Willmar, 30 miles away, or Alexandria, some 45 miles distant.

Tim says the lower cost of attending a movie in Benson—current ticket prices range from $3.50 for children 12 and under to $5 for adults ($4 for seniors)—is part of the “big draw” locally.

Ticket prices may increase some after the Kletschers upgrade from obsolete 35 mm equipment to a digital projection system this summer. But they still plan to keep prices affordable, honoring the commitment the community has made to them, Tim says. If they go with a 3D projector, 3D movie prices will be a bit higher than a regular movie.

Yet, bottom line, this couple has their community in mind as they invest in its future. And Benson residents are assisting by contributing to the $50,000 Theater Legacy Fund, set up to repay the public investment.

I appreciate that small-town attitude, that depth of community ownership found in residents like Tim and Susie, who have called Benson home since 1994 and 1996 respectively. I’m not saying such strong connections don’t exist in bigger communities. However, in smaller towns, lives are so intertwined that residents comprise the threads woven into the fabric of a community.

While my cousin and his wife are planning electrical and technological updates to the theater building and maybe some new paint inside the lobby, they intend to maintain the architecture and feel of the building and keep the DeMarce Theatre name.

I haven’t seen the old theater, but Tim tells me there’s a stage in front of the screen.

My head is already spinning with possibilities. So is Tim’s apparently. “I’m hoping to get my buddy from Alaska, who’s a poet/storyteller, to come this summer and do a show. He used to teach here with me and he performs at the Fringe Festival in the Cities and in Kansas City. He’s hilarious,” Tim says. In the past, the local Dreamland Theater group and the White Sidewalls performed in the historic theater and the Kid Day Coronation happens here every summer.

Susie has ideas too. “As a parent, I realize there aren’t a lot of places in Benson for kids to hang out,” she says. So she wants to add more games in the lobby or perhaps upstairs. She’s also pondering rentals for Saturday afternoon birthday parties. “I feel I am kind of a kid at heart so that is where most of my thinking goes.”

I like the parental perspective Susie brings to the future of the theater. That can only benefit the families of Benson.

Tim and Susie plan to use this drawing of the DeMarce Theatre on their business cards for TSK Productions, LLC. Local resident and school secretary Pam Anderson created the art.

NATURALLY I WONDERED if Tim and Susie are big movie buffs, expecting that, since they have purchased a theater, they would be. I was wrong. With two young children, their movie attendance has been limited to kids’ movies.

Yet, Susie has her favorites, like The Sound of Music and The Ten Commandments, which she watched every year on her family’s black-and-white TV while growing up in Blue Earth.

“My parents didn’t take us to the theater…and we didn’t have a movie theater in Blue Earth (which is part of my motivation in wanting to keep the one in Benson going), but I do remember my cousins taking me to The Empire Strikes Back when I was around eight years old,” Susie says. “I recall them asking me what kind of “soda” I wanted and I responded chocolate…not knowing they meant “pop.” They were from Colorado and I hadn’t heard “pop” called “soda” before.

I loved the movie and I remember seeing Return of the Jedi later on…one of my all-time favorite movies. I loved the humor and the drama.”

Well, Tim and Susie, I expect you’ll see a lot more movies now that you own a movie theater in Benson.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling