Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Winter, “real” winter, settles into Minnesota January 16, 2024

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A winter scene photographed from Interstate 35 north of Faribault in 2019. Today’s landscape looks similar. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

“THERE, I LOCKED the cold outside,” he said upon securing the kitchen door before bedtime. My husband possesses a unique sense of humor. And on a brutally cold January evening with wind chills plummeting into the minus 30-degree range, humor is welcome, perhaps even necessary.

Fresh snow blown by strong winds created blizzard conditions in rural areas of Minnesota over the weekend, similar to this photographed in Rice County in January 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)

This is the winter some Minnesotans have awaited in a winter that has proven primarily warm and snow-less up until now. Then winter roared into Minnesota last weekend with blizzard warnings in the western part of the state, winter weather advisories and warnings elsewhere, and a much-touted snow event that didn’t quite deliver in my area. Strong winds and sub-zero temps followed.

I use these shovels to clear snow from the driveway and sidewalk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2021)

I felt thankful for the minimal snowfall of some four inches since I am currently the resident snow remover, a task typically handled by Randy. He is on physical restrictions for five weeks following a surgical excision on his lower back. So, by default, I must shovel snow.

Randy blows snow with our aged snowblower following a 2019 winter storm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2019)

“I should have taught you how to use the snowblower,” Randy said as I slipped on a parka, boots, warm stocking cap and mittens (with hand warmers tucked inside), and wrapped a scarf across my face. I laughed. Our snowblower is massive, aged and not a machine I feel comfortable or capable of handling or maneuvering.

My warm winter boots. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Admittedly, I whined a bit. Not because of the shoveling, but rather the biting cold and bitter wind. As I pushed and tossed snow from the driveway and then the sidewalk, I felt my thumbs numbing. Soon I pulled them next to my fingers, clenching my hands into fists around the hand warmers.

As I worked, I determined I best change my attitude. Right then and there I re-framed my thoughts into one of gratitude that I could physically do this work. Not everyone my age can. Not everyone can due to other limitations. And not everyone has a partner who encourages with humor, even if I don’t always laugh.

Weather warnings like this one have popped up on phones around Minnesota in recent days. This warning was sent to my phone in February 2021. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2021)

Monday morning dawned bright with sun dogs, a temp of minus 10 degrees and a wind chill I didn’t even want to know. I wanted to stay snug inside my warm house. But Randy and I pushed ourselves to get out and drive across town to the Shattuck-St. Mary’s soccer dome for a morning walk. On the way there, Randy noted the crunch of our van tires, a phenomena that happens in subzero temps like this. It’s a sure indication that it’s dang cold outside as are those columns of light flanking the sun.

Pulling into the parking lot, I saw a lot of vehicles. After several days of really cold weather, cabin fever becomes a real feeling. The need to get out and move, just not outdoors, becomes a priority. We looped the soccer field six times, still wearing caps and gloves. It may be warm inside the dome, but not that warm.

I usually drink coffee in my Minnesota Moments mug. I freelanced for this magazine, no longer in publication. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2018)

Back home, I made coffee, loaded laundry in the wash, did some online tasks and texted friends before moving on to writing. I took a break later to empty the washing machine and carry the basket of clothes from the basement to the living room where I’d strategically positioned drying racks in front of heat vents.

“You’re not going to hang the laundry outside?” Randy joked from his comfy spot on the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny,” I replied. Not even I, a diehard of hanging laundry on the line (sometimes even in January), would attempt to do so when the temp is seven degrees below zero. I would risk instant frostbite while the wet clothes froze stiff in my hands. The brilliant sun shining bright upon the snow could almost fool me into believing, though, that enough solar power shone to sun-dry laundry. Yet, the truth of winter in Minnesota—real winter—is this: A sunshine-filled day can be an illusion. It is the temperature, the wind chill, the crunch of tires on snow, the locking of the door against the cold, which reveals reality.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In loving memory of Uncle Robin January 14, 2024

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Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

HE LOOKED NOTHING like a leprechaun. No pointy ears. No red hair or freckles. Rather he was a slim man with definitive wavy hair. Not at all what I expected given my Aunt Dorothy’s description of her fiancé. Clearly I misheard and in my 10-year-old self’s excitement missed the word “not.” “Robin does not look like a leprechaun,” Dorothy told me and my sister Lanae. We apparently were hoping for a boisterous leprechaun like that pictured on boxes of Lucky Charms cereal.

Instead, we got a soft-spoken Irishman with an Irish brogue who in no way resembled a leprechaun. Robin, born Robert Mathews Bowman in Bangor, Ireland, married my aunt 56 years ago. He died last Sunday, January 7, following a long battle with Parkinson’s.

ENDEARING NAMES

The morning after my uncle’s death, I called Dorothy at her New Jersey home. I needed to talk to her as much as she needed to talk to me. We share a special bond. She’s always called me, “My Little Princess.” I cannot even begin to tell you how loved I feel when Dorothy calls me by that endearing name. I never grow weary of those loving words.

But it is the loving name she had for her beloved Robin that sticks with me also. She always called him “My love” or simply “Love.” Dorothy and I talked about this in our phone conversation, about how the two met at a party at the University of Minnesota where Robin was doing his post doctorate studies. Within the year, they married. I learned from Dorothy that speaking love aloud to a spouse within a stoic German family is not only OK, but quite lovely. That has stuck with me through the decades. To be witness to the love my aunt and uncle shared was a gift.

CREATING A LIFE-SAVING DRUG

In his professional career, Robin gave another gift, one with a broad, life-saving reach. He was the lead chemist in the development of the compound Letrozole (brand name Femara) used to treat certain types of breast cancer in postmenopausal women. As I spoke with Dorothy, she underscored how grateful Robin felt to accomplish this, to potentially save the lives of women via this hormone therapy drug.

Robin was clearly passionate about research. He was also passionate about golf. But of one thing he wasn’t passionate and that was eating leftovers. He didn’t. I don’t know why I knew this or why it matters, but it was something we all simply understood about Uncle Robin.

AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT

That leads to a food story. Once while visiting my childhood farm, Robin’s dinner plate broke in his hands. He was just sitting there in an easy chair in the living room eating his meal when the vintage plate broke. Someone snapped a photo, thus documenting this as part of family lore. I remember the laughter that erupted and the absolute embarrassment this quiet Irishman felt. Perhaps in this moment he wished he could, like a leprechaun, magically disappear.

BLESSED BE HIS MEMORY

In the funeral flowers my youngest brother ordered from our family for Robin’s funeral, Brad included this fitting Irish blessing:

May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Loving words for an Irishman who looked nothing like a leprechaun.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

When the birthday boy says the darndest things January 10, 2024

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A video features episodes of the TV series. (Image sourced online)

ANYONE WHO IS A GRANDPARENT will tell you it’s the best. That includes me, grandmother of two. Grandparents have all the fun of parenting minus the everyday challenges of raising children. We are also witness to much, sort of like observers of “Kids Say the Darndest Things.” Remember that original long ago TV series by Art Linkletter in which he interviewed kids and they answered quite honestly, hilariously?

Recently, my grandson celebrated his fifth birthday with a small party that included Randy and me (his other grandparents live in Arizona), his paternal aunt and uncle, and his older sister and parents. His other aunt and uncles live too far away.

Isaac starts opening gifts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted, edited photo January 2024)

As we gathered in the living room to watch Isaac open his gifts, I felt the love that enveloped this little boy. He was so excited as kids are wont to be about birthdays. But then if I had a pile of gifts at my feet and I was only five, I might get excited, too.

Tearing into the packages, Isaac didn’t hide his feelings. When he opened a space sticker book from Opa and Oma, he stopped and was about to start sticking stickers…until his mom politely reminded him that he should open his other gifts first. It was clear he loved the sticker book.

Last spring Isaac and his mom planted flower seeds including zinnias, like these grown by my friend Al. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019 used for illustration only)

But he didn’t love the red amaryllis bulb I gave him to plant. In fact, Isaac tossed the box to the side while I hastily tried to explain to him what was inside. “I don’t like flowers!” he said, this the boy who last summer seeded flowers, tended flowers, delighted in every bloom and earned the name Farmer Isaac. Maybe my grandson will change his attitude when the amaryllis blooms in about two months.

He also tossed aside a pom pom animal craft kit. He loves doing arts and crafts and goes through so many colored magic markers that Crayola should have a rewards program for his parents.

Thankfully Isaac liked the thick pack of multi-colored construction paper and the 3-in-1 space shuttle LEGO set Randy and I gave him. Before we left the party, he’d already assembled the shuttle and told me I should give all of his Uncle Caleb’s LEGOs to him. Alright then. I would need to clear that with my son.

It was Caleb’s gift, though, that had all of us erupting in laughter. Not because it was anything unusual or humorous. Rather, it was simply cash in a card. Isaac ripped open the envelope, pulled out the substantial monetary gift and flew out of the room and upstairs to his bedroom, bills clutched tightly in his hand. No one was going to get his money.

Isaac’s colorful birthday cake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)

And then there was the bakery birthday cake, chocolate and frosted in bold hues, as vivid as any frosting I’ve ever seen. Isaac wanted blue frosting accented by a rainbow of colors to match the Numberblock theme of his party. “Numberblock” is an animated children’s series that teaches kids math skills via adventures. I’ve never seen it. My grandson, a math whiz, has and also has the toys spun off from the show. Ask him a math problem and he can likely solve it. I’m not talking simple addition and subtraction, but rather multiplication and other math problems well beyond his just-turned-five years. Did I mention that his dad is a math major and an actuary?

Back to that blue cake. The blue coloring of the frosting was much darker than Isaac’s mom expected. As we forked the heavily frosted cake into our mouths, our lips, tongues and teeth turned blue. The birthday boy never complained. But there was some quick wiping of teeth by adults and of the kitchen counter before the blue dye stained surfaces.

Hours after we left the party, my daughter texted with a message from Isaac. “I forgot to tell the birthday comers thank you,” he told his mom. Awwww. Melted this grandma’s heart, negating the tossed amaryllis “I don’t like flowers!” moment. Kids truly do say the darndest things.

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TELL ME: I’d like to hear a “kids say the darndest things” quote from you. Let’s laugh this morning.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The art & sport of ice fishing in Minnesota January 9, 2024

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Ice fishing themed neon art advertises Grain Belt beer, made by August Schell Brewing Co. in New Ulm, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)

IN THE UPSTAIRS ROOM of a small town southern Minnesota bar, I found myself drawn to the neon beer signs decorating the dark walls underscored by corrugated tin. The signs add an element of kitschy art to this space at The R Bar in Randolph where a group gathered for a holiday work party, Randy and I among them.

Ice anglers on Union Lake, rural Faribault, fish in the open on a sunny winter afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Next to the slim cooler holding an assortment of mass-produced beers and a few other drinks, I spotted neon signage that is about as Minnesotan as it gets—a bundled up ice fisherman pulling a fish through a hole in the ice, beer beside him.

Ice fishing on the Cannon River near the Faribault Mill. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2023)

Winter in Minnesota, if this would be a typical winter, finds anglers pulling fish houses onto lakes or sitting on overturned 5-gallon buckets to fish through holes drilled in the ice. But this has not been a usual winter here with temps (before this week) above normal and many lakes remaining open rather than frozen over. Several weeks ago, 122 anglers had to be rescued after ice broke away from the shore on Upper Red Lake in northern Minnesota. Following that, law enforcement officials restricted motorized vehicles from driving onto the lake until the ice consistently thickens to support motor vehicle traffic.

Ice fishing shacks are set up like a mini village on Lake Mazaska west of Faribault in Shieldsville. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I recognize this all sounds a bit odd to anyone unfamiliar with ice fishing. Vehicles, and we’re not talking just recreational vehicles, we’re talking mostly pick-up trucks, are driven onto the ice as anglers head for the hot fishing spots on our frozen lakes.

I myself engaged in the sport of ice fishing some 40 years ago, pre-children. Randy and I would sit inside his friend Jerry’s small ice shack warmed by a portable heater, play cards, drink beer and drop our lines into holes drilled through the ice. As the hours passed, we watched for our bobbers to tip in the frigid lake water, indicating a bite. I don’t remember catching many fish. But I recall the unsettling noise of cracking ice as Randy drove his Chevy pick-up truck across the icy lake and as we huddled inside the tight ice fishing hut.

The interior of an ice fishing house/camper, photographed several years ago at a sports show in Owatonna. Remove the lids and drop your line into the water on a frozen lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Much has changed through the decades. Fish houses have grown in size to almost mini cabins complete with kitchens and bunks to sleep overnight. This is a serious sport, big business in Minnesota. Of course, for those with more limited resources, tent-like pop-up portable fish houses remain an affordable option as does sitting on a cooler or a bucket under the winter sky.

A pop-up portable fish house at Pawn MN in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I doubt I will ever return to ice fishing. It doesn’t appeal to me like it did those winters, oh, so long ago. And I don’t trust the ice like I did back in the day when I was younger, less prone to considering ice thickness and safety. I’ve lived enough Minnesota winters to believe the warning, “No ice is ever completely safe.”

Drilling a hole in the frozen Cannon River to fish near the Faribault Mill. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)

But I still celebrate ice fishing and its importance in Minnesota. It’s a favorite winter pastime/sport, especially for guys who seem intent on bonding over beers. It’s an important part of tradition and of our economy.

And, on this January evening, ice fishing is also an art form. I found it, here in The R Bar, the neon image of an ice fisherman glowing in this space of pool tables, tabletop shuffleboard, dart boards, high-top tables, a shiny wood-grain bar top, and a slim cooler holding Minnesota-made Grain Belt and other beer. This is winter in Minnesota, defined not by the light snow falling outside the bar, but by a neon symbol of fishing through a hole drilled in a frozen lake.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Onward into 2024 with morning walks, oatmeal & chocolate chips January 4, 2024

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Raspberry chicken salad, one of the best salads I’ve eaten, at the Amboy Cottage Cafe, Amboy, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FOR MANY OF US, these early January days prompt thoughts of embracing a healthier lifestyle. Eating better, exercising, losing weight, reducing stress and more top lists. But taking this from ideas to action requires determination and hard work.

If you live in a cold weather climate like me, getting motivated and active during the winter can prove challenging. Just the thought of bundling up to go outdoors makes me wish for warmer, sunnier days. This time of year, I’d rather snuggle under a fleece throw and read.

These as yet unused grippers will go over my snow boots to keep me safe on snowy and icy surfaces. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)

But I’m determined in 2024 to work harder at appreciating winter. I won’t be taking up downhill skiing or ice skating. But I am open to trying cross country skiing and snowshoeing decades out from my last attempt at either. I’ll leave ice fishing for the die-hard anglers. And I can certainly walk/hike, especially now that I have clamp-on Snow Trax with tungsten carbide spikes for gripping snowy and icy surfaces. I have not yet tested them to see if they actually work as promised. We’ve had only minimal snow and ice. Of one thing I’m certain. I can’t risk falling and breaking a bone. Not at my age, which is closing in on 70.

Inside the Shattuck-St. Mary’s soccer dome. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)

If I really want to play it safe and simultaneously stay warm, I can walk indoors. Shattuck-St. Mary’s, a private college prep school on Faribault’s east side, opens its dome to the public from 6:10 – 9:30 am weekdays for running and walking. Five loops around the soccer field perimeter equal about a mile, the distance Randy and I typically walk. It’s truly amazing that I can go this far given six months ago I could barely manage to walk a block due to the affects of long haul COVID.

The curving Straight River as photographed from the Straight River Trail, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)

On days when temps are not horribly cold and the wind is calm, I much prefer walking outside. There’s something about being outdoors, in nature, that is more relaxing, calming than in an indoor environment. I like the feel of sunshine on my face, even the crisp air, and the sight of twisting river and bare trees and a sometimes bold, blue sky. Last time walking at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf campus, 10 deer stood statue still watching Randy and me as we stood statue still watching them. I felt such joy in seeing this wildlife in the heart of my community.

Pre-long haul COVID, I was lifting 12-pound weights. I’ve resumed lifting weights, but not 12 pounds yet. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)

Walking and weight lifting, along with taking Vitamin D and getting sufficient calcium in my diet, are ways I am improving my health, too, specifically my bone health. Dairy has always been an important part of my daily food in-take given I grew up on a dairy farm. I like lifting hand weights. I feel empowered and stronger. With a family history of osteoporosis, my own diagnosis, two past broken bones and my tall, thin frame, I take bone health seriously.

Then there’s diet beyond dairy. If one good thing came from developing long haul COVID in 2023, it was losing 25 pounds. Granted, I wouldn’t recommend this weight loss plan. But I’m happy to have a current body mass index of 20.7, which is on the lower end of my “normal” weight range.

Oatmeal laced with fruit is my typical breakfast. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)

I find I no longer crave sweets as much as I once did. With the kids long gone from home, I seldom bake. I eat a bowl of old-fashioned oatmeal with fresh fruit added nearly every morning and have done so for many years. It took several weeks of eating oatmeal for the grain to grow on me. In the back of my head, I remembered how much my father-in-law disliked oatmeal, so much so that he stuffed oatmeal into his pockets at Catholic boarding school. Not quite sure how he managed that as a young lad under the watchful eyes of the nuns.

Flamin’ Bleu pizza from Pizzeria 201 in Montgomery, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I try to eat smaller portions, avoid junk food and bread, and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables (which I love). Admittedly, I also love pizza, a grilled cheese sandwich, cheesecake, ice cream, etc. and don’t deny myself foods that aren’t necessarily “good” for me. It’s about portion control. Have a small scoop of ice cream, not several. On occasion, I’ve been known to devour a handful of dark chocolate chips when I’m craving chocolate.

Seldom do I dine out, for two reasons—cost and my inability to tolerate noisy environments due to sensory issues from long haul COVID. I’ve only eaten out a handful of times in the past year. Twice I left because I couldn’t manage the noise. While I appreciate restaurants, I recognize that such dining can lead to overeating and consuming calorie-laden foods because, who isn’t tempted by French fries?

Walking is one way to reduce stress. Many communities have trails, perfect for walking even in the winter. This photo was taken along the Straight River Trail near Fleckenstein Bluffs Park in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2023)

Reducing stress is perhaps my biggest challenge. I tend to worry, to ruminate. And that is unhealthy. I’m getting better at letting go, at lessening demands on myself, on understanding that life never has been, and never will be, perfect.

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TELL ME: What do you do to stay healthy? What goals have you set for 2024?

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

When the Minnesota northwoods focus a mystery series January 3, 2024

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An iconic northwoods Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)

I RECENTLY FOUND LINDA NORLANDER’S fourth book—Death of a Fox—in the new fiction section of my local library. Labeled #4 in “A Cabin by the Lake Mystery,” the series name and cover art drew me to pull the book from the shelf and read the back cover summary. I do, indeed, judge a book by its cover and title. Take note, book editors and marketing teams.

The fourth book in Norlander’s cabin mystery series. (Sourced from Norlander’s website)

Given the series name, I expected this book might be by a Minnesotan or set in Minnesota. It’s both. Sort of. The author grew up in Minnesota as the daughter of a rural newspaper editor, raised her family on 10 acres of land in the central part of our state and then moved to Tacoma, Washington. I won’t hold that against her because, well, Minnesota winters are not for everyone forever. But Norlander’s cabin mysteries are for anyone who likes a good mystery set in the Minnesota northwoods.

I’m a long-time fan of mysteries, dating back to the Nancy Drew mystery series of my youth. I’ll admit that I’ve had to force myself to read outside that genre. I still don’t read romance novels, although Norlander’s writing does include a bit of romance for main character Jamie Forest, a freelance editor who recently moved from her native New York City to a family lake cabin in northern Minnesota.

The first book in the cabin mystery series. (Book cover image sourced online)

In that tranquil setting, Jamie attempts to reclaim her life, leaving behind a traumatizing event involving law enforcement in the Big Apple. This I learned in book #1, Death of an Editor. I’m reading the books in order and just finished the first. I couldn’t put it down. It was that good.

Loons are common on the lakes of central and northern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)

Good not only mystery-wise, but also because this is definitely a Minnesota-centric read. Norlander references reserved Minnesotans, hot dish (not casserole), Minnesota Nice, loons…even appropriately names a local eatery the Loonfeather Cafe.

The author doesn’t shy from hard topics either, like biases against Native Americans (many of her characters are partial or full-blooded Ojibwe, including Jamie), proposed copper and nickel mining, and school shootings, all integral parts of the plot in Death of an Editor and part of Minnesota’s past and present. And, yes, an editor is murdered in this fictional book.

Jamie quickly becomes a suspect in that murder. Without revealing too much of the story, I will share that she sets out to clear her name, then that of another accused, along the way finding herself in life-death situations. There are many heart-stopping moments, questions about who can be trusted and who can’t. Lots of mysteries within the mystery to unravel.

Land greed. A troubling family past. Corrupt and threatening law enforcement officers. Men in red caps. Efforts to save the pristine northwoods from development. Secrets. Even Minnesota weather, which is forever and always a topic of conversation in our state, shape this first of Norlander’s books. Death of an Editor is set in summer and Norlander’s three subsequent books happen in our other three distinct seasons.

The second book in Norlander’s series. (Book cover image sourced online)

I just started her autumn seasonal second book, Death of a Starling, and am already drawn into the thickening plot, a continuation of book #1 as Jamie, considered an outsider and big city tree hugger, continues her efforts to uncover the truth. Already I’m finding this book to be another enthralling mystery that I can’t put down, not even to watch the 10 o’clock news.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Let’s all strive, as Mr. Rogers advised, to listen in 2024 January 2, 2024

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Inspirational signage photographed in a residential front yard, Nerstrand, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

WITH THE BEGINNING of a new year, thoughts turn to what may unfold in 2024. We just don’t know. So much is beyond our control, even if we think it isn’t.

Life brings joy. Life brings challenges. Life brings the unexpected. That’s a given. Life can be downright difficult at times. And that’s where we each have the power to make a difference in the lives of family, friends and even strangers. That starts with listening, not to our own voices, but rather to the voices of others.

How many times has someone asked how you’re doing and you answer honestly (or maybe not so honestly) only to then hear the questioner share his/her story? Suddenly the focus is on the other person and not your situation. Happens all the time. How does that make you feel? In those conversations, I’ve felt dismissed, unheard, like I don’t matter. And I am not a selfish, self-centered person.

The point here is, if you ask someone how they are, opt to listen. Keep the focus on them, not you. People appreciate someone who listens, who shows genuine care and compassion.

We Minnesotans have a tendency to use the word “fine” way too much when responding to “How are you?” I, for one, really want to know when I ask that question. I try not to use the phrase as a meaningless greeting. Oftentimes I’ll customize the question if I know, for example, that someone is facing challenges. That shows I truly care.

I suppose part of my perspective comes from my journalism background. To be a good news reporter requires well thought out questions and strong listening skills. As a reporter, you are an observer, a gatherer of information, not an active participant in the story. Those skills can translate to everyday life, too.

A few months ago I saw a sign in a front yard in small town Nerstrand listing quotes by the late Fred Rogers. Fifth on that list was this: LISTENING IS WHERE LOVE BEGINS. I love love love that quote stressing the importance of listening.

I loved listening to Rogers’ quiet, gentle, soothing voice on his TV show, “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” He exuded calm, peace, serenity. His messages of kindness, love, listening, embracing the beauty in each day and more are definitively positive. We should each strive to live them. Smile. Hold a door. Thank someone. Encourage. And listen, really listen.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Discovering the greeting cards of Artists to Watch December 29, 2023

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The thrift shop holiday card that led me to a Minnesota greeting card company. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)

IF NOT FOR MY APPRECIATION of thrift shops, I would have missed out on some incredible art. Not art in the usual sense of either original art or a print. Rather, I am referencing greeting card art.

On the second floor of Something For All, a thrift and consignment store in small town Lonsdale, I found several boxes of holiday cards featuring the hand-colored woodcut art of Mary Azarian. Since my high school days of hand-carving a linoleum block into a long forgotten design for a two-week shop class, I’ve loved block print art. And I immediately loved Azarian’s “Moon Gazing” winter scene which reminded me not of her home state of Vermont, but of mine, Minnesota.

That I even spotted the brand new cards among all the merchandise crammed into nooks and crannies of the many-roomed, two-story thrift shop was exceptional in itself. There’s a whole lot to see here. I found the cards on a second pass through, and then only because I looked toward the floor. I snapped up the boxed cards for a few dollars. The 12-pack retails for $19.95.

Found at a garage sale, this card was among boxed holiday cards illustrated by Mia Saine. (Photo by Miranda Boyd)

I bought the cards in October and stashed them with other Christmas cards I’d found at bargain prices. I mail nearly 100 cards, meaning I’m always on the search for deals. I also bought three boxes of African American-themed cards on a hot autumn day at a garage sale blocks from my house. Again, I paid just several dollars. This was a great find not only because of the low cost but mostly because I was excited to find culturally-diverse Christmas cards, these illustrated by Memphis artist Mia Saine. The woman selling the cards shared that she buys pallets of close-out merchandise from Target to resell. I don’t understand how that works. But I didn’t care. I was simply happy to find these and other cards.

Granted, sourcing new Christmas cards from a garage sale and from a thrift shop is rather unusual. But for someone who is budget conscious like me and who also appreciates art, this proved a win-win.

Also a win was flipping the thrift shop-found holiday card to the back to learn the name of the artist—Mary Azarian—and the type and name of the art. I also learned the cards were published by Artists to Watch, a Minneapolis-based greeting card company that collaborates with independent fine artists to create beautiful greeting cards. The company uses recycled content paper, soy-based inks, and prints and packages its cards in Minneapolis. I love the feel of the paper, everything about this product, including the plain Kraft colored packaging.

An example of Adam Turman’s art, featured here on a tunnel mural in Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2021)

Scrolling through the Artists to Watch website led me to a whole lot of other artists, many from Minnesota: Duluthians Nick Wroblewski, a printmaker of hand-cut woodblocks, and Ricky Allen and Marian Lansky of The Kenspeckle Letterpress; Minneapolis artists Jennifer Davis and Adam Turman; Betsy Bowen of Grand Marais with her woodcut prints; and Jim Brandenburg, a gifted photographer from my native southwestern Minnesota now living in Ely. The list of creatives is lengthy and I expect other Minnesotans are among Artists to Watch artists.

So this is the story of how a stop at a small town thrift shop in southern Minnesota led me to discover an eco-friendly Minnesota greeting card company which supports independent artists by printing their art. I love everything about this concept.

Plus, I loved “Moon Gazing” by 1999 Caldecott Medal winner Mary Azarian (illustrator of Snowflake Bentley) so much that I kept one holiday card for myself to display as art in my home office. (If only the 11×14 Fine Art Print wasn’t out of stock…)

FYI: Artists to Watch publishes boxed and individual greeting cards, not just for Christmas, but also for other celebrations and occasions. Additional products include notecards, vinyl stickers, stationery, journal sets and more.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

For the love of family, a Christmas surprise December 27, 2023

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A snippet of art gracing a holiday greeting card I received. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo December 2023)

“IT’S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!” declared 7-year-old Isabelle as she hugged me tight, her bright smile making this moment even brighter.

It was Christmas Eve afternoon and a circle of family gathered in our small kitchen for a moment of profound happiness. My second daughter and her husband, John, had minutes earlier arrived from Madison, Wisconsin. Unexpectedly.

I felt overcome by emotion, my heart brimming with the joy of a mother who did not expect her second daughter home for Christmas. And now here Miranda stood aside her dad and her niece and her sobbing mother. I cried tears of happiness that all three of my adult children were here, in their southern Minnesota childhood home, together for Christmas. Amber from nearby Lakeville. Caleb from Boston. And now Miranda from Madison, 4 ½ hours away. Rare are the times we are all together. I hadn’t seen Caleb in a year.

Fittingly, a Christmas card from Norma, Izzy’s great grandma, arrived with this message the day after Christmas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)

Izzy certainly got it right. This felt like a Christmas miracle. That she could witness her grandma’s unrestrained happiness was a gift, too, for my sweet granddaughter to understand how strong and deep the bonds of family love. I never stop missing my kids, even though the first left for college in 2004, the last in 2012.

And now here we all were, under the same roof again, only because Miranda managed a day off from delivering mail and packages. Christmas Eve morning she was dressed in her postal uniform, had packed her lunch and was about to head out the door for a long day of work when her phone rang. Her supervisor was calling to say she didn’t need to come in. She shared the good news with John and told him, “We’re going to Minnesota!”

Miranda texted her sister and the two agreed to keep her arrival a secret. That explains why, when I suggested to Amber that the grandkids open their gifts soon after arriving at our house, she wanted to wait. I had no clue, none, of the joyful surprise that awaited me.

We were visiting in the living room, the kids playing, when I heard the kitchen door open and then Miranda’s voice. I felt my mouth drop in disbelief. I leapt from my chair and made a beeline straight for my daughter and wrapped her in a vise of a hug. I felt my eyes filling with tears. I was overwhelmed by love, by happiness, by the joy of knowing we would all be together for Christmas.

My father-in-law painted this holiday scene, which is why I treasure it. Plus, I really like the painting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

There’s nothing better. Nothing better than to be with loved ones. I expect, years from now, that we’ll still be talking about the Christmas surprise, the Christmas miracle, as Isabelle framed it. I hope that, years from now long after she’s forgotten the dinosaur sticker book and the LEGO set Grandma and Grandpa gave her, Isabelle remembers that moment in the kitchen. The moment when Grandma wrapped Izzy’s Aunt Miranda in her arms and cried. And the moment when Izzy tucked into my embrace, her face beaming, and loudly declared, “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

When you’re a kid just soooo excited about Christmas December 22, 2023

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This Santa painted on plywood is among the many painted character cut-outs at the Kiwanis Holiday Lights display at Sibley Park in Mankato. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

REMEMBER THE EXCITEMENT you felt as a child about Christmas? The I-can’t-wait-until-we-can-open-our-presents sort of excitement. Perhaps some of you didn’t wait, opting to search for hidden packages when your parents weren’t around or were too busy to notice. You found, carefully unwrapped and re-wrapped your gifts because you just could not wait until the big day. How did that work out for you?

A elf bears gifts at the holiday light show in Mankato. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

My son will tell you it’s not much fun to know what you’re getting for Christmas. Unbeknownst to me, he scouted out his gifts one December. Oh, the confessions of adult children (which seems such an oxymoron).

The other day my 7 ½-year-old granddaughter asked her mom why she wasn’t more excited about Christmas. If Izzy ever becomes a mom, she’ll understand. As moms, Amber and I get it. There’s so much to do. Cards to send. Shopping to do. Gifts to wrap. Cookies to bake. Holiday meals to prepare. Christmas events to attend. It’s a lot to cram into a single month.

A grandma who’s relaxing rather than stressed over Christmas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

So, yes, Izzy’s observation about her mom’s tempered Christmas cheer was accurate. Kids experience the joy, magic and fun of Christmas without any of the work. As it should be. Time passes too quickly and we grow into adulthood with all the responsibilities that entails.

I want my dear, sweet granddaughter to hold onto the magic of Christmas for as long as she can. These early years of her life are wonderful and magical and precious. That she holds such excitement for Christmas is exactly as it should be when she’s seven going on eight.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling