THROUGH SEVEN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA counties we traveled—Rice, Steele, Waseca, Blue Earth, Nicollet, Brown and, then, home to Redwood. Westward bound.
Only occasionally now, mostly for the annual family reunion and on this day a beloved aunt’s funeral, do Randy and I follow this 125-mile route back to my native Redwood County.
Every trip, I see the immensity of sky and land as the landscape unfolds before me. The farther west we drive, the more rural the look, the feel, with the exception of Mankato and New Ulm.
We bypass the small towns along four-lane U.S. Highway 14 while passing endless farm sites and fields.
I have my eye on the view from the passenger side of our van, scanning the land, watching for photo ops. Photography can be a challenge while traveling at highway speeds. Still, I try, managing to capture images that document the ruralness of this place.
Barns, especially red ones, always grab my attention. They symbolize agriculture more than any other building. Yet, most no longer center a farming operation. Absent of animals, many barns have been repurposed or have fallen into heaps of rotting wood. I always appreciate a well-kept barn still standing strong against elements and the passage of time.
This trip I’m also cognizant of crops at the beginning of the growing season. Corn is popping up in rows across the land, green shoots reaching toward the sun, the sky. Green is good. When my next trip this direction comes in late July, that corn will stand towering and dense across acres of fields.
I may not be a farmer, but my connection to the land more than 50 decades removed from my childhood farm remains strong. I still look at the crops. I still hope to spot a herd of Holsteins. I still see a silo and mentally climb the interior ladder to throw down silage. I still eye a grove of trees with the playfulness of youth.
While nostalgia runs high on trips like this deep into Minnesota farm country, reality is that farming remains as challenging as ever with ever-rising expenses, low commodity prices and the uncertainties of weather. Will rain fall when needed? Will storms come with devastating wind and hail? Always, always, the risks exist from planting to growing to harvest.
But on this day, mile after mile after mile, I see the hope of a farmer. I see a way of life. I see dreams.
And I feel small in this place where land and sky dwarf farm sites, where fields stretch across endless acres, where the highway ribbons ahead of us across seven rural southern Minnesota counties, westward bound.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
I am so sorry for your loss. I know the trip “home” evoked many memories.
Thank you, Beth Ann. I’ll miss Aunt Marilyn and our calls.
Show me a picture of Vesta. My grandfather owned the Hardware store, then my uncle and my aunt owned the restaurant for a while.
Richard F. Huhn
Richard, I’ll get some pix of Vesta online soon (maybe next week). The downtown looks nothing like it did when I was growing up. Today it’s mostly vacant lots and buildings.
thank you for sharing this journey of beauty and nostalgia with us. i’m so sorry about the loss of your aunt ❤
You’re welcome. And thank you for your condolences.
My eye is drawn to those old utility wire poles. There’s something I love about them. That feeling of being small that you write about – that’s a feeling that many would benefit from feeling every so often to keep from becoming too full of oneself, perhaps; the realization that we are not in complete control, that we are land stewards but, in the end, nature can both feed us and destroy us. Working in tandem with the seasons can be beautiful and humbling. By the way, you’re very good at making great pics while traveling at highway speeds!
I’m always drawn to those poles also, which stretch seemingly into infinity. I appreciate your thoughtful comment.
Thank you for appreciating my pix. On-the-road photography can be challenging with reflections in the window, bug splotches on the window, a bumpy road, etc. I have to watch, anticipate and click the shutter button at just the right moment while trying to frame the photo and keep the camera steady. Sometimes I succeed and sometimes I don’t.
Condolences on the loss of your beloved aunt, Audrey. I could ‘feel’ the nostalgia in your words and images. You have so many beautiful photos of barns. I agree with you, there’s something special about a barn that’s been kept up and still used. Let’s hope the farmers have a good growing season, and that things will go as they should, so they can feed the world.
Thank you for your condolences, Rose. I share your same hope for farmers, your same appreciation for barns.