The Horseshoe Lake cabin where we stay once or twice yearly. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
CLOSING UP THE CABIN (not ours) proved more than a work weekend. Beyond pulling in the dock, mowing, raking, trimming trees, gathering sticks, cleaning rain gutters, scrubbing rust stains from the shower, draining the water heater and more, this was about family.
September sunrise on Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
A spirit of teamwork, of gratitude, of enjoying this place along Horseshoe Lake in Mission Township in the Brainerd lakes area, prevailed. And it was all because of family. I love the Helbling family, which I’ve been part of for 42 years by way of marrying into it.
Gnomes were recently hidden in Mission Park, which is located several miles from the cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Randy and I joined three of his sisters, their husbands, and a niece and her family last weekend on this property his youngest sister and husband so graciously share. What a gift this has been to us. I love spending time in the quiet northwoods, immersed in nature, creating memories not only with Randy, but also with our eldest daughter, her husband and our two grandchildren. Campfires with s’mores, always s’mores. Walks in Mission Park. Lakeside dining. Fishing and swimming. Ice cream from Lake Country Crafts & Cones. Pizza from Rafferty’s. Great beer and conversation at 14 Lakes Craft Brewing. Day trips into nearby small towns. Lounging on the beach reading a book. Lying in the hammock. Watching loons and eagles. Doing nothing.
This visit we stayed in the main house, a section of which is shown here. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
And now, on this first weekend in October, we trekked three hours north to the cabin for the sole purpose of preparing the property for winter. An added bonus came in time with family. We worked together. Ate together. Laughed. Shared stories and memories and updates. We also built memories.
On a September cabin stay, three deer crossed the driveway. And we discovered bear scat, as did Randy this visit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Homemade caramel rolls baked by Vivian reminded us of Mom Helbling, who died unexpectedly 31 years ago at the age of 59. Much too soon. Jon’s smash burgers reminded me of my mom, prompting me to share a story about the hamburgers she fried to hockey puck doneness, the reason I didn’t eat burgers up until several years ago. Jon’s were nothing like hers. He’s quite the cook, I discovered, as I enjoyed his stir fry, his scrambled eggs, his smash burgers.
September moonrise over Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
I also enjoyed getting to know four of my great nieces and nephews. We played Hi Ho Cherry-O!, Go Fish and some panda bear game I never fully understood despite 8-year-old Emmett’s patience in explaining it to me. Autumn insisted I work on a princess puzzle with her, even though I insisted I do not do puzzles. I should note here that the Helbling family loves puzzles. Autumn insisted I help her, also insisting that I not quit. The first grader has a strong personality, a strength as I see it.
Squirrels were busy, too, as winter approaches. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Three-year-old Quentin checked my heart several times as he did most family members after finding a stethoscope among the dress-up clothes. I also formed a firefighting crew, enlisting Emmett as acting fire chief when I had to step away to do some actual work. And sweet little redhead Annika, almost one and who looks a lot like a Who from Whoville, pretty much had her great aunt doing whatever she wished. That included jumping on my lap. My arms got quite the work-out.
Acorns, leaves and pine needles continued to fall as our crew headed home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
And so these are the memories I gathered on this work weekend while squirrels scampered, acorns pelted roofs, the night wind howled, dust swirled, and pine needles and branches fell. Up north at the cabin is as much about place as it is about family and the memories we make there.
I am a down-to-earth writer who focuses on writing about people, places and events primarily in Minnesota. Here I’m pictured outside Jack Pines Resort, rural Osage. I was there attending a book launch party for an anthology in which my writing published. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo by Randy Helbling, September 2024)
I’VE ALWAYS LOVED WRITING. From early on, my love of language, of words, of grammar, of, yes, even spelling, defined me. Give me a book to read. Give me a spelling test. Give me a pen and a notebook. And then a computer. Words, words and more words. I will find them, use them, create stories with them.
At one time, I wanted to pursue a degree in German. But, after a year in college, I changed direction because I didn’t want to teach. I decided to study journalism. It was absolutely the right decision for me, my interests and my skills.
With that intro, I join the many writers who are celebrating National Newspaper Week October 6-12. That includes journalists from my local paper, The Faribault Daily News, in which my writing publishes each weekend and sometimes more. I no longer consider myself a full-fledged journalist as much as a writer. These days I write from a personal perspective, more as a columnist, rather than as an objective reporter. I write fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry, too.
MY JOURNALISM EXPERIENCE
But I did work as a full-time newspaper reporter and photographer after graduating with a mass communications degree (news/editorial emphasis) in 1978 from Minnesota State University, Mankato. I worked for newspapers in Gaylord, Sleepy Eye, Mankato, Owatonna and Northfield. Eventually I gave up journalism when I started a family. The long and odd hours are not conducive to family life.
Today my three kids are long grown and gone, and I’ve found my way back to writing with an added focus on photography. What makes a good writer, a good newspaper reporter? Topping my list are the abilities to listen and focus on detail. I’ve always considered myself a good listener, a necessity for any newspaper reporter. I developed the skill of taking notes while actively listening. Organization also factors in. There’s always a bit of homework involved in prepping for an interview. Research the subject. Prepare questions, but be open to asking more as the interview progresses. Focus on details. Tell a story.
I worked in journalism before the days of cellphones, so I filled notebooks with pages of notes. I also studied and worked in the profession before computers and digital cameras. My first job out of college, I typed all of my stories on a manual typewriter, shot all my photos on film. I would never want to go back to either. Give me a computer and a digital camera. It’s much easier to create with those.
FOCUS ON LOCAL STORIES
I love sharing stories and photos of people, places and events that weave into my life, that I discover. I find joy in following a gravel road, in discovering interesting signage, in exploring small towns, in meeting ordinary people following their passions… People often tell me I find the most interesting things. I agree. And then I tell them it’s right here in their own backyard if only they pause to look, and see.
Therein lies the value of community journalism, which I want to highlight and honor during National Newspaper Week. Our local newspapers are all about local. Local reporters cover and write about the people, places and events that are happening locally. They write stories ranging from features to hard news. I covered all of those, too, while working as a full-time reporter. It’s not an easy job. People are quick to criticize, slow to praise. So I want to state right now that I appreciate our local news team. They work long, odd hours, just as I did, to gather and write the news. They care.
Everyone ought to care that freedom of the press thrives, that these journalists are covering our government meetings, writing about our neighbors, highlighting ordinary people who do extraordinary things and much more. We need newspapers as much today as ever before, perhaps even more.
Please, support your local newspaper by subscribing. And thank a newspaper reporter for their dedication to the profession. They deserve to be recognized, especially during National Newspaper Week.
Among the many signs that drew my interest in Owatonna was this insurance agency sign. The bold colors and layered signage stood out. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
SIGNS, WHETHER HANDWRITTEN on a piece of paper or professionally made to mark a business, fascinate me. They reveal much about the heartbeat and history of a community.
Love this artsy sign.The curving arrow points me directly to Wagner’s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
On a recent visit to Owatonna’s downtown, I photographed a collection of signs that caught my eye. I lean toward vintage, or those that appear vintage. I also lean toward unusual names and interesting fonts and art.
This candy shop and eatery has a lengthy history in Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Most people likely view a sign only as an identifier or source of information. Clearly not me. I see signage through the lens of a writer and a photographer.
Even if partially missing, I still appreciate the vintage charm of this sign. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
The Kitchen, a downtown Owatonna staple gathering spot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
A catchy name for a bar. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Every town, not just Owatonna, offers a potluck of signs, a feast for the eyes. All signs bring something to the table. Something that tastes of local flavor. And I’m not just talking food or drink, although certainly you will find plenty of that along North Cedar Avenue and other streets spoking off Owatonna’s main downtown artery.
This shows partial signage for Central Park Coffee and a mini owl mural, among several owls “hidden” in downtown Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
It’s that time of year again, time for all things pumpkin as noted on this sandwich board. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
A long-standing pizza place along North Cedar Avenue. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
I’m also talking about the stories behind those signs. The people who own the businesses, run them, welcome customers inside for a cold one, a cup of coffee, a slice of pizza, a new pair of shoes, a pumpkin truffle, even an insurance policy. Signs are more, much more, than simply signs.
A mostly unreadable (at least to me) ghost sign. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
On the side of Owatonna Shoe is this painting of Princess Owatonna, after whom the city is named. A statue of the princess stands in Mineral Springs Park, the spring and princess being part of local lore. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
The long ago Roxy Theater is honored in the Main Street Mural in a downtown pocket park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Signs also hold history. Ghost signs, of which there are several in Owatonna, write of bygone days. Murals paint history, too, of the Roxy Theater and of Princess Owatonna and more.
And then I spotted this vintage gem on a building… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Wherever you live, whatever community you visit, I encourage you to pause, look and really see the signage. Appreciate the history. Consider the stories. Study the fonts and art. Enjoy the potluck of signs that flavor a place.
I photographed this scene in Pine River, which calls itself Minnesota’s S’more Capital, Doug Ohman said.From what I read online, the Whitefish Chain of Lakes terms itself “The S’more Capital of the World.” Pine River is on the northwest end of the Whitefish Chain. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
I FELT LIKE A BIT OF A SMARTIE, you know, that kid who raises his/her hand to answer the teacher’s questions. But Doug Ohman told me later, when I apologized to him for my overzealous class participation, that he actually appreciates enthusiastic interaction with audience members. And that I was on Monday evening while attending Ohman’s presentation on Minnesota town names at the Owatonna Public Library. I couldn’t help myself. This presenter is incredibly engaging, energetic, interesting and really good at what he does.
One of many Minnesota books by Doug Ohman. (Cover image sourced online)
Ohman is a prolific presenter, Minnesota author and photographer—he’s written 16 photo-rich books—who travels the state giving talks on 36 subjects. Those range from churches to schoolhouses, courthouses to libraries, state parks to cabins, and, oh, so much more. If you want to learn more about Minnesota, especially its small towns and rural areas, and appreciate history, then Ohman is your guy. I’ve seen him present twice previously, both times on churches.
But Monday evening, it was all about “Name That Town.” Ohman began by telling a room packed with people that he would be doing an interactive game show style presentation. Oh, oh, I thought, when he asked for help from an audience member. Eventually Steve volunteered and the game was on.
Sweetcorn for sale at a stand across from St. Michael’s Catholic Church in Buckman, my husband’s hometown. Buckman is southeast of Little Falls in Morrison County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
It didn’t take long before Ohman put the audience at ease with his humor and questions. A lot of questions. About towns. And that’s where I proved my smarts. Like Ohman, I enjoy visiting small towns, stopping to explore and photograph them. He feels like a kindred spirit in that we are both writers and photographers who value rural Minnesota.
I recently photographed this beautiful old building in downtown Foley, seat of Benton County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
For 1 ½ hours, Ohman talked about Minnesota towns, going through the alphabet from A-Z, showing selected photos of communities he’s visited. He invited audience members to shout out town names for each letter, often pausing to ask why they named that particular town and occasionally awarding prizes for correctly answered questions.
I found this signage on a building in downtown Kenyon in Goodhue County east of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
There were familiar town names like Duluth, Hastings, Red Wing and Stillwater. But then Ohman threw out towns like Dorothy (south of Thief River Falls), Johnson (the “most Minnesotan name,” he said, and located near Chokio) and Quamba (between Mora and Hinckley). All three were unfamiliar even to me.
Ohman referenced this multi-cultural mural in Walnut Grove, where Hmong immigrants have settled and embraced the prairie history of author Laura Ingalls Wilder. He also noted that Walnut Grove is the only community where he found a working pay phone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Only the letter X lacks a Minnesota town name. Two towns share the name Oslo. No surprise given Minnesota’s rich Scandinavian heritage. Oh, and Osakis is the self-proclaimed “Lefse Capital of Minnesota,” Ohman said, recommending Jacobs Lefse.
A statue of Princess Owatonna, daughter of Chief Wabena and whom after the city of Owatonna is named, stands in Mineral Springs Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2020)
Ohman asked how towns are named and got lots of audience response. The Old Country (New Ulm, New Germany, Fulda…), Native American people and language (Owatonna, Wabasha, Sleepy Eye, Wabasso), animals (Badger and Fox), geographic features (Redwood Falls, International Falls, Thief River Falls, Fergus Falls, but not Hanley Falls, which has no falls), famous (Henry Hastings Sibley) and not so famous people…
This sign once marked my hometown and its reason for notoriety. The sign was removed and replaced and I wish it was still there, along Minnesota State Highway 19. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)
My hometown is named after the postmaster’s daughter, Vesta. I nearly stumped Ohman when I shouted out “Vesta.” But, with some clues and thought, he remembered its location in Redwood County. He’s been to neighboring Belview, Seaforth, Wabasso. Even several audience members were familiar with southwestern Minnesota towns, something I don’t often encounter in southeastern Minnesota.
I found this small town proud t-shirt at Kelash’s Corner, a vegetable, fruit and merch stand, in Gilman, population around 220. The town is northeast of St. Cloud in Benton County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Towns survive based on location, Ohman said. That makes sense. Towns once located along railroad tracks, later abandoned, have declined. Towns built on lumbering have dwindled in population. Towns located today in resort areas, close to larger cities or along major roadways (like Owatonna on Interstate 35) are growing, thriving. The smallest of Minnesota’s 905 towns, according to Ohman, is Funkley, population five. That’s northeast of Blackduck which is northeast of Bemidji in Beltrami County. I love how that name, Funkley, rolls off the tongue.
I won this pack of photo cards for correctly answering so many questions throughout Ohman’s presentation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Plenty of answers rolled off my tongue Monday evening in Owatonna as Ohman asked endless questions during his Minnesota town themed game show. Who knows the county in which Ivanhoe, named after the book by Sir Walter Scott, is located? “Lincoln,” I shouted. I revealed my book smarts a second time by naming the fictional town in Sinclair Lewis’ novel, Main Street. That would be Gopher Prairie, really Lewis’ hometown of Sauk Centre. That earned me a prize—a pack of feline photo cards by Ohman.
This mural in Walnut Grove shows how past and present connect, from early settlers to present day Hmong immigrants who now call this small town home. A niece, who lives with her family in Walnut Grove, recently told me how happy she is that her children are growing up in a diverse community. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I could write a whole lot more about all the towns and related information Ohman covered in his talk. But that’s his job, while mine is to highlight a few here. And also to reveal that I did incredibly well on the Ohman game show. I’ll close with one more important revelation. His favorite town name, Ohman shared, is Faith…because it takes a little faith to live (and survive) in Minnesota.
An overview of Owatonna’s new streetscape. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
FILL A DOWNTOWN WITH LUSH greenery and flowers in over-sized planters, add water features, and places to sit, mingle and converse, and you have what I consider an inviting space. That would be downtown Owatonna.
Lush planters front a ghost sign in a repurposed space, like a pocket park, between buildings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
On a recent visit to this southern Minnesota city an hour south of Minneapolis along Interstate 35, I discovered a visually-appealing, pedestrian-friendly business district along revamped North Cedar Avenue. I haven’t walked through downtown Owatonna in awhile, not since a major streetscape project was completed in the fall of 2022. And I must say, the results are simply stunning.
Signage on a building notes past preservation efforts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
As I walked block after block through this National Register Historic District, I focused not so much on the buildings as on the beauty. Trees, shrubs, perennials, annuals, all have been incorporated into the streetscape. Within limestone edged planters. In mammoth free-standing planters. In hanging baskets.
So many inviting details here in bench, barrels and plantings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
The results present a harmonious connection with nature, a garden-like appearance, a feeling of serenity, of wanting to linger. And that’s exactly what business owners and others hope. Stick around. Connect. Shop. Spend money. Enjoy.
An example of businesses located along North Cedar Avenue. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Downtown Owatonna offers a good mix of service-oriented businesses, retail shops from shoe store to boutiques to bookshop and more, along with places to dine, drink and even stay overnight. A new Courtyard by Marriott anchors a downtown corner, complete with outdoor sidewalk-side seating and a fire pit.
In a narrow space between buildings, bistro tables await. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Everywhere, I spotted these welcoming spaces. Some are squeezed between buildings—in narrow areas I assume were once alleyways. Planters lush with ferns and flowers soften the hardscapes of brick and cement. Cozy bistro tables with seating for two to larger round tables with spots for four encourage outdoor dining and conversation. Overhead party lights crisscross some areas, adding to the evening ambiance. Only the addition of outdoor public art would up the charm. Maybe that’s coming.
Flowers make a strong statement on a downtown anchor corner by Central Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
There’s more, much more. Rectangular limestone planters flush with trees, perennial flowers, shrubs and grasses create a living buffer between street and storefront that feels protective, naturally calming.
I spotted several of these fountains. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Unobtrusive small scale water features scatter throughout the downtown. Benches beckon. There’s a neighborly vibe here, of connectedness.
A high-top narrow table caught my eye. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
I even spotted a skinny high-top table, minus chairs, cemented into the sidewalk, ideal for standing and chatting while nibbling or sipping. Outside a wine bar, two wooden barrels hold space.
Bike racks, like these corner ones, are placed throughout downtown, making this a biker-friendly area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
All of this, everything, speaks to me: “Welcome, we’re happy you’re here. Wander. Engage. Relax.” Owatonna got it right in this redo of their downtown. I appreciate when people take precedence over motor vehicles. (There’s still plenty of parking available.)
Hydrangea grow in this welcoming space, where work continues. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
I like the feeling I get in this downtown, along North Cedar Avenue. One of friendliness. One of deliberate attention to details. One of offering spaces that connect, that build community. One of feeling embraced in a carefully-curated nature-oriented environment.
This downtown feels like a place where I could listen to acoustic music, peruse a pop-up mini art show or listen to a local poet read poetry in a revamped alleyway. Mostly, though, downtown Owatonna feels pedestrian-friendly in a way that most downtowns do not. And that, to me, holds infinite appeal.
Parched, cracked earth by the Turtle Pond, River Bend Nature Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2021, used for illustration only)
The invitation to the 2012 “It’s All One Water” reception and group show in Zumbrota.
The winning entries were printed in a beautiful 55-page booklet that paired the writing with submitted photos, all themed to water. I opted to pen a poem personifying Autumn as a woman searching for water upon the parched land. To this day I still love that strong visual, inspired by my long ago observations at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault.
And if I were to tap further into my visual memory, I would also see a semi trailer full of hay parked in a southwestern Minnesota farmyard in the summer of 1976. That was a year of severe drought, when my dad bought a boxcar full of hay from Montana so he could feed his cows and livestock. It was the year that nearly broke him as a farmer.
A REALLY DRY & WARM SEPTEMBER IN MINNESOTA
Here we are, 48 years later, settling once again into drought/abnormally dry weather conditions in Minnesota after a winter of minimal snow followed by an excessively wet spring, a dry-ish summer and now a record warm and dry September. This September, the Twin Cities recorded only 0.06 inches of rain and the most days of 80-degree or warmer high temps in any September. It doesn’t feel like fall in Minnesota, more like summer. But at least temperatures cool overnight.
Areas of western and central Minnesota are under a Red Flag Warning today, code words for a high fire danger, due to dry, windy conditions and dropping relative humidity. We are experiencing “near critical fire weather conditions” here in the southern part of the state.
AND THEN THERE’S TOO MUCH WATER
Contrast this with the weather my friends in western North Carolina and other areas affected by Hurricane Helene are experiencing. One is OK (as is her house). But she expects to be without power for a week and is relying on limited cell service at the local firehall. Another friend, a native Minnesotan, lost his car and may lose his home in Hendersonville after a creek swelled, flooding his garage (with four feet of water) and house (30 inches of floodwaters). A foundation wall “blew out” of his home. He is currently staying with family in Florida.
So, yes, even though the lack of rain and abnormally warm weather in Minnesota concern me, I feel a deeper concern for the folks dealing with loss of homes, businesses, infrastructures and, especially, deaths of loved ones. The devastation is horrific. It will take months, if not years, to recover.
RESPECT FOR WATER & MY POEM
In 2012, the following statement published in the intro to “It’s All One Water”: It is our hope to inspire respect, protection, preservation and awe in honor of water, our most precious of Natural Resources. How one views water right now depends on where they live. But I think we can all agree that water is “our most precious of Natural Resources.”
Autumn leaves in the Cannon River, Cannon River Wilderness Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)
In which Autumn searches for Water
Water. The wayward word rises in a faint rasp,
barely a whisper above the drone of buzzing bees
weaving among glorious goldenrods.
I strain to hear as Autumn swishes through tall swaying grass,
strides toward the pond, yearning to quench her thirst
in this season when Sky has remained mostly silent.
But she finds there, at the pond site, the absence of Water,
only thin reeds of cattails and defiant weeds in cracked soil,
deep varicose veins crisscrossing Earth.
She pauses, squats low to the parched ground and murmurs
of an incessant chorus of frogs in the spring,
of Water which once nourished this marshland.
Autumn heaves herself up, considers her options
in a brittle landscape too early withered by lack of rain.
Defeat marks her face. Her shoulders slump. She trudges away, in search of Water.
NOT EVERYONE WOULD CELEBRATE a birthday by exploring historic ruins and then capping the day by creating art within an historic context. But then I am not everyone.
This week, on my closing-in-on-seventy birthday, I took a day trip to Wasioja and neighboring Mantorville. Randy and I packed our picnic lunches and then hit the road east in late morning. No need to rush and get going too early at our ages.
After a brief stop at a Kenyon thrift shop, which smelled strongly of natural gas, we made a quick exit. But not before warning the shopkeeper that he needed to check on the odor immediately. And don’t turn on a light switch, although the lights were already on, we advised. (The shop was still standing on our return route home.)
Blueberry pie. not from County Seat Coffee Shop. I didn’t photograph that pie piece. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
GOING BACK IN TIME
I digress. In Wasioja, we discovered aged ruins and historic buildings, many connected to Minnesota’s involvement in the Civil War. I was aware of the Civil War recruiting station, but not some of the other sites. I’ll write more on our visits to Wasioja and Mantorville in future posts.
However, I should note now that Randy and I enjoyed slices of homemade blueberry and strawberry/rhubarb pie at County Seat Coffeehouse in Mantorville. It was, after all, my birthday. No sweet treat awaited me at home.
Back home by late afternoon with me feeling a bit tired after being on my feet all day (remember that broken right toe, which makes walking a tad more challenging), I put my feet up. Randy napped.
A promo for a 2022 talk by Mica Anders at the RCHS. (Promo credit of RCHS)
STEPPING BACK IN TIME WITH MICA ANDERS
And then, less than two hours later, we were off to the Rice County Historical Society for an interactive historical presentation by St. Paul genealogist and artist Mica Lee Anders. She was presenting on early (1850-1900) African American residents of Rice County. I’m always up to learning more about the history of this place I’ve called home for 42 years.
Anders made the entire event hands-on engaging by asking attendees to create flower mosaics that will honor the legacies of early African Americans. The flowers will be installed as public art at gravesites in Faribault and Northfield.
Not being especially artistic beyond creating with a camera and with words, I felt initially tentative about the whole idea. But Anders quickly put me at ease, explaining how to go about the process of creating mosaic flowers from glass tiles. We grabbed cupcake tins then scooped tiles in assorted shapes (mostly round) and colors (blues, greens, oranges and yellows) into individual holders. From there, we designed within a donut shape printed on paper. Later, we would transfer our designs onto sticky mesh.
As a perfectionist, I sorted my tiles by size and color before beginning to create. Part of me wanted to pause and take notes on everything Anders was sharing. But art won over being a journalist for the evening. I created. I listened. I asked questions. But I didn’t jot down a single word.
I heard about the success of those early African Americans who lived here. The barber. The young man who would become a doctor. The college grad. But I learned, too, of efforts to hide racial identity. Yet, races intermarried. And, said, Anders, Faribault was a welcoming place to those African Americans who settled here early on. To hear that pleased me greatly. Faribault has not always been a welcoming place for people of color.
The flower mosaic I created. Anders will finish the work. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
CONNECTING HISTORY & ART
Anders’ passion for history, genealogy and honoring the legacies of African Americans in southeastern Minnesota via her research and now her public art project coursed through the meeting room where a small group of us created colorful mosaics. It felt good to be part of something like this, a tangible way to honor those who came before us, who likely faced more struggles than I will ever know.
My mosaic was well thought out. I don’t usually randomly do anything. I used orange and yellow tiles in the outer two rings of my flower to represent the sun. The next ring featured blue round tiles representing the sky—dark blue for stormy days, lighter shiny blue for happier days. I finished my flower with an inner ring of green tiles representing the earth, growth, place.
The birthday cards I received, displayed on a vintage family dresser in my dining room. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
THANKFUL
Thus I began another year of life. Learning. Creating art. Honoring. Celebrating. And feeling incredibly thankful for all the people who care about me. From greeting cards to an audio message, from texts to emails to calls (including a singing of “happy birthday”), I feel cherished and loved.
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FYI: Mica Anders will host more workshops in Rice County (including in Northfield) to talk about early African Americans in southeastern Minnesota and to create flower mosaics. I encourage you to participate. Her project was made possible in part by Springboard for the Arts’ Rural-Urban Solidarity Initiative.
FOR 80 YEARS,Smokey the Bear has delivered the same core message of fire prevention. In 2001, the US Forest Service updated Smokey’s long-running “Remember, only you can prevent forest fires” to “Only you can prevent wildfires.” But YOU has always centered Smokey’s directive to all of us. We, yes, we, hold a responsibility to prevent wildfires.
This interpretative sign at the fire tower park reminds visitors of who causes fires and their responsibility to prevent them. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2021)
That’s important to remember as Smokey celebrates his 80th year of igniting fire prevention efforts on a national scale. He officially turned 80 on August 9, marking the longest running public service campaign in the country. Who doesn’t like, and recognize, Smokey the Bear? And remember his message to us about fire.
Smokey, before he morphed into an anti-fire campaign spokes-bear, was a real bear. A cub injured and orphaned in a 1950 New Mexico wildfire. That’s the story anyway.
I admit I didn’t think all that much about wildfires until recent years, when smoke-hazed skies began occasionally blanketing Minnesota. Even here in southern Minnesota, the smoke from Canadian and western wildfires sometimes affects air quality. When I hear and see media reports about wildfires out West, I wonder how people manage to breathe, how they cope with the ongoing threat of fire, the death and destruction.
The Paul M. Thiede Fire Tower stretches high among the pines. It is no longer used to spot fires. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2021)
We’re not immune here in Minnesota, with most wildfires centered in the northern forested regions of our state. But occasionally, the Twin Cities metro and other areas experience out-of-control fires. Early this past March, for example, firefighters battled a massive blaze near Waseca (25 miles southwest of Faribault) that destroyed nearly 2,000 acres and injured three. Smokey’s cautionary words need to be heeded by all of us no matter where we live.
Visitors can climb the 100-foot high Paul M. Thiede Fire Tower and other fire towers in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2021)
I am most cognizant of fire, though, when staying at a family member’s cabin in the Brainerd Lakes area. Dense pine forests, scrub grass, dried pine needles and more seem sufficient fuel for a wildfire. There are no campfires on windy days. Not for Randy and me.
This sign is posted along Crow Wing County Highway 3 south of Crosslake in Mission Township. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Then there’s Smokey, or at least a Smokey the Bear sign along Crow Wing County Road 3 south of the cabin by the Mission Township Hall and Fire Station 1. The sign ranks the daily fire danger and also advises that burning permits are required in the area.
Inside this gift bag are tiny plastic bears for the taking in honor of Smokey’s 80th birthday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
During a recent visit, I noticed more. Smokey held a HAPPY BIRTHDAY gift bag with an attached note to “Help yourself to a tiny bear!” I reached inside the bag and pulled out a tiny blue plastic bear and a tiny green bear for my grandchildren. Later, I schooled them about Smokey the Bear and wildfires. They loved the mini bears.
Birthday wishes for Smokey. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
A hand-printed “Happy 80th Smokey” paper sign also hangs below Smokey’s feet, partially covering PREVENT WILDFIRES. Smokey is celebrating his birthday throughout 2024. He’ll be in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, at the lighting of the US Capital Christmas Tree…
A vendor grabs lunch and settles in next to a bear mount he’s selling at a barn sale in rural Medford several years ago. Live bears were seen near Medford, south of Faribault, this past summer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Like the injured cub of the 1950 New Mexico wildfire, bears roam the woods of central and northern Minnesota and sometimes venture south. A bear was spotted at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault and farther south this past summer.
Scat identified as from a bear cub. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Before leaving the cabin recently, Randy found berry-laced scat along the driveway that looked suspiciously like bear poop. I sent a photo to my brother-in-law. Jon confirmed this was scat from a cub. A mama bear and three cubs were sighted at the cabin in June, certainly not the first bear sightings in the Crosslake area. I wasn’t surprised by Randy’s discovery, although unsettled. I like the imaginary 80-year-old Smokey the Bear. But if I encountered a real Smokey, I doubt I would pause to wish him a HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Nope, I’d pretty much be outta there.
Once we got west of Pine River, we were driving in unfamiliar territory. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
I FOLLOWED THE PRINTED directions as the phone squawked them aloud. We were about 15 miles west of Pine River, turning off County Road 2 (in whatever county) onto Minnesota State Highway 64.
My eyes moved down the paper, scanning for the next turn after three miles on the state highway. Take a left onto 12th St SW, Randy had written. He jotted the directions just for me because he knows I like the route mapped on paper.
“I hope it’s not gravel,” I said, noting the street, not countyroad, wordage
No sooner had the words popped from my mouth than the phone directed us left onto 12th Street. Randy steered off the highway. Onto gravel. Then the phone ceased barking. Our cell service had dropped.
Randy stopped the van after I protested. “I don’t want to drive on 7.3 miles of gravel.” I’d read ahead on the directions, noted the distance and noted the next two turns, onto Huntersville and Hubbard Roads. Probably more gravel.
If only we’d gone old school and relied on an atlas or a paper map. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
“Let’s just look at a map and figure out where to go,” I said, reaching for the glove box. No map. Randy had failed to transfer maps from our old van into the new-to-us used van we bought earlier this summer. I asked about an atlas, which we sometimes carry with us. Nope, that would be in my office.
So there we were, in the middle of nowhere in an unfamiliar area of northern Minnesota. No cell service. No map. No atlas. No anything except understanding that we needed to head northwest to reach our destination, Jack Pines Resort a mile outside of Osage. By that time I was feeling stressed. I had a book launch party to reach by 1 pm. I can’t even tell you what time it was at that point, except time to get moving.
Randy swung the van around, got back onto the northbound state highway, then took the next westbound asphalt road. I thought we were back on track…until the road began to curve, then straighten, then curve. Mile after mile after mile for perhaps 20-plus miles. Speeds dropped, sometime as low as 25 mph. We were not making good time. I was not a happy wife. Or a happy writer.
Eventually we reached our destination, Osage, shown here in the center of an atlas map. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Eventually, spotty cell service returned, long enough to open my email and read directions to the resort sent by the book event organizer. I felt my body relax. We might make it on time. And we did. With 10 minutes to grab name tags, pee and settle onto comfy chairs in the back row.
So what did we learn? You cannot rely on cellphone directions, especially in a no-cell-coverage-middle-of-nowhere-location. Always write down directions. Check that the planned route does not include gravel. And carry a paper map in your glove box. Had we done all of those things, I would not have been a stressed wife who was mad at her husband. But at least I wasn’t a stressed writer worried about reading her work aloud at the book launch party. I was too distracted by the stress of being lost.
My booted right foot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
OOPS!…I DID IT AGAIN. The title of Britney Spears’ 2000 hit fits the latest verse in my life song. Nothing else about the song relates, only the title.
Late Wednesday afternoon, while skirting a tower fan partially blocking my home office doorway, I stubbed my right little toe on the door frame. Hard. Like I may have heard a crack hard. Instant pain shot through my toe as a censored version of “Oops!…I did it again” shot from my mouth.
I knew this was not good. I hobbled my way toward the kitchen where Randy was preparing supper. And, yes, I still call the evening meal supper. “I think we have to go to the clinic,” I said, explaining why. I don’t recall Randy’s reaction other than informing me he was half-way into cooking our meal so the urgent care visit would need to wait. One plate of broiled salmon, seasoned potatoes and orange slices later, we were heading for the clinic.
Two years ago I severely bruised the little toe on my left foot and wore this boot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2022)
But not before I asked Randy to search the back of our bedroom closet for a walking shoe. You see, almost exactly two years ago, I jammed my left little toe into the baseboard corner of our kitchen peninsula. That time I severely bruised my little toe. “Oops!…I did it again.” Except with the right foot.
Upon arriving at the clinic, I limped inside, waited in line to register and then sat down in the waiting area. It was 6:05 pm. I propped my injured foot atop a round coffee table to keep it elevated. I worked a crossword puzzle. A text message alerted me that I was seventh in line. I noted the worn out furniture, the stale air, daylight shifting into evening.
I am not good at waiting. Multiple texts were not encouraging. There were “unexpected delays,” the apologetic messages read. My appointment time shifted from 7:10 to 7:20 to 7:50. I was not happy.
My eldest daughter texted at 7:18 pm. “How’s your toe?”
“Still waiting at the clinic. I should have stayed home,” I replied. “Too many coughing people here. Toe hurts & starting to turn purple.”
Shortly thereafter, a nurse called my name. Finally. I was getting my vitals taken, getting quizzed about my injury and on my way to answers. That meant a trip upstairs to x-ray. I accepted a wheelchair ride. Much quicker and less painful than limping along. Three x-rays later and I was back in my room awaiting an official diagnosis.
This time around I did not have a badly-bruised little toe, but rather a fractured one. Officially: There is an undisplaced fracture present along the distal aspect of the 5th proximal phalanx. Undisplaced is better than displaced. That diagnosis was confirmed on Thursday by a podiatrist, whom I will see in four weeks for more x-rays and a healing check. In the meantime, I’ll wear that unattractive sandal-like shoe with the rigid bottom, tape my little toe to its neighboring toe, ice, elevate and pop OTC meds as needed.
A broken toe is certainly not a major injury when the fracture is simply a crack not requiring surgery. I’ve broken a shoulder and shattered a wrist (that requiring a surgical implant). There really is no comparison. This toe break is more of a tolerable inconvenience.
Yet…the timing is bad. Is any time ever good to break a bone? Probably not. But my eldest and I are co-hosting a baby shower for my second daughter this weekend. A niece is getting married in eight days and that includes a wedding dance. I have things to do. Enter Randy. I made a list of jobs for him to do, work I would typically handle such as carting laundry up and down the basement stairs. If I could read his thoughts, they are likely an updated version of Britney Spears’ song, rewritten as “Oops!…here we go again.”
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