POETRY. Say that singular word and most people likely stop listening. But listening is precisely what you should do when you hear “poetry.”
An original poem and photo by Mar Valdecantos, director of Rice County Neighbors United. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)
Poems are meant to be read aloud, to be heard. I didn’t always understand that. But when I started attending and participating in poetry readings many years ago, I realized that poems, like music, need to be vocalized to fully experience them.
Rolled up poems were boxed (not bagged) and placed at local businesses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)
Thursday evening, May 23, I will be among poets and poetry lovers participating in a community poetry reading at Mercado Local, 108 Fifth St. E., Northfield, to celebrate “Poetry in a Bag!” Through this project of Rice County Neighbors United, original and favorite poems were collected, printed, then distributed to area businesses during National Poetry Month in April and into May. Customers were welcome to take a rolled up poem printed in both English and Spanish.
Mercado Local, located just off Division Street in Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
So this bilingual project is as much cultural as culture. That’s part of the mission of RCNU—to connect cultures, to increase visibility of immigrants and refugees in the community, to empower them. Mercado Local serves as a home base for the advocacy organization with its store, art center and community room.
A sampling of the merchandise inside the Mercado Local store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)
The store will be open during Thursday’s 6:30-7:30 pm gathering in the community space. I’ll be there reading the six original, previously-published poems I submitted for “Poetry in a Bag!” Likewise Northfield poets will read their poems. It’s certain to be a connective experience.
For sale in the store at Mercado Local. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)
The free public event also features Hispanic foods and desserts, a sure way to bring people together. Already “Poetry in a Bag!” has done that personally, connecting me with Northfield poets previously unknown to me. I expect to make more new friends on Thursday when I read poetry, listen to poetry, sample Hispanic foods and immerse myself in a culture different than mine.
Plenty of offerings inside the Mercado Local store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)
Two cultures connecting via words and food. Now that’s poetry to my ears, food for my soul.
Vendors ringed the Rice County Historical Society museum during a recent flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
THEY’RE RATHER LIKE a treasure hunt. Flea markets and garage sales. And even though I don’t really need anymore “stuff” at this point in my life, I still enjoy perusing the goods at these local markets. Occasionally I find something—recently an over-sized world map for the grandson, two holiday cookie cutters and faith-themed art.
Flea markets often yield a bounty of belt buckles. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Second-hand sales seem to be growing in popularity, perhaps because of the challenging economy and/or because of a renewed focus on reusing, recycling, repurposing and upcycling. As one vendor at the May 18 Rice County Historical Society Spring Flea Market told me, “I’m just trying to keep stuff out of the landfill.” That’s my kind of thinking.
Original and replica signs are another popular flea market offering. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Shop an event like the RCHS Flea Market, and you’ll find an array of merchandise hearkening from yesteryear, but also more current. A couple picked up a vintage side table for $5 with plans to repaint the sturdy wooden piece. Another found three new air filters for his van for $3. A woman snapped up a decorative wicker baby buggy. A guy grabbed a weed trimmer to replace his malfunctioning one.
Artisans also vended, selling their handcrafted creations like these wooden American flags. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Whatever shoppers were seeking on the grounds of the local historical society, they may have found it among the 65 vendors who sold not only second-hand, but also handcrafted creations. An eclectic mix of merchandise certainly defined the offerings.
Lawn tractors crafted by Duane Duffney from vintage sewing machines and other recycled parts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Duane Duffney of Montgomery earned my star this year for the most unusual merch. I challenge myself to find oddities. And his handcrafted mini lawn tractors, made from vintage sewing machines and assorted used parts, caught my eyes. Massey Harris, John Deere, Oliver, Allis Chalmers, Ford, Farmall—pick your brand from Duffney’s tractor collection. He’s also started building mini decorative motorcycles.
Prepared to purchase or purchased. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
As I wandered among the flea market tables, I noticed some serious shoppers. A woman pulling a red wagon, either purchased or for purchases. A friend pulling a small carry-on suitcase. They came prepared to tote home plenty of goods.
I collect vintage drinking glasses, but passed on these beauties. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
A gas pump sign from back in the day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I have a small collection of vintage cameras, but opted not to buy more. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Me? I looked and photographed. I’m drawn to vintage drinking glasses and signs. A collection of vintage cameras also drew my interest, momentarily tempting me.
A stash of polka albums. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
A display of polka albums caused me to pause. Minnesota style polkas by Gil Steil, including “Mountain Excursions Polka,” a title that seems decidedly non-Minnesotan to me. But at $1 per album, the price was right for polka appreciators.
There were plenty of toys for kids. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I spotted this glow bunny aside a vendor’s trailer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Jars of marbles appear to me like works of art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Toys, home décor, puzzles, clothing, tools, furniture, glassware…so much variety. Flea markets are like an outdoor emporium, a general store. Even a bit like an open air museum and an arts and crafts fair.
Shopping and mingling at the RCHS Flea Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
They’re also about community and connecting. I stopped often to chat with people I haven’t seen in awhile, and some I’ve seen recently. Conversation is good for the spirit and the soul. I value this aspect of flea markets. Conversation flows easily in a setting that feels casual, relaxed, inviting.
This weekend Rice County Steam & Gas Engines hosts its Spring Flea Market and Swap Meet from 8 am – 5 pm Saturday, May 25, and Sunday, May 26, at its showgrounds just south of Dundas along Minnesota State Highway 3. It’s another opportunity to connect with folks while supporting a non-profit focused on the region’s agrarian roots. There’s also a consignment auction at 9 am Saturday and a tractor pull at 9 am Sunday. Admission is free as are rides on a miniature train.
An historic church and schoolhouse provide a backdrop for vendors at the RCHS Flea Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I love this time of year when Minnesotans are emerging from their homes, when organizations are hosting community events, when people are coming together in the greening outdoors. It’s a fine time for a treasure hunt, whether the treasure is in merchandise or in conversation.
LOONS, LEATHER, LITERARY ART…, oh, the work of creatives who set up shop Saturday at Faribault’s annual Straight River Art Festival. It’s an event that always impresses upon me the incredible talent of those who create with their minds, their hands, even their voices.
A hand-tooled sunflower mandala circle crossbody purse crafted by Susan McCabe of Lake Agassiz Leathers LLC. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Mankato author Jason Lee Willis brought a selection of his Minnesota-themed historical fiction books. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Los Tequileros played a mix of music during the art festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
One photographed loons. Another crafted goods from leather. And an author represented the literary arts in his books of historical fiction. Several bands played, bringing in the performing arts.
Vendor tents ringed and filled the park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
This fest, held in Heritage Park against a scenic backdrop of trees and limestone bluffs aside the Straight River near downtown, is a lovely setting for meandering among vendor tents, viewing art, chatting with artists and enjoying the Minnesota outdoors.
Bea Duncan Memorial Fountain centers Heritage Park, site of the art festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
A fountain sculpture depicting town founder Alexander Faribault trading with a Dakota man centers the park, adding an historic, artsy element.
An acrylic painting by Peggy Paulson of Prairie Creek Art, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Original textile design art done with a serti-batiktechnique by Suz Klumb of Brigg Evans Design. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Like most arts festivals, this one featured a variety of art, this year from 30-plus creatives. I saw pottery, fabric and textile, batik, acrylic paintings, photography, stained glass, jewelry, fiber soft sculptures, handcrafted glass botanicals and more. Much more.
Vivid colors. Textures. Earthen hues. Stitching and sculpting. And shaping. An assortment of art appealing to assorted interests. It was all there.
Mural painting at the Straight River Art Festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
There were activities for kids also, which I always appreciate since it’s important to engage families. The Paradise Center for the Arts offered hands-on art. Books on Central, a used bookshop in downtown Faribault run by Rice County Area United Way, handed out free picture books to little ones. And on a section of blocked off street, visual artist Stephen McKenzie laid out a mural for the community to paint. It’s on display now inside the Bachrach building along Central Avenue.
The center of the mural. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
The mural is bold and vibrant, engaging and beautiful, reflecting nature. It reflects, too, a sense of togetherness, that we are all one on this earth, under one sun, all colors of the rainbow, surrounded by beauty.
Kids and adults work side-by-side to paint the community mural. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Watching adults and youth working side by side, painting bold hues onto the mural design, I felt joy. Individuals worked as a cohesive team to create art. There’s something to be said for that in this time of much divisiveness.
Paint inside a trailer used in painting the mural. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Art brought folks together on Saturday to show and sell their art. But, more than that, the Straight River Art Festival builds community, energizes and connects creatives. There’s a certain vibe to an event like this that feels good, really good. But then again, I love art. And I deeply appreciate those who share it with us.
An abandoned farmhouse near my hometown of Vesta. The house no longer stands, but represents to me the financial hardships of growing up in southwestern Minnesota during the 1960s and 1970s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THE RESIDUALS OF GROWING UP in poverty remain today in my life. I am careful with my money. I don’t spend much beyond paying bills and for necessities. I seldom buy anything new for myself. Dining out, which I rarely do, always leaves me feeling guilty, thinking about how many groceries I could have bought with that money (although not that many anymore).
This is a thinking pattern ingrained in me by a mother who was a child of the Great Depression. I suspect she picked up on thriftiness from her mother. My mom stretched and budgeted and managed to raise six children on a Minnesota farm with income generated from crops and dairy cows and with food from the land. We wore mostly hand-me-downs and clothing stitched from feed sacks. There were no birthday gifts from our parents, no family meals out, no a whole lot of everything. But we had love. Lots of it.
I share this because it explains why I am the way I am. Content with what I have. And appreciative of second-hand. I don’t need new. Currently, recycling, upcycling, repurposing, keeping stuff out of landfills is trendy. I’ve never been labeled as trendy. But apparently I am now.
That brings me to a number of events this weekend in my area which fit my budget and environmentally-friendly way of living: book sales, plant sales and flea market/garage sales.
You can still find Little Golden books in stores today, like these at JT Varieties & Toys in Plainview. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2022)
First up, books. I love to read, always have. Mom read Little Golden Book storybooks to me. And she let me select a book from school book orders. That’s how important reading was to her. Without a library in my hometown, this gave me access to books.
Some of the books I’ve purchased at past book sales. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Today I live blocks from a public library and bring home stacks of books. I’ve also carried bags of books home from used book sales. This weekend Faribault’s American Association of University Women hosts its annual used book sale, its final one after 54 years. Hours are 10 am-7 pm Friday and Saturday and from noon – 5 pm Sunday.
Puzzles borrowed and bought new and used. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In neighboring Waterville, Friends of the Library are hosting a used book sale from 8 am – 4 pm Saturday in Langerud’s Garage, 503 Marian Street. There’s no set charge for books, just a freewill offering. Oh, and they’re also selling puzzles, sure to be popular with puzzle enthusiasts.
And for those who love garage sales, like me, Waterville is also hosting city-wide garage sales on Saturday. There are garage sales, too, at Christ Lutheran Church in Faribault (Friday and Saturday) and at Nerstrand United Methodist Church (Saturday). Just check the classifieds in your local paper and you’re sure to find garage sales in your community.
A scene from a 2022 RCHS Flea Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)
One other fun event is the Spring Flea Market from 8 am – 2 pm Saturday at the Rice County Historical Society in Faribault. I always enjoy poking through the merchandise and talking with people I haven’t seen in awhile.
Plants for sale at the Owatonna Farmers’ Market in 2014. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Finally, gardeners looking for plants and free advice can get both at two separate plant sales on Saturday in Faribault. GROWS Garden Club is selling plants from 8 am – noon on the southeast corneer of Central Park. And from 9 am – 2 pm, Rice County Master Gardeners are selling plants in the 4-H building at the Rice County Fairgrounds.
A scene at a previous Car Cruise Night in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)
Two more things: Friday evening is Car Cruise Night from 6 pm – 9 pm along Central Avenue in historic downtown Faribault. It’s free as is entrance to the Straight River Art Festival from 9 am – 6 pm Saturday at Heritage Park in Faribault. The event features art, music and food.
Norwegian treats at a past Trondhjem celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
And then two more things: Historic Trondhjem Church, rural Lonsdale, is hosting a Syttende Mai Celebration beginning at 1 pm Sunday. The event features music and stories by Steven K. Anderson of the Brainerd Lakes area, Norwegian songs sing-a-long and a reception with Norwegian goodies afterwards. Over in Owatonna at the Village of Yesteryear and Steele County History Center, the Sons of Norway will also celebrate Syttende Mail from 1 pm – 4pm with music, crafts, a medallion hunt and more.
So much to do…at no or minimal cost. My mom and grandma would have appreciated all of these budget-conscious opportunities. Just as I do.
My new glasses with added prisms have rather thick lenses (especially the left one) near the nosepiece. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted and edited photo May 2024)
“DO NOT WEAR your glasses when you leave here,” she warned. I listened. I didn’t want Heidi picking me up off the pavement outside the eye clinic.
“Be careful going up and down steps tomorrow,” Randy warned Tuesday evening. I listened.
A MAJOR CHANGE
Just hours into my first day of wearing new prism-heavy prescription eyeglasses on Wednesday, I understand why my optician and my husband issued those warnings. These new glasses, which are supposed to help me deal with double vision via prisms, are a big change. Make that a major change.
Time will tell whether I can handle the “5 base in” horizontal prisms ground into each lens. That’s ten total, which Heidi says is a lot. I don’t pretend to understand all of these numbers. But the neuro ophthalmologist who did recent surgery to realign my eyes said I really needed fourteen. He didn’t think I could tolerate that amount.
So here I am today, trying a new prescription with more prisms in hopes it will help me achieve “comfortable binocular vision” and avoid a third surgery on my eyes.
AN OVAL DINNER PLATE
As I type, I am looking at a computer screen that appears slanted, curved. My world is distorted. I’d been warned, but didn’t think the distortion would be quite this bad. A dinner plate, when tilted, appears oval rather than round. And when I pulled a key lime pie from the oven, I nearly dropped it. I saw a pie that was sliding; it wasn’t. I feel almost like I’m up high looking down on the world. It’s weird and odd and disconcerting.
But I’m trying. I intellectually understand that my eyes and brain are adjusting. I must give it time. Two weeks minimum, my surgeon said.
My optician, Heidi, who has supported me from pre-surgery through today, advised me to keep wearing my new glasses, as tempted as I am to pull out my old ones with fewer prisms. I stashed them in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. Well, maybe not out of mind.
HOLDING HOPE
I’ll check in with Heidi today. She asked me to do that, going above and beyond because she gets it. She also deals with double vision and prism eyeglasses. Her positive attitude and encouragement have helped me tremendously. The word “hope” runs strong in our conversations.
And that is my focus, along with being really really careful on steps and elsewhere as my eyes and brain adjust to these new lenses through which I view a currently distorted world.
My husband, Randy, and I exit St. John’s Lutheran Church in Vesta following our May 15, 1982, wedding. (Photo credit: Williams Studio, Redwood Falls)
FOUR DECADES plus two years. Or 42 years. No matter how you view it, that’s a lot of time. Today marks 42 years since Randy and I were married at St. John’s Lutheran Church in my hometown of Vesta.
A favorite photo of Randy holding our then 10-day-old granddaughter, Isabelle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo April 2016)
As anyone our age will tell you, time passes too quickly. Here we are today, comfortably settled into our life together. Kids long grown and gone. In semi-retirement. Grandparents of two. Understanding that this life we’ve built has been one of much joy, but also one of challenges. Nothing unusual about that. Such is life.
Through the all of it, we’ve supported one another. Leaned into each other. Been there. Done exactly as we promised we would, in sickness and in health.
Randy stands next to an Allis Chalmers corn chopper like the one that claimed his dad’s left hand and much of his arm in a 1967 accident. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Randy is the kind of guy who quietly steps up and helps, does the right thing. Back in 1967, long before I ever knew him and in a part of Minnesota unfamiliar to me, Randy saved a life. His father’s. They were working together, harvesting on the family farm, when the corn chopper plugged with corn. Tom hopped off the tractor to hand-feed corn into the chopper. As he did so, his hand was pulled into the spring-loaded roller. The chopper blades sliced off his fingers while his arm remained trapped in the roller. As his father screamed, Randy disengaged the power take-off. He then ran across swampland and along the cow pasture to a neighboring farm for help. If not for that heroic action by a boy who had just turned eleven, my future father-in-law would have died.
This is my husband. Calm. Steady. Dependable. A son who saved his father’s life. He was never publicly recognized for his actions. (I think he should be, even now nearly 57 years after the fact.) Life went on for the Helbling family, Dad now minus a hand and part of an arm. It was not easy.
This is a photo snapped with a cellphone of the X-ray showing the implant in my wrist, held in place by 10 screws. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)
Randy has maintained that steady evenness throughout our marriage, a quality I appreciated when our younger daughter underwent surgery at age four, when our son was struck by a car, when I was in the worst throes of long haul COVID, unable to function. He’s always been there for our family, for me. When I broke my wrist six years ago, Randy stuck his hand out the van window to slap an imaginary emergency light atop the roof as I pleaded with him to drive faster to the emergency room. Yes, Randy possesses a sense of humor that balances my lack of a funny bone.
Admittedly, I don’t always understand his humor. But Randy still tries to make me laugh. Occasionally he cuts a cartoon from the local paper (I don’t read the funnies) and sticks it on the fridge. His latest came from “The Family Circus” with this line: Poems are like rap without music. When I finally noticed the clipping two days later, I texted him that Poems are NOT like rap. He knows I don’t like rap music.
Audrey and Randy, May 15, 1982. (Photo credit: Williams Studio. Redwood Falls)
Maybe he doesn’t like poems. But if he doesn’t, Randy hasn’t told me, his poetry writing wife. I bet if you had asked Randy 42 years ago whether he would ever attend a poetry reading, he would have vehemently replied, “No!” But he has. Many of them through the years, at which I’ve read my poems.
Randy is my greatest supporter in my writing career. He understands that the writing and photography I’ve done, and still do, are my life’s chosen work, not simply a hobby (as some others view it). I appreciate his appreciation of my creativity.
I appreciate his talents and skills also. Randy, supposedly retired from automotive machining (but not really), earns the praises of many a customer. They want “only Randy” to do their work. He is exceptional in his trade and truly irreplaceable.
Randy grilling. He grills year-round. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Randy has other skills I’ve come to value through the decades. He is an excellent griller, still grilling everything the old school way on a Weber charcoal grill. He’s also mastered making grilled cheese and tomato soup for Saturday lunch and omelets for Sunday brunch.
Randy can fool any cardinal with his realistic bird call. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
And he’s really good at cardinal calls. The bird, not anything related to his Catholic upbringing. Whether in the backyard or walking in woods, Randy will answer a cardinal’s trill with his own. Yes, he sounds just like a cardinal.
Our life together now includes grandchildren. Here Randy walks with Isabelle and Isaac along a pine-edged driveway at a family member’s central Minnesota lake place. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
We’ve built this life together on love, laughter, respect, support, encouragement, faith and so much more. Forty-two years. Four decades plus two years. Days, weeks, months, years…of blessings in good times and in bad. There for one another. Always.
Looking up toward flowering branches and the bold blue sky of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
SPRING IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA looks a lot like colors in a new box of crayons. Sharp. Bold. Vibrant. Vivid green grass. Bold blue sky. Hot pink tree blossoms. Spring flowers bursting bright reds and yellows. These are the hues of spring.
Color everywhere… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
The landscape is a page upon which nature colors over gray. The world explodes in color, a welcome visual delight to winter weary eyes.
Growing goslings explore the river bank. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I can’t get enough of this, even after more than sixty years of observing the seasonal transformation during April into May. It never gets old—this morphing of the seasons. How beautiful this world around us, teeming with new growth, new life.
Goose and goslings aside ducks along river’s edge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Every spring I await the goslings and ducklings. They are pure fluffy cuteness. I admire from afar, keenly aware of their protective parents. I dodge goose poop, not always successfully, to get within viewing range. But I respect their space.
Beautiful scene: a mallard drake swimming on the river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I find myself mesmerized by waterfowl as they forage for food along the shoreline or glide through the river, water rippling a trail. Reflections trace tranquility upon the water’s surface. All is quiet and good in that peaceful scene.
A squirrel, nearly camouflaged by a tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
But not all is still. On land, squirrels scamper up trees, root in the ground. I never tire of their antics, amazed by their acrobatic skills, their Olympian abilities to leap with precision, climb with speed. They are really quite amazing even if sometimes a nuisance when digging up lawns and in flower pots.
A squirrel peeks over a limb on a leafing tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
There’s so much to appreciate in this season not only visually, but in sound, too. Chirping birds, especially raucous this time of year. Trill of peepers in ponds and wetlands. Rustle of a rabbit across dried leaves. Call of a rooster pheasant in flight. Whisper of the wind through leafing treetops.
And then the scent, oh, the distinct, earthy smell of spring. Soil. Rain. Flowers. I dip my nose into apple blossoms, their fragrance a reminder of apples to come, of apple crisp pulled from the oven, of pies baked in Grandma’s kitchen.
Lilacs are budding and flowering. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
But it is lilacs which, for me, hold the strongest scent of spring. Perhaps because of the memories connected to this flowering bush. I remember bouquets of lilacs filling my childhood farmhouse, their heavy perfume masking the odor of cow manure. The lilacs came from my bachelor uncle’s nearby farm. Mike would bring bouquets to his sister-in-law. Or my mom would drive the washboard gravel roads to pick her own. Today, my husband brings me bouquets of lilacs each May, understanding the memories and love these blossoms represent.
Bleeding hearts, one of the first flowers of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
This is spring in Minnesota to me. All of it. Bold. Beautiful. Bright. Me, feeling like a kid giddy with joy over a box of new crayons.
The only photo I have of my mom holding me. My dad is holding my brother Doug. (Minnesota Prairie Roots)
MOTHER’S DAY. It’s a day that can feel both sad and joyful. Sad if your mom is no longer living. Mine isn’t. Joyful if you have children, no matter their age.
It is a Sunday of gathering, of remembering, of honoring, of celebrating motherhood. Perhaps with a meal together. Perhaps with flowers delivered or received. Whatever, however, the focus should be one of love and gratitude.
I feel grateful for my lovely mom, who taught me kindness, compassion and care. Sure, she had her moments. Who wouldn’t with six kids spanning 12 years? We tested her patience more than once. But that didn’t diminish her love for us. Her own mother died at age 48, when I was only two months old, and I cannot imagine how difficult that was for my mom and her three younger siblings. So treasure your mom. Time together is precious.
The card I made for my mom as a child. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo)
So are words shared. As a writer, I value greeting cards as a way of expressing love and other emotions. My mom did, too. She saved cards, including a simple card I created for her in elementary school for Mother’s Day. I cut a flower photo from a seed catalog and pasted it to the front of a folded piece of paper, then printed I love you Mother. Audrey inside. The editor in me wants to add a comma and change the formal Mother to Mom. But I doubt Mom much cared. She was just happy to get a handcrafted card from her eldest daughter.
Likewise, I love getting greeting cards from my now-grown children. One arrived in the mail today from my second daughter, who lives 260 miles away in Madison, Wisconsin. I last saw her at Christmas. Her job as a letter carrier for the US Postal Service keeps her working 10-12 hours daily, usually six days a week. So seldom does Miranda have adequate time off to travel to Minnesota. I couldn’t help but think, as I opened her Mother’s Day card, that Miranda was likely dropping similar cards into mailboxes along her route.
Mothers always appreciate flowers. These were a gift from my daughter Amber and her family in 2021. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)
She chose a lovely floral design card that is certainly “me.” And then my sweet daughter penned the most loving message. One that left me in tears. Hope you have a nice, relaxing day surrounded by the people you love. We love & miss you. Love, John & Miranda.
A plane leaves Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I will be surrounded by people I love—my eldest daughter, Amber, son-in-law and two grandchildren—on Saturday. But “the people I love” also includes the rest of my family. And in that moment tears fell at the missing of Miranda and her brother, Caleb, both of whom I haven’t seen in more than four months. Caleb lives in Boston.
This photo of me with my mom was taken two years before her death. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020 by Randy Helbling)
To be a mom is to understand that separation is inevitable. Our kids grow up, move away, sometimes farther than we’d like. Things keep us apart. Death also separates. Daughters and sons have lost mothers. Mothers have lost children. But in the end, love remains. As does gratitude. I am grateful for my mom. Grateful for my three children. I am grateful to be a mother.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! You are loved. And appreciated.
I laid this memorial service folder for my friend Barb upon one of my vintage tablecloths. (Minnesota Prairie Roots May 2024)
WE STOOD SIDE-BY-SIDE, arms stretched around one another, watching as our husbands carried the gray casket and slid it into the waiting hearse. Six friends grieving the death of a seventh.
The day before her 73rd birthday, my friend Barb died from cancer. And here I was a week later, standing outside Trinity Lutheran Church, linked to the women beside me in grief and in love.
My emotions ran high on this beautiful May morning of sunshine and greening spring, of new life rising from the earth on the Monday Barb was laid to rest beneath the earth. I understood she was at peace, in her heavenly home, and that consoled me as tears fell.
Family and friends of Barb were gifted with these nail crosses after her funeral. The cross reinforced the sermon, titled “Nailed It.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Her service was signature Barb, one she planned. One that proclaimed her strong faith in words and in music. Oh, so much music, because Barb loved music. Our friend Steve sang “Who Am I?” Friend Char slid her bow across her violin, accompanying children as they sang “Jesus Loves Me” and later as mourners sang one of my favorite contemporary Christian songs, “10,000 Reasons.” Galen played “Beautiful Savior” on his harmonica, another favorite of mine and of my dear friend Barb. There was more music, so much that Barb wanted, some of which had to be trimmed lest the service got overly long.
Sitting in the front pew, just steps from Barb’s casket, I immersed myself in the service. I laughed when her brother-in-law Dave, the presiding pastor, shared that Barb instructed him to “shake them up” with his sermon. He did. When he spoke of hell and then abruptly stopped and sat down, I wondered if he was so overcome with emotion that he needed to pause. Not so. It was that “shake them up” moment Barb requested. He returned to the pulpit to finish his sermon with loving words of grace.
Our bible study group gifted this garden stone and pansy bowl in Barb’s favorite purple to her family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Barb loved her Lord, her family, her friends, old-time TV shows (particularly “Andy Griffith” and “The Beverly Hillbillies”) and the color purple. There was purple everywhere—flowers, ties, dress shirts, table coverings. Purple overflowed alongside love. Love in so many hugs. Love in words spoken by Barb’s eldest son. Love from God. Love surrounding us.
During the final weeks of her life, Barb continued to love on all of us, even as she lay bed-ridden. I would drop off a meal for her family, hoping to uplift my friend. And she uplifted me. She, who was dying. She never let me leave without kissing my cheek. I hold that precious memory now, the warmth of her lips pressed against my skin. To have that time with her to say goodbye eased me into her death. This time was a gift, as Barb’s husband, my friend Mike, reminded me, reminded all of us.
A loving message from Barb, printed in her memorial folder.
Barb gave so much, even in choosing the men who would carry her casket—Randy, John, Steve, Noel, Mark and Jeff. All of us friends, together in a long-time Bible study group. Twenty years of reading and studying God’s Word, of praying for one another, of growing in our faith and friendship. We have been through a lot together. Uplifted one another.
And here we were on this lovely spring morning, walking into church together behind the casket, behind the cross. Filling two pews at the front of the church. Listening and singing and crying and laughing. And then later filing out, waiting silently in the narthex, then outside. Reverently.
As the six guys moved toward the casket, we wives gathered on the side and I instinctively motioned for Debbie, Jackie, Mari, Mandy and Sonja to come closer. I needed to feel their closeness, the strength that comes from love and friendship in shared grief. It was a powerful and emotional moment standing together in a row, arms wrapped around one another. I felt Barb’s love embracing us. I heard her words, too: I thank Him for each of you. Our family and friends, I love you!
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NOTE: I will miss my friend Barb and other loved ones I’ve lost in 2024: Uncle Robin; my brother-in-law Dale; and Aunt Jeanette. This has been a season of grief.
A pinata sways from a tree against the backdrop of the Central Park Bandshell. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
WHENEVER I ATTEND a culturally-focused community event, like the recent Cinco de Mayo celebration in Faribault, I feel joy. Joy because I’m learning, meeting my neighbors, growing my appreciation for the cultural diversity which defines Faribault and neighboring communities.
Nasra Noor, an author and teacher from Minneapolis, participated in a recent event at the Paradise Center for the Arts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
The week prior, I attended an event celebrating our Somali population. There, too, I engaged with my new neighbors and learned more about them. I’ve always found gatherings that involve food and music to be a good way to connect. Both are universal, even if different.
While I arrived too late for the dancers, I heard Latino music at Faribault’s Cinco de Mayo celebration in Central Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Even when I don’t understand lyrics, I understand the rhythm of music.
Somali food was served at a past International Festival Faribault, where this sign was photographed, and at a recent event. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Even when I haven’t tasted an ethnic food, I’m willing to try. And let me tell you, Somali tea tastes of ginger and cinnamon and other spices that appeal both to my sense of taste and of smell. Likewise, sambusa, which I was introduced to many years back, are delicious. I love the savory, spicy flavor of these meat-filled triangular pastries.
Among the Latino food vendors in the park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Latino food is a bit more familiar. But, because I don’t speak or read Spanish, I struggle with choices. I asked for help interpreting and translating, choosing a dish that featured shrimp. I love shrimp. Still, I didn’t realize I had just ordered soup laced with shrimp and corn. It was not my favorite. But, hey, at least I tried something new.
Sign on a food truck. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
That’s the thing. We have to be willing to step outside our familiar foods, music, language and more. Then, and only then, do we begin to feel connected in our community. We are no longer “them” and “us.” Rather, we are all one, living together in this place. It takes effort. It takes a willingness to stretch ourselves, to strike up conversations, to appreciate both differences and similarities.
Together in the bounce house at Cinco de Mayo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
It is the kids who give me the most hope. Kids are kids. When I see kids running, playing, dancing, singing, I see any kid. Not white, black, brown… Simply a kid.
Gathering around the pinata. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Taking aim at the pinata while others await their turn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Scrambling for candy after a pinata breaks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Watching a cluster of kids gathered on Cinco de Mayo to strike a pinata, I saw smiles, focus, determination, joy. They each had a singular goal: to get to the candy. They worked together. One kid took a swing, then another and another and another until it was time to pass the stick to the next kid. It took teamwork—a community of kids—to achieve the end goal. And when they scrambled for the falling candy, it was happy chaos. They’d done it. Together.
Children are our future, including this sweet little one photographed at the Cinco de Mayo celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
We adults can learn a lot from the little ones. We are all in this world together. We live. We love. We struggle. We celebrate. We have hopes and dreams. More connects, than divides, us. That is what we need to remember no matter our backgrounds, our language, our food, our music…
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