Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Inside the pearly gates of St. Peter, visitors view the notorious “corpse flower” July 26, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 1:15 PM
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A sign at Gustavus Adolphus College directs visitors to the Nobel Hall of Science where "the corpse flower" grows.

FOR SOME, PERRY’S flesh-rotting odor proved too repugnant.

But they came prepared—they being the four Edina kids who traveled to Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter Friday morning to view the flowering of Gustavus’ Amorphophallus titanium, otherwise known as “Hyperion” and nicknamed “Perry.”

With perfumed bandannas in hand, the three Yang siblings and a friend trooped past Perry, the native Indonesian plant that last bloomed in this southern Minnesota college greenhouse in 2007. The large plant (this one is about six feet tall) produces an offending odor that, based on the comments I heard Friday morning, ranges from smelling like barf to fish at an Asian market to “my son’s bedroom.”

I watched with amusement through a greenhouse viewing window as the Yang kids and their friend passed by Perry, handkerchiefs clasped firmly to their faces for much of the brief encounter.

One of the Yang boys wards off the offending odor with a bandanna.

Filtering the offending odor with a bandanna.

Admittedly, Perry does stink, producing an offending odor designed to attract pollinators. This past weekend, Perry also attracted plenty of attention from the media, scientists and just plain curious visitors like my husband, son and I who stopped en route to a family reunion in southwestern Minnesota around noon Friday. About 12 hours earlier, at 11:30 p.m. Thursday, Hyperion opened.

I didn’t know quite what to expect when we reached the greenhouse on the third floor of the Nobel Hall of Science at Gustavus. Surprisingly, I was pleasantly surprised. With camera in hand—no bandanna for me—I entered the viewing area fully prepared to find a decaying smell so overpowering that I would snap a few pictures and flee.

Instead, I discovered an odor that, in all honesty, I found more tolerable than stench that sometimes wafts across the countryside from animal manure at large-scale farming operations.

Perhaps if I had returned Sunday, when Perry was at full bloom, my opinion would have changed. The odor would just get worse as the flowering progressed, we were told Friday.

Maybe then I, too, would have pressed a perfumed bandanna to my nose, filtering the odorous smell of Perry, “the corpse flower.”

I shot this image through a window in the viewing area of the the greenhouse where the curious gathered to see Perry.

A close-up of Perry's unfolding spathe, an outer purple vase-like sheath.

Visitors came with cameras in hand to photograph the rare blooming of Perry, which lasted until Sunday.

A close-up of the sheath that protects the inner tube-like structure called the spadix. The hundreds of small flowers are on the spadix.

A diagram explains the life cycle of "the corpse plant."

A shot through the window into the viewing area of the titan arum.

As of noon Friday, most visitors who signed Perry's guestbook came from the St. Peter-Mankato area. However, as word of the blooming spread, visitors were expected from all over--some had already come from Paris and Sweden (they were already visiting in the area). My husband added our names to the guestbook.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

I plead guilty to eating key lime pie for breakfast July 23, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:34 AM
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IF EVER YOU FEEL GUILTY about eating dessert for breakfast, do as I do. Adapt.

I have, on occasion, crumbled a cookie into vanilla yogurt, thereby justifying that this qualifies as a nutritious breakfast (by my definition).

And just the other day, when I opened the refrigerator early in the morning and eyed the key lime pie, I decided, what the heck.

I pulled this key lime pie from the refrigerator. Had my husband and I really eaten this much pie already?

With a handful of blueberries tossed on the side, this could qualify as a breakfast food. Blueberries, after all, are high in antioxidants, which protect cells from damage that leads to aging and various diseases. That’s good enough for me.

So I plated a piece of the key lime pie I had made just a day earlier, added the blueberries and indulged without a twinge of regret.

With a side of blueberries, key lime pie makes a balanced breakfast. You've got your protein (eggs), your dairy products (sweetened condensed milk and sour cream) and your fruit (blueberries and lime juice).

Later I e-mailed Joanne Fluke, creator of this pie, and asked if I could publish her recipe on Minnesota Prairie Roots. She obliged.

But first, you should know that Joanne is a Swanville, Minnesota native and the New York Times bestselling author of the Hannah Swensen culinary cozy mysteries. She defected to California, where she’s lived for years, but I don’t hold that against her. Joanne writes some good Minnesota-based mysteries that include some equally great recipes. And she returns to her home state at least once a year to visit and to promote her books.

The recipe for key lime pie published in 2007 in Key Lime Pie Murder. In that mystery, main character Hannah Swensen, who owns a bakery, is judging baked entries at the Tri-County Fair. As she leaves the fairgrounds one evening while carrying a key lime pie, she discovers a dead body. So that, dear readers, is the story behind the decadent, to-die-for dessert that I devoured for breakfast.

Key Lime Pie

Filling:

5 eggs

14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk

½ tsp. lemon zest (optional, no substitutes)

½ cup sour cream

½ cup key lime juice (may substitute frozen key lime juice or juice from regular limes)

¼ cup white sugar

Crack one whole egg into a medium-sized bowl. Separate the 4 remaining eggs, placing the 4 yolks into the bowl with the whole egg. Place the 4 whites in another mixing bowl and set aside for later use in the meringue.

Whisk the whole egg and yolks until uniform in color. Stir in sweetened condensed milk. Add the lemon zest, if you decided to use it, and the sour cream. Stir together and set the bowl aside.

Juice the limes and measure out ½ cup of the juice into a small bowl. If you are using the ready-made lime juice, measure out ½ cup of that. Add ¼ cup sugar to the lime juice and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Next, whisk the sugared lime juice into the egg mixture.

Pour the filling into a pre-made graham cracker or cookie crust. Bake 20 minutes at 325 degrees F. Remove from oven and place on cooling rack.

Increase the oven temperature to 350 degrees F. to bake the meringue.

Meringue:

4 egg whites

½ tsp. cream of tartar

pinch of salt

1/3 cup white sugar

Add the cream of tartar and salt to the bowl with the egg whites and mix in. Using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites on high until soft peaks form. Continue to beat at high speed as you sprinkle in the sugar. When the egg whites form firm peaks, stop mixing. Spread the meringue over the filling with a spatula, sealing to the edge of the crust.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for an additional 12 minutes. Remove and cool to room temperature on a wire rack. Refrigerate if you wish. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

Text & images © Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Recipe courtesy of Joanne Fluke

 

On patrol with the spelling police July 22, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:46 AM
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WORDS ARE MY BUSINESS. So when I see a misspelled word, I can’t ignore it.

I tried. I was going to give them time to change the spelling before publishing this post. But I waited several weeks, and that’s long enough to correct the error.

So the other night while waiting at a stoplight in Faribault, I snapped this image of signage at the Community Co-op Oil Association through the passenger car window. I’m aware that the photo isn’t razor sharp. I didn’t have much time to pull my camera from the bag and fire two shots at a slow shutter speed before the light changed.

Do you see the spelling mistake? Does it jump off the sign at you?

Yes, “purchase” is incorrectly spelled as “PURCHASH.”

I admit that the creative spelling seems fitting if you delete the first “H,” making it “PURCASH.”

Did I tell you I once earned runner-up status to represent Vesta Elementary School at the Redwood County spelling bee? My friend Robin beat me in a spelldown. I’ve never quite gotten over that defeat.

(I sincerely hope that I’ve correctly spelled every word in this blog post.)

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The surprising connection between a Minnesota church and the James-Younger Gang July 21, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:30 AM
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WHEN MY HUSBAND AND I EMBARKED on a quest for an old country church Sunday afternoon, we fully expected a challenge. But we didn’t expect to cross paths with a bunch of outlaws.

First, a little background: Several days earlier I had photographed a painting of an old Minnesota church done by our 92-year-old artist-friend, Rhody Yule, in 1969. Rhody remembered only that the church was “somewhere near Montgomery” and on the National Register of Historic Places.

I carried a photograph of this 1969 church painting by Faribault artist Rhody Yule as we set out to find the unidentified church.

With those clues, Randy and I set out on our adventure simply because we love the history and beauty of old country churches. We figured if we drove far enough and long enough, we would find this one.

So off we went, following Rice County Road 9 northwest of Faribault, driving around sweeping curves, up and down hills, past farm places, all the while searching for a steeple. I had no clue where we were, which I find unsettling. I like to know where I am and where I am going. But not the husband; he just kept driving.

Soon we approached a lake. Must be Circle Lake, we speculated. We were right. And then, just as we were about to turn onto a gravel road leading to the public access, I saw a white church high on a hill. “There’s a church!” I shouted. “I bet that’s it.”

Right then and there, I wanted to drive up to that church. But first things first. We had to stop at the lake. A quick stop and we were off to the church, which sits two miles west of Millersburg (not Montgomery) along Rice County Road 1 near its intersection with County Road 9.

Our excitement was palpable as we pulled off the road and parked below the church. I grabbed the picture and compared the painting to the building before me. It was a match. We had found Christdala Swedish Lutheran Church, built in 1878, placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1995 and today preserved through the Christdala Church Presevation & Cemetery Association.

Christdala Swedish Lutheran Church sits atop a hill along Rice County Road 1 just west of Millersburg.

Some 25 steps later and we reached the top of the hill, standing before this simple country church overlooking Circle Lake.

An archway at the top of the church steps frames Circle Lake and the surrounding countryside. Christdala means "Christ's Valley."

Christdala Swedish Lutheran Church, built for $230 in 1878 by John Olson and John Lundberg of Northfield and site of a fall service and open house.

And that’s where we met Phil, who was photographing Christdala and old tombstones. “Can we get inside?” I ask, hopeful that perhaps this stranger has a key. “Are you from around here?”

No and no. Phil is from California, but is president of Le Center-based ShetkaStone, a company that makes tables, countertops, moldings, office furniture and more from recycled paper. When he’s in Minnesota (which is often), this Californian explores old country churches and cemeteries in the home-away-from-home state he has grown to love.  You don’t find this kind of history in California, he says.

We are kindred spirits—the three of us—standing here on a sunny summer Sunday afternoon admiring this 132-year-old church with an intriguing connection to the Sept. 7, 1876 robbery of the First National Bank of Northfield by the notorious James-Younger Gang.

Swedish immigrants built Christdala after one of their own, Nicolaus Gustafson, who had traveled to Northfield on the morning of the bank robbery, was fatally shot by Cole Younger. Because the Millersburg Swedish community had no church or cemetery, Gustafson was buried in Northfield. After his death, the Swedes immediately began formulating plans for their own church and burial place, forming a congregation in July 1877 and constructing a house of worship in 1878.

Today Christdala, which dissolved as a congregation in 1966 due to declining membership, stands as a strong testament to those determined Swedes. They turned the tragic death of their friend, their neighbor, into something positive. Good triumphs over evil. Perhaps it is no coincidence that this church was built beside, and above, the road used as an escape route by the notorious outlaws.

All of this I consider while walking among the tombstones—of the Youngquists, the Swansons, the Paulsons and, yes, even the Gustafsons.

A sign at the church details the historical connection to the 1876 Northfield bank raid by the James-Younger Gang.

A cemetery surrounds Christdala Swedish Lutheran Church near Millersburg.

An honorary star in the Christdala cemetery denotes a soldier as a veteran of the Indian War.

The exterior stained glass top of a Christdala window.

Because the church was locked, I had to settle for peering through the blinds at the altar, which sits in front of the pulpit. The cross rests on the altar. I'll have to return for the annual autumn worship service and open house.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Memories of toiling in the Minnesota cornfields July 20, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:17 AM
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WHAT’S THE WORST SUMMER JOB you’ve ever worked?

For me, the response to that question practically flies off my tongue. Detasseling corn ranks, hands down, as the worst job I’ve ever held, beating out picking rock and walking beans by acres.

Here’s a scenario of how that part-time summer position played out for me back in the early 1970s in southwestern Minnesota: Rise early to catch a school bus. Bounce along bumpy gravel roads with a bus full of other sleepy teenagers to the edge of a cornfield. Slide on a rain coat. Then begin your day’s work, stretching on your tiptoes to pull tassels from corn stalks.

Rows and rows of corn stretch across acres and acres of land under the hot summer sky.

Dew slides down your arm. Rough corn leaves scratch across every inch of exposed skin. You itch. You sweat. You hurry up. Sometimes you bend low to the earth to snap sucker plants that leech onto the main corn stalk. Your back aches. Your muscles scream.

And then, when you have to urinate, you squat between corn rows and hope no one is watching. Forget toilet paper, unless you’ve stashed some in your pants pocket.

As the sun moves higher in the sky, heat and humidity rise. You shrug off the raincoat. Your skin burns. (Who’s heard of sunscreen?) Sweat trickles down your face, burning your eyes. You sweat and sweat some more.

Come noon, you’re thankful for a break in the shade-tree oasis of a farm yard (if you’re lucky) or in the shade of the school bus. You grab your Styrofoam cooler, remove the cover with grimy hands, unscrew the lid of a quart jar and lift the glass to your lips, gulping Kool-Aid like a thirsty camel.

Hungry from all that physical labor, you wolf down a sandwich, inhale chips, nearly consume an entire apple in several bites.

Then it’s back to the corn for a few more hours of reaching and yanking. The oppressive afternoon heat blasts like a furnace, smothers your breath, sucks away your energy. Your feet drag. Your mind screams: How much longer must I tread this land, pull these tassels, endure this misery?

By 3:00, you are bone-weary, exhausted, thankful that your supervisor has finally hollered, “This is the last round.” You are finished, for the day, with the tug-of-war you’ve played with the corn.

You join the line of subdued teens climbing onto the bus, bodies weighted with lead-heavy weariness.

Tomorrow you’ll return to the farm fields to fight the corn again, all for $1.25 an hour.

In the setting sun, a corn tassel stretches high above the corn plant.

JUST A NOTE: Working conditions in cornfields have improved dramatically since the 1970s. Today detasselers ride machines (I’m pretty sure), have access to bathrooms and certainly earn more than $1.25 an hour.

If you have a worst summer job story, submit a comment and tell Minnesota Prairie Roots readers about your experience.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Thou shalt not text & drive July 19, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:04 AM
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No matter how you view the words…

from whatever distance…

or angle…

the message remains unchanged.

Photographed Sunday afternoon at Harvest Time Church along busy State Highway 3 on the north end of Faribault.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Barbecue heaven July 18, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 2:13 PM
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IF YOU’RE GONNA BARBECUE, you better have beer.

And, if you’re a novice at barbecuing ribs, then the bible helps too.

Not that my husband turned to God’s Word Saturday night during his first-ever attempt to make barbecued ribs. But he did refer to The Barbecue! Bible by Steven Raichlen.

My husband checked out The Barbecue! Bible from the local library to find a recipe for grilled ribs. I don't know why he chose a Memphis recipe.

Flipping to the Book of High on Hog, the second to last chapter, “Memphis-Style Ribs,” he read not of sweet, flowing honey, but of cumin and cayenne, pepper and paprika. Apparently the tribe of Memphis prefers spicy to sweet.

Following the written word, he mixed a dry rub of mostly spicy spices with a bit of brown sugar tossed in for a touch of sweetness. But because we were missing an ingredient for the mop sauce—namely yellow mustard—he substituted Sweet Baby Ray’s Barbecue Sauce for the homemade sauce. What can I say? Sometime we obey; sometimes we commit sins of omission.

But he certainly didn’t omit the beer. Apparently when you barbecue, you need beer, so says the Book of, well, uh…

While my husband grilled, he drank beer and did a sudoku puzzle.

After fueling up the Weber grill with charcoal, he grabbed a slab of wood from an oak pallet and axed the piece into wood chips. I watched and uttered, “Thou shalt not cut off thy fingers,” or something similar.

Next he baptized the wood—total immersion style—and later tossed the sticks inside the hot-as-you-know-where grill.

Flipping the ribs, adding wood for a smoked flavor...

Some two hours later, after more stoking of the fire, tending of the pork and imbibing of beer (for me a strawberry margarita) we feasted on savory ribs, fresh baby red potatoes and corn-on-the-cob, in a meal fit for royalty.

And if gluttony is a sin, then on Saturday I sinned grievously.

Grilling pork ribs over charcoal and wood made for a savory meat.

Fresh baby red potatoes and sweetcorn, purchased at the Faribault Farmers' Market, rounded out the meal.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An environmentalist speaks out about dirty socks and underwear July 16, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:23 AM
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KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS.

Remember that segment by Art Linkletter on his 1950s -1960s television show, House Party? He would interview kids who responded with “the darndest things.”

Well, recently my 8 ½-year-old nephew Christian produced a comment that would be Art Linkletter worthy.

Here’s how the scenario played out. When Christian’s mom, Jamie, went to do the laundry, she discovered that her son had dropped only one pair of socks and three underwear into the basket of dirty clothes for the week.

For illustration purposes, please pretend that these dirty socks belong to my 8 1/2-year-old nephew instead of the two big-footed guys in my household.

“I knew he wore socks (and hopefully underwear) every day, so I asked him about it,” she says.

Well, Christian had it all figured out. He explained that he would only change his socks and undergarments on bath nights (Wednesdays and Saturdays) to help save the environment. But that’s not all. His mom wouldn’t have to do the laundry as often.

Now how can you argue with a thoughtful environmentalist like that?

Clearly, when you’re the mom, you can. Jamie instructed Christian that he needed to change his socks and his underwear daily.

Well, I have a little secret, which you probably shouldn’t share with my sister-in-law and certainly not my nephew. When I was growing up, I did not change my underwear and socks every day. It just wasn’t done.

And, get this, my siblings, parents and I bathed once a week—on Saturday night in an old tin tub in the kitchen—whether we needed a bath or not.

Isn’t that just the darndest thing?

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Can reconciliation ever exist over the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862? July 15, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:58 AM
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A marker honors soldiers and citizens at the Birch Coulee Monument near Morton. White men and Native Americans fought in the battle at Birch Coulee on September 2 and 3 during the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.

IF EVER A WAR suffered an identity crisis, it would be the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862. I’m not stating that lightly or in any manner that would indicate disrespect to anyone.

But, in all honesty, I sometimes don’t know how to label the battle between the Dakota people and the white people. I’ve struggled for years with that issue, most recently while writing an essay “Strong Words on Strong Stone at Birch Coulee,” published in Hidden History of the Minnesota River Valley by Elizabeth Johanneck.

The Loyal Indian Monument at Birch Coulee Monument honors Native Americans and features strong, uppercased words like HUMANITY, PATRIOTISM, FIDELITY and COURAGE.

Back in the 1970s, when I wrote a high school term paper on this conflict, I tagged my research as “The Sioux Uprising of 1862,” the accepted designation then. Prior to that, the word “massacre,” which seems entirely too biased and accusatory, denoted this event in Minnesota history. The conflict has also been termed as an “outbreak,” to me a tag more fitting of a disease.

The name evolved next to “The Dakota War of 1862” (still used by many) and then to the prevailing current-day usage, “U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.”

Apparently, though, that label isn’t set in stone. Recently, while touring the Rice County Historical Society Museum in Faribault, Director Susan Garwood and I discussed the title while standing next to a recently-restored Civil War battle flag carried by Co. C Sixth Minnesota Volunteer Infantry.

Today the word “rebellion” has even been tossed about in defining the conflict, Garwood says.

Right or wrong, I find it interesting that, 148 years after this “war” or “conflict” (or whatever word you choose to define it), the discussion continues. To me, the identity seems to switch with new insights, changing attitudes and/or political correctness.

Garwood also shared that more and more, historians are leaning toward viewing this conflict between the Dakota and the white people as part of the Civil War. After all, Minnesota soldiers, like the Sixth Regiment, fought against the Confederacy and defended the settlers against the Dakota. I suppose in many ways this makes sense since the wars between the North and the South and between the Dakota and the white men occurred simultaneously and were intertwined in defining the history of Minnesota and of this country.

Two Minnesota sites, Fort Ridgely and the location of the Battle of Wood Lake, are among nationally-designated Civil War battlefields. Both have been ranked by the Civil War Sites Advisory Commission of the National Park Service as “needing additional protection.” A Wood Lake Battlefield Preservation Association is working to preserve the battleground that marked the end of the U.S.-Dakota Conflict.

Dakota beadwork displayed at the Rice County Historical Society Museum in Faribault.

I expect that differences in opinion will always exist regarding the “correct” terminology and historical connections for the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862 just as differences exist among people.

I grew up within 15 miles of the Battle of Wood Lake on land that lies between the Upper Sioux Community and the Lower Sioux Indian Community, so I am well aware of the differing perspectives and, yes, even prejudices and discontentment, that lingered when I left the area 36 years ago and which continue today.

Now as the 150th anniversary of the 1862 U.S.-Dakota Conflict approaches in 2012, I wonder, even worry, that deeply-rooted bad feelings, misunderstandings, bitterness and misconceptions will roil to the surface.

I hope that respect, rather than disrespect, define this remembrance.

Already, some efforts are underway to assure that the 150th commemoration includes reconciliation. According to an article in the New Ulm Journal, German polka dancers and Lower Sioux Community chanters, drummers and dancers performed earlier this week at a joint concert in New Ulm, site of several major clashes during the U.S.-Dakota Conflict.

A 150th Anniversary Steering Committee of the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862 has formed and launched a Web site, http://BrownCountyDakotaWarCommemoration.com. Currently, a contest is underway for a logo that represents the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862. The winning design will be used to promote commemorative activities planned for August 2012.

Although nothing has been finalized, committee member Kim Janke tells me her group is planning battle site tours; marker dedications; symposiums; a banquet; dedication of a Brown County Museum exhibit on the War of 1862, “representing the pioneers, Native Americans and what happened during the war;” and more.

All of this gives me hope that someday, perhaps soon, all of us, no matter our differences regarding the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862, can stand together, reconciled, in an unbroken circle of peace.

Dakota beaded moccasins exhibited at the Rice County Historical Society Museum.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Brave Bambi and the brainless driver July 14, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:09 AM
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AREN’T FAWNS CUTE?

Yup…until one dashes in front of the car your 16-year-old son is driving.

Fortunately, I wasn’t in the car when Bambi decided that crossing the highway would be a grand idea.

My husband, Randy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, shared the details, out of earshot of our boy. I didn’t want to inquire in our teen’s presence. He’s logging hours and practice time to try for his license. Why unduly upset him?

Rather, we praised him for his quick, and proper, response. No swerving, just braking.

By some miracle, the deer and car did not collide. Randy still can’t figure it out, says the car was as close to hitting the fawn as a vehicle can be.

But the deer wasn’t his only concern. No sooner had our son braked than his dad barked, “OK, go!”

He feared that a tailgating car would slam into the back of their car on this winding, hilly back county road between Faribault and Northfield.

That, of course, led to a discussion about distracted driving, bad driving habits (like texting and talking on cell phones) and the fact that too many people are in too much of a hurry. We ranted for awhile.

And then we pondered, or at least I pondered, what could have been if Bambi and the Brainless Driver had collided with the car driven by our son, our precious, precious son.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling