Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

We talk about the weather, always the weather, here in Minnesota May 26, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:33 AM
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If I was a meteorologist, I could identify these cotton ball masses of clouds that hung over my Faribault home for a short time early Tuesday afternoon, another steamy day in Minnesota. Can anyone identify these?

UNSEASONABLY WARM. Record-breaking temperatures. High humidity.

You knew this blog post had to be coming. If I failed to write about the hot, summer-like weather we’ve experienced in southern Minnesota the past few days, I would risk deportation to Iowa or Wisconsin.

Not that I have anything against those neighboring states, but I am a Minnesotan through and through. And as such, writing or talking about the weather is a given. To do so is a geographical right.

Minnesotans boast/whine/complain/brag (choose your verb) about the weather.

In the winter, we talk about the sub-zero temperatures, windchills, blowing snow, winter storm warnings, blizzard warnings and, oh, yes, school closings.

In the summer we complain about the heat index and the humidity, always the humidity.

In the fall, we worry about an early frost and about too much rain keeping farmers out of fields.

But in the spring, typically, we are more content, unless, of course, the snow lingers too long, the weather is cool and wet or the farmers can’t get in the fields or there’s a late frost or there’s not enough rain.

Let me restate that. Even in spring we live in a season of weather-induced discontent, although we should feel content after six months of winter.

This spring, or at least in recent days, we’ve dealt with record-breaking temperatures. Here in Faribault on Monday, the temp soared to 95 degrees, unheard of for May 24.

In my neighborhood, kids are plunging into wading pools usually reserved for searing summer afternoons.

In my house, just days after our new central air conditioner was readied for use, I clicked the air switch to “on.” The cooling unit ran from Sunday evening to Tuesday evening, when a front brought much-needed rain and cooler temps. Last year we didn’t even install our window air conditioner.

So this is Minnesota. Cool one summer. Hot one spring.

In true Minnesota fashion, I will tell you, it could be worse.

Oh, sky, lovely sky. These clouds captivated me with their unique beauty.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Pondering lives lost as I walk along the river in La Crosse, Wisc. May 25, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:46 AM
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The Library, among many bars frequented by college students in downtown La Crosse, Wisc.

WHEN I SPOTTED A UNIQUE STATEMENT on a downtown La Crosse, Wisc., bar recently, I considered the slogan creative genius. I haven’t changed my opinion. The“If Mom calls, tell her I’m at The Library!” excuse is sure to appeal to the college-age crowd that frequents the bars along Third Street South just blocks from the Mississippi River. I mean, who can lie to their mom?

With a scholarly interior atmosphere—I’m told, I didn’t go inside the bar—The Library Bar! certainly presents a new spin on “going to the library.”

Study the book spines on the decorative awning and you’ll find Call of the Wild, Webster’s Drinktionary, Our Two-Party System (and they’re not talking politics), Wildlife of North America, The Boston Ale Party, The Power of Positive Drinking and more. Clearly, this bar targets college students. Why wouldn’t they?

If La Crosse didn’t have so many alcohol-related river drownings, I probably would maintain my light-hearted attitude toward partying in this town. I have no issues with responsible bars or with responsible drinking.

But it’s tough to ignore that since 1997, nine young white males have drowned here in the Mississippi, most of them after a night of too much imbibing.

Those men were on my mind when I walked through Riverside Park in La Crosse. I wish they hadn’t been, but they were. As I admired sculptures, watched boats zip by, talked to an old man fishing for walleye, peered over the river wall at six fledgling ducklings in the dark, murky waters far below, I couldn’t push from my thoughts that this river has become a watery grave for too many.

The River Walk in Riverside Park along the Mississippi River in La Crosse, the site of numerous drownings.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Memorable moments on a Minnesota Honor Flight to D.C. May 24, 2010

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A soldier statue at the Northfield Area Veterans Memorial at Riverside Lions Park in Northfield.

TEARS STREAMED DOWN the old soldier’s face as he read a letter of thanks. The writer could not know how much the note of appreciation meant to this veteran.

But Bob and Louise know. On Saturday the Nerstrand couple accompanied a plane-load of Minnesota WW II veterans on a one-day Honor Flight to Washington, D.C., to visit the WW II and other war memorials. The pair paid for their flight and that of several veterans and served as guardians for two soldiers.

It’s a trip they’ll always remember, particularly “mail call” aboard the flight. As the names of soldiers were read and thank you letters distributed, the tears began to flow. For one veteran, the moment was especially poignant.

Bob shares the man’s story. The soldier, he says, never got, or even expected, a letter while serving in the military. He was an orphan. So Saturday’s mail call deeply touched him, brought the old soldier, and Bob and Louise, to tears.

Many tears fell during that Honor Flight, they say. Bob spoke of the crowds and patriotic escorts, the appreciative signs and personal words of thanks to the soldiers when they arrived in the nation’s Capitol and returned later that evening to Minnesota.

Louise tells of visiting Nerstrand Elementary School to talk about the Honor Flight. The students penned letters of thanks like those received by the orphan soldier.

As Bob and Louise speak of the Honor Flight, goosebumps rise on my arms. I think of my father who fought on the front lines during the Korean Conflict. He was not welcomed home. In some small way, through the words my dad left unspoken, through his years of struggle, I understand the importance of paying respect to WW II soldiers today, decades after they’ve served their country.

I am grateful to Honor Flight organizers and to folks like Bob and Louise who sponsor and accompany these veterans. And I am grateful to the letter writers, for their words have the power to mend a soldier’s heart.

Soldiers' names engraved in pavers at Northfield Area Veterans Memorial Park.

WW II soldiers honored at a veterans' memorial along Minnesota Highway 21 in Shieldsville.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Alluring allium May 22, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:43 AM
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OUTSIDE MY OFFICE window, six purple allium heads sway, nodding in the breeze.

Clusters of six-petaled flowers spike from the center like needles in a pincushion.

The orbs, bigger than softballs, lighter than air, balance on the tips of long, slender stems.

They appear delicate, fragile. But they’re tough as nails, perched high, exposed, as if to say, “Look at me. Look at me.”

 

Politics have no place in commencement speeches May 21, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:39 AM
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“SO, WHAT DID YOU THINK of the speakers?” I ask my daughter as we walk toward the clock tower on the campus of the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, following commencement ceremonies. She has just graduated with a Spanish degree and I am curious if she shares my opinion of the commencement speeches.

My daughter is at first non-committal, certainly not enthusiastic, but not critical either.

“I felt like we were at a political science pep fest,” I tell her. She quickly agrees.

Between the two speakers—a political science graduate and the Wisconsin Public Service Commissioner, also a former legislator—I’ve heard enough references to politics and a certain UW-L political science professor that those comments overshadow all other content.

Given the context of this celebration, I don’t care who campaigned for President here beginning back with John F. Kennedy. I don’t care which Wisconsin politician was inspired by an instructor here. I don’t care about re-election in Wisconsin, especially since I am a Minnesotan.

It is unfortunate that I feel this way, but I can’t deny my reaction to commencement speeches laced with political references.

At one point during the graduation ceremony, I ponder leaving the stuffy, packed gymnasium in protest. I once walked out on a sermon that particularly needled me and I once failed to return to a theatrical performance. But I realize that exiting this time will serve no purpose except to disappoint my daughter.

Instead, let me offer this suggestion to university commencement organizers and speakers: Please, keep the spotlight on the graduates, all of the graduates. They have worked hard, and paid a lot of money, to earn their degrees whether in education, communications, a foreign language and, yes, even political science, and many other fields of study.

If you wish to recognize retiring faculty or single out individual professors for accolades, then do that at another ceremony. Like the graduates, they deserve their own hour of honor.

Keep even the slightest hint of politics out of the podium.

Commencement should focus solely on the graduates (although that “thank you” to the families was a nice touch) and all that they have accomplished.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Why Anthony Hauser’s leukemia diagnosis rates as news May 20, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:16 AM
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“WHY ARE THEY DOING A STORY on him?” my husband asks. “Lots of people have cancer.”

I look over at him as we are watching the 10 p.m. news, astonished really that he would say this. He is, after all, married to a former newspaper reporter and a current freelance writer. If anyone should understand why the media is reporting on Anthony Hauser’s leukemia diagnosis, it should be my husband.

“Why are they doing a story on him?” I repeat. “Yeah, lots of people have cancer, but he’s not just anybody.”

Anthony Hauser is the father of Daniel Hauser, the 14-year-old Sleepy Eye boy who a year ago fled with his mother to avoid court-ordered chemotherapy treatment for his Hodgkin’s lymphoma. That, I not so gently explain to my spouse, is why this is news. The elder Hauser reportedly is not undergoing recommended chemotherapy, adding another twist to this ongoing saga that initially captivated a nation.

This conversation with my husband gets me thinking about how those outside the profession view the media and the stories they report. Generally speaking, people tend to blame the messenger—whether it be a newspaper, television, radio or other media source—for all the “bad stuff” happening in the world.

I’ve heard many times the criticism from family and friends wondering why the media reports a particular story. “Because it’s news,” I typically respond although often I want to scream, “Because it’s news!”

And then I want to add, and sometimes do, “Please don’t kill the messenger.” In other words, do not target your anger at the media. Direct your discontent, your anger, at the criminal, the politician, the oil company, the disease, whoever/whatever caused the news that is upsetting you.

I recall several years ago a front page article in The Faribault Daily News about a brown bear at the local library. Had this been a real bear stalking patrons or holed up in a tree near the library, this would have been front page news. But rather, this story told of a brown bear puppet incorporated into children’s story time programming.

In this instance, dear husband, dear reader, you would be right in asking, “Why are they doing a story on this?” A piece like this belongs inside the newspaper, perhaps as a feature, if even that.

From a journalist’s perspective, such stories are “fluff,” at best. It’s not that reporters don’t like writing about subjects that make readers feel all warm and fuzzy, but their primary job is to bring you the news, even the bad news like Anthony Hauser’s leukemia diagnosis.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, how I love thee, sweet peony May 19, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:37 AM
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THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT PEONIES that enchants me unlike any other flower of spring.

Their intoxicating scent invites me to lean in close and breathe deeply.

They remind me, too, of vintage sepia photographs I’ve seen of brides enfolding peonies gathered from grandmothers’ gardens. These blossoms speak to me of romance and of love.

And they speak to me of the history in this town I’ve called home for 28 years. Beginning in 1927, Faribault was the “Peony Capital of the World,” celebrated with an annual festival and parade. I’ve seen images of floats blanketed with peonies by the hundreds, by the thousands. Long gone are the masses of peonies.

But, oh, how fabulous that must have been, to celebrate the peony, to inhale their sweet perfume wafting through the city streets.

In my backyard, a fern peony bud, April 16

Fern peony bud, April 30

Fern peony bud, May 5

Fern peony in bloom, May 17

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A Minnesotan searches for cows in America’s Dairyland May 18, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:36 AM
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AS A MINNESOTAN, I never intended to engage in a “find the cow” search when I crossed the border into Wisconsin several days ago. But in the free time between packing my daughter’s belongings and attending her graduation at the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, I find myself scouting for bovines.

This little game, in which I am the only interested family participant, starts after I notice the “America’s Dairyland” slogan on Wisconsin’s license plates. That’s enough to get this former Redwood County dairy farmer’s daughter thinking about, and watching for, cows.

I don’t have to look far. Downtown La Crosse corrals herds of cows like these examples I photographed in businesses along Pearl Street West.

Cow art.

A glimpse of shoppers walking along Pearl Street West as seen from inside Cheddarheads, a gift shop.

Cheddarheads, a store packed with all things cows, all things cheesehead and even real cheese.

Packers' fans can support the team with their very own cheesehead hats stashed in this creatively-painted Holstein bathtub at Cheddarheads gift shop.

Hours later, after a long commencement program in a stuffy gymnasium, my husband, just-graduated daughter and I return downtown for supper at The Wine Guyz. Even here these cow-crazy Wisconsinites don’t let us down. While the I’m-so-glad-I’m-done-with-college daughter orders a glass of Argentine Malbac wine, we thirsty parents opt for beer.

We order Stone Soup and Spotted Cow from New Glarus Brewing Company to complement our platter of world cheeses and homemade pizza.

Even a Minnesotan like me appreciates Wisconsin-made Spotted Cow beer while imbibing and dining across the border.

As I swig my Spotted Cow brew, I’m pretty darned content, relaxing here in “America’s Dairyland” among cheeseheads and, dare I say, in the former football home of Minnesota Vikings quarterback Brett Favre. Nah, better not mention that.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

I meet the face of homelessness in Faribault May 17, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:22 AM
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ON SUNDAY, I CAME face to face with homelessness for the first time.

Sure, I’d read the news stories and statistics. But in the deepest depths, I never quite believed that homelessness exists in Rice County. We are, after all, out-state Minnesota and not “the Cities.”

However, that naïve thinking—or perhaps it is more an attitude of not wanting to believe—changed when I met a homeless woman after Sunday morning worship services at the Lutheran church I attend in Faribault.

When the middle-aged woman and her companion, a young man perhaps in his late 20s or early 30s, walk into the nearly-empty narthex, I can’t help but notice them. In their worn, casual attire, they don’t really fit in.

Even writing that last sentence, I feel profoundly judgmental. I have just come from a contemporary “Connection” service where I’ve sung about embracing others. Although I can’t recall the exact words, I remember the line about a strange woman slipping into the pews and the staring glances of faithful worshippers.

I will admit that on Sunday morning I am more cautious than welcoming.

As the woman enters the narthex, I approach her because, clearly, she is looking for someone. “Can I help you?” I ask as she walks toward me. Her male friend (or maybe he is her son) is already half way across the room. I am keeping a distrustful eye on him. Earlier this year, a stranger prowled our church during worship services and stole a computer and other items. Since then, we as a congregation have been on watchful alert.

As I am thinking all of this, the woman asks to speak with the pastor, whom she met in March. “Which pastor?” I inquire, giving their names.

She doesn’t remember, but I tell her I will take her to the pastor. As we head toward his office, she explains how she already has been to another church in town that morning seeking help. She found none there, although she says she got a doughnut. That pastor had left for the day.

I am surprised that she shares this information and her first name. Perhaps she is trying to emphasize her desperate situation.

She talks about a man who “tricked” her and something about the wife he is divorcing and that’s why she is without a place to live. I don’t quite understand the situation. But rather than probe, which would be typical of me and my inquisitive nature, I keep quiet.

She seems to need a listening ear and I can at least give her that, and her dignity.

Then she apologizes for her comments. I tell her she’s entitled.

We are walking through the gym now where volunteers are setting up food for an afternoon reception. “Are you having a lunch here?” she asks, the new optimism in her voice noticeable.

“Oh, it’s a reception for someone who’re retiring,” I reply, knowing full well that’s she’s likely hungry. I wish I could offer her some food, but I don’t feel it’s my right to do so.

Then we are at the main office, where the pastor is just leaving.

“These folks would like to talk to you,” I say, wishing I could remember the woman’s name. Typically, I am good at recalling names.

As I turn to leave, the pastor is already jingling his keys, opening his office door to allow the pair inside. The door closes.

I walk away, wondering about this woman and, if by failing to remember her name, it will be easier for me to dismiss her and her homelessness.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Ready to spread her wings and fly away, to Argentina (again) May 16, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:31 PM
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NOT ALL THAT MANY years ago, she was a little girl with an affinity for wearing skirts and hair ribbons. Today she is a young woman, shopping for business skirts. She wears her curly hair down now or, occasionally, up, minus the ribbons.

As a preschooler, she ran everywhere. Today she drives a sporty red car or walks to her destination.

Once she preferred to be alone, shut away in her toy room. Later, she grew to enjoy the company of friends, and even me.

In elementary school, her academic success began. She competed in a regional spelling bee every year she was eligible and brought home numerous ribbons and, one year, a trophy. Her dad still laughs about the time she asked him how to spell “silage.” He’s no speller.

Four years ago she graduated at the top of her Faribault High School class with a 4.0 grade point average and gave a commencement speech.

Smart. Sweet. Independent. Strong. A woman of faith.  She is my daughter.

On Saturday, Miranda, now all grown up at age 22, graduated with the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, centennial class. She earned a bachelor’s degree in Spanish and a double minor in International Studies and Communications Studies.

Miranda poses in front of the UWL hillside letters at the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse.

But that’s not all. She graduated with highest honors, which requires a 3.75 GPA or higher. In the College of Liberal Studies, her college, about 50 of the 459 graduates earned highest honors.

My daughter has, indeed, done well academically. I’m proud of her.

But I’m especially proud of her independent spirit. She is fearless, adventuresome. In a few weeks, Miranda leaves for a three-month public relations internship in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where she previously studied and did mission work for six months.

Yesterday, when we were packing her belongings, I coaxed her into sitting on my lap. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “I’m going to hold you like this for four months,” I said, pulling her even tighter. “Then you can’t leave.”

I, of course, didn’t mean it. Well, I sort of meant it. As a mother, I selfishly would like nothing more than for my daughter to live in or near Minnesota.

But as a mother, I also know that I must let her go to live her dreams, to be happy—wherever that may be.

Looking down on La Crosse from Grandad's Bluff. To the right is UWL, my daughter's home for four years.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling