Minnesota Prairie Roots

IN THIS SEASON that embraces the spirit of giving, Minnesota Prairie Roots this week honors an organization and individual doing exactly that, giving. They are among recipients of this week’s virtual Friday flowers.

Read on to learn about these two selections and about the others chosen for this every-Friday feature. Minnesota Prairie Roots’ December 4 virtual flowers go to:

An endless summer hydrangea mophead photographed this past summer in my backyard.

The Faribault Emerald Dance Team, a Faribault Senior High School-based danceline, that Thursday evening collected donations for the local food shelf prior to a public performance. After watching these young women perform their high energy routines, I can understand why they are state champions. I applaud their athletic prowess and their efforts to help those in need.

Ruth Klossner, editor of The Lafayette Nicollet Ledger and a lover of all things bovine. From 4 p.m. – 6 p.m. this Sunday, December 6, Ruth opens her Cow Collector’s Moo-seum to the public for an annual holiday open house. Her collection of everything “cow” currently numbers 13,648 and fills all 12 rooms of her Bernadotte home. Bernadotte lies just northeast of New Ulm. Don’t worry. The town is so small you’ll have no problem finding the Moo-seum. I must also tell you that Ruth is one of the hardest working small-town journalists I know. Her passion for rural Minnesota and community journalism shows in her dedication, enthusiasm, writing and photography.

My friends Lois and Randy, who became grandparents this week to Kaleb Michael. The proud new grandma e-mailed photos of the adorable little guy. He looks just like his dad, Lois says. She also tells me that Kaleb is the third boy born to three cousins in a week. I’m smitten with her grandson’s name, a personal favorite as I too have a Kaleb, but Caleb with a “C.” He’s my son, though, not my grandson.

Students at Faribault Senior High School who signed banners accepting the five challenges of Rachel Scott. Rachel died in the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. (See my November 5 post about Rachel’s Challenge.) Among Rachel’s five challenges: “Start a chain reaction of love, kindness and compassion in your family and community.” FSHS students, I trust that every time you walk beneath those banners in the school cafeteria, you are reminded of the challenges you accepted. So much good can come from following Rachel Scott’s ideals.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

SNOW IS FALLING lightly in Faribault, covering the grass, sidewalks and roads with a veil of white.

Up until a few minutes ago, I was not all that pleased with winter’s definitive arrival.

But then I saw something that transformed my dismal attitude. Across the street, a child, snuggled inside a snowsuit in the palest of pink and accented with a rose-colored scarf and mittens, laid down on the sidewalk.

This little girl looked upward as snow drifted gently from the heavens. Then she moved her legs and arms swiftly back and forth, back and forth.

Although I could not see her creation, I knew this cherub had left her angelic imprint upon the freshly-fallen snow.

In that moment, I welcomed winter with the heart of a child.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

THIS YEAR I THOUGHT I had it all figured out. I would keep my Christmas cactus in a darkened and cool upstairs bedroom until about mid-November. Then I would lug the plant downstairs to the bright, warm living room and wait for fuchsia blossoms to magically appear, preferably around December 25.

But, alas, the plan failed. By early November, hints of pink tipped the ends of the cactus. So I hauled the succulent down the steps and soon the first flower appeared.

What was going on? Last year I waited too long, until after Thanksgiving, to transfer the cactus from the dark, cool upstairs to the warmth and brightness of the main floor. The plant didn’t bloom until mid-January.

So, logic told me to move the cactus sometime in mid-November and then await bud development. But, Mother Nature had other plans.

I can only deduce that the cooler than normal summer and the cool, wet fall tricked my Christmas cactus into thinking Thanksgiving was Christmas.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The downtown Minneapolis skyline as seen from the windshield of our family car on Thanksgiving evening.

I ABSOLUTELY AM NOT a city girl. For years, even the thought of going up to or through “the Cities,” meaning Minneapolis and St. Paul and adjoining suburbs, has unnerved me. I dislike the traffic, the tall buildings, the cement, the busyness that overloads my senses.

But slowly, I am coming around, and I have my oldest daughter to thank. She now lives in south Minneapolis and works in St. Paul. That means trips to “the Cities” have been more frequent, although I still don’t go there all that often.

On Thanksgiving, my family and I were driving home from Champlin when, much to even my surprise, I looked toward the downtown Minneapolis skyline to my left and proclaimed it beautiful. My other daughter, who was sitting in the backseat, wasn’t sure she’d heard me correctly.

Yes, I repeated, the setting sun was bathing the buildings in an ethereal glow nothing short of stunning. Wanting to capture the image, I struggled to pull my camera from the camera bag at my feet. But by then, my husband was already driving down a hill and the picturesque moment was lost. So I imprinted the image in my memory and shot a few frames anyway.

I snapped this image as we drove under a freeway overpass near downtown Minneapolis.

A slow shutter speed produced this surreal image of the downtown Minneapolis skyline through the windshield of our moving car Thanksgiving evening.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, I shared with an uncle, who lives in south Minneapolis, how much our family enjoyed a recent visit to St. Paul. We toured the Capitol, the Minnesota History Center and the Cathedral of Saint Paul. I took in a musical at The Ordway.

“Mom likes the Cities,” my second daughter interjected, somewhat sarcastically I thought.

“St. Paul doesn’t seem like a big city to me,” I quickly clarified lest anyone misunderstand.

Then my uncle suggested I come up to Minneapolis and tour the American Swedish Institute which, he explained, is decorated in the Swedish tradition for the holidays.

It sounds tempting. “Can I take pictures there?” I asked. That can be a determining factor in whether I am willing to go to “the Cities.”

Crazy, huh? But, at heart, I’m still a Redwood County farm girl who prefers fields and wide open spaces to concrete and crowded buildings.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

KICKED BACK in the recliner, I am mindlessly watching a television news show. This distracts me from the poking and prodding inside my mouth.

But not enough. My shoulders tense, my hands clench tighter together. No matter how hard I try, I cannot relax in the dentist’s chair.

I am due for my five-year full-mouth X-rays. This is not good. My mouth is small (although some would definitely argue that point), so I struggle to tolerate plastic resting upon my tongue and against my cheeks.

Finally, after about a half-dozen X-rays, I ask the hygienist, “How many X-rays do you have to do?”

“Eighteen,” she answers.

I think she is joking. She’s not.

Finally, we are done and then she is measuring the depth between teeth and gums, checking on the status of my diagnosed periodontal disease. The lower the number, the better, and I hear mostly twos. Finally, something positive. She praises me for my good home care. I am grateful for the encouragement because I know the bad news is yet to come.

I am right.

The dentist examines my X-rays and my mouth and asks if I have any concerns. I do. I pull back my top lip to reveal the gum tissue receding from a front tooth. I need a filling, maybe more, she says. Oh.

Then she’s back to the X-rays, commenting about curved roots. My radar is on high alert now. “I hope you never need those teeth pulled,” the dentist says. I think she wishes she had kept this curved root observation to herself. Yeah, me too.

Soon my teeth are clean and shiny. But they are still crowded and in need of braces. I’ve asked my mom more than once if she will pay for the braces I should have gotten as a child. She thinks I am joking.

I am not.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I'm pretty fanatical about hanging laundry outside to dry, even in freezing temperatures.

There's something beautiful and defying about hanging a fruit-themed vintage tablecloth outside on a November morning in Minnesota.

ALREADY, MY FINGERS are beginning to numb and I am only half way through the first basket of wet laundry.

I reach into the clothes basket, to the very bottom, and pull out a pair of jeans. Then I slide my hand inside the clothespin bag, draw out two clothespins. Strategically, I clip the denim pants onto the line in a spot where the sun shines most intensely.

Then I move on to the next pair of jeans, the heavy towels, the shirts. Reach, grab, clip. Reach, grab, clip. I continue until the basket is emptied.

By now, my fingers are bone-chilling cold, simply brittle appendages attached to my hands. For a moment I question the sanity of hanging laundry outside on a November morning.

Then I hurry inside the kitchen with my empty basket. Warmth envelopes me as I glance at the temperature monitor, which registers at 32.5 degrees, barely above freezing.

An hour later I am outdoors again, the feeling back in my fingers, pinching vintage tablecloths onto the line. Watermelons and flowers on linen, reminders of summer hung out to dry on this brisk autumn morning.

To the east, the brilliant sun radiates through the bare branches of the maple in my backyard. To the west, barren trees stand stark against a blue sky dashed with wisps of white clouds.

Despite the cold that numbs my fingers, this is a beautiful November morning, perfect for hanging clothes on the clothesline.

The bright sunshine aims through the bare maple at the wet laundry.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A candy corn, caramel, chocolate candy square and a fudge-striped (skunk) cookie are assembled to create a turkey cookie.

“WHAT WOULD YOU like to bring for Thanksgiving dinner?” my sister Lanae asked in an e-mail just weeks before the holiday. She was helping her daughter organize the meal for extended family and we could choose from vegetables, salad, rolls, dessert, all the usual fare.

Soon a second e-mail arrived. “You forgot the most important thing. Turkey cookies,” my oldest daughter, Amber, wrote. She then offered to make the treat.

My mom, who had started the whole turkey cookie tradition, gladly relinquished the task to her granddaughter. “Good!” she declared upon hearing the news of Amber’s volunteerism.

But only days before Thanksgiving, Amber was apparently regretting her impulsive decision.  “…I’m not sure if I’m going to have time to make them….suddenly I have no time and I have to decide what dessert to make. So we’ll see,” she e-mailed me.

“I expect there may be great disappointment if you don’t make turkey cookies, especially since you offered to make them,” I replied.

I figured Amber was probably hoping I would rescue her. But I didn’t.

She found time and showed up to Thanksgiving dinner with a pumpkin dessert and a cake pan full of turkey cookies.

These aren’t just any old cookies and I understood exactly why my mom was so happy to give up turkey cookie making. And I understand exactly why Amber stated quite clearly that she doesn’t intend to make turkey cookies next year. Assembling these turkeys from several candies and a store-bought skunk cookie requires time, patience and some skill.

“A skunk cookie?” you’re probably asking right now. “What’s a skunk cookie?”

Well, you know those fudge-striped shortbread cookies, the ones with the hole in the middle that you can stick on your pinkie? Those would be skunk cookies.

My Grandpa Bode always had those cookies in his cookie box, not cookie jar. And because the cookies are striped like a skunk, they became skunk cookies to me and my siblings. Now our kids call them skunk cookies. So do our cousins and aunts and uncles on my mom’s side. And so do others we’ve convinced to adopt this appropriate name.

Turkey cookies made from skunk cookies. Sound delicious, don’t they?

Amber made a whole flock of skunk turkeys for Thanksgiving. The cookies were attached backwards, my mom said, but then quickly added that she liked them better this way. I think she didn't want her comment misconstrued as her volunteering to make the cookies next year.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

IN THE SPIRIT of Thanksgiving, this week’s Minnesota Prairie Roots’ virtual Friday flowers focus on thankfulness.

Those of you who have been following Friday flowers know that each week I “give” virtual flowers to individuals, businesses or organizations deserving of thanks, in need of encouragement or who are celebrating.

With that said, here are the November 27 recipients of Minnesota Prairie Roots’ flowers:

I photographed these daisies in my yard this summer. They are among my favorite flowers for their simplistic beauty.

My niece, Tara, and her husband, Andy, who bought a house in Champlin several months ago and bravely volunteered to host Thanksgiving dinner for extended family. Twenty-one of us gathered for a scrumptious meal, laughter and togetherness. Thanks, Tara and Andy, for having us.

Jerry and Mal Hlady, who spearheaded the 24^th annual free community Thanksgiving dinner in Faribault. This year, more than 1,000 meals were served. Without the generous donations of local businesses and individuals and without the many volunteers who peel potatoes, debone turkeys, wash dishes, greet diners, deliver meals and more, this event would not happen. Thank you to everyone involved for giving to others on Thanksgiving.

Keith, a friend whom I’ve known since childhood but haven’t seen in years. An email Keith sent today reminds me why he’s such a wonderful person. Keith shared that he is quite busy caring for his 88-year-old mom, Leona. He writes: “Mom is a GREAT old gal…I am committed to helping her live out her days the very best that she can.” What more could a mother ask for in a son?

The readers of Minnesota Prairie Roots. Thanks for reading my posts and viewing the photos I publish on this blog. I am truly humbled and honored that so many of you have embraced my writing, my passion. My readership continues to steadily grow, and for that I am grateful.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A Thanksgiving display at Trinity Lutheran Church in Faribault, Minnesota, celebrates the harvest.

A cross incorporated into a stained glass window at Trinity Lutheran.

PSALM 100

“Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

It is he who made us, and we are his;

we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

and his courts with praise;

give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;

his faithfulness continues through all generations.”

THIS THANKSGIVING, take time to thank God for the many blessings in your life.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Keys on the 114-year-old organ at Immanuel Lutheran Church, rural Courtland, Minnesota.

Pipes on the old Immanuel organ.

“SINCE I WAS a tiny girl attending mass with my old dad, crowded into a pew with my many siblings, I have watched the church organist with fascination and the utmost respect. How do they do what they do?”

Yeah, how?

And how do two bloggers, who attended high school together, write on the same topic on the exact same day? That would be me and blogger Beth Johanneck of Richfield.

Last Wednesday, Beth wrote a post, “In Praise of Church Organists,” on her Minnesota Country Mouse blog. That’s her lead in the first paragraph.

I posted “Singing praises at a Faribault hymn fest” on the same day.

Now, what are the chances that, from all the topics we could choose, we would both write about organists on November 18?

Beth was freaked. I wasn’t so much freaked as awed.

Here’s the deal, and I think Beth would agree. Although we were Wabasso High School class of 1974 classmates and shared a locker, we never were close. Friends, yes. Just not friends as in a person you hung around with either during school or after classes.

Following graduation, Beth and I never saw each other except at the occasional class reunion.

But then, several years ago, we reconnected when I wrote a Minnesota Moments magazine article about her grandfather, Arnold Kramer, a folk artist pegged as “Minnesota’s Grandpa Moses.” See http://arnoldkramer.com.

This year I wrote a feature for Midwest Mix Magazine about Beth and her Country Mouse blog. Her blog includes “photos and articles about local sites, attractions, businesses, people, history and all things Minnesota.” Here’s the link to Beth’s blog: http://countrymouse.blogharbor.com/

Beth and I have reconnected in a way that only two people who share a passion can connect. Our shared passions lie in writing and photography and sharing those loves with others through our blogs. Beth has even termed us “folk bloggers.”

So I guess it should come as no surprise that sometimes we choose to write on the same subjects, like organists. I must add, though, that Beth grew up Catholic and I grew up Lutheran.

Despite our lack of closeness as teenagers, I’ve grown to appreciate Beth for her honesty; her quirky sense of humor; her ability to truly “see” the world around her (and often from a unique perspective); her genuine interest in history, art and more; her creative gifts; her care for others; her appreciation of the simple things in life; and so much more. All of these qualities shine in writing that is distinct, humorous, introspective and down-to-earth. Read for yourself.

I only regret that it took three decades for us to rekindle a friendship much deeper than the surface friendship of our teenage years.

Stops on Immanuel's organ.

This majestic vintage pipe organ graces the balcony of Immanuel Lutheran, Courtland, the church home of my maternal ancestors.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling