Minnesota Prairie Roots

HAVING GROWN UP, as my three kids would say, “in the middle of nowhere,” I appreciate the opportunities available to me as an adult.

But before I get into that, I just want to clarify that, yes, while my hometown of Vesta lies quite some distance from any major city, the people living there today certainly are not isolated. They are a fine bunch who simply must drive out of town to enjoy cultural amenities. I’m proud to call that spot on the southwestern Minnesota prairie my hometown. Very proud.

However, as a child, I had limited opportunities. Part of that was the time—the 1960s and 1970s—and, yes, part of it was the location. We had no bowling alley, no movie theater, no roller rink, no, not even a library in Vesta. And we most definitely did not have live theatrical performances. Sure, we could drive to Redwood Falls or Marshall for entertainment, but, in all honesty, my poor farm family simply didn’t have the extra monies for such pleasures.

My culture experiences were limited to high school concerts and high school plays, or a visiting missionary speaking at the Lutheran church.

So today, whenever The Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault, where I now live, features a performance by either The Merlin Players or the Paradise Community Theater, I typically attend. Perhaps subconsciously, I am making up for all those years when I was culturally-deprived. But rather, I would like to think that I enjoy good community and professional theatre.

The Paradise Center for the Arts theatre setting for "South Pacific," performed this past summer.

I simply feel incredibly blessed to live in a community that has both a theatre AND a library.

But it’s theatre that I wish to address in this blog post. Last night my husband and I attended two one-act comedies at The Paradise. Bob’s Date and And the Winner Is not only provided us with much-needed laughter during this long, long winter, but also thought-provoking material to contemplate.

As much as I enjoyed the acting and the story lines in these productions, I was disappointed. That disappointment comes not from the stage, but from the audience, or lack thereof. I doubt even half the chairs in this 300-plus seat auditorium were filled.

I am embarrassed, downright embarrassed, that in this city of about 22,000, we cannot fill every single seat.

If this had occurred only once, I might consider this a fluke. But I have been to other shows with similar low attendance. I cannot attribute this to the plays or the performers. I have enjoyed only outstanding shows in The Paradise. In all fairness to the topic, there have been sold-out performances at this theatre.

Yet, in a community this size, every show should be a sell-out. Tickets, at $12 for an adult, are reasonable. I mean, honestly, can you go to a movie for $12?

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

WHAT DO A MAILBOX, snow and taxes have in common?

Well, thus far, they’ve all factored into my Friday.

I started my day with one simple objective, to get all of our tax information together for the tax preparer. I admit that I’ve been putting off this task because, honestly, I detest it. I am not a numbers person. I am not a person who likes forms. And even though I’ve kept meticulous records of expenditures throughout the year, gathering tax information still takes time, time I would rather use for writing.

So I am taking a break now from the tax stuff to get my writing fix, and to tell you about the mailbox and the snow.

I opened my mailbox around noon to discover two unwelcome pieces of mail. One, from the United States Postal Service, tells me that mail delivery to our house will stop unless we shovel our sidewalk and steps. Uh, yeah, when my husband cleared the snow the other day, he forgot the front steps and short sidewalk leading to the steps.

A snippet of the U.S. Postal Service warning delivered to my mailbox on this snowy Friday morning.

We are first-time offenders, but it is clear to me that “To Receive Mail delivery during the Winter Season: Snow covered or icy sidewalks, steps and driveways must be kept clear.” Now, if I knew how to underline that warning in red, I would, because the mail carrier used a red pen. I feel like the student with the failing grade, with a big red F printed across the top of my homework.

The second piece of unwanted mail comes from University Accounting Service, telling my second daughter that her college loan account information may have been compromised. Great, I think, as I email her and wonder if the mailing is legitimate.

Now, as I’m writing, snow is falling. There’s no sense, I think, in clearing the path for the mail carrier until this snowfall stops. And that could be spring.

Writing about snow makes me think again of my college daughter. She’s planning a trip from La Crosse to the Twin Cities today, so I hear from her sister. I’ve already emailed her, suggesting that she cancel the trip because of the weather. I doubt she will listen, but at least I’ve tried.

Now, I should get back to those taxes, because I really don’t want another federal government mailing with warning words bold-faced and underlined in red.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The Cheese Cave opened last June along Central Avenue in historic downtown Faribault.

WHEN I PURCHASED a chunk of White Cheddar Cranberry Cheese at The Cheese Cave in Faribault a few weeks ago, I was thinking of my husband. He likes cranberries. I mean he really, really, really likes cranberries.

He will be the first to tell you, and I will agree, that my extended family is not much of a cranberry-consuming bunch. When we get together for Thanksgiving, one small can of cranberries feeds the whole family, with plenty left over.

That’s not to say I dislike cranberries. I simply don’t care for plain cranberries, jellied or whole. Now cranberry juice, oddly enough, is my favorite of all juices.

So with that background, you will understand that choosing a cheese speckled with cranberries would not be an expected choice for me. But remember, I was thinking of my cranberry-loving spouse.

Cheeses I purchased recently at The Cheese Cave, left to right, Cheddar blue, White Cheddar Cranberry and St. Pete's Select Blue Cheese.

I wasn’t considering the tastes of my nearly 16-year-old son, who likes cheese, yogurt and ice cream and drinks so much milk that a family cow would be a good investment. It turns out he not only willingly tried the White Cheddar Cranberry Cheese, but actually likes it.

He doesn’t, however, know the truth about this cheese. My son thought, still thinks, that he was eating cheese peppered with, well, hot red peppers. (I assure you, this cheese tastes nothing like Pepper Jack Cheese.) But I’m not about to tell my finicky I-don’t-like-fruit-except-for-bananas teen that he was eating a forbidden-from-his-diet fruit like cranberries.

And I don’t expect you to reveal this secret either.

This all reminds me of a sister-in-law, who shall remain unnamed. She liked Rocky Mountain Oysters….until she discovered that she wasn’t eating oysters after all, but…

The Cheese Cave is housed in a beautifully-restored building in downtown Faribault. The interior, with an arched ceiling and sandstone-colored walls, mimics the caves where Faribault Dairy ages its cheeses.

CHECK OUT THE CHEESE CAVE, one of the newest businesses in historic downtown Faribault and touted as a gourmet destination. Located at 318 Central Avenue North, this store serves as the retail outlet for The Faribault Dairy Company, award-winning makers of cave-aged Blue and Gorgonzola Cheeses. In addition to an interesting variety of cheeses, you’ll find gourmet foods here. You can also grab a bite to eat with specialty soups, sandwiches and salads served. Those can be paired with a limited selection of wine, beer and drinks. Cooking demonstrations and wine, beer and cheese tasting are also offered at The Cheese Cave.

The Cheese Cave, a blue cheese lovers destination for Amablu and St. Pete's Select Blue Cheese, made by The Faribault Dairy Company.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

NEVER HAS THERE BEEN a winter when so many people I know have been involved in motor vehicle accidents here in Minnesota.

The latest occurred yesterday, when Allison hit a slick spot on Interstate 35 north of Faribault and rolled her truck. A fence installed in the median to prevent cross-over crashes kept Ali’s vehicle from impacting an oncoming semi. A motorist found Ali dangling from her seatbelt, apparently unhurt. However, she and her unborn baby were being held for observation overnight in a metro hospital.

Last Friday evening, Tiffany rolled her car four times on a Rice County highway after a semi truck, minus the trailer, failed to stop at a stop sign. Tiffany opted to take the ditch rather than slam into the semi cab. She and two passengers received relatively minor injuries, the most serious a sprained wrist and a compression fracture of the elbow.

Molly, who suffered the arm injuries, said she would rather have the pain than what may have been.

Then there’s David, who two months after a serious accident on a snowy county road, remains in a medically-induced coma. I don’t know details of the incident, only that he was run over by a tractor. I pray almost every day for David and his family.

And finally, the most serious crash occurred nearly two weeks ago involving three vehicles on an icy stretch of Minnesota Highway 60 west of Faribault. The accident left 19-year-old Kim, who was born in an Ethiopian refugee camp and came with his Sudanese family to the U.S. in 1994, dead. I did not know Kim personally, but he attended the same Christian day school my children attended. During Sunday morning worship services at my church, Trinity Lutheran, we prayed for Kim’s family and the Sudanese community.

It’s been a long winter already here in Minnesota. But, no matter where you live, whether in sunny California, icy Arkansas or snowy Minnesota, be safe on the roadways.

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*Names of all individuals involved, except Kim, have been changed to protect privacy.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A groomed skiing trail at River Bend.

WITH THE SUN FINALLY shining on Sunday, and I emphasize the words finally shining, I convince my husband to take a walk at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault.

I’m sure Randy would much rather be napping in the recliner, per a typical Sunday afternoon. But, perhaps, in a “if you’re happy, I’m happy” frame of mind, he obliges my request.

So, as we’re preparing to leave, Randy asks, “How long are we going to be there?”

“Not too long,” I respond, wondering why he’s asking. Maybe he wants to know how warmly to dress. Or perhaps he’s wondering whether he can fit in a nap after our walk.

In any case, he pulls on long johns and warm wool socks. “I don’t have any long johns,” I say, knowing full well that any good Minnesotan would own long johns or something to add another layer to the jeans. But I don’t. So, I’ll manage.

Camera in tow, I head out the door and then return moments later for a warm stocking cap to replace my headband. At least my head will stay warm.

Once at the nature center, we spot two guys leaning against a pickup truck, a sled dog in the truck bed. I walk over, ask them what they’re up to and they tell me they’ve just finished skijoring. Rats. If only we hadn’t stopped at the hardware store first before coming here.

So we head out to a trail, me with my camera slung over my neck and worried that I may lose my footing and tumble into the snow. Instead of surveying my environment, searching for good photo ops, I am looking down at my boots, at the uneven snowy path marred by ski tracks, rabbit prints and the deep indentations left by deer hooves.

Yet, I am determined. “Where are the red berries?” I ask, visualizing a photo contrasting red against the whiteness of snow. There are no red berries, no orange berries.

We see plenty of animal tracks, but no animals.

“Where are all the animals?” I ask. “Where do they go in the winter?” I am full of questions. My husband probably wishes I would just shut up.

Eventually, I realize that if I am to photograph anything, then the subject of my images will be the trees. My gaze turns upward. And I see there bare (or mostly bare) branches, stark and defined against the winter sky. In that moment, I understand that beauty can be found in the most unexpected of places, in the simplest forms, if we only see the trees in the forest.

Trees lean near the Nature Center's outdoor amphitheater.

A tree with character near a trail.

Behold the branches. Poetry in a tree.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

WE’RE HALF WAY BETWEEN Waterville and Morristown when the near-accident happens.

Suddenly, a car darts around the truck behind us and aligns our vehicle. Then, headlights appear, cresting the hill. The car zooming past us in the “No passing” zone and the oncoming vehicle are aimed in a head-on collision course.

My husband hits the brakes. The truck driver behind us hits the brakes. The approaching motorist swerves partially onto the shoulder.

Yet, the passing driver still attempts to overtake a third vehicle, to beat the oncoming vehicle. But, at the last second, the offender hits the brakes, backs off and moves into the correct lane.

It all happens so quickly. Seconds earlier we are driving home from an evening with friends in Mankato, albeit following a car traveling under the speed limit. But on this dangerous, hilly, curvy stretch of Minnesota Highway 60, there are few places to pass. So we bide our time. We’ll get home, just a bit later than planned.

Then this driver, this crazy, crazy driver, tries to pass three vehicles, including ours, while driving up a hill.

Even my husband, who never gets rattled about anything, admits “that was close.”

Later, as I reflect on this, I’m mad—angry that a reckless, speeding, hurried driver would have such disregard for the drivers and passengers in four other vehicles.

I could almost read the newspaper headlines: Five-vehicle accident kills FILL IN THE NUMBER HERE and seriously injures FILL IN THE NUMBER HERE.

I have one message for this driver: You may not care about your life, but when you get behind the wheel of your car, it’s not all about you.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Greg Budig's newest book, Still (A Winter's Journey), published by Stemmer House Publishers.

IF SUB-ZERO TEMPS and too much ice and snow have afflicted you with a bad case of cabin fever, consider an antidote.

And, no, I’m not suggesting an escape to a warmer climate.

Rather, I recommend a walk through the snow, via St. Cloud author and illustrator Greg Budig’s latest children’s picture book, Still (A Winter’s Journey). Budig’s reflection on winter, in poetic words and magical illustrations, will surely lift your spirits.

A native of Morris, Budig certainly understands the weariness of winter as well as any Minnesotan. But he has chosen, in Still, to focus on the appreciative, quiet beauty of the season.

Consider these phrases: “It (snow) sifted through the thin fingered branches of the dark winter trees.” Or: “The thick bellied clouds brushed the round backed hills as they marched over the slowly dissolving horizon.” Budig’s descriptive word choices paint strong imagery of a snowy winter wonderland.

His dreamy landscape paintings, done in acrylic on watercolor paper, further enhance the experience by visually placing the reader in the field, in the woods, along the river bank, imprinting footsteps upon the freshly-fallen snow.

Budig drew his inspiration “from cherished memories of going on long walks on beautifully snowy days,” he says. “I remember the feeling of solitude and peace I had on these walks, the world seemed different under a blanket of fresh snow.”

And once you read Still (A Winter’s Journey), you too will sense that peace, which Budig so successfully transfers from memory onto paper.

For more information about Budig; Still (A Winter’s Journey); his first children’s picture book, I Hear the Wind; and his other artwork, go to www.gregbudig.com.

"...the snow covered each house and garden and filled in the sidewalk that leads to my front door."

"...the flutter of the feeder bound waltzing chickadees..."

"...down by the river made new."

"Our startled eyes locked for only a moment before she melted ghostlike into the cover of the falling snow."

"As if in a dream, I walked down the branch covered pathway and into the nearby woods."

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Illustrations and quoted Still text © Copyright 2009 Greg Budig

President Barack Obama works the crowd at a health care reform rally at the Target Center in Minneapolis in September.

“YOU’RE TAKING NOTES?” he asks upon awakening from a catnap.

President Barack Obama’s televised speech apparently fails to interest my husband as much as me. He’s been snoozing on our reclining couch while the President talks. I suppose I can’t blame Randy for catching a few zzzzs. He rises early and works long, hard days as an automotive machinist.

But, in all truthfulness, I might be napping too if not for the note-taking. Jotting down keys points and memorable comments from Obama’s State of the Union address Wednesday night keeps me focused and alert.

And there’s certainly plenty of material to fill several notebook pages. With talk of the economy, the financial system, health care reform, education, war, tax breaks and tax credits, jobs, clean energy, a proposed freeze in discretionary government spending, the need for the Democrats and Republicans to get along and much more, the President has a lot on his plate.

I wonder, as I listen, how this leader will accomplish everything he lays out before the American people.

I don’t pretend to know or understand all of the proposals out there to make ours a stronger, better nation, both domestically and globally. Obama’s plans seem ambitious. He wants to double American exports within the next five years. He wants to create jobs, build safe, clean nuclear power plants, develop a health care reform plan that decreases premiums and stops insurance company abuses…

For more than an hour, I listen to the President’s ideas. How much is spoken in sincerity and how much is rhetoric? And always, nagging at the back of my mind, the question, “Who’s going to pay for this?”

Despite my concerns and the questions that linger, I give the President credit for tackling the problems that face our nation. He seems fearless and undaunted.

He is certainly, undoubtedly, an excellent communicator. Strong. Steady. Confident. Persuasive. He understands the power of cultivated word choices.

As a crafter of language, I too choose words carefully, desiring to find just the right phrases to convey a message, a thought, an idea.

That said, I selected five State of the Union Presidential quotes that I deem most memorable, followed by my comments:

“We all hated the bank bail out. It was about as popular as a root canal.” You’re right on that, Mr. President.

“Let’s try common sense…a novel concept.” I agree, Mr. President. Common sense in government would be a fine approach to problem solving.

“The people still expect us to solve problems and not run for the hills.” Mr. Obama, that’s certainly an interesting image you paint of Democrats high-tailing it for the hills.

“We (elected officials) are here to serve our citizens, not our ambitions.” AMEN, Mr. President.

“We don’t quit. I don’t quit. Let’s seize the moment…” Go team, go! You’re right, Mr. Obama. No one likes a quitter.

President Barack Obama appears in Minneapolis in September 2009.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Photos courtesy of Amber Helbling

I took this photo of a "Welcome to Walnut Grove" sign some five-plus years ago. The small prairie town draws Laura Ingalls Wilder fans here in the summer months.

I discovered these unique street signs in downtown Walnut Grove several years ago.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN a blizzard strands 100 students and staff overnight in a rural southwestern Minnesota school?

Well, I got an insider’s view from my nephew Adam, a teacher at Westbrook-Walnut Grove Elementary School, and among those hunkered down at the school Monday into Tuesday morning.

In answer to my e-mail inquiry, Adam reflects on his experience as “neat and interesting.” That isn’t exactly the response I expect from a 25-year-old who says, “I slept in my room, on the floor, in my chair, on the floor, in my chair. I didn’t get much sleep!”

But Adam’s positive attitude, on second thought, doesn’t surprise me as I read further into his e-mail and consider how small-town residents pull together in times of need.

And everyone certainly worked together in Walnut Grove, the Redwood County community best known as the childhood home of author Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Folks pitched in by bringing blankets and snacks to school or by taking extra children into their homes. Businesses helped by finding movies for the kids and by also donating snacks.

The generosity of Walnut Grove’s 625 residents and businesses speaks to the spirit of these strong prairie people who, on Monday into Tuesday, found themselves in the middle of an old-fashioned raging blizzard, much like those chronicled in Wilder’s books.

“We were told we were getting out at like 10 (Monday morning), but when the weather was so bad the buses couldn’t leave, we just went back to having class,” Adam says. “I think we all kind of accepted that we wouldn’t be going anywhere.”

At day’s end, Walnut Grove “town kids” were bused home, with my nephew riding along to check that a parent or sibling was home to care for the young students. “That helped get a few kids home, but there were still a lot at the school,” Adam says.

By a lot, he means a few preschoolers and then many kindergartners through sixth graders—a total of about 100 students—and staff stuck at WWG Elementary.

So, naturally, I wondered, how did staff keep 100 students busy and happy?

Well, Adam tells me, kids played dodge ball and basketball in the gym. Some colored in the cafeteria while others watched a movie shown on a projector. Still others played games on the computer. “It seemed like the kids always had something to do,” he says.

My nephew credits the cooks with serving a delicious “mix of this and that” supper which included kid-friendly foods like mac and cheese, hot dogs and that Minnesota standby, Tator Tot Hotdish. They also munched on popcorn and other snacks and, Tuesday morning, were offered cereal, fruit, cheese and juice for breakfast.

First, though, students had to get through the night. For the younger students, that meant sleeping in classrooms, while third through sixth graders slept on wrestling mats in the wrestling room. Adam assures me that townsfolk brought plenty of blankets to go around.

Once the kids were asleep—and Adam didn’t tell me when that may have been—teachers had lots of time to talk. The whole experience, he reflects, was “a good time to bond with other teachers and staff members.” That’s my nephew with his always-positive attitude.

But staff members weren’t the only ones bonding. Adam observes: “I think that it was just nice to see the older kids helping take care of and have fun with the younger students.”

Around 9:30 a.m. Tuesday, when winds had subsided and travel was deemed safe, buses finally departed Westbrook-Walnut Grove Elementary School, more than 24 hours after students arrived there for Monday classes.

That ended one long sleep-over for my tired nephew-teacher. Yet, Adam concludes, “Honestly, I thought the experience was neat and interesting.”

The prairie near Walnut Grove is especially beautiful in the summer. I took this photo of prairie flowers at the Laura Ingalls Wilder dug-out site north of Walnut Grove.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

EVEN AFTER DECADES of writing, I still thrill in seeing my work in print. It’s validating, I suppose, to know that others appreciate my creativity.

So when the UPS driver recently delivered a package from Warner Press, I could hardly wait to rip it open. Inside were three collections of greeting cards that include my latest published verses.

A few years ago I entered this writing genre after checking out Writer’s Market and Writer’s Handbook from the public library. I was searching for new markets and figured I could write greeting card verses.

Since then, I’ve sold verses to Warner, Gallant Greetings and DaySpring, owned by Hallmark.

This venture into composing greeting card verses has proven more difficult than anticipated. The challenge lies in creating original verses, which requires inspiration, lots of thought and just plain hard work.

But I’m up to the challenge, and the editors at Warner Press, Inc., an Indiana-based Christian publishing company, have especially embraced my writing. Warner truly offers a perfect fit for me, my faith and my approach to the greeting card market. My writing comes from the heart as I often tap into my personal experiences or those of others to compose verses.

Apparently that’s working. Warner has purchased verses from me that fall primarily into the encouragement, get well and sympathy categories. The latest boxed sets include Outlooks of Inspiration, Groves of Compassion and Peaceful Reflections. Check them out under “Cards and Stationery” at http://warnerpress.org.

Each of these boxed card collections from Warner Press includes a greeting card verse that I wrote.

Warner offers one personal touch that really appeals to me as a writer. On the back of each greeting card, the company credits the card designer and the author. So if you order any of the above boxed cards, you’ll find my name on the back of a single card in each batch. That’s a nice touch which reflects positively on the spirit of graciousness I’ve discovered in working with Warner Press editors.

The complimentary cards sent to writers upon printing also convey Warner’s gratitude.

And believe me, writers value appreciative editors.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

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(If you’re considering submitting verses to greeting card companies, be aware that breaking into the market has become increasingly difficult. Some companies will work only with writers who have already published with them. Others have turned to in-house staff. If you do submit, follow guidelines and submission time frames. Write with originality and from your heart.)