MINNESOTA IS MORE than the Twin Cities, St. Cloud, Rochester and Duluth. It’s also farms and small towns like Vesta, Sleepy Eye, Gaylord and St. James. I’ve lived in all of those rural areas and, for the past 33 years, in Faribault.
My husband was raised on a farm near Buckman in central Minnesota. Heard of it? Few people have. Likewise, not all that many Minnesotans know of Vesta, my hometown. Both communities are small—several hundred residents.
When folks ask where I grew up, I typically respond Vesta, bookmarked by “between Redwood Falls and Marshall.” If I get a blank look, I add “west of New Ulm.” If the geographic location still remains a mystery, I continue with “west of Mankato.” Then I usually see a flicker of recognition.
My native southwestern Minnesota seems unappreciated by many who dismiss it as that boring prairie landscape en route to some place like Sioux Falls or the more distant destination of the Black Hills.
Appreciating the prairie, if you aren’t a native, takes a bit of effort. Wide skies and unhindered vistas can, I suppose, leave a landlocked city or hemmed-in by trees dweller feeling unsettled, untethered. There’s a sense of vulnerability and isolation on the prairie.
Land and sky overwhelm. Wind dominates. And for non-natives, that feeling of powerlessness within a landscape pushes away any thought of liking the prairie. Hurry. Power through the place. It’s just a bunch of farms and small towns and endless fields. But it isn’t. It is farm homes and red barns, grain elevators and water towers, corn and soybeans. Someone’s home. Someone’s land. Someone’s life. Someone’s livelihood. The prairie part of Minnesota. The place that shaped me as a person, a poet, a writer, a photographer. For that, I am grateful.
Note: All images were taken during my last visit “back home” in October and were edited to add a soft quality to the scenes.
© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling