IT IS THE TYPE OF DAY when clouds dodge in and out of the sky. Mostly in. The type of day when I wonder if I should grab a sweatshirt heading out the door. The type of day when, one minute my husband and I are riding with the vehicle windows rolled down, the next zipping them up as the sun ducks behind clouds and cold air rushes inside.
It is the type of day, early in June, when grass and foliage appear vibrant green in a season of excess moisture.
And I wonder how, after a deluge of rain the day prior, cars can still kick up dust along gravel roads.
Everything seems sharp and new, as if I am seeing everything for the first time on this Sunday afternoon drive. And I am, after the longest of Minnesota winters.
Barns and farmhouses scattered between fields hold memories that cause my very soul to ache for missing the farm.
I grasp snapshots of prairie memories from the scenes that unfold before me.
Me pedaling my bike over the bridge across the muddy Redwood River.
Me scanning the tracks as I cross the rails into Vesta.
Me sitting beside my Dad in his red-and-white Chevy pick-up, bouncing across the stubbled alfalfa field.
Memories rise and fall like the hilly roads that twist and turn our van through the countryside southeast of Faribault.

Our drive takes us through Walcott Township in Rice County. I grew up in Vesta Township 120 miles to the west in Redwood County.
I’m unfamiliar with this place, yet familiar.
I know these barns, these farmhouses, these tractors, these fields. In another place, another time.
A farm upbringing imprinted them upon my soul 120 miles to the west of here.
FYI: To read my first post from this Sunday afternoon drive, click here.
© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling











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