Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Minnesota Faces: A Minnesota blogger January 9, 2015

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Portrait #2:  Audrey, unfashionably dressed Minnesota blogger

 

Bundled up to ring Salvation Army bells 2013

 

Baby, it’s cold out there.

I’d intended to run a different portrait today. But when weather intervened, I pulled out this selfie, which isn’t really a selfie. My husband, Randy, took this photo of me on December 7, 2013, after ringing bells, outdoors, for the Salvation Army. The temperature hovered around zero degrees Fahrenheit.

I bundled into Randy’s insulated Dickies coveralls, topped those with a heavy fleece-lined sweatshirt, wrapped two scarves around my neck, pulled on a Mrs. Claus hat and snugged into warm mittens and felt-lined snow boots for our two-hour shift. My goals were minimal skin exposure and warmth. Not fashion.

This past week in Minnesota, you would have spotted many folks bundled up, aiming to stay warm. When I shoveled snow on Tuesday and Thursday, I was dressed nearly exactly as you see in this year-old photo.

With temps plunging well below zero, wind creating “feels like” temps in the minus 30s and 40s and blizzard/white-out conditions in portions of our state, practicality and survival trump fashion.

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This portrait is part of a new series, Minnesota Faces, featured every Friday on Minnesota Prairie Roots.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling, photo by Randy Helbling

 

How I deal with some of winter’s challenges here in Minnesota January 8, 2015

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AFTER LIVING IN MINNESOTA my entire life, I’m still learning how to best handle these sometimes brutal winters.

I’m not talking big stuff here. But the little stuff that, on a daily basis, can prove bothersome.

Take skin. Dry winter air and cold tend to dry out skin, causing itchiness. About six weeks ago, I was dealing with a break-out (no, not pimples) on my face and elsewhere caused by, I suspect, stress and the changing climate.

That’s when I experienced an ah-ha moment. Consider switching soap brands and washing my face less often.

Now you would think this easy. But for someone who has used Dial soap her entire life because that’s what she grew up with, this seemed almost traitorous. I know. Sounds silly. But I have fond memories of Aunt Dorothy soaping my feet with a Dial lathered washcloth in Grandpa’s pink tiled bathroom. We had no bathroom at home and bathed in a galvanized tub heaved onto the red-and-white checked kitchen linoleum tile every Saturday night. Bathing in a real bathtub in an authentic bathroom impressed upon my memory.

I pushed aside those gold bar memories and purchased a moisturizing soap. Guess what? It’s helped. Why did it take me decades to figure this out? Brand loyalty blinded me.

Winter necessities: lotion and Chap Stick.

Winter necessities: lotion and ChapStick.

Other moisturizers, like ChapStick and lotion, remain staples in my winter arsenal. I had no problem ditching the gel-like Corn Huskers lotion of my youth. It never worked on youthful hands cracked and bleeding from mixing milk replacer in buckets of steaming hot water and then not drying them properly before venturing to the calf barn.

Staying warm in a Minnesota winter, especially during this recent cold snap, can also be challenging. I live in an old house, which chills down, requiring creative ways to add warmth without cranking up the thermostat.

Warm throws top magazines.

Warm throws top corralled magazines in my living room.

Thick flannel sheets replaced summer-weight cotton in November. Fleece and wool throws fill a box next to the sofa and are tossed onto laps on chilly evenings or during the day when I’m writing in my home office.

Fuzzy slipper socks keep my feet warm.

Fuzzy slipper socks keep my feet warm.

Just this year I determined that slipper socks slipped over regular socks keep my whole body warmer. I do layers. Sweatshirt or sweater over flannel shirt, fashion be damned.

But there’s one problem I haven’t resolved. On frigid mornings like those this week with outdoor temps dipping into single and double digits below zero degrees Fahrenheit, I wake up with a profound headache. My back and neck muscles clamp around bone. Achy. Tight. It feels as if I have clenched my teeth all night and perhaps I have.

A soothing hot shower and two Ibuprofen usually resolve the situation.

But I’d rather prevent the problem. What’s the cause and what’s the solution? Wearing a stocking cap to bed?

Given the shortage of sunshine during our long Minnesota winters, vitamin D was suggested by my doctor. Yes, I'm low on the vitamin, as most Minnesotans likely are.

Given the shortage of sunshine during our long Minnesota winters, vitamin D was suggested by my doctor. Yes, I’m low on the vitamin, as most Minnesotans likely are.

IF YOU LIVE IN A COLD WEATHER state like Minnesota, how do you stay warm during the winter, deal with skin issues and more? I’d like to hear.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The yellow barn January 7, 2015

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INITIALLY, THE HUE caused me consternation. Who paints a barn yellow? Red, or perhaps grey or white, should define agrarian buildings.

Near Nerstrand, Minnesota.

Near Nerstrand, Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

But the more I study this photo, the more the color appeals to me. Creamy pale yellow, the shade of butter, seems fitting for a building which sheltered, maybe still does, cows and perhaps a myriad of other farm animals.

The hue, too, accents the foundation of locally-quarried limestone. There’s something about a stone barn foundation that portrays strength and history and hard work. Just imagine the time and effort invested and muscles used.

Duo silos flank the barn like soldiers in steely grey uniforms, always at the ready.

This scene pleases me. Every barn, no matter its color, deserves to stand, guarded against the assaults of time and weather and so-called progress.

Of that I am certain.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

One woman’s promise to God January 6, 2015

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The Chapel of the Good Shepherd.

The Chapel of the Good Shepherd.

IT STANDS STATELY and tall on the campus of Shattuck-St. Mary’s School in Faribault. The Chapel of the Good Shepherd, or, to be exact, the Eunice Shumway Memorial Chapel of the Good Shepherd.

Inside the historic sanctuary, the pews face the aisle rather than the altar.

Inside the historic sanctuary, the pews face the aisle rather than the altar.

Eunice’s mother, Augusta Shumway, pledged $20,000 to build the chapel. After construction began in June 1871, Augusta lost nearly everything in the Great Chicago Fire of October 1871. Despite her loss, Augusta fulfilled her promise, sending $15,000 in insurance payments to Bishop Henry Whipple. She later donated more monies to the school.

Looking up at the altar and the stunning stained glass windows above it.

Looking up at the altar and the stunning stained glass windows above it.

The bishop quoted his friend Augusta in his book, Lights and Shadows of a Long Episcopate: Being Reminiscences and Recollections of the Right Reverend Henry Benjamin Whipple:

“Bishop, I promised God to build the chapel in memory of my daughter. I owe but one debt, and that is to God. I have collected enough of insurance money to complete the building, and here it is.”

Two behind-the-altar windows up close.

Two behind-the-altar windows up close.

Wrote the bishop: It was a noble instance of woman’s faith.

Whipple summarizes well the intentions of Augusta, who only a dozen years earlier lost her 13-month-old daughter.

The bell tower spire is a Shattuck landmark.

The bell tower spire is a Shattuck landmark.

What faith. What hope. What generosity.

BONUS PHOTOS:

The arched wooden front doors present an impressive entry.

The arched wooden front doors present an impressive entry.

The exterior is tastefully and simply decorated for the holidays.

The exterior is tastefully and simply decorated for the holidays.

Outside the front door. The church is on the National Register of Historic Places.

Outside the front door. The church is on the National Register of Historic Places.

Just inside the doors, a creche.

Just inside the doors, a creche.

A close-up of the Holy Family shows Joseph viewing the Christ Child.

A close-up of the Holy Family shows Joseph viewing the Christ Child.

On a wall inside the entry.

On a wall inside the entry.

Beautiful stained glass above the exterior entry doors.

Beautiful stained glass above the exterior entry doors.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

I am distinctly Minnesotan and proud of it January 5, 2015

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SEVERAL YEARS AGO, before my son-in-law married my daughter, I gifted him with How to Talk Minnesotan by Howard Mohr. It’s a rather humorous, but truthful, volume of Minnesota Speak.

 

The original version of How to Talk Minnesotan was published in the 1980s. This is the version I've read.

The original version of How to Talk Minnesotan was published in the 1980s. This is the version I’ve read.

I thought Marc might need a Minnesota “dictionary” given he grew up in California, where bars are drinking establishments and not also a sweet treat baked in a cake pan.  And, yes, he now lives in Minnesota with his wife, my eldest.

Having ever only traveled as far west as one mile into Wyoming, never down South and to the East Coast only once, during college, I am mostly unfamiliar with regional differences in dialect.

Apparently we Minnesotans draw out our “o”s and possess a distinct accent. No, not like the “sure, ya betcha” voices of Fargo.

The son noted this on his recent arrival home from Boston for holiday break. “Listen to yourselves,” he advised his dad and me.

Apparently friends at Tufts University have ribbed him about his incorrect pronunciations of “bag” and “sorry.”

Before my son transferred to the East Coast college from North Dakota State University in, yes, Fargo, two years ago, I phoned the Tufts financial aid office. The woman who answered had a Boston accent so strong that I could not understand her. I requested that she please slow down. If ever there was an accent…

An updated version published in

An updated version published in 2013 by Penguin Books.

Continuing along his Minnesota differences theme, the son noted also that we use the word “supper” to reference our evening meal. My husband and I explained that this is a carry-over from our rural backgrounds. The noon meal was dinner. Lunch was served at 3 p.m. to the men in the field and a “little lunch” around midnight, when you had company (aka visitors). Supper was served either before or after the evening milking.

After nearly 60 years of identifying meals as breakfast, dinner, lunch, supper and a little lunch, we’re not going to change our dining terminology.

That brings us to after meal clean-up. As the 20-year-old and I were doing dishes after supper (not dinner) recently, he noted that, “You know they don’t wash dishes like this in Boston.”

I paused mid swirl of dishrag upon plate, confused. “What do you mean? That everyone has a dishwasher?”

He shot me that c’mon Mom look youth sometimes reserve for parents, then explained. Rather than filling the sink with water, each item is washed individually with a squirt of soap under running water.

“Makes no sense to me and seems mighty wasteful of water and dish soap,” I chided. “Are you sure that isn’t just a college kid thing rather than a Boston thing?”

He didn’t respond.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A brutally cold Sunday in Minnesota January 4, 2015

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TODAY APPEARED deceptively lovely. Blue sky. Sunshine. Fresh layer of snow overnight.

A rural scene along Interstate 35 north of the Northfield, Minnesota, exit.

A rural scene along Interstate 35 north of the Northfield, Minnesota, exit.

But appearance is not reality.

On this Sunday in Southern Minnesota, the temp dipped to minus two degrees Fahrenheit by late afternoon.

A tough job on a cold day, cleaning up after a crash.

A tough job on a cold day, cleaning up after a crash.

On Highway 36 in Roseville, a Minnesota state trooper faced the unenviable task of clearing debris from a crash scene. Only his cheeks and nose appeared visible from behind a black mask as he worked in the brutal cold. He faced the additional danger of two lanes of heavy traffic propelling toward him. All it would take is one inattentive driver…

Steam hangs heavy in the air during cold spells.

Steam hangs heavy in the air during cold spells.

Near downtown Minneapolis, smokestacks billowed steam, always more prominent on days like today.

A sun dog photographed from Interstate 35 between the Northfield and Faribault exits.

A sun dog photographed from Interstate 35 between the Northfield and Faribault exits.

As day shifted to evening, sun dogs showed up, bright columns of light flanking the sun.

Another sun dog, photographed just before the first Interstate 35 exit southbound into Faribault.

Another sun dog, photographed just before the first Interstate 35 exit southbound into Faribault.

It’s been one cold day in Minnesota.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A new series: Minnesota faces January 2, 2015

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DURING MORE THAN FIVE YEARS of blogging, I’ve photographed many a Minnesotan. Young and old. And in between.

From my cousin’s young daughter passing a tray of chocolates at a 50th anniversary party to a woman sitting under an old-fashioned hair dryer at a West Concord beauty salon to our newest immigrants celebrating their heritage at Faribault’s International Festival, I’ve photographed a wide range of subjects.

Some of the images are posed portraits, others snapshot style.

Each photo tells a story— through lines etched into a face, in the tilt of the head, the look in an eye or perhaps the way hands fold. Or a smile. Or not.

Light and setting add to the story. Sometimes the environment tells as much, if not more, than the face.

I’m not a professional portrait photographer. It’s just me and my Canon DSLR. No fancy lighting. No anything except the camera lens between me and my subject.

To photograph these individuals has been an honor. Truly. I delight in showcasing the people, places and events of rural Minnesota, where I’ve lived my entire life.

Beginning today, and every Friday until I run out of images, I will pull a portrait from my files and show you a face. The face of a Minnesotan.

And because I appreciate the timeless beauty of black-and-white photos, those portraits will be void of color.

Words will be sparse. Instead, I want you to focus on the image. The faces that tell the stories.

 

PORTRAIT #1: Dan, who claims Folgers is the best. 

 

Dan Tersteeg, Fourth Ave. Christmas dinner 2012

 

 

Dan Tersteeg tends the coffee at the annual Community Christmas Dinner at Fourth Avenue United Methodist Church in Faribault. I shot this portrait two years ago in the church basement. But I could have taken it this past December as Dan was in the same spot overseeing the coffee. Dan told me in 2012 that he always uses Folgers because it works best with Faribault’s water. I believe him. Who am I to question the guy in charge of the coffee?

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hope, my word for 2015 January 1, 2015

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Inspirational quotes posted on my desk, on the shelf above my desktop screen.

Inspirational quotes posted on my desk, on the shelf above my desktop screen.

HOPE. It’s a four-letter word that holds so much promise.

Hope will be my mantra for 2015, after a year that’s been especially challenging.

How do you define hope?

I’d like some synonyms to stash in my memory bank, to pull out, to examine, to consider when life presents seemingly insurmountable challenges, when grey prevails, when I need encouragement. We all have days when we need nothing more than hope.

My blogger/real-life friend, Sue, awhile ago posted this quote from one of my favorite poets, Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune without the words,
and never stops at all.

Beautiful. That quote is posted on the shelf above my computer screen. A reminder of hope.

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HAVE YOU, LIKE my friend Beth Ann who blogs at It’s Just Life and inspired me to choose a focus word, selected a word or phrase that will take you into and through-out 2015?

For you, my loyal readers, I wish a year of contentment and true peace, days brimming with happiness and the love of family and friends, and an appreciation for the simple joys of life. Happy New Year!

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

He grew taller & fashion conscious December 31, 2014

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FROM SEVERAL TRAFFIC LANES over, in the dimness of street lights and headlights, I could not spot him.

“There he is,” my husband said.

I craned my neck, peering through the windshield, trying to glimpse our son whom I had not seen since July 7.

“Where? I don’t see him.”

Try as I might, I could not locate my 20-year-old in the throng of passengers awaiting curbside pick-up at Terminal 2 of St. Paul-Minneapolis International Airport a week before Christmas. I’d never seen the terminal so busy with vehicles stacked across all lanes in near gridlock. At 11 p.m. on a Thursday.

I willed the monstrous white pick-up just ahead of us to the right to move. Move, will you, so I can see my boy.

The truck inched forward, finally clearing a view of a lean young man towering even taller than I remembered. No wonder I barely recognized him.

Chippewa boots have replaced athletic shoes.

Chippewa boots have replaced athletic shoes.

In six months, he’d grown. And his look, his clothes, had changed. He sported leg-hugging pants in rust-orange. Boots, not neon tennis shoes. A navy blue and white pom-pom stocking cap emblazoned with “Boston” topped his head. He’d ditched the ear muffs. His classic button down black wool coat had been replaced by a more trendy parka style jacket. And later, when he shed that outerwear, I noticed he was dressed in fashion conscious layers.

I’d been searching for a young man dressed like I remembered.

Eighteen months away from the Midwest, my son’s finally found his fashion niche. And I must say the new look suits this Tufts University computer science major-math minor student. He seems comfortable and confident sporting pants that aren’t jeans, in hues of rust, green and grey. I have yet to see him wear jeans since his arrival home on December 18.

Layers and "dinosaur footprints."

Layers and “dinosaur footprints.”

When I asked the other night about the design on his navy blue and white shirt, he said, “I just tell everyone they are dinosaur footprints.” They aren’t.

It doesn’t matter. He is simply happy to have found trendy and comfortable clothing that fits his six-foot-three (or some such height) slender frame. He sourced his colorful pants at Japanese retailer UNIQLO. Yes, I had to Google the name; I’m not fashion aware. He shops online, too.

This sudden awareness of fashion comes as a surprise to me. Only a year ago I waited outside a dressing room at Kohl’s as the son tried on a pile of sweaters and pants, rejecting most. Even getting him there had been a challenge. Clothes shopping has always been a challenge for him, mostly because he’s tall and slender and he’d rather do anything than shop.

In the year between then and now, he’s managed to find clothing that not only fits, but that he likes. He’s figured it all out on his own.

And bonus for me: Because he’s grown, I’ve now confiscated his flannel shirts, not that he would wear flannel anymore anyway. Flannel might be just a tad too Paul Bunyan Minnesotan for a college student in Boston.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

No more December 30, 2014

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YOU KNOW HOW IT IS when a conversation starts and then rolls seamlessly from one topic into another and soon you have these thoughts spinning through your brain.

Here’s how it started: Sunday morning a friend told me that her husband and youngest daughter rode along with their police officer son/brother during a Christmas night shift in another city in another state. That shadowing proved uneventful. I’m sure that was just fine with my friend. No mother likes to see her son placed in a dangerous situation.

I shared that ride-along tidbit with my husband and son during Sunday dinner and then we were talking about my Uncle Bob, a retired Minneapolis police officer, and how he always said domestics were the most dangerous calls. Makes sense given the emotions involved.

The holidays often see an increase in the number of domestics. Daily we hear and read reports of (mostly) women assaulted and sometimes murdered in cases of domestic violence. Saturday evening a woman was fatally stabbed in St. Paul, allegedly by her ex-boyfriend.

Last week the Faribault Daily News, the newspaper in my community, published this headline: Faribault man charged with assaulting girlfriend, two police officers. The story included a photo of the 28-year-old repeat domestic abuse offender. I think I recognize the man.

In late October, I phoned local law enforcement when I witnessed a young man verbally attacking, grabbing and shoving a young woman. I believe it is the same man now charged with fourth-degree assault on a peace officer and domestic assault. My stomach churned. A year ago, this man was convicted of felony domestic assault and violation of an order for protection. Now this.

When will this ever end, this psychological control and manipulation, the physical and/or verbal assaults, the lies and deception that define domestic abuse? When?

I’m not privy to details about the Faribault man’s past. But any felony charge and conviction is serious. And now to read in a newspaper story of his live-in girlfriend found crying and huddling in the corner of the living room holding their two-year-old…after she was allegedly attacked.

I just want to take that young mother in my arms, embrace her, rescue her, and tell her everything will be OK.

But I can’t save her; only she can decide to leave her abuser. I can’t promise her everything will be alright, that the judicial system will work, that this man will never harm her, or any other woman, ever again.

It would be all too easy to give up. Yet, we cannot. Ever. As a society, as human beings, as parents who love our daughters, as sisters who love our sisters, as friends who love friends, we cannot simply walk away.

Like the Hope Center in Faribault, recently awarded a $135,000 federal grant to fight domestic violence through The Blueprint for Safety Project, we must continue to do all we can to educate ourselves about domestic violence and to say, “No more.”

 

NO MORE logo

The signature blue “vanishing point” in the NO MORE campaign logo evolved from the concept of zero, as in zero incidences of domestic violence and sexual assault.

 

Like NO MORE, a national public awareness and engagement campaign focused on ending domestic violence and sexual assault, we must do all we can to end domestic violence. NO MORE ran a spot during Sunday afternoon’s Minnesota Vikings-Chicago Bears football game. That outreach to football fans was good to see.

 

NO MORE logo

 

 

No more. Strong words. Let’s speak them, believe them, practice them.

If you witness a case of domestic abuse, whether verbal or physical or both, call the cops. In the case of the 28-year-old Faribault man, officers were responding “to a report of a woman being grabbed by a man outside a home,” according to the newspaper article.

 

NO MORE logo

 

Someone saw. Someone called. Someone decided, no more.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling