Minnesota Prairie Roots

SHE HAS HER whole day mapped out, she tells her friends last week, and then tells me.

First, she’ll stop at Caribou Coffee for free coffee on her way to work in St Paul.

And that’s it, she says, and laughs.

Leave it to my daughter Amber, my eldest, to have such grand plans for her not-quite-a-quarter-of-a-century birthday. I knew those preliminary plans would change, and they did.

Today, at 10:56 a.m. to be exact, she turns another year older. And if she was home, I would hug my daughter and tell her I love her and bake a birthday treat.

But she’s not and I can’t, but I can and I can’t.

She’ll celebrate with co-workers and friends. The hug from me will have to wait. The “I love you” arrives in an e-mail and a phone call. A co-worker is bringing brownies.

This I learn Tuesday evening, when Amber calls to wish her brother a happy 16^th birthday. With three children, what are the odds that my oldest would be born on February 10 and my youngest on February 9?

That aside, Amber shares one more bit of news. Retired U. S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor will be in the Twin Cities today. And there’s a slim possibility that maybe, just maybe, Amber will meet this first female to serve on the nation’s highest court.

Whatever the days holds, and that also includes a free meal with friends at Noodles & Company and then an evening at church, I’m certain my daughter will enjoy every minute.

I wish I could celebrate this day, her birthday, the day I became a mother, with her. But kids have this way of growing up and moving on. One minute they are babies and the next minute they are adults. Or so it seems.

A birthday rose for my oldest daughter, Amber, photographed this summer in St. Cloud.

Happy birthday, sweet daughter of mine!

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

When will all of this snow STOP? A stop sign on the corner by my house is nearly buried in snow.

MY TEENAGE SON is getting his birthday wish today—a snow day.

Last night he asks, “Do you think we’ll have school tomorrow?”

His dad and I look at each other. “Maybe a late start,” Randy says.

Later, as we’re watching the 10 o’clock news, announcements of late-school starts and closings are already scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. To Caleb’s disappointment, “Faribault” does not follow “Fairmont,” meaning classes are on as normal.

But travel conditions apparently change overnight, when another several inches of snow fall atop the eight or so inches already on the ground. Or perhaps school and transportation officials realize safety should come first.

My husband, who has switched on the TV before leaving for work Tuesday morning, tells me that Faribault schools are starting two hours late. OK, I mumble as I kiss him goodbye, then pull the bed covers tighter around my neck.

Soon I am up, though, unable to sleep. At 8 a.m., I switch on the local news. Just to make sure. Sometimes situations change. After learning that the Senior Clothes Closet, the Rice County Day Activity Center and a few other places are closed, the radio announcer gets to the schools. I’m standing in my kitchen, wondering why he doesn’t announce the school delays and closings first.

“All of these schools are closed,” he finally says, beginning a long list that includes Faribault and almost every other nearby school.

My boy, my now 16-year-old birthday boy will be so happy, oh, so happy to hear this news, when he finally awakens. I expect that will be around noon.

Which is the car in our driveway and which is the snowbank? Tough to distinguish the two, isn't it?

OK, I'll admit there's some beauty in this latest 10-inch snowfall, like my neighbor's snow-draped evergreen.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Eggs are for more than eating.

MY DAUGHTERS, both in their early 20s, sometimes share snippets of their lives that make me a bit jealous of their youthful exuberance.

Take my eldest, who drove down from south Minneapolis on Sunday. A few hours into her visit, Amber asks to use her brother’s laptop. She wants to show us something on her Facebook page. I’m not on Facebook and wouldn’t have a clue how to use it, if I wanted. And I don’t want.

But back to the point. Amber proceeds to show us a hilarious video of her friend James lying on the floor of her basement laundry room, cup clenched in mouth, attempting to catch eggs dropped through a first-floor laundry chute.

Tim is dropping the egg yolks and, on the third try, hits the target. Maybe you have to see this clip to appreciate the humor. But it’s pretty darned funny. Once the task is completed, Tim and James stand side-by-side with bottles of laundry detergent, mimicking a television commercial. Their friend David, who is among the creative talent at a Minneapolis-based ad agency, suggests the laundry commercial.

As I’m viewing the egg episode, I’m thinking two things: How did Tim come up with this idea to drop eggs down a laundry chute? Secondly, if tweaked a bit, this clip is just odd enough and funny enough to work as a detergent or stain removal ad.

Now, on to daughter number two, who is a college student in Wisconsin. Recently, Miranda participated in a photo scavenger hunt during a friend’s birthday party. Among the craziest of images needed was a picture of team members petting a cow. Unlike their competitors, who aim directly for the toy section of a major retailer, Miranda and crew head for, no, not a Wisconsin farm, but for the meat department in a grocery store. Their photo depicts a slab of beef, sans cow. Had I been the judge, I would award extra points for creative thinking.

Another photo requirement calls for them to beg a French fry from a stranger. So the team drives to a fast food restaurant, spies a group of high school boys and asks for a fry. They get the single potato slice and permission to dip it in ketchup, earning them extra points.

I could tell you more about that photo scavenger hunt, but those details involve an old man dancing in a bar, the YMCA song and a parked car. Nothing criminal, nothing bad, but just better left unsaid.

Oh, to be 20-something again, chasing cows in Wisconsin, dropping eggs down a laundry chute…

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

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