Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Testing the track during a Soap Box Derby trial run in Faribault June 11, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:35 AM
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Bales are strategically placed on corners/curves to keep racers on the track.

CROUCHED NEAR THE FIRST CURVE behind a buffer of straw bales, I wondered if this was the smartest spot in which to photograph Soap Box Derby cars skimming down the hill. Probably not, I decided, and tucked myself next to a utility pole. If need be, I could duck behind the post should a car propel toward me.

Saturday morning marked a trial run for kids and adults entering the fourth annual Faribault Heritage Days Soap Box Derby competition set for 9:30 a.m. – 2 p.m. this Saturday, June 16. Some 50 racers are expected to wind down three city streets near Peace Lutheran Church as they vie for honors in adult and youth divisions.

Yes, even adults, like Mayor John Jasinski, folded themselves into soap box cars during the trial runs this past Saturday, checking out the new course. The race was moved this year to a faster route, says  Jason Reher, Faribault Heritage Days board member.

Racers, their assistants and race organizers gathered at the top of a hill along a southern Faribault street for trial runs.

Reher and others were supervising the Saturday solo runs that allowed racers to get a feel for the course before they race in heats during the actual competition. Some drivers proceeded with trepidation while others drove as if they were already in it to win it.

And, yes, on one occasion, as a car took the outside lane on the first curve, I worried that I might need to leap out of the way.

This was my first experience viewing soap box car runs. I expect the actual race will be much more exciting and photographic.

Looks count. An award will be given for the the Best Looking Car in the Faribault race on Saturday.

So when and where did this whole gravity-propelled, racing-a-car-down-a-hill event began?

Dayton, Ohio, claims itself as the birthplace of the Soap Box Derby. In 1933, a photographer for the Dayton Daily News photographed several boys racing homemade, gravity-pull cars down a street. Myron E. Scottie was so intrigued by the idea that he asked the boys to return a week later with their friends for a race that would offer a prize cup.

Last-minute prep before a trial run of the Faribault Soap Box Derby route.

The concept took off and continues today with local champions in stock, super stock and masters divisions Soap Box Derby races from around the world converging on Akron, Ohio, each July to compete for scholarships and prizes in the All-American Soap Box Derby.

In only its fourth year, the Faribault race is certainly in its infancy. Organizer Reher noted, however, that he’d like to see the local event expanded to a circuit competition with neighboring Morristown and Northfield. Morristown’s races have been around longer at Morristown Dam Days while Northfield held its first Soap Box Derby last year during The Defeat of Jesse James Days.

A peek at the interior of the car which Ben will race on Saturday during the Faribault Heritage Days Soap Box Derby.

Since I’ve only attended the one trial run and not an actual race, I don’t know how competitive these racers get. But I saw the potential in 13-year-old Ben, driver of the blue M8Solutions car. He’s already racked up two first place finishes in Faribault, one in Morristown and one in Northfield. Mom Tina has also won with a second place finish in Morristown and a first place in Northfield.

I’d bet money on 7-year-old Curtis doing well in Saturday’s competition.

And then there’s little brother Curtis and his red, white and blue MsSolutions 7X racer with “Boo” (his nickname) spray painted on the nose… I’d bet my money on this seven-year-old.

FYI: For more information about the Faribault Soap Box Derby, click here.

For more information about the All-American Soap Box Derby, click here.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Meet blogger Gretchen O’Donnell & her family June 10, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 1:35 PM
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So we’re a bit camera shy…bloggers Gretchen O’Donnell, left, of “A Fine Day For an Epiphany” and “The View From my Window” and Audrey Kletscher Helbling of “Minnesota Prairie Roots.” In other words, of the several frames my husband shot, this is the only one that was in focus and publishable.

MOST OF US have been there—met someone and instantly clicked.

I’ve felt that way about Gretchen O’Donnell of rural Bigelow, whom I “met” last fall. We didn’t actually meet-meet until Saturday when Gretchen and her family rolled into Faribault.

They were in town to attend the musical, A Year with Frog and Toad, in which their friend, Eric Parrish of Worthington, is starring. It was the perfect opportunity for me to meet Gretchen, a talented writer who is among my favorite Minnesota bloggers. She was one of 10 bloggers I profiled in a recent article published in Minnesota Moments magazine.

Gretchen has been blogging for a little more than a year now at “A Fine Day For an Epiphany.” And she also recently began blogging for The Worthington Daily Globe at “The View From my Window.” She is a blogger who writes for the pure joy of writing. And anyone with that type of passion is destined to become a friend of mine.

Read Gretchen’s posts and you can sense her love of language and of storytelling. She writes with honesty and humor about everything from growing up on Orcas Island in Washington to a skunk perfuming the family cat to her attempt at canning tomatoes. She’s also writing a book.

What you read on Gretchen’s blogs are Gretchen in person. She is warm and friendly and engaging and caring and exactly the type of person you would want to call a friend.

The O’Donnell family, clockwise from left, Gretchen, Ian, Colin, Lucy and Katie.

Her family—husband, Colin, and children Ian, Katie and Lucy—are equally as likable. My husband, Randy, and I loved having them for supper on Saturday. Now Gretchen would argue that we dined together for “dinner.” She hasn’t adopted the rural southwestern Minnesota terminology of “supper” for the evening meal.

Nor has this Washingtonian (is that a word, Gretchen?) adapted totally to the flat prairie landscape of southwestern Minnesota where she’s lived for about 15 years. She misses the mountains and trees and ocean. I told Colin on Saturday that I’m working to convince his wife that the prairie possesses its own beauty. She may be coming around.

Let me tell you a little more about the O’Donnell family. They love theatre. I suppose that is obvious since they drove nearly three hours from Bigelow (on the Iowa/Minnesota border) to Faribault for the Saturday evening musical at the Paradise Center for the Arts. Last summer the O’Donnells acted in Beauty and the Beast in Worthington. This August all five are performing in The Music Man.

When I asked for a fun photo, this is what I got. Love it.

I just want to interject here that when the O’Donnells drove to Faribault on Saturday, they did not take the interstate. “That would be boring,” Gretchen said. Precisely the way I think when it comes to travel, Gretchen. Their more back roads route took the family through Mankato where they caught a glimpse of The Blue Angels. Had they traveled the interstate, they would have missed the U.S. Navy precision flying team.

And now, thanks to Ian, eldest of the three O’Donnell children, I am going to try raw asparagus. I know this has nothing to do with planes or theatre, but when the kids were plucking black raspberries from wild bushes in my backyard, we got on the subject of gardening. Ian told me how much he likes raw asparagus. I promised I would try it. (But I never promised this physics-loving boy that I would ever like physics.)

Can you believe these O’Donnell kids even eat horseradish? Yes, I put out a jar of the homemade condiment and they, along with Colin, ate, and enjoyed it. Gretchen passed. She’s tried it once and that was enough. I understand. I feel that way about lutefisk.

Then there’s Katie…she likes reading and science and apparently singing since she has a solo in The Music Man. I asked her about being the middle child and, well, let’s just say she and my middle sister could commiserate over shared middle child experiences.

And finally, there’s little Lucy, darling, sweet, adorable curly-haired Lucy, a five-year-old who chalked a swimming pool onto my driveway, clung to her crocheted blanket (named “Buddy,” not a boy, but a girl blanket) and her mom for all of about five minutes before she felt right at home and who, the last time the family dined at the Rainforest Cafe at the Mall of America, was terrified of the gorillas.

It is details like these that endear me to a family like the O’Donnells. They are real and honest and good people who possess strong family values and a strong faith in God and a strong work ethic. Gretchen and Colin even limit computer time for their kids and, gasp, don’t allow the television set to be switched on on Thursdays. And, yes, their kids are polite and well-behaved and fun and absolutely wonderful.

When we parted on Saturday evening, it seemed as if we’d known the O’Donnells for years rather than for only three hours.

O’Donnell family, you’re welcome back to our home anytime.

FYI: To read Gretchen O’Donnell’s personal blog, “A Fine Day For an Epiphany,” click here.

To read her other blog, “The View From my Window,” click here.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

de Servin, de Groot and Dunn art at bargain prices June 8, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:41 AM
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I’M NO ART EXPERT. I buy art simply because I like it, not because of its value.

Yet, I’ve managed through the years to purchase several pieces of art, which unbeknown to me, were created by notable artists and therefore possess more than your average value.

I didn’t find these in some upscale, trendy metro art gallery. Rather, I’ve discovered my art treasures at rummage sales and at recycled art sales right here in Faribault.

Yes, I shop on the cheap because, frankly, as much as I wish I could, I cannot afford an original work of art sold at retail price. That is the truth and I apologize to all the starving artists out there who are trying to make a living via their art. Remember, I am a writer. I understand.

That said, let me show you the trio of recycled art pieces which I consider my most valuable art discoveries, although I certainly did not realize this at the time of purchase.

My bargain Jose Maria de Servin painting.

I was shopping at the Paradise Center for the Arts annual Recycled Art Sale several years ago when I came across this interesting painting of a young girl on burlap. The bold colors, the subject and the uniqueness of the art—unlike any I’d ever seen—drew me to her. For $7, this art piece was mine.

Later my second daughter, who at the time was studying Spanish in college, researched the artist, Jose de Maria Servin, and shared that he’s a rather well-known Mexican artist. Seems his original oils fetch anywhere from several hundred to well over $1,000.

To make this even more interesting, I bought Servin’s oil painting on the third day of the recycled art sale and the husband didn’t much like it. He likes it now, or at least its value.

Theodore de Groot LathArt by Austin Productions, patent number 4,061,514

The second notable piece of art also came from that recycled art sale at the Paradise. It’s LathArt, a type of folk art by the Dutch artist Theodore de Groot. LathArt, according to information I found online, was produced by Austin Productions in the 1970s using a patent to die cut the pieces.

Again, I bought the de Groot LathArt owl for $10 because I liked the rustic design and the uniqueness of the art, not because I knew anything about the art or artist.

My print of Harvey Dunn’s “The Prairie is my Garden.”

Ditto for a print of South Dakota artist Harvey Dunn’s painting, “The Prairie is my Garden.” When I spotted the framed print at a yard sale, it reminded me of my native southwestern Minnesota prairie and I just had to have it along with a dozen wine glasses and a “Felix the Cat” video, all for $20.

Months later I grew curious about the artist and learned Dunn was a well-established illustrator for magazines like The Saturday Evening Post among other accomplishments.

So there you go. I’ve been fortunate enough to acquire art of value without even knowing its value. I bought the art solely because I liked it. And isn’t that the best reason for purchasing a work of art?

A sidewalk sign outside the Paradise Center for the Arts advertising the fifth annual Recycled Art Sale.

FYI: The annual Recycled Art Sale at the Paradise Center for the Arts, 321 Central Avenue North, Faribault, began at noon Thursday and continues from noon to 5 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Proceeds benefit the Paradise and the Faribault Mural Society.

Old film reels from the former Paradise Theatre are among items being sold at this years Recycled Art Sale. The smaller reels hold movie trailers such as “Rambo” and “Brewster.” Gallery walls and tables are covered in art donated for the fundraiser.

The musical, “A Year with Frog and Toad,” opens Friday evening at the Paradise.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Pull off Highway 14 & view the historic buildings of Lamberton June 7, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:20 AM
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A portion of Lamberton’s Main Street shows this to be a strong agricultural community.

LAMBERTON. Just another small town on the southwestern Minnesota prairie, so you would think if you’re driving on U.S. Highway 14, The Laura Ingalls Wilder Historic Highway.

But this community some dozen miles east of Walnut Grove, destination for fans of “The Little House” books and television series, is worth at least a drive-through if not a stop.

I’ll admit that up until my middle brother moved onto acreage north of Lamberton several years ago, I hadn’t spent much time in this town of 822 except to visit an uncle and aunt who once lived and ran a furniture store here.

I still haven’t explored this agricultural community like I should. But I’ve seen enough to know that I need to look more in depth. Let me show you why, via photos I took, mostly along Main Street, during a brief stop two months ago.

The once-popular corner gas station still stands in downtown Lamberton.

Most small towns once had creameries like this one.

Hanzlik Blacksmith Shop, dating to 1895, was gifted to the city and preserved by the local historical society. With the original wood floor and tools, it’s been called “a warehouse of a long ago lost art” by locals. The community celebrates this piece of history with an annual Hot Iron Days, this year set for September 7 – 8.

It’s the old buildings—from the cute corner gas station to the stout brick creamery to the old wood-frame blacksmith shop—that appeal to me. Some 30 miles to the northwest in my hometown of Vesta, which like Lamberton sits in Redwood County, the old buildings are mostly gone. But not in Lamberton. Here you’ll find plenty of historic buildings to please your artist’s eye and your historian’s heart.

Now all I need is someone with keys so I can take you inside these old buildings.

Vintage signs hold a certain historic charm.

The Music Mart supplies most major brands of band and orchestral instruments. Sales staff reach out to 100-plus schools in southern Minnesota, according to online information. Who would expect to find this type of business in a small town of less than 1,000 residents? Not me.

The Lamberton Antique Peddler is a must-see for anyone who is into antiques. This place is packed with merchandise in the former furniture store once operated by my uncle and aunt, Merlin and Iylene.

The Sewing Shoppe next to the creamery. Love the architecture.

An old Farmall is parked next to a building just off Main Street.

“The locker.”

A low-slung brick building, perhaps a former garage, caught my eye.

TO VIEW ANOTHER particularly beautiful building in Lamberton, a former bakery, click here to read a previous post on Minnesota Prairie Roots.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Chief Sleepy Eye shouldn’t have a mustache June 6, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:19 AM
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In mid-April I photographed this sign featuring Chief Sleepy Eye on the east end of Sleepy Eye, MN.

HIS EYELIDS MAY HAVE DROOPED, but I’m quite certain Chief Sleepy Eye didn’t sport a mustache.

However, on this sign welcoming visitors to Sleepy Eye, in Brown County, Minnesota, the town’s namesake clearly has facial hair.

I didn’t notice the apparent defacing of Chief Sleepy Eye until now, while sorting through on-the-road photos I shot in April.

I expect that’s exactly the problem. Locals and travelers pass by the welcome sign along U.S. Highway 14 and don’t even notice. We get so accustomed to something that we overlook the details.

Scratching a mustache onto a person’s photo in a newspaper (haven’t we all done that?) is one thing. But marring a Sisseton Dakota chief’s image on a public welcoming sign is quite another.

So who, exactly, was Chief Sleepy Eye?

Born in 1780, this leader of the Swan Lake or Little Rock band of hunters was considered a friend of explorers, traders, settlers, missionaries and others. He was among those signing, albeit reluctantly, the Treaty of Traverse des Sioux in 1851. In that historic treaty, the Dakota ceded land in exchange for promises of cash, goods, education and a reservation.

From 1857-1859, Ishtakhaba’s (Sleepy Eye’s) main village sat along Sleepy Eye Lake. He died in 1860 while hunting in South Dakota. His remains were eventually buried beneath a granite obelisk monument that stands near the historic railroad depot in Sleepy Eye.

Even though I lived and worked in Sleepy Eye briefly in the early 1980s, I don’t recall ever taking time to view this monument or to appreciate the Dakota chief it honors. Perhaps it’s time to detour a block off highway 14 and educate myself.

FYI: To view Chief Sleepy Eye without a mustache, click here to an image on the City of Sleepy Eye website.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Discussing the economy and jobs at a Faribault thrift store June 5, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:03 AM
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“THE ECONOMY WILL only get worse and this time it will be world-wide,” he warns, he being an unemployed, former military man.

“But I think things are getting better,” I counter. “I’ve seen more jobs openings posted in the paper, more houses selling.”

He disagrees, says he has military friends in Europe. Times are tough there and only getting worse.

I am surprised by the doom-and-gloom economic forecast delivered by this 50-something-year-old job seeker during a brief conversation at The Clothes Closet, a used clothing store in downtown Faribault. I don’t know him, but he’s squeezed past me several times, carrying clothing from the back of the store to the check-out counter.

Finally, I can no longer contain my curiosity and comment, “You’re sure buying a lot of clothes.”

“I’m looking for a job,” he says, then begins spilling his story like we are long-time friends.

He can’t make ends meet on his military pension, although he’s grateful for that income, he says. So he’s looking for a job in security, maybe with the border patrol. He’ll travel soon to Corpus Christi in search of work that pays more than $9 an hour.

His 15-year-old daughter, who has been living with her mother, is coming with him. He’s relieved to no longer be paying $900 in monthly child support to a woman he says did not spend the money on their daughter. He seems genuinely happy to have his girl back.

But he’s not so cheerful about the process of applying for a job. “It’s not like it used to be where you can walk in and sell yourself,” he says. He doesn’t like the online resume job-screening process, preferring instead the personal one-on-one contact with a potential employer.

He looks like the type of fellow who could, face-to-face, easily sell himself as a security guard. Ex-military. Big guy. I expect he appears intimidating and authoritative in a uniform.

But for now, for this day, he is an unemployed and worried American buying clothes at a second-hand clothing store in Minnesota.

I was searching in my files for an image to illustrate this post. This particular photo has nothing to do with the man I engaged in conversation or the thrift store where we talked or even his job search. Yet, I consider it fitting for this story, and here’s why. To me, this shot from Main Street in tiny Norwalk exhibits this southwestern Wisconsin community’s optimism. Against the backdrop of weathered and shuttered buildings stand two symbols of optimism: those gorgeous hanging baskets and the American flag. Norwalk, along the Elroy-Sparta Bike Trail, calls itself “The Black Squirrel Capital of the World.”

WHAT’S YOUR OPINION on the economy? Is is improving or, as the ex-military man predicts, going to get considerably worse here and world-wide by this fall?

According to “employment situation” information released by the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics on June 1, “the unemployment rate (for May) was essentially unchanged at 8.2 percent.” Currently, 12.7 million people are unemployed. The unemployment rate for adult men is 7.8 percent. To read the full report, click here.

ARE YOU LOOKING for a job? Share your experience by submitting a comment. How do you feel about the online job application process used by most businesses?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A Minnesota high school graduation in snapshots June 4, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:42 AM
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Faribault High School graduates enter the gym for commencement Sunday afternoon as family and friends look on.

ALL ACROSS THE U.S., high school students are graduating or have graduated. Families and friends pack bleachers to witness commencement ceremonies, to listen to talk of the past and of the future.

It is a bittersweet time for parents.

For students, the day is one of of mixed emotions. Happiness. Sadness. Excitement. Perhaps a bit of trepidation about life ahead.

On Sunday afternoon, the youngest of my three children, my son, graduated from Faribault High School. I didn’t cry, didn’t get all emotional and introspective. I expect the tears will come later, when we drop him off at his North Dakota State University dorm nearly a five-hour drive away.

In the meantime, in these final two months, I will embrace each day I still have my boy home. For I know that not only will his life change, but so will mine.

The seven valedictorians, with GPAs of 4.0, speak at the graduation ceremony.

The class of 247 students toss their caps after diplomas are awarded.

My eldest daughter checks to see if her little brother’s diploma is signed.

The typical pose in front of the school photo, of my son.

The ever-changing/growing diversity of Faribault as seen in this post commencement gathering outside the school.

My family in our backyard after commencement.

Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A graduation party nightmare June 3, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 12:24 PM
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SERIOUSLY, WHO WAS I FOOLING?

Myself, apparently.

I awakened Friday morning with a headache so pounding severe that I popped two Ibuprofen before even going to the bathroom. Yes, that bad.

It seems the stress I hadn’t been experiencing about my son’s high school graduation party morphed into a single, full-blown episode of tension. I blame it on my inability to fall asleep on Thursday night and the party nightmare that followed when I actually drifted into fitful unrest.

Before details of this dream tumble from my fingers onto the keyboard, you need to know that we live along a busy, arterial street in Faribault, as in it can take a good five minutes for traffic to clear enough to walk across the roadway.

So…, I dreamed that four children were playing with four balls and four balls rolled across the lawn and down the street followed by four running children. I swooped one teeny, tiny girl from the street. I then deposited all of the children with their partying parents and instructed them to watch their children. I then stashed away all the balls.

Reality is that I am setting out a coloring book and sidewalk chalk (to be used on the driveway) for the kiddos. The only balls will be attached to string in a ladder golf game.

Later in my dream, these same kids, accompanied by their mothers, traipsed into my living room, opened the front door and attempted to bring a bird into my living room. My mother said it was OK. No, mom, it is not OK to bring a robin into my house.

Weather, certainly, has been foremost on my mind given I am a Minnesotan and we obsess about weather. Although the weather forecasters are promising a beautiful Saturday, I apparently, subconsciously, do not believe them as I dreamed skies were stormy, black as night. Imagine that.

I also dreamed a certain unnamed relative arrived at the party as if he had been partying all night. BTW, only water and lemonade will be served at the real party. And that would be water in a thermos cooler, not bottled, per my graduate’s eco friendly request. (He dislikes bottled water.) A friend suggested simply hooking up the garden hose to be über eco friendly.

I dreamed that hordes of unwanted strangers showed up at the party.

Those extra guests probably explain why we ran out of food by 1:40 p.m. when the event began at 1:00 p.m. Doesn’t every party hostess worry whether there will be enough food?

I know, this nightmare is getting incredibly long, isn’t it? But just a few more scenes, and I’m done. I dreamed my oldest daughter’s boyfriend, whom I am meeting for the first time today, was bonked in the head by something. This stems from my real-life concern that he will bump his head on a doorway in our house which has only 7-foot high ceilings. The boyfriend is six-foot-five.

To my second daughter, I would request that you not wash t-shirts and hang them on the clothesline during the party. FYI, my clothesline, when in use, is strung across the patio.

There. That’s it. Can you understand why I woke up with a splitting headache on Friday morning, pre-party day?

P.S. I FAILED TO PUBLISH this post on Saturday as planned because I was a wee bit distracted by the graduation party we were hosting in the afternoon.

My nightmarish dream did not become reality. The weather was absolutely splendid. Sunshine and mid-70s with no humidity.

No kids ran in the street or brought birds into my house.

We ran out of nacho cheese sauce and had seven buns left.

A few uninvited guests showed up. But the oldest daughter invited them and they are her friends and they were nice and we’re good.

The boyfriend did not bump his head on any door archways and I like him very much, thank you.

And so that, dear readers, is how this dream ended, in a reality that was not at all nightmarish. Not at all.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting on hugs, green beans & the future on the final day of high school June 1, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:54 AM
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My son graduates from kindergarten at Faribault Lutheran School in May 2000.

I DID NOT EXPECT melancholy to wash over me Thursday morning as I hugged my 18-year-old goodbye on his final day of high school.

But I suppose, now that I think about it, why wouldn’t I feel somewhat sad after 21 years of sending off-spring off to school.

I made it a point, with all three of my children, to send them out the door with a hug and a kiss and a “Have a good day at school.” Well, at least that was my intention. As the grade-schoolers became pre-teens and then teens, the kisses were often skipped. But not the hugs. No, not the hugs.

Thursday morning, on my son’s final day of classes, I embraced him in a lingering, vise grip hold. I expected him to resist such an emotional display of affection and pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his lanky arms gripped tighter around me, both of us understanding this to be a bittersweet moment we wanted to remember, or at least that I wanted to remember.

Just the evening before, my son asked if I remembered his first day of kindergarten. I paused and then realized that, no, I did not recall that first day of sending him off to school.

But I did remember the day he got in trouble from his kindergarten teacher for stuffing green beans into his milk carton at lunch time. And I do recall the day he came home proclaiming he loved Mrs. K more than me. I’m pretty certain that was prior to the disappearing green beans trick.

Turns out he truly didn’t love Mrs. K more than me and he still doesn’t like green beans.

The disappearing part, though…how did the years between my son’s birth and age 18 disappear so quickly? Poof. Just like that he’s all grown up and ready to venture into the world without those morning hugs.

When my 18-year-old arrived home from his final day of classes Thursday afternoon, I welcomed him with a hug.

“That’s it,” he said.

He has no idea. It’s only the beginning.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling