Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Celebrating poetry in southern Minnesota during National Poetry Month April 17, 2024

Sidewalk poetry in downtown Northfield, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)

Mention poetry and many people likely stop listening. In a way, I understand. To their ears, they hear the stuffy, rhyming, difficult poems of yesteryear. The poems that made no sense to many of us. The poems that had to be read as part of a high school English class.

A close-up of lines in the poem steps along the River Walk in downtown Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)

While I’m not privy to how poetry is taught today, I do recognize that it’s, overall, much more approachable, at least in Minnesota. We are home to a talented array of poets with their writing published not only in anthologies and literary journals, but also presented in widely-accessible, public ways.

A poem by Patrick Ganey is stamped into the sidewalk near the Northfield Public Library: still winter thaw/tall pines bend, grey sky drops rain/even at midday/a train whistle sounds lonely (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Nearby Northfield, for example, prints poetry into sidewalks. In 2011, the Arts and Culture Commission launched Sidewalk Poetry. Through that annual competition, selected poems are stamped into sidewalks in the historic downtown, along routes to schools and in residential neighborhoods. I always enjoy walking in downtown Northfield and pausing to read poetry. As a poet myself, I appreciate how much this community values this literary art.

This month, National Poetry Month, and into May, Northfield-based nonprofit Rice County Neighbors United is offering “Poem in a Bag.” Submitted original and favorite poems were printed, rolled and placed in poetry boxes (not bags) set out at select Northfield businesses and at the Northfield Public Library. Poems are printed in both English and Spanish and paired with original art by local artists. What a fun idea, to give away poems, perhaps reaching people who would not otherwise read poetry. I’ve submitted several poems for this project.

My poem, “Lilacs,” inspired “Lilacs on a Table,” an oil on linen painting by Jeanne Licari. This was part of an poet-artist collaborative exhibit at Crossings at Carnegie in Zumbrota ten years ago. Today my poem is part of Northfield’s “Poem in a Bag.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2014)

For the first time this year, FiftyNorth, Northfield’s center for active aging, is featuring a poet-artist collaboration, “Echoes & Shadows,” in its gallery. The event runs until May 3. Artists created art inspired by original poems. I’ve participated in collabs like this in Zumbrota and found them to be particularly interesting—to see how poems are visually interpreted.

A portion of a poem by Rob Hardy, former Northfield Poet laureate, in the Northfield Library atrium. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

At the Northfield Public Library, Open Mic Poetry is held monthly in the atrium for poets to share their writing with an appreciative audience. The next event is at 6:30 pm Wednesday, May 8.

Poem steps in Northfield along the River Walk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)

Northfield also has a poet laureate actively promoting poetry and poetry events within the community. A new laureate will soon be named to replace past laureate Rob Hardy and current interim co-poet laureates Becky Boling and D.E. Green.

This new anthology features the poetry of five Northfield poets. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Next month the Northfield library hosts two poetry readings. Local poets Scott Lowery and Leslie Schultz will read at 6:30 pm Tuesday, May 7. And at 7 pm on Thursday, May 16, the Poets of the Northfield, Minnesota, Public Library, will read from and sign We Look West. The just-published 116-page anthology is part of the Up On Big Rock Poetry Series from Winona-based Shipwreckt Books Publishing Company.

This sidewalk poem in Mankato’s Riverfront Park references the mass hanging of 38 Dakota (plus two) in December 1862 in Mankato. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)

I also have two other recently-released poetry books to read: Broad Wings, Long Legs, A Rookery of Heron Poems in which Minnesota writers (including Larry Gavin of Faribault and many other recognizable poets) contemplate a regional icon, and Songs, Blood Deep by Poet Laureate of Minnesota, Gwen Nell Westerman of Mankato. Westerman is Minnesota’s first Native poet laureate and teaches English, humanities and creative writing at Minnesota State University, Mankato, my alma mater.

My poem, posted along the West Mankato Trail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited & copyrighted photo November 2023)

Mankato is a community rich in poetry. I’ve found poems stamped into concrete at Riverfront Park as part of WordWalk. But it’s a project of the Southern MN Poets Society which really puts poetry out in the community. Through the Mankato Poetry Walk & Ride, winning poems are printed on signs and posted along walking and biking trails in Mankato and North Mankato. My poems have been included perhaps half a dozen times—I’ve lost count—with one, “The Mighty Tatanka,” a poem about bison, currently displayed along a trail in West Mankato.

A sampling of poetry books, right, for sale at Books on Central in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Poetry is seemingly everywhere these days, unconfined to the space between book covers. Yet poems printed upon paper remain the primary place to find poetry. I recently picked up a stash of poetry books from my local library. I also perused poetry offerings at Books on Central, a Rice County Area United Way bookshop selling used books in downtown Faribault. In Northfield, independent bookseller Content Bookstore not only sells poetry books, but regularly hosts book signing events with writers, including poets.

An especially thought-provoking poem in Northfield’s Sidewalk Poetry project. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2020)

How we access poetry has certainly changed over the years. It is my hope that, even if you think you don’t like poetry, you open your mind to this creative art form. There’s much to be learned about nature, about ourselves, about life through the carefully-selected, sparse words of gifted poets, many of whom call Minnesota home.

FYI: Please check back for a more in-depth look at “Poem in a Bag” and reviews of poetry anthologies referenced in this post. Now, tell me, do you read poetry, have a favorite poem?

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The birdsong of spring in Minnesota April 16, 2024

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In April 2018, this robin huddled in the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2018)

THIS TIME OF YEAR, birds sound louder, their voices amplified. Birds are marking territories, seeking mates. Or perhaps they are announcing their return to Minnesota or their survival of winter, even the mild one of 2023-2024.

A cardinal. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2019)

Cardinals trill. Red-winged blackbirds and robins sing in their distinguishable voices, which I can’t quite describe. But I know them when I hear them.

Red-winged blackbird among dried cattails in a pond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2017)

When I step out my backdoor to hang laundry on the clothesline, I hear the morning birdsong, even above the drone of traffic along my busy street. When I walk at the local nature center, I hear birdsong rising from the woods, the marshes, the prairie. To hear birds singing is to hear the refrain of spring.

From the pages of a children’s picture book… Birds announce spring’s arrival in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2019)

It’s lovely and uplifting and hopeful. And in many ways remarkable. Here are these small feathered creatures singing spring songs that captivate us with their boldness, their melody.

Soon the grass will be lush and long, like a carpet for robins and other birds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Each spring, without fail, I find myself listening intently to birdsong as if the song is a new release. In a way, it is. A release from winter’s grip. A release to days that are warmer and greener and teeming with life. Those are the signs, the hopes, of spring in Minnesota.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Learning more about The Faribault Dakota from a local historian April 12, 2024

Jeff Jarvis shows an artifact while talking about the Dakota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

WE’RE ALL CONNECTED. We’re all one.” Those closing words by local historian and artist Jeff Jarvis as he ended an hour-long presentation on “The Faribault Dakota” at Books on Central Thursday evening resonate. I’ve long been geographically-connected to Indigenous Peoples, first in my native Redwood County and now in Rice County. But Jarvis’ definition of connection stretches well beyond geography to the connection we all share simply via our humanity.

Jarvis, who is also an artist and graphic designer, handed out this mini guidebook at Thursday’s presentation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Jarvis spoke to a standing room only crowd packed into the Rice County Area United Way used bookstore on Faribault’s Central Avenue. The third speaker in the popular literary event series hosted by the bookshop since its fall opening, his talk was more history than literary. Interest ran high.

My interest in the Dakota traces back to the southwestern Minnesota prairie, where I grew up between the Upper and Lower Sioux Indian Reservations. Today the word “community,” references these homes of the Mdewakanton Dakota. When I moved to Rice County 42 years ago, I moved onto land once inhabited by the Wahpakute Dakota. But it wasn’t until I listened to Jarvis speak that I learned even more about the place I initially called home on the southeastern tip of Cannon Lake west of Faribault.

An Indigenous Peoples exhibit at the Rice County Historical Society. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)

Long before fur traders and settlers moved to this region of southern Minnesota, the Dakota called this land home, typically living along the area’s lakes and rivers, including the Cannon. I knew this; I’ve attended many presentations on the Dakota by local historians. But I wasn’t aware that the former Ackman Store, the rental home where Randy and I lived for 2 ½ years after our 1982 marriage, was near the site of a trading post opened by fur trader and town founder Alexander Faribault.

Native American artifacts found in Rice County and displayed at the Rice County Historical Society. These are not the artifacts shown by Jarvis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)

Jarvis asked me after his presentation whether I saw ghosts while living there. I didn’t. And in a conversation with Lou Ackman, who grew up and lived along Cannon Lake and loaned Indian artifacts for Jarvis to show Thursday evening, I learned that people often searched the Ackmans’ farm fields for artifacts.

When Randy and I moved into Faribault, our geographic connection to Indigenous Peoples continued. We purchased a house below Wapacuta (sic) Park, where we still live today. It was upon this now park land that the Dakota placed their dead, (wrapped in buffalo robes or blankets) upon scaffolding until later burial. Jarvis also shared that the Dakota sometimes suspended wrapped bodies from trees to catch the spirits in the windy hilltop location prior to burial 1-2 years later. I’d never heard this prior to Thursday.

Peace Park, an unmarked Dakota cemetery near Buckham Memorial Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

But I was aware that Peace Park, a triangle of land near Buckham Memorial Library, is an Indian burial grounds. Jarvis termed it an unfenced and unrecognized cemetery marked by a faith-based WW II monument and nothing indicating this is sacred ground of the Dakota. Several bodies were discovered buried there in 1874, he said, not wanting to delve deeper into that troubling topic at Thursday’s event.

Jarvis covered a lot more in his one-hour presentation. Most I knew. Some I didn’t. I always appreciate learning local history, especially about the 300-400 Dakota who relocated from Cannon Lake to live in elm bark huts and teepees in the area along the Straight River from Division Street to the wastewater treatment plant.

The community of Faribault, Jarvis said, had/has a lot of color and was/is “a beckoning place” to many peoples. He referenced the Indigenous Peoples of yesteryear and the immigrants of today. “We’re all connected. We’re all one,” Jarvis said. He’s right.

One of two rainbows arches over Faribault Thursday evening. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling April 2024)

As I stepped outside the bookshop after Jarvis’ talk, cloudy skies opened to reveal stunning double rainbows—a symbol of promise and of hope. A symbol that we all live under the same sky, that we’re all connected.

FYI: To learn more about Jeff Jarvis’ work on the local Faribault Dakota Project, click here.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Signs & sloths.” Say that thrice. April 11, 2024

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A sign in the produce section of a Faribault grocery store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

I’M DRAWN TO SIGNS. Business signs. Roadside signs. Homemade signs. Nearly all signs, except political signage, attract my interest. The campaign signs I can do without, especially those that are in place too early and well beyond allowable time-frames (as in my neighborhood). But I digress.

Perhaps it’s the creative in me that leads my eyes to appreciate the artistry of signs. I consider fonts, color, design, art—all the pieces that come together in conveying a message. Sometimes the individual parts work. Other times, I’m left wondering.

That’s exactly how I felt upon viewing a sign recently in the produce department of a local grocery store. It was the sloth art which caught my eye. I’ve always thought sloths to be ugly-cute. Except for their sharp claws, they appear cuddly. I just want to wrap one in a hug, feel its long, furry arms embracing me.

Considering the hand-drawn grocery store sloth art snagged my interest, the sign accomplished its original intent—to make me look. But I felt confused. What’s the connection between a leaf, twig, bud-eating sloth and vegetables in a produce section? There is none, as far as I can determine. The slow-moving mammal eats neither corn nor Brussels sprouts. I do.

And sloths live in the tropical rainforests of Central and South America, far from the cold and snow of Minnesota, which can feel tropical in the heat and humidity of summer. Sloths can be found in Minnesota hanging on trees inside the Tropical Encounters exhibit at Como Park Zoo and Conservatory in St. Paul. Perhaps Chloe from Como inspired the grocery store artist. Who knows?

Whatever the story behind the produce section sloth sign, I appreciated it. But not enough to purchase corn or Brussels sprouts on this April day in southern Minnesota.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Waiting for the solar eclipse in Minnesota April 7, 2024

The moon rises while the sun sets. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

SUN. EARTH. SKY. MOON.

Monday, April 8, marks the date of much hype, intense interest and eyes focused skyward for an afternoon solar eclipse. Here in Minnesota, we will witness a partial eclipse with the moon covering about 75 percent of the sun around 2 pm.

Solar eclipse glasses overlay a Minnesota Public Radio News article published in the Faribault Daily News. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

But…the weather forecast is for cloudy skies, meaning disappointment for many in Minnesota who hope to view the solar event through special eye wear. I picked up free eclipse glasses at my local library. So I’m set, just in case the cloud cover lifts.

Carleton College in nearby Northfield is also set to celebrate at Goodsell Observatory, where small telescopes will be placed outside the building for solar viewing beginning at noon. That is if the weather cooperates. (Check the website for updates.) The event is open to the public.

The total solar eclipse will cut a diagonal across the country from Texas through Indiana to New York and beyond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

No matter, I expect to notice visible changes in daylight as the moon passes between the sun and earth from 12:45-3:15 pm in Minnesota.

Isaac’s solar system art, created several months before he turned five. (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited photo April 2024)

A half hour to the north of my southern Minnesota home, my 5-year-old grandson Isaac likely will be all-a-chatter about the eclipse. He can rattle off facts about the solar system with the knowledge of an expert. Plus he loves art and has created enough solar system drawings to fill a gallery or at least plaster my refrigerator. I expect many other kids share his excitement. And that is a good thing—anytime kids (and adults) get excited about science.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Reaching Orpheus,” a must-see original play about grief, loss & relationships April 5, 2024

Promo for the world premiere of “Reaching Orpheus,” opening Friday, April 5, in Faribault. (Promo credit: Paradise Center for the Arts)

EIGHT MONTHS. How long has it been since you lost a loved one? For Alex, a lead in the play “Reaching Orpheus,” it’s been only eight months since she tragically lost her husband. For me, it’s been one week and four days since my sister’s husband, my brother-in-law Dale, died of cancer.

Thursday evening I attended the dress rehearsal of “Reaching Orpheus,” a drama scripted and directed by Dan Rathbun of Owatonna. The six-member cast debuts Rathbun’s third original play this evening at the Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault. When I settled into my theater seat, I brought the raw emotions of new grief.

Alex (Innana Antley) and Ian (Dean Lamp) interact during a scene inside Wonky Leg Brewery. (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

The seasoned and talented cast brings that and much more to the stage as they share the universal experiences of grief, of loss. How we handle it. How we react to it. How we begin to live again in the face of deep loss. It’s there, all there, unfolding in dialogue inside a family brewery and in the mountains of Colorado. As director Rathbun writes in his director’s notes, “Rock climbing is an excellent metaphor for the struggle with grief.”

Alex and Sean (Samuel Temple), an engaged couple in real life, perform together for the first time in lead roles. (Photo credit Amber Holven)

Like Alex, we all struggle to climb our way out of grief. Just as Sean, who plays another lead role and who has experienced the tragic death of his sister, Sara, does. Sean runs the brewery with his father and also teaches mountain climbing.

This is a play in which any of us could perform the roles, portray the emotions. Not because all of us are skilled actors and actresses—most of us aren’t—but rather because we have all gone through the challenges shared on stage.

Playwright Rathbun and his cast of six cover the stages of grief, of loss: anger, denial, guilt, regrets, a desire to handle things on our own, escape… So much. So authentic. So relatable.

Certain lines imprinted upon me. Alex, who claims, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She’s not.

Friends Alex and Abby (Jessica Bastyr). (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

And then her intense, well-meaning friend Abby, who says, “I’m happy to help.” She wants to help, to fix things, to make everything better for Alex. She doesn’t. Not initially.

And then there’s Ian, Sean’s dad, who follows the coping path of picking himself up, dusting himself off and going on with life after his daughter’s death, all the while ignoring his feelings and his volatile relationship with his son.

Sean tucks his feelings inside, until he slowly begins to open up to Alex, whom he’s teaching to mountain climb. Their conversations include phrases we’ve all heard, thought, spoken or written in the midst of grief: “I know how you feel.” I’m so sorry for your loss.” “It’s exhausting to be the strong one.”

Alex and James (Jason Meyer) in a tender moment. (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

Even James, Alex’s deceased husband, and Sara, Sean’s dead sister (played by Paula Jameson), offer their observations and thoughts in several scenes. There’s value in hearing their perspectives, too.

This thought-provoking play offers so much. Even humor. We all need laughter in the heaviness of loss. And we all need each other in the heaviness of grief. We all need to think, too, about how we respond to grief, the often trite sympathies we offer, the words we say that perhaps hurt more than comfort.

Beyond that, the playwright reminds us, via Sean, “…to tell people how much they mean to us every day.” Sean suggests we hold funerals before a person dies. That, too, I understand as I think back to my own mother and how we celebrated her 80th birthday nine years before her January 2022 death. I remember the family and friends who packed a small town community hall to honor my beloved mom. She felt so cherished and loved. I remember, too, my last visit with my brother-in-law, 3 ½ weeks before his March 25 death. He was well enough yet to sit up, engage in conversation, share memories. It was a good visit.

And today I think of a dear friend, bed-ridden, in hospice and dying of cancer. Her family, even through their pain, has opened their home to everyone, anyone, who wants to see their loved one. Each time I see my friend, deliver a meal to her family, I stand by her bedside, tell her, “I love you.” We laugh. We cry. And we never part without kisses placed upon each other’s cheeks.

Alex climbs the mountain, physically and emotionally. (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

This is grief. This is loss. This is love. “Reaching Orpheus” brings that all onto the stage. Deep and real, like the mountains we all must climb, have climbed.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A letter to my granddaughter on her birthday April 4, 2024

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Izzy’s birthday cake with fruit spread between layers and topped with fresh fruit (her choice of cake) was delicious. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

My dearest Isabelle,

As you turn eight, I want you to know how very much I love you. I love you beyond words. And that says a lot given I’m a wordsmith.

You have brought me such joy. To feel your hugs, to scamper up the stairs to your bedroom to see your latest treasures, to listen to you excitedly talk about the latest Magic Tree House (or other) book you’re reading, to watch a video of you as a roaring lion during a school play, all are cherished moments.

My granddaughter, Isabelle, photographed when she was about 17 hours old. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2016)

From the day you were born, I learned a new definition of love: granddaughter.

I love being your grandma. I love when you ask me to sit next to you at family gatherings, as you did at your recent birthday party dinner. I loved sitting next to you while playing BINGO at your brother’s preschool family BINGO night, even if you whined a bit because you weren’t winning. And you really really really wanted a prize.

One of my favorite photos: Grandpa and grandchildren follow the pine-edged driveway at the lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)

I especially enjoy our time together each summer Up North at a family lake cabin. Taking nature walks. Sitting on the dock, feet dipping and kicking in the water. Eating ice cream at a shop in town. We are making memories that I hope will last you a life-time. Simple memories that center on family togetherness. On love.

Photographed at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In your short life, you have traveled farther than I have in my sixty-seven years. Your world is wider, bigger, broader. You live in a diverse neighborhood. Your best friends are boys. You are learning Spanish already as a second grader. I am grateful for all of these. Your world is open wide. And you embrace it.

For a while, Izzy was into PJ Masks. I remembered this character, Owlette. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)

You swim. I can’t. You roller skate. I did. You try to teach me the characters in the latest whatever interests you. I fail to remember the Paw Patrol pups and now Pokemon characters. I’m doing better at dinosaurs. But mostly it’s too much for Grandma to keep straight. Too much.

One of my favorite art pieces created by Izzy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2023)

But it doesn’t matter, Izzy. What matters is that I love you and you me. You are my daughter’s daughter. Her first-born as she was mine. The April day you were born eight years ago opened my heart to a new kind of love. Deep and full and beautiful beyond words.

Happy eighth birthday, my darling Isabelle!

With love,

Grandma

Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Chick Days,” hatcheries & memories from rural Minnesota April 3, 2024

My friend Joy’s chickens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’M NO CHICKEN farmer. I’m not even particularly fond of roaming chickens (ducks or geese). But this time of year on “Chick Days,” I feel nostalgic, remembering the delivery of newly-hatched chicks. They arrived on my southwestern Minnesota childhood farm via the U.S. Postal Service, cheeping raucously and, I’m certain, desiring to escape their cardboard boxes.

A snippet of a promo for “Chick Days” at a local business.

Today, chicks still ship via mail, but need to be picked up at the post office or at a local supplier on “Chick Days.” That may be at a farm store, a grain elevator, a feed store…

A boarded up hatchery in southwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Gone are the days when chick hatcheries were found in many farming communities. But this is not Mayberry anymore. Rural America has changed significantly since I was growing up in the 1960s and 1970s with businesses now shuttered, buildings vacated.

A 1950s or 1960s era greeting card from a hatchery in Minneota, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

But, if you look closely enough, dig deep enough, ghosts of those businesses remain, including chick hatcheries. Among the vintage greeting cards my mom saved (she saved everything), I found a holiday card from Dr. Kerr’s Hatchery. That was in Minneota; that’s Minnesota minus the “s.”

Minneota sits on the prairie northwest of Marshall in Lyon County. This small town is perhaps best-known as the home of the late Bill Holm, noted writer and English professor at Southwest Minnesota State University. Among his work, Boxelder Bug Variations, a collection of poetry and essays about, yes, boxelder bugs. Minneota celebrates Boxelder Bug Days annually.

But it doesn’t celebrate chicks, as far as I know, or the hatchery with the unusual name of “Dr. Kerr’s Hatchery.” There’s a story behind that moniker. I just don’t know what that may be.

Signage is a reminder that this building once housed a hatchery in Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I do know, though, that Morgan, 60 miles to the east of Minneota, also had a hatchery, aptly named Morgan Hatchery. I photographed the exterior of the former hatchery and feed store in 2013 while en route to my hometown of Vesta.

Chickens are fenced next to the red chicken coop on Joy’s rural acreage. Sometimes they also roam free around the yard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Thoughts of home take me back to those chicks delivered by the mailman, as we called letter carriers back in the day. After retrieving the box (es) of chicks from aside the roadside mailbox, Mom released them into the chicken coop. There they clustered around shallow water dishes under the warmth of heat lamps. I don’t recall many details other than the fluffy fowl feathering all too soon. For me, the chicks’ transition toward adulthood quickly ended my adoration.

A fenced rooster at my nephew and niece’s rural acreage. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

There’s a reason I dislike being in close proximity to chickens: pecking hens and a vicious rooster. Gathering eggs from angry hens as a young girl proved an unpleasant chore. And avoiding a mean rooster proved impossible. One day Dad had enough of the rooster attacking his children. He grabbed an ax and that quickly ended the hostile encounters. I still hold trauma from that rooster. But I’ve gotten better about being around chickens. However, if I even pick up on a hint of meanness, I flee.

Farm fresh eggs from Nancy and Loren’s chickens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
The difference in eggs, with the yolk from a store-bought mass-produced egg on the left and a farm fresh egg on the right. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Given my history, I’ll never own chickens. But I eat chicken. And I eat eggs. I especially like farm fresh eggs from free-range chickens. The dark orangish-yellow yolk hue, the taste, are superior to mass-produced eggs.

A maturing chick. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

And I still think chicks are cute, even if they quickly morph into feathered birds I’d rather not be around.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

More than just mannequins in a Faribault shop April 2, 2024

Joyful mannequin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

AMONG THE TRANS-SIBERIAN ORCHESTRA TOUR and other t-shirts, the refurbished shoes, the hats, the colorful purses, the VHS tapes, the stereo and even the television set playing in black-and-white, they stood out. The dark-skinned mannequins, joyfully jubilant.

I happened upon the pair after popping into Closet Sale, a recently-opened thrift and secondhand shop in downtown Faribault. Inside the cozy space at 103 Central Avenue, they stood, mouths stretched wide as if to shout, “Welcome!” or perhaps, “Hey, you, stop and look!”

No matter what I imagined their words to be, I was drawn to the two. Drawn by their poses. Drawn by their expressions. And drawn by their skin color. I don’t recall ever seeing a black mannequin in a local store, even though Faribault is home to many people whose skin tone is anything but white.

Love the vivid LEGO glasses on this mannequin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

Upon seeing the extroverted pair, I felt as happy as they appeared. They had character. Spirit. Personality. Their bold over-sized glasses added fashion flair. They seemed the creative type—perhaps musicians or painters of vivid abstracts or performers.

I recognize that’s a lot to take from two store mannequins. I offer no apologies. To me, the duo are more than plastic models showcasing merchandise. They represent my culturally diverse community, including the man who runs Closet Sale. He’s Juan Pablo Zuñiga Navarro, native of Chile.

I appreciate diversity of ownership in Faribault’s historic district. Today’s downtown core is no longer just that of white ownership. Those of Hispanic and Somalian ethnicity also now run businesses along and bordering Central Avenue. We’ve come full circle. Immigrants from many countries, all speaking different languages and with their own customs, faiths and dress, settled this city. Set up shop. Crafted shoes. Built furniture. Brewed beer. Sold dry goods. And much more. All to make a better life for themselves and their families in the land of opportunity.

Just like yesterday, the immigrants of today are working hard to achieve the American dream. Many have escaped war-torn countries, violence, extreme poverty. I recognize that. So I welcomed Juan Pablo to Faribault, told him, “I’m happy to have you here!” I am. And I’m happy also to have those two spirited mannequins, who welcomed me into Juan Pablo’s shop. Joyfully. Exuberantly.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Easter morning March 31, 2024

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My favorite Easter hymn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

EASTER MORNING DAWNS with the sunshine of God’s love. I believe this to be true.

I know that my Redeemer lives!

Have a blessed Easter, dear readers!

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling