SUN GLARED OFF shiny chrome and gleaming hoods, surfaces waxed to prideful perfection for the monthly Classic Cruise In at Dawn’s Corner Bar in Dundas. The event was a first for me on a Sunday afternoon when I could have attended several other area car shows. But Randy and I chose Dundas.
By car show standards, this proved a small event, compacted into a paved parking lot across the street from the bar along Railway Street North.
While we meandered among the vehicles, which included cars, trucks and a few motorcycles, The Chad Johnson Trio played on the deck behind the bar. I remember only “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” the other songs becoming background music as I tuned into the car show.
But outside and in (I peeked inside), people packed the place, enjoying the music, $2.50 domestic tap beer and $10 cheeseburger baskets. Greg, who drove his 1956 black-and-white Chrysler to the show with a Sears bike strapped to the rear, vouched for the sizable, tasty burgers. I should have thought ahead. But Randy grilled burgers the previous evening and I was neither hungry nor thirsty.
I settled for appreciating and photographing vehicles driven to Dundas for a show-and-tell of sorts on a Sunday afternoon heating up to be a hot and humid week in southern Minnesota.
Conversations flowed as classic vehicle enthusiasts discussed whatever you talk about when you’re really into cars. Randy, who worked as an automotive machinist in next door Northfield for nearly 40 years, talked to former customers. That included a guy who brought an old truck Randy worked on. I hear those stories all the time from grateful customers. Randy was, and is, really good at what he does and knows a whole lot about everything automotive.
I’m more interested in the quirky, the artsy, the unusual. A Big Bird dangling from a Big Bird-hued Firebird brought to mind my second daughter who, as a child, carried her much-beloved yellow Sesame Street stuffie everywhere.
A vintage Honda motorcycle reminded me of my oldest brother revving up his bike, roaring across the farmyard, tires spitting gravel.
I expect nearly everyone attending the show could share a story, for classic vehicles are the stuff of memories.
Grandpa’s car. Siblings piling into a boat of a family car for a road trip. First car. Learning to drive a stick shift. Saturday night at a drive-in movie. A stop at the root beer stand. Racing down a back county road. Young love in a car parked at a dead end. Lights out under an inky dark sky. So many memories and stories.
As I walked among the many classic vehicles, I could only imagine the stories, told and untold. I wonder sometimes if that isn’t the real reason why people own these vehicles. It’s a way of holding onto the past, of connecting with previous generations, of reliving yesteryear, when life was, in many ways, less complicated.
Some may consider their vehicles an investment. And maybe they are. An investment in life as it once existed in quieter, gentler times.
By the end of my walk about the classic vehicles, I’d taken some 80 photos and engaged in several conversations. But mostly, I observed. The setting. The people. The vehicles. The art. After all that, and as the pavement was heating up I needed to cool off in air conditioning. I also needed a drink of icy cold water, although a beer may have hit the spot, too.
FYI: Dawn’s Corner Bar in Dundas hosts a Classic Car Cruise In from 11 a.m.-4 p.m. the last Sunday of the month June-September.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Barns, an enduring symbol of farming June 25, 2026
Tags: agricultural symbol, agriculture, barns, childhood memories, commentary, cosmos, farm sites, farming, Hutchinson, Mantorville, Minnesota, photography, road trip, rural life, rural Minnesota, southern Minnesota, travel
IF A SINGLE BUILDING symbolizes agriculture in Minnesota, it is a barn.
Barns hold the history of farming within their walls. They hold the stories of farm families who labored therein. They hold memories—the heat of cattle, the lingering scent of manure, the pulse of milking machines, the scurrying of barn cats and much more.
Barns also hold heartaches and challenges and the satisfaction and rewards that come with farming.
To step inside a barn, or even to observe one from a distance as I did on recent trips out and about in rural Minnesota, is to understand the importance agriculture plays in this state.
Sure, farming has changed. Many barns no longer house animals, once a farm staple, as ag has shifted to crop farming. But at its core, this profession, this way of life, still centers rural parts of Minnesota, keeps small towns going. I saw that, from Mantorville to Faribault and from Faribault to Morris and back home.
Barns dominate farm sites just like grain elevators landmark many small rural communities.
While I see too many dilapidated barns fallen into heaps of rotting wood, I also see those that are well-cared for, still standing strong against the ravages of time and weather. I know that comes at a cost to the landowner. Keeping a barn properly roofed and painted is a major expense. I appreciate efforts to preserve barns built by generations past.
My ancestry traces to farming, to German immigrants who arrived in America, eventually making their way to southwestern Minnesota. There they found rich dark soil in which to plant seeds. Land upon which to build farmhouses, barns and other buildings necessary to the operation of a farm.
I am rooted in farming. I worked inside the barn my father built. I shoveled manure, scooped silage, pushed a wheelbarrow heaping with ground feed, carried pails brimming with milk, bedded straw, tossed hay bales from the hayloft, fed calves… I worked the land, too, picking rock and pulling cockleburrs. I carried lunch to my dad and uncles on hot summer days of baling hay.
There is nothing romantic about farming. It is hard work. It is a risky business affected by weather, markets, prices, too many factors out of a farmer’s control.
Yet, I will unequivocally state that I am incredibly thankful I grew up on a working farm. The lessons learned there about working together, about forging forward despite setbacks, about standing independent and strong are ingrained in me.
My dad laughed when I told him I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up. He knew better. There was nothing to keep me on the farm. And so I left, went to college, became a journalist. But even though physically-removed from the farm, I’ve always carried my ruralness within me, reflected in my writing and photography.
I find myself still drawn to rural scenes. A farm site. A grain elevator. A gravel road. Cattle grazing. Farm machinery, especially tractors, traversing fields. These all define agriculture. But it is the barn which symbolizes farming and the enduring strength and hope of a farmer.
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NOTE: I took these photos from the front passenger seat, either through the windshield or side window while traveling at highway speeds. Locations of several photos are not noted as I don’t recall the exact locations.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling