Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Craving favorite comfort foods during a Minnesota winter February 28, 2024

A grilled cheese sandwich oozes processed cheese. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THIS TIME OF YEAR, throughout the long stretch of winter months in Minnesota, I crave comfort foods. Food that warms me from the inside out. Food that fuels me with energy. Food that makes me feel better simply because it tastes so darn good. Basic, often carb-packed, foods that are staples of generations of Minnesotans.

Topping the list of comfort foods for me is tomato soup served with a grilled cheese sandwich. Both are easy to prepare. Nearly every Saturday from November to March, Randy opens and mixes a can of condensed tomato soup with milk before preparing accompanying sandwiches. He smears butter onto slices of bread, layers processed cheese between and toasts the bread to golden perfection in a frying pan. There’s nothing better for lunch on a cold Minnesota winter day than a bowl of steaming tomato soup with a sandwich oozing melting cheese.

A perfect comfort food lunch: homemade chicken wild rice soup with homemade bread. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Soup and chili are the ultimate comfort foods. There’s comfort in the scent of soup simmering on the stove, in the taste, in the act of wrapping hands around a bowl warmed by hot soup or chili. And then that first spoonful of chicken noodle soup or chicken white chili or tomato-based beef chili loaded with beans or chicken wild rice soup, all homemade. Ah. Every bite tastes of comfort. With the exception of tomato soup, all soups served in my house are homemade by me.

The same goes for macaroni and cheese, another ultimate comfort food. Years ago as a busy mom of three, I occasionally resorted to boxed mac and cheese in my hurry to get a meal on the table. But the unnatural yellow powdered cheese stirred into the cooked pasta was visually unappealing and didn’t taste any better than it looked. Today I make mac and cheese from scratch using evaporated milk, butter and shredded cheddar cheese. I love mac and cheese as much as any kid, unless, of course, theirs comes from a box.

A sandwich board outside the Belview Bar & Grill in southwestern Minnesota advertises some comfort food lunch offerings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I also love tator tots. We joke about Tator Tot Hotdish here in Minnesota. I haven’t made it in years. But I still like tots. Plain or, even better, topped with shredded cheddar cheese, a dollop of sour cream and bacon bits. Yes, it’s calorie-laden and likely not at all good for me. But, gosh, that combo pleases my palate like no casserole ever could except homemade Chicken Wild Rice Hotdish (not casserole), which I absolutely love.

A plate filled with comfort foods, including mashed potatoes and gravy, served at the annual harvest dinner at Trinity Lutheran Church, North Morristown. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Potatoes are a comfort food. Whether shaped into a tot, mashed, baked or scalloped, potatoes are, for me, a comforting link to my childhood. I grew up eating meat, boiled potatoes with gravy and a side vegetable every night for supper, with rare exceptions. Our food came from our land, from our animals. It was good and wholesome, filling our stomachs, fueling our bodies to labor on the farm.

I recently tried a new banana bread recipe with a whole banana split length-wise and laid across the top of the batter. Delicious. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I also find myself craving sweets during the winter. Banana bread and chocolate chip cookies fall into the comfort food category by my definition. A just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookie with melty chocolate or a slice of day-old banana bread satisfy my craving for something sugary. I try not to bake often, though, unless I’m shipping a care package to my son in Boston, the grandkids are coming or there’s a birthday to celebrate. Or the bananas on the counter are getting overripe.

Soon I will crave salads like this raspberry chicken salad from the Amboy Cottage Cafe in Amboy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In a few months, comfort food will hold less appeal as winter transitions into spring. Then my food focus will turn to fresh asparagus, rhubarb and spinach salad topped with sliced cucumbers, portabella mushrooms, tomatoes and blue cheese made and aged in sandstone caves blocks from my house. I’ll eat healthier, feel less laden by heavy food. But when the seasons shift again to shorter and colder days, I’ll once again crave grilled cheese and tomato soup, mac and cheese, tator tots…all the foods that comfort during a long Minnesota winter.

Chocolate chip cookies baked by a friend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TELL ME: What are your favorite comfort foods?

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Stories of kindness, compassion & humor following eye surgery February 27, 2024

A lens on my new prism-free prescription eyeglasses circles the surgery location in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I’M SO HAPPY IT’S OVER.” That, Kat told me, was my first statement post January 22 bilateral strabismus eye surgery at M Health Fairview Clinics and Surgery Center in Minneapolis. I don’t remember saying those words. But I don’t doubt my recovery room nurse.

After a 1 ½-hour surgery to realign my misaligned eyes, I was still groggy. Yet, Kat noted, I was coming out of general anesthesia quickly and well. For that I felt thankful. Not everyone handles anesthesia without side effects.

Given my emerging level of alertness, I don’t recall timelines or all conversations. But I do remember the kindness of Kat. And kindness is key when you’re coming out of surgery.

There was no vodka in the recovery room (nor did I want any; I seldom drink hard liquor). (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

HERE, HAVE A DRINK

In addition to compassion and care, Kat gave me food and drink. It was well after lunch and I hadn’t consumed anything (except a few sips of water with Tylenol right before surgery) for many hours. Typically I get hangry when I don’t eat on time. Ask my family. Kat brought cranberry juice along with soda crackers and graham crackers and then ginger ale which she suggested I mix with a second cup of cranberry juice, a cocktail without the vodka. (I think Kat mentioned vodka, but maybe I did.) I shared that my Bible study group has a signature cranberry drink, sans the alcohol. Kat kept a watchful eye on me. I hope she didn’t notice that I didn’t particularly like cranberry juice and ginger ale mixed. Too sweet for me.

But I appreciated the sweetness of my caring nurse, who moved to Minnesota from Missouri, who was named Katherine, called Kathy by her mom and then called Kat in college. Kat suits her, even if she owns three dogs, not cats. More on that later.

At some point, before my surgeon came to see me in recovery, Kat suggested I change from my lavender paper gown into my street clothes. I was all for that. She removed my hospital slipper socks and then helped slip my socks and shoes onto my feet. Can’t have a just-out-of-surgery patient getting all lighted-headed by bending down. I managed the rest of dressing myself, proving I was becoming more alert, alert for the next step in surgery completion.

In the recovery room after eye muscle alignment surgery. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling, January 22, 2024)

LOOK AT THAT “E”

Enter my neuro ophthalmologist surgeon, Dr. Collin McClelland, and a second doctor who had been in the operating room. I dreaded this moment when Dr. McClelland planned to tweak his work by pulling an adjustable suture stitched into my left eye.

Alright then. Look at that E across the room. Do you see one or two? Two. (He did some other vision checks, not just with the E, during the alignment process.) After my surgeon dropped a topical anesthetic into my left eye, he removed the steri strips adhering the suture onto my cheek. He hovered over me, his tools and face a blur. Don’t move. Look up to the left. You’re going to feel a tug. Yup. I did. OK, let’s check that E again. One or two? Two. OK, we need to do this again. Tug. Pain. You’re doing great. Check the E for the third time. Mostly one. OK, I’m going to leave it. And then my doctor worked to tie and cut that suture, simultaneously encouraging me with his gentle voice. You’re doing great. The adjustment process took 20 minutes and was made easier by my kind surgeon.

A section of a 1974 album cover from my collection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

WE’RE OFF TO PROM

Kindness. I felt that in the care I received at M Health Fairview Surgery Center. Skilled care that came with humor and compassion and distractions that enabled me to manage eye muscle surgery. Kind Kat remained after Randy left to get the van from a nearby parking ramp. She escorted me to the restroom, our arms linking as if we were going to prom, Kat said. We needed a song, perhaps John Denver’s “Sunshine on My Shoulders,” theme for my 1970s era prom, I suggested. We laughed, Kat and I.

But I wasn’t laughing when we returned to my recovery room and I noticed Randy’s cellphone and charger lying on a chair, hidden beneath a tote bag. He was supposed to call when he reached the patient pick-up spot. But Randy was long gone, so I grabbed his phone and charger. Then Kat wheeled me onto the elevator that carried us downstairs to await Randy’s arrival, “old people” wrap-around sunglasses protecting my eyes. Thanks, Kat, for the (un)fashionable eyewear.

I’m becoming familiar with these two locations on the campus of the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

THE LONG MINNESOTA GOODBYE, SORT OF

I expected Randy to simply drive up. He didn’t. Rather, he retraced his steps in an attempt to find his phone. Kat called someone to clarify I had his phone. As we waited, I grew restless. I just wanted to go home. Kat sensed that, pulling out her phone to show me a picture of her three dogs. Not cats. I appreciated the momentary distraction.

Eventually, Randy arrived and Kat steered me to our van, guiding me into the passenger seat. Then she hugged me. That loving gesture filled me with happiness, as if I was Kat’s sister rather than simply another patient. Happy despite the eye pain. Happy despite the long, exhausting day.

That happiness soon vanished as Randy took a wrong entrance ramp and we found ourselves aiming east toward St. Paul rather than west toward Minneapolis. I was in no mood for a longer trip, even if lengthened by only 15 minutes. But onward, back home to Faribault to rest and begin healing. Five weeks out, I am doing just that, continuing to heal. And I am remembering, too, the many kindnesses and the skilled care given to me by my compassionate medical team.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, the sweetness & beauty of almost-spring in Faribault February 26, 2024

A DQ Peanut Buster Parfait. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WEEKS OUT FROM THE SPRING EQUINOX, The Little DQ of Faribault opened for the season with its usual opening weekend special of Peanut Buster Parfaits.

Randy and I, if we remember, stop by for ours each February. We not only like the ice cream treat layered with peanuts and hot fudge, but we also celebrate unshuttering of the small walk-up/drive-up Dairy Queen as the unofficial start of spring in our southern Minnesota community of some 24,400.

We also appreciate a bargain, the parfaits discounted to $2.49 this past weekend as they are for the DQ’s October closing. Last autumn we missed out on final weekend parfaits by two vehicles. At the drive-up window, after we’d patiently waited in line, the DQ employee told us they’d just run out of ice cream. Argh. The early bird gets the worm. Or, in this case, the ice cream.

But on Sunday afternoon, there was ice cream aplenty at the DQ along Faribault’s Lyndale Avenue. And only two vehicles crept ahead of our van to the drive-up window. We would get our pre-spring equinox parfaits.

Just as we placed our treats in cup holders, the sun broke through a previously mostly cloudy day. We considered momentarily sitting outside at a DQ patio table to eat our treats. But the noisy location at the intersection of two busy state highways is not particularly enjoyable. So we headed to a park near our house, settling onto a picnic table next to the playground and soccer field.

Picnic tabletop message. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

Before I even sat, I noticed words printed upon the tabletop: You all are Beautiful. Now I don’t condone graffiti, but I do value positive and uplifting messages in public places. Those words tasted as sweet as my ice cream treat.

As I settled in, the sun warming my back, a slight breeze cooled the afternoon temp of 49 degrees. I reminded myself this was only February 25 and atypical weather in Minnesota. We have had an unusually warm and nearly snow-less winter here. Despite a bit of a chill, it was a beautiful day to be outdoors, under the blue sky.

River Bend offers a diverse landscape of woods and prairie. As a prairie native, I especially love the dried prairie grasses, like this singular stem photographed two years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2022)

Prior to picking up our parfaits, Randy and I hiked at River Bend Nature Center to offset the calories we were about to consume. Or so we told ourselves. Now here we were, spooning way too many calories and too much sodium into our bodies. But sometimes you gotta forget the 710-calorie count, the too much sugar and salt, and indulge. We did.

As Randy held his parfait cup with his winter-gloved hand, I braved the cold against my skin and then worked through an ice cream headache. The faint beat of drums and of music carried across the park, presumably from a gathering down and across the street. We’d watched party-goers arrive and I momentarily considered crashing the house party of these acquaintances.

But I had my Peanut Buster Parfait. I had blue sky. I had sunshine. I had Randy beside me. I had people to watch. Young families arrived to play on the playground and soccer field. Ball and bike. And smiles to match that message: You all are Beautiful.

Beautiful. That word fit the moment on a beautiful February Sunday afternoon in southern Minnesota when I tasted, savored, almost-spring.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Award-winning book addresses slavery in compelling stories, haunting art February 21, 2024

I CAN’T IMAGINE a world without books. From the time I was first read to and then learned to read as a young child, I have loved books. From books, I’ve learned, I’ve escaped, I’ve broadened my world well beyond southern Minnesota.

From reading the writing of others, I’ve grown, too, as a writer. Laura Ingalls Wilder, in her Little House books, taught me the importance of detail, of setting, in writing. I grew up on the prairie, some 20 miles from Walnut Grove, once home to the Ingalls family. A grade school teacher read the entire Little House series to me and my classmates. Books have, in many ways, shaped me.

Book cover image sourced online.

But imagine a world without books. That was a reality for slaves in America, denied access to books and to education. I just finished reading Kin: Rooted in Hope, written by Carole Boston Weatherford and illustrated by her son, Jeffery Boston Weatherford. The young adult book, published by Atheneum Books for Young Readers, was named a Coretta Scott King Author Honor Book 2024. It is a book that ought to be read by everyone not only for its insightful poetry-style storytelling, but also for its haunting scratchboard art.

Looking down on the pages of the book with a mix of black and white paper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

Adding to the overall subliminal effect is the way in which the book is printed. Black words ink white paper. White words imprint black pages. And the artwork is made by etching away black ink to reveal white. This mixed usage of black and white, reinforces the storyline of slavery and slave owners. Black. White.

As I read Kin, which I pulled from a book display for kids and teens at my local library, I was increasingly horrified by what I read. Sure, I’ve read about slavery in history books. But this approach of historical fiction really brought home the ugliness, the abuse, the violence, the awfulness of slavery in a personal way. Fiction rooted in truth.

Children born into slavery. Whippings. An auctioneer’s gavel. Names written on an inventory list along with commodities. Jemmy. Big Jacob. Lyddia. Tom. Walter. Isaac. Mush ladled into a trough. Swimming banned lest an escape to freedom be attempted. And on and on. Atrocities that seem unfathomable to inflict upon individuals chained in Africa, sailed to Maryland, sold, abused, treated like property by wealthy white families.

Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But in the all of this, threads of kinship, endurance, strength and hope, even defiance, run. Perhaps my favorite line in the book is that of Prissy, a house servant waiting on a dinner guest. He leers at her, making an inappropriate comment. She wants to tell him that she spit in his soup. At this point half way into the book, I applaud her unstated rebellion. As the chapters unfold, so does the move toward freedom for slaves. The author writes of freedom at last and of current day issues (controversial statues in public places, the murder of George Floyd…), all interspersed with a whole lot of history (including historic figures like Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman…).

Even though this book is written for young adults, it should be read by older adults, too, who need to hear Prissy’s defiant voice. Author Carole Boston Weatherford gives voice to those who endured slavery, and to those whose family histories trace to enslavement, including her ancestors. Her son’s detailed scratchboard art reinforces the story, the words which wrench the spirit.

I photographed this scene in 2020 in Kenyon, MN. It remains one of my favorite images of this message given its location in a small town. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2020)

Kin: Rooted in Hope proves an especially fitting read during February, Black History Month. Through this book of historical fiction, I’ve learned more about a part of U.S. history which is horrendous in every possible way. That humanity can treat humanity so atrociously seems unfathomable…until I consider underlying and outright racist attitudes which continue yet today.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting on pre-surgery anxiety & ways I coped February 20, 2024

Information about my eye muscle surgery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

SURGERY. Most of us would rather not hear that word when it comes to our health. But sometimes surgery is necessary. I’ve had surgery nine times in my lifetime. I’m currently four weeks out from my second bilateral strabismus eye surgery (the first was at age four) to realign my misaligned eyes. Healing and recovery are progressing.

Nearing downtown Minneapolis, the route to M Health Fairview Surgery Center and Clinics. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Today’s post, though, is not about recovery, but rather about my January 22 surgery day. As a creative, I have stories to tell about my experiences at M Health Fairview Clinics and Surgery Center. Admittedly, I felt anxious as Randy and I aimed north along Interstate 35 to the surgery center about an hour away on the campus of the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. I detest metro traffic, which added to my pre-surgery anxiety. But on this morning, traffic was not horrible.

Waiting is always the hard part. I waited at check-in behind an angry patient. We’d ridden the same elevator to the fifth level, but she got ahead of me because she knew where she was going. I did not. And so I had to stand there listening to her spew about how she’s never been called about whatever. Her voice volume increased. I felt increasingly frustrated by this hostile woman who should have taken her complaints elsewhere, not to the surgery check-in desk. She was not there for surgery. Finally, I bypassed her to another check-in station, wondering if the first employee would need to call security. This was not off to a good start.

I settled onto a green upholstered chair in a spacious room filled with people, most on their phones, waiting. A bank of tall windows revealed a sunny day. I heard persistent coughing on the other side of a waiting room half-wall, somewhat worrisome to me. I’d been screened for COVID symptoms, but Randy and other caregivers weren’t. That is typical of clinic screenings, it seems. But I digress.

Eventually, after I’d people-watched, tried to work a crossword puzzle, studied abstract fabric artwork, Tatenda called me to begin the process of preparing for surgery. That started with basic questions followed by depression screening. I am thankful this screening is now routine in healthcare and I told Tatenda that. And then I added, “But you didn’t ask about anxiety.” Anyone who says they aren’t anxious about surgery is, in my opinion, not being truthful. Thankfully, Tatenda and others who cared for me understand pre-surgery anxiety and helped ease mine.

One of my go-to Bible verses when I’m worried or anxious. This is displayed at my church, Trinity Lutheran in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

There was one point, though, when I had to dig deep mentally to stop myself from fleeing a small room where I waited alone for the next step in surgery prep. Tatenda handed me a lavender paper gown, instructing me to change into that and pull on a pair of purple socks. Then she left. Do. Not. Leave. Me. Alone. I expected her back quickly. As the minutes ticked by, I felt my anxiety rising. I was cold, shivering almost, hugging my folded legs to my body for warmth. The over-sized, one-size-fits-all paper gown that smelled to me of antiseptic provided zero warmth. Maybe I should have wrapped it around my slim body twice. I attempted to calm myself by repeating the words of Psalm 46:10: Be still…be still…be still…

Eventually nurse Amanda arrived and connected a hose to my lovely lavender gown, a hose that blew air inside to either warm or cool me. She explained how I could turn a switch to adjust the temperature. It was a game-changer not only for my comfort level, but also in giving me control. Of. Something.

Signage on The Pearl, a popular ice cream spot in downtown La Crosse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

As Amanda searched and poked twice for an adequate vein to start an IV, we talked. Conversation distracts me. This nurse, the same age as my eldest daughter, and I chatted about her hometown of Potosi, Wisconsin, where I’ve been to the brewery; our love of La Crosse (and The Pearl ice cream shop); motorcycles; and then how I met Randy and where we went on our first date. “Stir Crazy,” I replied. The movie starring Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder. Amanda said she would ask Randy the same when she brought him to see me shortly before surgery. When he answered “Blazing Saddles” to the first date question, I told Amanda that he was an imposter, that she needed to find my real husband. We laughed. Humor helps.

Once Amanda left, the anesthesiologist and neuro ophthalmologist surgeon arrived for last-minute briefings and questions. I was ready. Soon I was being wheeled down a hallway toward the operating room. I remember nothing until I awoke 1 ½ hours later in recovery. That is another story…please check back for more storytelling.

TELL ME: If you’ve had surgery, how did you cope with pre-surgery anxiety? How did others help ease your anxiety right before surgery?

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In which I learn about African culture & make new friends in my community February 19, 2024

This welcoming sign was posted on the door of a downtown Faribault business in 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)

IN A VALENTINE’S DAY post last week, I focused on connecting in everyday life, on hugging all of humanity. Those words proved prophetic for me personally. And I am the better, the richer, for the insights I learned, the connections I made, during a February 15 talk by a Minnesota college professor, cultural consultant and author at Books on Central in Faribault.

Author Joseph L. Mbele, photographed at the International Festival Faribault in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

Joseph L. Mbele was the featured speaker at this public event highlighting cultural differences. Faribault is a culturally-diverse community, home to many immigrants, including significant Somali and Hispanic populations. And that has all too often created tension between locals and those who now call my southern Minnesota city home. Mbele recognizes that and has worked with community leaders, business owners and others in Faribault and neighboring cities to raise awareness of cultural differences and bridge the gaps which divide us.

Via storytelling, humor and insightful perspectives as someone who grew up in Tanzania and has lived in the U.S. for 32 years, Mbele riveted the attention of the group gathered in the used bookshop run by Rice County Area United Way. Rather than fully recap Mbele’s presentation, I want to focus on the personal interactions I experienced with two young Somali men in attendance.

This teen represented Somalia (blue flag with a white star) at the International Festival Faribault in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

When I arrived at the bookstore, I settled onto a folding chair next to Solomon, as I heard it, (or perhaps correctly Sulaiman/Suleiman; I didn’t ask for the spelling of his name). I can’t sit next to someone and not engage in conversation. I soon learned that Sulaiman, 34, came to the U.S. from Somali at age 14, graduated from Faribault High School, played soccer on the fields by the junior high, has a wife in Somalia (the process is lengthy to bring her to the U.S., he said), works as an over-the-road trucker and has a job interview with a local company this week. Any business would be fortunate to have him on their team. He impressed me with his friendly personality, wide smile and openness. Sulaiman reflected what Joseph Mbele stated earlier about Africans being highly-social, desiring to be around and engage with other people.

I felt thankful to learn from my new friend that he hasn’t faced many challenges as a native Somalian living in Faribault. I didn’t have the heart to share the negative comments I’ve heard about Somalians. I focused instead on getting to know this delightful young man pressed next to me in a row of folding chairs in the cozy bookshop.

Banadir, a Somali restaurant and grocery, is located in historic downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)

Throughout Mbele’s talk highlighting African culture like African time (versus American time when everyone is on time), sidewalk gatherings to share news and to socialize, the social importance of food and music among Africans, the value of coming together and much more, I felt the sense of understanding unfolding. Laughter erupted often. Heads nodded. Questions surfaced during discussion. It felt good to be part of this gathering, to learn, to connect. I love that Mbele addressed bookstore volunteer Dave Campbell as “brother.” That endearing name shows that Mbele values Campbell and their personal connection. They are friends.

A diverse group attended a past International Festival Faribault, here observing the flag ceremony. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

And I felt, too, that I’d made a new friend in Sulaiman and, afterwards his brother, Ibrahim (again, I’m uncertain on the name spelling), also in attendance. As I retreated to the rear of the bookstore to grab a sweet treat and refill my water glass, Ibrahim approached and we chatted. He extended his hand in a handshake, significant because Muslims typically would not shake a woman’s hand. Mbele explained earlier the separation of men and women is not one of disrespect but faith-based and cultural.

A sign photographed at a past International Festival Faribault, where I first tasted sambusa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Ibrahim and I talked only briefly. He was, like his brother, warm, engaging, friendly. I remember him telling me that food brings people together, that he likes pizza. And I replied that I like sambusa, a Somali triangle-shaped pastry stuffed with spicy meat. We laughed. Earlier he invited those attending the bookshop gathering to visit Somali restaurants and shops in downtown Faribault.

And then Ibrahim asked, “Can I hug you?” Of course. We embraced right there in the back of the United Way bookshop. I felt such warmth, such affection, for this young man I’d just met. There were no cultural differences between us. We were simply two individuals who respected and appreciated one another. United by our humanity.

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Jospeh Mbele’s latest book, an easy and informative read. (Book cover sourced online)

FYI: I’d encourage you to read any or all of the books written by Joseph L. Mbele: Africans and Americans: Embracing Cultural Differences; Chickens in the Bus: More Thoughts on Cultural Differences; and Matengo Folktales. This professor at St. Olaf College in Northfield is a gifted storyteller and writer. I’d also encourage you, if you live in my area, to shop at Books on Central. All proceeds from book sales go to the Rice County Area United Way and help people and organizations in my area.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

February snow in a mostly snowless Minnesota winter February 16, 2024

The unshoveled sidewalk in front of my house stretches before me mid-morning Thursday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

VALENTINE’S DAY BROUGHT our first measurable snowfall since Halloween in this unusual snow-drought winter here in Minnesota. I haven’t missed snow, especially after last winter’s exceptional record snowfall that caused even the hardiest of Minnesotans to wonder if the snow would ever end.

A winter with minimal snow makes life all-around easier. I doubt anyone living in our state would deny that. It’s easier to navigate without snow-packed roads and sidewalks. Randy’s commute to work on icy roads Thursday morning took 50 minutes rather than the typical 32. And no snow also means less work as in no snow to blow, blade or shovel.

I used my new Snow Trax for the first time Thursday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2024)

Thursday morning I had about three inches of snow to clear, not much really by Minnesota standards. I bundled up, starting by pulling long johns on under jeans. Then I layered a fleece-lined sweatshirt over a tee and flannel shirt topped by a lightweight jacket. I clamped Snow Trax onto snow boots. A stocking cap and mittens completed the ensemble.

I headed out the back door into the garage to grab the scoop shovel and the wide-bladed plastic snow shovel. I knew it would take both to effectively clear snow.

Snow layers my neighbor’s evergreens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

It was a beautiful morning with a white landscape set against a backdrop bold blue sky. Snow outlined branches, layered evergreen boughs and seedheads. And the sun glittered diamonds across the snow. Anytime the sun shines in winter, I feel better. There’s something about sunshine that offsets even the coldest temperatures, the deepest snow, causing spirits to soar.

My distorted shadow on the snow-covered lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

As I pushed and scooped the snow from the sidewalk and driveway, I felt my stomach, leg and back muscles tightening. I worked at a steady pace, not pushing myself. Soon I found myself overheated. I unzipped my jacket, then the sweatshirt. I felt like I was sweating, even with a temp below 20 degrees. Shoveling snow, even if only a few inches, is a work out.

Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Melding with the scrape of the shovel and the click of studs on my Snow Trax was the splash of tires on the wet roadway. In February, the sun is strong enough to melt remaining ice and snow from hard surfaces cleared of initial snow. I wanted to get the snow off the sidewalk and driveway so the sun could melt the thin layer of ice and snow I couldn’t completely shovel away.

Remnants of a floral bouquet I received three weeks ago lie atop the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I labored an hour shoveling snow, finishing on the south-facing patio. Randy grills year-round, so our patio always needs to be free of snow. As I pushed snow, I remembered the bouquet of mostly dead flowers I’d tossed out two days earlier. I pulled them from under the snow, laid them atop a patio table. The purples, pinks and greens contrasted against the virgin white snow, visually pleasing me.

On this Thursday, this day after Valentine’s Day, I didn’t mind the snow all that much. It felt, in a way, like the first snowfall of the season. Magical. Beautiful. And definitively more like Minnesota ought to appear in mid-February.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In an antique shop window I spy… February 15, 2024

A display window at Keepers Antiques along Central Avenue in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

PHOTOGRAPHING SCENES behind glass often proves challenging. First, you need to watch for your own reflection so as not to photograph yourself. And then there are all the other reflections playing upon the glass.

I faced those obstacles while photographing a valentine themed window display with my cellphone outside Keepers Antiques in historic downtown Faribault recently. I tried my best, waiting for vehicles to pass, angling myself out of the photo, working to frame the scene. Yet, even with all that finagling, the results were not outstanding. Or so I thought.

When I viewed the images on my computer, I was pleasantly surprised to notice unseen details in the overall window display image. That prompted thoughts of the popular “I Spy” photo-based picture books for kids. Readers need to find specific items in each photographed scene.

With historic buildings across the street reflecting in the antique shop window, it appears that two faces are peering from second floor windows on the far left and to the right. Love that ghostly visual. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

In the collage of antiques and collectibles Nona Boyes creatively placed in the window of her antique shop, I saw the makings of an “I Spy” book. (Study the first image in this post.) I spy a doll in a checked dress. I spy a red telephone. I spy a stop sign. I spy faces in windows. I spy a red ironing board. I spy a chandelier. I spy two candy boxes. I spy a valentine in a shoe. I spy a fleur de lis, the symbol of my community. What do you spy?

Shirley Temple dolls times three. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

What you won’t spy in the overview window display are three 1970s vintage Shirley Temple Ideal dolls. They were there, just not in the section I initially framed. I photographed them separately. In the doll portraits, I spy a red brooch. Do you? I spy, too, one white shoe with a red bow. I spy the word “beverages.”

Those I spy candy boxes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

And I spy in the all of this an opportunity to turn a photo challenge into something interesting as only a photographer and writer can do. Through my creative lens, I saw pages in an “I Spy” book unfolding before me.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hugging humanity with valentine love February 14, 2024

The traditional valentine bouquet, red roses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

AHEAD OF US ON THE SIDEWALK, two young men, both on rollerblades, paused. As Randy and I drew nearer, I noticed one holding a bundle of wrapped flowers. I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, for me! Thank you!” I exclaimed, stretching my arms as if to take the bouquet. They laughed.

It was one of those chance encounters that proved delightfully fitting on the Sunday before Valentine’s Day. Randy and I were out for an afternoon walk on the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf when we met the teens. The state campus is often used as a pathway by students from Shattuck-St. Mary’s, a private college prep school in Faribault. MSAD sits between Shattuck’s upper and lower campuses.

Given their rollerblades, I figured the two were hockey players at Shattuck. They confirmed that. And they confirmed that the flowers were for a girlfriend. “He’s in love,” the Minnesotan said of his Canadian roommate. I smiled, happy to witness this gentle ribbing, this evidence of young love. Oh, to be sixteen again and feeling madly in love.

Another valentine tradition, assorted chocolates in a heart-shaped box. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Love. While we romanticize love on Valentine’s Day with flowers and chocolate and cards and dinner out, it is so much more than romanticism. Ask anyone who’s older and who has been in a relationship for awhile. Like me. Love is listening and caring and kindness and simply being there in the quiet of each other’s company. It’s supporting one another through challenging days and celebrating together in the good times. Or simply enjoying the ordinary days, which comprise the bulk of life.

And love in February is two 16-year-old hockey players skating along the sidewalk, one cradling wrapped flowers for a girl.

I received this handcrafted valentine in the mail from my friend Beth Ann. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
I adore this valentine crafted by Jack, Amelia and Ben and mailed to me from northwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
Valentine chalk heart in the window of Keeper’s Antiques in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

Valentine love, for me, is also handmade valentines in the mail, vintage valentines from my mom’s collection and window displays themed to February 14. It is childhood memories of shoeboxes crafted into valentine receptacles, boxes of candy conversation hearts and Juicy Fruit gum taped to red hearts. It is my 5-year-old grandson’s homemade paper valentine heart stuck to the front of my fridge.

My son crafted this cloth valentine 25 years ago in kindergarten. I hang it on my door every Valentine’s Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Valentine’s Day brings loving thoughts of family (including my husband of nearly 42 years) and friends. February 14 is truly a day that stretches beyond romantic love. I sincerely hope individuals who are not in romantic relationships feel included. Love is universal. Love hugs all of humanity.

One of my favorite valentines, because of its theme, among my mom’s vintage valentines. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I love the vibe of Valentine’s Day, a day when our thoughts focus on a world full of love in a world too often filled with hatred. On this singular day, we can intentionally choose to exude positivity. We can choose to forgive and focus on that which connects, rather than divides, us. We can choose to listen and encourage and use only generously kind words. We can choose to skate along the sidewalk like 16-year-olds intent on delivering bouquets of happiness. And we can choose, too, to stop, stretch our arms toward those flowers and engage in conversation with individuals we meet in the everyday moments of life. We will all be the richer for having connected, for showing love to one another on Valentine’s Day and well beyond February 14.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Minnesota cultural consultant & author to talk about chickens in the bus & more February 13, 2024

A flag ceremony, representing the country of origins of many peoples who call Faribault home, was part of the 2015 International Festival Faribault. Joseph Mbele is shown just to the right of center in this photo, dressed in black with a yellow and red shirt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2015)

I FIRST MET JOSEPH L. MBELE in 2015 at the International Festival Faribault. The author, cultural consultant and professor of English at St. Olaf College in Northfield was representing his native Tanzania during this fest celebrating the cultural diversity of my community. Then late last year I talked to Mbele again, when he was selling his latest book, Chickens in the Bus: More Thoughts on Cultural Differences, at a local holiday church bazaar. He is engaging, soft-spoken, knowledgeable and just an overall kind and gentle soul.

Author Joseph L. Mbele with two of his three books, photographed at the 2015 International Festival Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2015)

This Thursday evening, February 15, the writer and expert on cultural differences returns to Faribault for a literary event at Books on Central, a recently-opened used bookstore operated by the Rice County Area United Way. Mbele will share stories, offer cultural insights and lead an interactive discussion. The event begins at 6 pm at the bookshop, 227 Central Avenue North.

This image shows the cultural diversity of Faribault. This photo was taken at a downtown car show in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2015)

That he is appearing at a business along Faribault’s Central Avenue is meaningful in itself. Many Somali residents live in second floor apartments here in the heart of our downtown business district. Other of our newest immigrants have opened restaurants and shops along the avenue and side streets, making for a diverse downtown. But it was their presence here that stirred up complaints and controversy a few years back, and likely still does, although those are not as loudly vocalized as previously.

Mbele’s latest book, published in 2021. (Cover image sourced online)

In Chickens in the Bus, Mbele terms this “the sidewalk issue.” Business owners expressed concerns about Somali men congregating outside, blocking sidewalks, scaring customers away, Mbele writes. His words are not new to me. I’d heard them, too, from business owners and from local residents. People were, they said, afraid to come downtown. I’ve never feared walking along Central Avenue past groups of Somali men. What people don’t understand, they all too often fear.

To Mbele’s credit, he has worked hard to inform, to enlighten, to listen, to help bridge cultural divides. He spoke to Faribault business owners. He spoke to members of the Somali community. He’s also spoken publicly at libraries and elsewhere. I appreciate his efforts.

At the core of “the sidewalk issue” are cultural differences, according to this native Tanzanian who specializes in teaching folklore at Northfield’s St. Olaf College. Somalians come from an oral culture, one that relies on social gatherings to share news, Mbele writes. “…Somali gatherings in downtown Faribault are the Somali newsstands,” he told local business owners and includes in his book. That’s so down-to-earth understandable.

Mbele’s slim volume, Chickens in the Bus, which I purchased at the November 2023 holiday market, is an excellent primer for anyone desiring to learn more about cultural differences. This author and cultural consultant highlights how those differences can both challenge communities, but also present opportunities in an ever-increasingly connected world that is decidedly global. He writes in a way that is peaceful and soothing and seeks to create harmony.

A rooster, photographed at a rural Faribault farm and used here for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2018)

I learned a lot about “African Time” and “American Time,” about native-born Africans who do not view themselves as black or as “people of colour” (vs African Americans who do), about chickens in the bus, and much more. In Africa, Mbele writes, someone may carry a chicken onto a bus, a gift from a rural villager.

His newest book, a sequel to Africans and Americans: Embracing Cultural Differences, proved an easy and informative read, one that enlightened me about my newest neighbors. They enrich Faribault with their culture, bringing their food, language, dress, customs and more. I will never travel to Africa. So I am the richer for the Africans who now call southern Minnesota home, who bring their culture into my community, to me.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling