Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A Saturday morning in small town Minnesota July 19, 2014

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I DIDN’T BUY ANYTHING at this recent garage sale in Dundas. But I got this photo:

 

Garage sale in Dundas 2

 

I can’t quite put my finger on why I like this scene, this image.

It’s not because I’m some old car enthusiast, although I admire this shiny 1957 Chevy.

Rather it’s the serenity, I think, of a Saturday morning in a small town. This car collector had driven to Dundas for a car show, which was cancelled presumably because of the predicted rainfall. This scene speaks to me of small town living and contentment and simpler days when life was less hurried.

And I like, too, how the hue of the car is mimicked in the color of the garage sale sign. Not quite the same shade, but noticeable to my eye.

This photo could write a story. That’s my conclusion.

How does this scene speak to you?

Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

 

Pearl Button Primitives: A gem of a shop in Waseca July 18, 2014

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I’VE SHOPPED COUNTLESS antique shops in my life.

Looking toward the front of Pearl Button Primitives.

Looking toward the front of Pearl Button Primitives.

But never have I seen one as artistically inclined as Pearl Button Primitives in downtown Waseca.

A candy display rack repurposed.

A candy display rack repurposed.

Shopping here is like perusing an art gallery or perhaps a museum curated by someone with an artistic flair.

This setting seems the perfect prompt for a story.

This setting seems the perfect prompt for a story.

I expect that’s because Justine Meyer possesses an educational background in art. It shows in the way she artfully arranges merchandise in snippet scenes that catch the eye.

A backdrop of vintage magazine pages create visual interest.

A backdrop of vintage magazine pages create visual interest.

Afghans and quilts brighten walls. Vintage ads and magazine pages make for unique merchandise backdrops. Rows of 45 rpm vinyl records precisely arranged on a wall appear pop art style. A vintage suitcase holds Carolyn Keene’s The Mystery of the Ivory Charm, Zane Grey’s Nevada and other old books. Plastic magnetic letters—the type my kids once plastered to the front of the fridge—provide a visual pop of color in a chest of drawers. I wonder whether my eldest would appreciate one of the maps splayed across the wall.

The back room.

The back room.

There’s so much to take in here that I really needed more than the 20 minutes I wandered through the shop on a recent Saturday afternoon. But Justine and crew (friends are part of the business, too) were already plucking up merchandise that had been hauled out back for an alley garage sale when I arrived late. They are clearing out, making way for new stuff and promise more such sales. I figured I best not linger too long.

Beautiful pairing of colors.

Beautiful setting just makes me want to scoop up these dishes.

Pearl Button Primitives describes itself as “an eclectic mix of antiques and primitives; featuring vintage jewelry & buttons, linens, architectural salvage, furniture, pottery, and other gathered treasures all lovingly displayed.”

A little quirky, a little scary.

Quirky.

In the tight space of this shop, antiques and collectibles abound. Quirky doll heads with open and shut eyes remind me of my favorite childhood doll.

It takes an artist's eye to pair this coat with this afghan.

It takes an artist’s eye to pair this coat with this afghan. Textures and contrast of color make this work.

Milk bottles and vintage jewelry pins and wash tubs and dainty floral hankies and dishes and a lovely coat and so much more draw my interest.

Symmetry and simplicity makes this display work.

Repetition and simplicity. Perfect.

But it is the artsy displays, the attention to detail, the obvious time and care invested here which most impress me.

There's something about this portrait of a determined, defiant woman with an attitude that I love.

There’s something about this portrait of a determined, defiant woman with an attitude that I love.

This shop makes a memorable imprint. Just like the “Woman with an attitude,” as I’ve dubbed the hands-on-hips woman in a portrait showcased at the front of the store. Love that painting.

The narrow space that connects the front of the shop to the back.

The narrow space that connects the front of the shop to the back.

Love this shop.

FYI: Pearl Button Primitives, 206 N. State Street, Waseca, is open from 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. Friday and Saturday, but not year-round. Best check before you visit. Click here to reach the shop’s website and here to reach the Facebook page. Phone: 507-461-1648.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Cruisin’ the car show on Central July 17, 2014

ONCE UPON A TIME, I could have cared less about car shows. They held no interest for me. Or so I thought.

A scene from Faribault Car Cruise Night during Heritage Days.

A scene from Faribault Car Cruise Night during the community’s recent Heritage Days.

But then a few years back, I tagged along with my husband to a local car show, camera in hand, and I was hooked.

It’s not the make or model or engine or such that typically draws my interest. Rather, it’s the art of the vehicles and my ability to view a car show with a photographer’s eye.

The red grabbed my attention.

The red grabbed my attention.

 

This rustic Chevy wagon rated as my favorite of the evening.

This rustic Chevy wagon rated as my favorite of the evening.

Here it was the message which drew my focus.

Here it was the message which drew my focus.

From the back of the Rat Rod (above photo), I moved to the front, crafted from a tractor.

From the back of the Rat Rod (above photo), I moved to the front, crafted from a tractor.

And then I moved in even closer to examine the freaky skull atop the Rat Rod.

And then I moved in even closer to examine the freaky skull atop the Rat Rod.

I find myself seeking our hood ornaments, the curve of a fender, the shine of a gleaming bumper. Anything artsy. Or unique. Or interesting.

I'm ever conscious of shine and reflections.

I’m ever conscious of shine and reflections.

Awhile ago, a Chicago ad agency contacted me about using a car show image of a rippled, shiny bumper. The offer for my photo, one of six being considered for a nation-wide ad campaign for a car wax company, was wildly substantial. In the end, mine was not chosen.

But this experience taught me to value every photo I take, even those shot at the car shows I once dismissed.

All ages participate in and enjoy the car show.

All ages participate in and enjoy the car show.

It’s not only the photo op aspect I enjoy, though. It’s also the opportunity to stroll along the street of my historic downtown in the gloaming of the day, chatting with friends and car collectors alike.

As darkness falls, vehicles begin to leave.

As daylight fades, vehicles begin to leave.

Talking cars. Talking family. Talking while the sun fades and Johnny Cash rumbles “Ring of Fire,” his throaty, husky words bouncing between buildings.

BONUS PHOTOS:

I like the style and the colors. So classy.

I like the style and the colors. So classy.

Details: a toy Mustang in a rear window.

Details: a toy Mustang in a rear window.

A snazzy GTO.

A snazzy GTO.

Custom upholstery matches the exterior paint striping.

Custom upholstery matches the exterior paint striping.

A 1965 Plymouth Baracuda purchased in 1964 and still owned by the original owner.

A 1965 Plymouth Barracuda, center, purchased in 1964 and still owned by the original owner.

Leaving...

Leaving…

Leaving the show and driving southbound on Central Avenue through historic downtown Faribault.

Leaving the show and driving southbound on Central Avenue through historic downtown Faribault.

FYI: Faribault Car Cruise Night is held from 6 – 9 p.m.  the third Friday of every month during the summer with upcoming shows set for July 18 and August 15. The event is held on Central Avenue in downtown Faribault.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Fairy tale garden in Northfield inspires July 16, 2014

MAGICAL. ENCHANTING. DELIGHTFUL.

All those adjectives fit the gardens of Susan and Dale Kulsrud who’ve created a fairy tale world outside their south Northfield home.

 

One example of the fairy tale magic tucked into the Kulsruds' gardens.

One example of the fairy tale magic tucked into the Kulsruds’ gardens.

 

From streetside, you’d never guess this corner lot would hold such garden charm. So when my husband parked our van and we crossed the driveway past the Corvette to the side yard during the Northfield Garden Club 2014 Garden Tour, we were surprised.

What a delight.

The side yard garden featuring Dale's handcrafted trellis sculpture.

The side yard garden features Dale’s handcrafted trellis sculpture.

 

First the side garden with an array of flowers—including magnificent towering delphiniums—grabbed my attention. But this plot includes much more than plants. An impressive wood sculpture trellis crafted by Dale defines the space that includes other works of art.

 

The garden shed, Valhalla.

The garden shed, Valhalla.

 

Art. It’s everywhere in this enchanting yard where a garden shed of Dale’s design and crafting anchors a rear corner.

I almost hesitate to dub this building a shed given its appearance and name, Valhalla. The name is an apparent tribute to the family’s Scandinavian heritage. Valhalla is a hall for the slain in Norse lore.

 

Shade-loving plants fill the Valhalla garden.

Shade-loving plants fill the Valhalla garden.

 

With the use of carefully chosen shade-loving plants like hosta, King Kong coleus, ivy, impatiens, begonias and more and the integration of garden art, the Kulsruds have created a fantasy world in their backyard.

 

A view of the garden behind and to the side of Valhalla.

A view of the garden behind and to the side of Valhalla.

 

The area surrounding Valhalla calls for an inchworm pace with multiple pauses to examine the details. I literally lowered myself to nearly lying down at some points to take in and photograph the scenes created here. Kids would love this mini world of surprises tucked in among the plants:

 

I placed my camera on the ground to photograph this cat napping among hostas and impatiens.

I placed my camera on the ground to photograph this cat napping among hosta and impatiens.

 

A jolt of color among hosta.

A jolt of color among hosta. Perfect.

 

Some of the art is more serious, like this bust.

Some of the art is more serious, like this bust among flowering hosta.

 

Garden gnome humor.

Garden gnome humor.

 

The stuff of fairy tales...

The stuff of fairy tales…

 

Looking down into a fairy garden.

Looking down in to a fairy garden created in a bird bath.

 

A ground level view of the gnomes' rocky woodland home.

A ground level view of the gnomes’ rocky woodland home.

 

My favorite scene could have come straight from the pages of a Scandinavian storybook with a gnome house situated against a tree trunk and the resident gnome sweeping his front stoop. It’s absolutely magical.

 

Impatiens spill from a tipped pot.

Petunias spill from a tipped pot.

 

This entire yard enchants with plant life and art complementing each other. Flowers and accent plants spill from pots and window boxes, mingling with all that art.

 

Impatiens and butterfly art add color to a plant situated along a walk way.

Impatiens and butterfly art add color to a planter situated along a walk way.

 

I left undeniably inspired.

CHECK BACK FOR MORE POSTS from the Northfield Garden Club 2014 Garden Tour.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Novice & seasoned poets bring their poetry to Mankato trails & parks July 15, 2014

I DON’T KNOW if I was more thrilled with her win, or mine, in the 2014 Mankato Poetry Walk and Ride competition.

A graphic I created for Mankato Poetry Walk and Ride.

A graphic I created for Mankato Poetry Walk and Ride.

But when I saw 12-year-old Hannah Leraas’ name in the list of fourth through seventh grade division winners, I whooped out loud. Yes!

The young Faribault poet I’ve mentored had just published her first poem.

Hannah joins me and 20 other writers whose 35 winning poems will be posted soon on poetry sign boards in parks and along trails in Mankato and North Mankato. Additionally, poems by three selected notable area poets will also be published. Submitted poems were anonymously judged by noted League of Minnesota poets Bethany Barry, Charmaine Donovan and Peter Stein.

"Off to Mankato to 'get and education'", posted near Glenwood Gardens, in the background in this photo.

My poem, “Off to Mankato to ‘get an education'”, posted near Glenwood Gardens in 2013.

This marks the second year of this competition and I’m delighted to once again be part of an effort that brings poetry to the public in an unassuming way. Two of my poems were showcased last year.

Now my poem, “Bandwagon,” based on the John Deere Bandwagon television show originating in Mankato, will be displayed in Lions Park North. Hannah’s poem, “Snow,” will be located on signage in Sibley Park West.

My husband and I listen to one of my selected poems.

My husband and I listen to one of my selected poems in 2013.

Additionally, QR codes and phone numbers will be posted, allowing the public to hear poets read their works.

But for now, I want you to read, Hannah’s poem:

Snow

I woke up to see,
And it fills me with glee,
As I stepped out of bed
I suddenly said,
“I need to hurry!”
I dressed in a flurry,
Dashed down to the door.
My snow pants I wore.
Like an airplane in flight
I flew with pure delight…
SNOW!

The mentor in me is thrilled that Hannah chose some strong verbs like “stepped” and “dashed.” She could have written “got” or “ran,” verbs that are not nearly as powerful.

But my favorite part of this homeschooler’s poem is this: I dressed in a flurry.

The double meaning of that word, “flurry,” referencing both action and snow, truly impresses me. Hannah understands the power of language.

As soon as the snow began, my neighbor girl was outside building a snowman and a snow fort.

As soon as the snow began, my neighbor girl was outside building a snowman and a snow fort. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo, February 2014.

And then there’s the imagery—can’t you just visualize Hannah flying out the door and into a snowy world?

She loves winter. I mean really loves winter. “I love snow and winter is my favorite season,” Hannah tells me.

And why? Snow, this thoughtful poet explains, is like a blank sheet of white paper upon which to draw pictures or write with a stick. There’s another poem in that response.

When’s the last time you thought about writing with a stick in the snow? Been awhile, hasn’t it?

Hannah is, not surprisingly, excited. Here’s her reaction to winning: “Like seriously, are dyslexics supposed to get published?”

Yes, this pre-teen struggles with letters and numbers and sentences. But that hasn’t stopped her from writing poetry, which she says helps with reading and writing and has improved her spelling. You have to admire her determination.

There were a few rules to follow in entering this contest which was open to writers living within a 50-mile radius of Mankato. Each poem could be no more than 18 lines with 40 characters or less per line. That’s a challenge, to write within such strict confines.

Hannah, who’s been penning mostly rhyming poems for about two years now, turns to her thesaurus—the one I gave her—to find the perfect descriptive words for her poems. I praised her for using that reference book, one I tap into often also.

She’s an enthusiastic poet who shares her favorite line from her favorite poem, one about Bob, a cuddly toy monkey she received one Christmas from her parents, Jesse and Tammy.

In writing that poem, she thought of the flying monkeys in the “Wizard of Oz” and then her beloved Bob:

…the big squishy guy,
the one who can’t fly…

FYI: For more information about the Mankato Poetry Walk and Ride, click here. Once our poems are posted and Hannah and I get to Mankato, I’ll post photos of us with our poetry signs.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Baseball memories from rural Minnesota July 14, 2014

FOR BABY BOOMERS like myself, summertime memories of life in rural Minnesota are as much about consuming pitchers of sugary Kool-Aid, picking rocks and walking beans as about baseball.

Memorial Park Baseball Field, home to the Dundas Dukes.

Memorial Park Baseball Field, home to the Dundas Dukes., an amateur baseball team.

When I think back to the 1960s, I hear the static buzz of my older brother’s transistor radio as he dials in ‘CCO. Play-by-play with Halsey Hall, Herb Carneal and Ray Scott. Names familiar to my generation as the voices of the Minnesota Twins.

A carving of a Dundas Dukes baseball player stands just outisde the baseball field in Dundas.

A carving of a Dundas Dukes baseball player stands just outside the baseball field in Dundas.

And then the players themselves—greats like homerun slugger Harmon Killebrew and Tony Oliva and Rod Carew.

My brother, when we played pick-up games of softball after the evening chores, role-played Killebrew. There was no arguing the choice among us siblings. He was always Killebrew as we pulled on our worn gloves or thwacked the grimy softball with a wooden bat or sped across loose gravel, rounding the discarded disc plates that served as bases.

This plaque, by a baseball player sculpture at Memorial Park in Dundas,

This plaque, by the baseball player sculpture at Memorial Park in Dundas, summarizes well thoughts on baseball.

Such are my memories, along with remembering the stacks of baseball cards my brothers collected. They chewed a lot of bubblegum.

My interest in baseball, like the demise of the transistor radio, has faded through the decades. I don’t watch the game and occasionally catch only wisps of a radio broadcast.

Looking through the fence toward the Dundas Dukes' dug-out.

Looking through the fence at Memorial Park Baseball Field in Dundas.

But this week, when all eyes focus on major league baseball’s All-Star game at Target field in Minneapolis, the memories rush back.

I hear the static. The cry: “Batter up!” I see ball connecting with bat, my older brother slamming a homerun over the milkhouse. I race toward the bouncing ball, feet pounding across gravel. I scoop up the ball. And, as always, I fail to throw with any force, landing the ball far short of upheld glove. And my brother sails across home plate, arms flying. It’s another homerun for Harmon.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Higher than your knees July 11, 2014

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Into the cornfield and up close.

Into the cornfield and up close.

I CAN ALMOST FEEL the corn leaves slicing across my arms, hear the leaves whispering in the wind, see the stalks growing higher and higher, racing toward the prairie sky on a July afternoon.

Corn and soybean fields define southwestern Minnesota.

Corn and soybean fields define southwestern Minnesota.

These are the memories I hold within my cells—the imprint of corn rows stretching into forever. My father’s work laid out before him across the acres. First, seeds dropped into the rich black soil. Next, corn rows cultivated. And then, in autumn, the combine chomping across fields. Golden kernels spilling into wagons. Trips to the grain elevator.

I see all of that in the corn growing in my native southwestern Minnesota.

Through the wildflowers...

Through the wildflowers…

On July 4, my husband and I waded through tall ditch grass and wildflowers to check out a cornfield near Lamberton. Back in the day, corn growth was measured against the expected “knee high by the Fourth of July” standard.

Not quite reaching my husband's shoulders.

Not quite reaching my husband’s shoulders even though the corn appears head high from this angle.

Unless a farmer has to replant or gets his crop in late, his corn is more like shoulder high by the Fourth in today’s agricultural world.

Corn grows in a field next to one of my favorite barns along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

Corn grows in a field next to one of my favorite barns along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

This year, though, with late planting and many fields drowned out by too much rain, corn growth appears behind the norm.

Across the fence and across the cornfield, my brother's neighbor's place.

Across the fence and across the cornfield, my brother’s neighbor’s place.

But one thing remains constant, no matter the weather, no matter the year. Farmers hang on to harvest hope.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Tattoo patriotism for kids July 10, 2014

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GROWING UP, my exposure to tattoos involved Easter. In every package of Paas Easter egg dye came a selection of washable tattoos.

Mom suggested we wait until after Easter Sunday church services to apply the tattoos to our arms. Apparently she thought inked skin unsuitable for our Lutheran church. Sometimes we waited. Sometimes we didn’t. I won’t pretend that my siblings and I were always angelic kids who listened.

Those are my thoughts whenever I see washable tattoos. On the Fourth of July, my niece Tara pulled out two patriotic-themed tattoos she’d saved from some event.

My almost-six-year-old great niece, Ari, was thrilled about getting a tatoo:

STEP ONE: Applying Ari's tattoo with a wet washcloth.

STEP ONE: Apply tattoo with a damp washcloth.

STEP TWO: Removing the washcloth and paper for the great reveal.

STEP TWO: Remove the washcloth and paper for the great reveal.

STEP THREE: Blow on the tattoo to dry it.

STEP THREE: Blow on the tattoo.

DISTRACTION: Even the distraction of the camera did not stop Ari from blowing.

DISTRACTION: Even the distraction of the camera did not stop Ari from following instructions.

STEP FOUR: The great reveal.

STEP FOUR: Show off your tattoo.

But my two-year-old great nephew, Hank, was not quite as thrilled:

STEP ONE: Applying a tattoo to a hesitant Hank.

STEP ONE: Apply a tattoo to a curious Hank.

STEP TWO: Revealing a USA tattoo to a seemingly uninterested Hank.

STEP TWO: Reveal a USA tattoo to a seemingly uninterested Hank.

STEP TWO: Revealing the USA tattoo to Hank.

HANK CONTEMPLATING.

STEP THREE: Prompt tattoo removal by Hank.

STEP THREE: Promptly scratch off the tattoo.

That’s the thing about tattoos. Some people like them and some don’t. I do. But only if they’re the washable kind.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Grassroots patriotism July 9, 2014

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EACH TIME I TRAVEL through Sleepy Eye, I notice this old house situated on a corner along U.S. Highway 14 east of downtown.

A quick snapshot of a patriotic house in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota.

A quick snapshot of a patriotic house in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota.

I could lament at the need for a little exterior TLC.

But rather, I focus on the patriotism, that always-there “WE SUPPORT OUR TROOPS” sign.

Within the walls of this old house lives someone who’s perhaps served or has a loved one serving our country or who’s simply just proud of our military. Maybe all three.

I love the genuineness of this patriotic display. I imagine the homeowner shopping for the bunting and the flags and those little whirligigs.

I imagine, too, the long search, or maybe even a special order placement, for that can’t miss royal blue carpet.

This old house shows me patriotism at its grassroots basic. From the heart. From the home.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Fabulous Fourth with family July 8, 2014

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FOR WEEKS I ANTICIPATED the Fourth of July. Not for the reason I should have, to celebrate our nation’s birth.

Son-in-law Marc, left, daughters Amber and Miranda, and son, Caleb.

Son-in-law Marc, left, with his wife (my daughter), Amber; son Caleb; and daughter Miranda.

But rather, I was looking forward to the holiday for the sole reason that my two daughters, son and son-in-law would be together for one day with my husband and me and my extended family.

With the son living in Boston and the second daughter 300 miles away in eastern Wisconsin, it is seldom we are all together. The last time was just before Christmas, for an evening.

Six months may not seem like a long time to be away from your kids. And it’s not in the span of time.

But, as a mother, I don’t think you ever fully adjust to the absence of the children you have loved even before birth.

I am blessed beyond measure by my family and am thankful for every moment we are together.

Yet, a certain melancholy creeps in. Without fail, I cry my eyes out every single time my daughter shuts the door on her red Chevy and my son rolls his luggage into the airport.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling