Minnesota Prairie Roots

We removed a piece of sheetrock to access the chimney in an upstairs bedroom. One project leads to another as we'll need to fix the floor and wall and repaint the room.

He huffed and he puffed, and he blew the house in.

Remember that very scary part of The Three Little Pigs story?

The wolf blew down the houses made of straw and of sticks. But he could not destroy the sturdy brick house.

That’s too bad because, if he could, I would hire the strong-winded wolf right now, today.

Not to blow down a brick house, but to demolish a brick chimney.

On Saturday we started one of those house projects which, now, in hindsight, seems perhaps a bit foolish. For years we have talked about removing the old brick chimney that runs through the attic, an upstairs bedroom, through the kitchen and down to the basement floor.

The portion that stuck above the roof was removed during a previous reshingling project. It was then that the thought of totally dismantling the useless chimney first surfaced.

Now talk has become reality as we embark on the purchase of a new heating and cooling system. Plans are to run additional ducts through the former chimney area to the upstairs bedrooms. So much for my idea to add closet space there. The duct plan makes sense, in theory.

But theory is not tearing down walls to access the chimney. Theory is not slamming a hammer or wedging a pry bar between cemented bricks that have been in place since 1940. Theory is not carrying five-gallon buckets of bricks down the stairs, through the house and outside to two piles on the driveway. Theory is not a sore hip and a sore back and sore leg muscles and sore arms.

What were we thinking?

About five hours into the project and half way done, I am questioning the sensibility of this idea.

But then I remember the furnace guy’s response when I called to schedule a home visit. He’s been here before, tuning our 1960s vintage furnace. At first he didn’t remember me. But when I gave him our address, he said, “Oh, you have that old furnace.”

Yup, that would be us.

And then, after inspecting the aging furnace again and suggesting more ducts, he asked, “Do you have a carbon monoxide detector?”

Yup, we do.

Do you have a wolf for hire?

Two brick piles, one for fill, the other to recycle, are accumulating on our driveway. Anyone want bricks?

My son and I aren't brick layers, but we're trying to keep some order as we stack bricks on the driveway.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Hermann the German towers above the trees in New Ulm.

Ten 25-foot pillars add architectural interest and support to New Ulm's Hermann Monument.

BACK IN THE DAY, when I was a kid, we traveled to New Ulm for the Bode family reunion at Hermann Heights Park.

That was the park on top of the hill, where Hermann the German stood, ruling over the town with his mighty sword. Of those reunion days, I remember a lot of Bodes, food that was plentiful and good, lots of trees, and that towering Hermann statue.

I didn’t exactly like heights back then and still don’t, so even the park name triggered minor anxiety. Spotting Hermann as we entered the park only added to my tension. I knew I would be expected to climb up to the statue. But I knew that even if I tried, I would never accomplish the feat.

Now, let’s fast forward to this past July when I revisited Hermann Heights Park for the first time in decades. Even though I travel through New Ulm often on U.S. Highway 14, I usually don’t detour up the hill to the park. But I needed photos.

So you would think that after all these years, I could brave up and climb the spiral staircase leading to the feet of Hermann. Uh, uh. That wasn’t going to happen. I stayed with my native prairie feet rooted in the ground while my husband and son ascended toward the heavens. They reported later that when they reached the feet of Hermann and looked up, they could see him swaying in the wind.

I suppose I could try again this weekend to climb the monument. New Ulm celebrates the 2000^th anniversary of the Battle of Teutoburg Forest, a battle led by the legendary German warrior Hermann. He and his warriors successfully defeated the Roman legions, halting their advancement into what later became modern-day Europe. Saturday’s events include a battle re-enactment.

For a complete list of activities for the September 17 – 20 celebration held at several New Ulm locations, go to http://hermannmonument.com

The website features lots of facts about Hermann and the monument. For example, I had no idea Hermann has been standing in New Ulm since 1897 after being stored in a shed for two years. He measures 32 feet from toe to sword tip. And from the monument base to the sword tip, there are 102 feet. That’s about 90 feet higher than I will climb.

This guy’s also on the National Register of Historic Places.

And those lions I couldn’t recall at the base of the sculpture? No wonder I couldn’t remember. They were imported from China and installed in 2001.

I found one other interesting fact. When the Hermann Monument was dedicated 112 years ago, a special beer, Hermann’s Brau, was brewed for the occasion. Well, it’s back in a limited edition thanks to August Schell Brewing Company.

If you’ve never seen Hermann the German, the upcoming celebration would be a great opportunity to learn about an important part of New Ulm’s culture and history. And if you’re brave enough, you can wind your way up the monument’s narrow spiral staircase for a beautiful view (from what I’ve been told) of the Minnesota River valley.

Decorative lions were added to the monument in 2001.

An arch and wrought iron fencing along the stairway add to the artistic beauty of the monument.

It's a long ways from the statue base to the top for this writer.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I shot this image of the James-Younger gang riding along the parade route. Because my shutter speed wasn't set fast enough for the action, the photo is blurry. But I like it that way because it looks more dramatic.

Members of the St. Paul Bouncing Team entertain parade watchers.

AFTER MORE THAN 1 ½ hours of baking in the scorching sun, we grabbed our single-serving packages of Malt-O-Meal cereal, folded our lawn chairs, admitted defeat and fled Northfield.

And we weren’t the first. At 2 p.m. on September 7, 1876, the James-Younger gang rode into Northfield intent on robbing the First National Bank. They too left defeated, with two of the outlaws lying dead in the street and two more wounded.

Sunday at 2 p.m. we watched as actors depicting the notorious outlaws stormed down Northfield’s Division Street, guns blazing, during The Defeat of Jesse James Days parade.

They were followed by actors and actresses posing as townspeople, those Northfield residents who 133 years earlier fought back against the desperadoes. Each year those heroes, including bank employee Joseph Lee Heywood who was shot when he refused to open the bank vault, are honored.

It had been several years since my family attended the Northfield parade. So on Sunday my husband, son and I packed a picnic lunch, which we ate behind the NAPA store where Randy works, only a half-block from the parade route. Then we settled into our lawn chairs, in the blazing afternoon sun, to await the start of the 134-unit parade.

The Defeat of Jesse James Days parade is unlike any I’ve ever seen. Beginning with those costumed, horse-riding outlaws, horses and cowboys/cowgirls quickly became the theme of the event.

Never have I seen so many queens and princesses (and the occasional prince) from so many Minnesota communities in one location, all sporting cowgirl (cowboy) hats and all riding on floats decorated with horses. The northeast Minneapolis royalty brought stick horses. Promoters of Isanti Rodeo Jubliee Days rode oversized wooden rocking horses. The Albertville float carried plush toy ponies.

Some rode into town aiming bubble-shooting pistols and twirling lassoes. The St. Francis float locked Jesse James and another outlaw behind bars. But they all arrived with their royal waves, arms swaying, most times in unison, at the crowd.

While the majority of the parade featured Minnesota royalty, plenty of other units provided crowd-pleasing entertainment like the Zuhran Drum Corps from Minneapolis, the St. Paul Bouncing Team, Faribault’s Fair-Bow-Si-Do square dancers, the Saint Paul Clown Club, the Coon Rapids High School marching band and lots more.

There were even cow floats in this community with the slogan of “Cows, Colleges and Contentment.”

And somewhere in between all of these units, a cereal-bearing Malt-O-Meal semi arrived. Yes, free cereal. My family got two packages of Frosted Flakes, one of Honey Nut Scooters and another of Cinnamon Toasters. That’s better than candy.

But given the heat of the day, I was hoping Northfield beer distributor College City Beverage would show up with free beer.

Don’t laugh. While driving through central Minnesota many, many years ago, we came upon a parade in Morrill where they were giving away free beer, straight from a keg perched atop a float.

Now if we had gotten free beer in Northfield on Sunday, we may have stayed until the end of the parade instead of admitting defeat, giving in to the heat and fleeing south to Faribault.

Richfield promotes its Fourth of July celebration with a patriotic, western-themed float.

I like the serenity of the blue sky as the Miss Princeton women wave from high atop their float.

I never planned or manipulated this image, but was humorously surprised to see that I had shot a two-faced cow, the Kwik Trip cow, in Northfield, the city of "Cows, Colleges and Contentment." I don't think I could have planned this quirky photo if I had tried.

The northeast Minneapolis contingent arrived with stick horses on their float.

Even this marching band, and I don't know where they came from, wore cowboy hats, fitting the day's theme.

Plush ponies decorated the Albertville float.

This member of the Saint Paul Clown Club shows off for my camera during The Defeat of Jesse James Day parade.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Getting close to President Barack Obama during his Target Center rally in Minneapolis.

Amber, with her ticket to see President Barack Obama at the Target Center.

AT ONE POINT, only five feet separated my oldest daughter, Amber, and President Barack Obama on Saturday.

She was among the estimated 15,000 gathered at the Target Center in Minneapolis for Obama’s whirlwind stop to promote his health care reform package.

I expect that at age 23, Amber wasn’t all that focused on the message, but on the speaker.

And who wouldn’t be thrilled to get that close to Obama? He’s the President, the most powerful man in the world, and simply being personally in his presence has to impress.

When Amber boarded the city bus in her south Minneapolis neighborhood around 9 a.m. Saturday for the ride downtown, I ‘m sure she wasn’t expecting to be seated on the bleachers behind the President. But a select group of ticket holders that included Amber and her friend Julie were red-stamped for spots on the bleachers.

They were handed mini-American flags, told to smile and also informed that their behavior would set the audience tone for the event.

Those instructions rankled me a bit, but I suppose if I was organizing the event, I would try to control crowd behavior too. Based on television news coverage, rally organizers got exactly what they wanted—a friendly reception from the Target Center crowd.

As hard as I looked for my daughter in the bleacher crowd, I never did spot her while watching television news coverage. But she was sitting there, behind and to the right of the President about half way up the bleachers.

Seated in the bleachers behind the President, Amber had a great view of Obama and the crowd.

The Presidential wave.

Of all the photos Amber e-mailed to me, this is my favorite. The President. The American flag. Whatever your political persuasion, this image inspires.

The President working the crowd.

President Obama gets close to the people.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Photos courtesy of my daughter, Amber

"Emily Broken Nose" by Suzi Rhae Ross on the corner of 3rd St. N.W. and Minnesota Ave. N.W. in Bemidji. This artwork is not for sale.

A close-up of my favorite sculpture, "Grannie's Garden."

WHEN YOU THINK OF BEMIDJI, what comes to mind?

If you’re like me, you would probably answer “Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox,” right?

And you would be right. But as I discovered on a recent visit to this northern Minnesota city, Bemidji is about so much more than the legendary lumberjack and his sidekick bovine.

Bemidji is also a thriving arts community. I learned this almost immediately after signing Paul’s over-sized guestbook at the Tourist Information Center located next to the Paul Bunyan and Babe statutes along Lake Bemidji. The woman staffing the center made sure I got a brochure directing me to the Bemidji Sculpture Art Walk.

This year’s walk features 50 sculptures scattered on street corners throughout the historic downtown. The latest art went up in mid-May and will be on loan to the community for a year. And although I was told to vote for my favorite, I never actually cast my ballot for the People’s Choice $1,000 winner.

Sorry, Lee Leuning and Sheei Treeby, because I would have selected your “Grannie’s Garden,” positioned on the corner of 4^th St. N.W. and Beltrami Ave. N.W. And if I had an extra $45,000, I would have considered buying your bronze sculpture of an old woman with an apron full of vegetables. Her unforgettable, kindly face and connection to my rural roots instantly endeared her to me.  She would have fit perfectly in my backyard.

I didn’t see all 50 sculptures, but I viewed enough to applaud this public art project. This outdoor art gallery offers just one more reason to visit Paul Bunyan’s hometown.

"Grannie's Garden" by artists Lee Leuning and Sheei Treeby.

Pokey Park's "Leo," on the corner of 3rd St. N.W. and Beltrami Ave. N.W. and for sale at $15,000.

"All About Time," a quirky $2,000 art piece by Sherry Olson on the corner of 6th St. N.W. and Beltrami Ave. N.W. and the 2008 People's Choice winner.

I moved in close for this image of the haunting face of "Woman at the Well" by Daphna Russell on the corner of 3rd St. N.W. and Minnesota Ave. N.W. For sale for $4,600.

Artist Suzi Rhae Ross created "Morgan's Fancy" displayed at 4th St. N.W. and Bemidji Ave. Cost, $2,500.

Wanda Reise Odegard's "Niimii" has been part of the permanent outdoor art collection since 2000.

CURIOUS PERSON THAT I AM, I desired more information about the Bemidji Sculpture Walk. So I talked to scrap metal sculpture artist and BSW co-founder Al Belleveau. Here’s one man passionate about the outdoor gallery, now in its 11^th year in Bemidji.

He is quick to credit his wife, Catie, for suggesting the BSW after she saw a similar sculpture walk in Grand Junction, Co.

And I thought this was unique to Bemidji. Not so. According to Al, the Bemidji art project is among a network of sculpture walks located in cities across the country. Bemidji partners with Sioux Falls, S.D., which hosts the nation’s largest outdoor transient sculpture walk. Some sculptures rotate between the two towns.

In Minnesota, Bemidji is the only city with an annual rotating sculpture walk.

Al gets calls or e-mails from interested artists almost daily. Those artists complete an entry form and a committee reviews the applications, considering safety, aesthetics and durability (the art must withstand cold, snow and road salt, Al says). This year’s sculptures come from a good smattering of Minnesota artists, Al says, and from artists in California, Arizona and South Dakota. All receive a $300 honorarium with local businesses sponsoring the artwork.

Pulling visitors into Bemidji’s historic downtown was part of the impotence behind the sculpture walk, says Al. He would watch people take pictures with Paul Bunyan and Babe, then jump in their cars and leave. He wanted to change that—to get people into the coffee shops, restaurants, clothing stores, art venues and other downtown businesses.

That has happened with the sculpture walk. Al compares the sculptures to mushrooms, “like the fruiting body for a deep network of the arts” that also includes theater and music. Bemidji is becoming recognized as an art town, he says, and that has much to do with “the art is in your face” sculpture walk.

“Our gallery is outdoors,” Al says. While most of the sculptures are in Bemidji for only a year before new ones rotate in, some have been purchased for permanent indoor or outdoor display. The first in that permanent collection was “Niimii” by Bemidji artist Wanda Reise Odegard. Dedicated to all pow-wow dancers, “Niimii,” meaning “the dances,” is located near the tourist information center.

Visitors can contribute monies toward purchase of the sculptures or can also buy individual sculptures. Most are for sale and the BSW earns commission from the sales. The number of sculptures displayed every year depends on funding.

Considering all the sculptures is “like being in a candy shop,” says Al. “It’s hard not to buy the last candy bar.”

Speaking of which, Bemidji has one delectable downtown candy shop, Chocolates Plus. But that’s another story.

Another angle of "Niimii," a Bemidji tribute to pow-wow dancers.

(Watch for more info on Bemidji in future blogs.)

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

An eagle represents freedom on the veterans' memorial at the Waseca County courthouse.

HOW CAN IT BE, I wonder as I eat my BLT sandwich at noon, that half the day has passed without my considering that today is 9/11?

Have I become so complacent in eight years that I forget the significance of this day?

So I think. And I remember.

I remember the phone call from my husband alerting me to the first crash of an airliner into the first World Trade Center tower.

I immediately switch on the television set, not quite believing what he has told me. And then not long thereafter, I hear the sheer disbelief in the news anchor’s voice as the second jet steers into the second tower.

The horror of it all brings tears and an incredible feeling of fear unlike any I’ve ever felt.

On the floor, my 7-year-old son, who is home sick from school, and his friend Sam play, seemingly oblivious to the real-life action playing out on the screen.

But later, I watch as they stack wooden blocks into towers and then ram toy airplanes into the spires, sending blocks tumbling across the living room carpet.

How, I wondered back then, back eight years ago, could I explain to them that what they saw on television was real, very real, and not just a television show?

#

Here’s a poem I penned shortly after 9/11:

Flags fly in Kenyon in August.

September 11, 2001

You clutch your silver toy jetliners

then blast them into the twin towers,

blocks scattering across the floor.

Like that show on TV,

you tell me,

where the planes crashed

into those two tall buildings.

—————————————-

Somehow I must tell you

that this was no show on TV,

but real people

in real buildings.

Moms and Dads

with little boys just like you,

boys who build towers and fly toy airplanes.

—————————————————————

How do I begin to show you the truth

behind a scene so terrifying

that it keeps replaying in my mind?

Hollywood could have written the script,

the latest disaster film, grossing millions

for an industry embedded in itself.

You’re right; this could be a show on TV.

———————————————————-

Except this is very real,

so real that I want you to believe

those were just pretend buildings, pretend airplanes.

But you see the worry in my eyes,

hear the sadness in my voice.

You know the truth,

even before I tell you.

——————————-

My son, only seven years old,

too young to fully understand

the evil that has invaded the world,

the fear that grips the American heart, my heart,

the sense of security forever lost.

Like so many blocks scattered across the floor,

we must pick up the pieces and rebuild, peace by peace.

——————————————————————————–

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Arroz con pollo tastes much better than it looks.

Any time I can hand kitchen duties over to someone else, or eat food prepared by someone else, I’ll jump at the chance. I freely admit that “I hate to cook.”

So when my daughter Miranda, who has worked the past two summers in the Concordia Spanish Language Village kitchen, offered to prepare a meal for us, I quickly agreed.

This woman knows how to cook. And she didn’t learn it from me. Thank you, Concordia staff, for teaching my daughter how to cook.

She prepared arroz con pollo, a delicious Latin American dish of chicken and rice seasoned with fresh garlic, onions, red peppers and fresh cilantro.

Even my finicky son proclaimed the food tasty, although he did push the red peppers to the side of his plate.

For me, Miranda prepared a lettuce salad topped with a tomato picked from our backyard. She cut the tomato into the shape of a rose, a skill she learned from the head cook when the Mexican ambassador visited the language village. The ambassador was served a tomato rose-topped salad, just like me.

Miranda completed the meal with a mixture of fresh fruits, including mangoes. Now, I’ve never bought a mango, never eaten a mango. Actually, if someone placed a mango in front of me, I would ask, “What’s that?”

Yes, I have much to learn about food. But I’ve got my Spanish major, “I’ve lived in Argentina,” “I’ve cooked Latin American food for two summers,” daughter to teach me.

Arroz con pollo (rice with chicken)

Sautee 3 cloves minced garlic and half an onion, diced, in vegetable oil. Mix with 2 ½ cups instant, raw rice. Stir the rice mixture into 2 ½ cups chicken stock that has been brought to a boil. Turn off the heat and allow the rice to sit, covered, per package instructions.

In vegetable oil, sautee 1 ½ to 2 boneless chicken breasts (cut into small chunks) with half an onion, diced tomato and diced red pepper.

When the chicken is cooked, add the chicken mixture to the rice. Heat over low heat for several minutes, adding more chicken stock as needed.

Mix in fresh chopped cilantro and serve. Makes 6 servings.

Note: Miranda said this is not the “official” Concordia arroz con pollo recipe, but her adaptation of it.

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Postage due

LAST WEEK MY FRIEND Jane made a special trip to the post office to have an envelope weighed. She wanted assurance that the envelope had adequate postage for mailing from Duluth to my Faribault home.

Well, yesterday I got an e-mail from Jane. The package was returned to her postage due. “Apparently our two post offices don’t agree,” she wrote.

Huh?

#

The Case of the Mysterious Wire

ON TUESDAY MY WASHING MACHINE started squealing, right before the rinse cycle. That evening my husband determined the source of the problem—a bad water pump—and showed me a curved piece of broken wire.

Wednesday evening he returned from work with a new water pump and that broken piece of wire.

“Do you know what this is?” Randy asked, holding up the wire.

“Uh, no,” I replied.

“It’s from an underwire bra,” he said. “Karl (that would be Karl, our friend and the appliance man) said he sees a lot of these from washing machines.”

“Well, I don’t wear that kind of bra,” I said, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

But I do know two young women who may be getting a water pump bill for $65.73.

#

My fake body part

MY SISTER MONICA and her family have nearly completed a major home addition. A few finishing touches need yet to be completed, like installing steps to the front door.

So when I stepped out of the front door on Sunday, I did so carefully. Even so, the step down was a bit further than I anticipated.

“Wow, that’s a long drop,” I said.

“You should just jump, like this,” my 7-year-old niece Cortney said as she leapt to the ground.

“Well, I can’t do that,” I said. “Part of my leg is fake and I need to be careful.”

Cortney stopped dead in her tracks.

“Remember when you came to visit me in the hospital?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, they cut out part of my bone and gave me a ceramic one,” I said, trying to explain to her what getting a new hip means.

“They took off her leg and put on a new one,” my sister said, trying not to laugh.

Well, sort of, but not exactly.

Cortney covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear that!” she yelled.

#

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I had never heard of David Bradley ag equipment until I saw this sign posted by a collector with a sense of humor. Be sure to click on this photo so you can read the small print under the big red lettering.

SOMETIMES I SUPPOSE my husband simply wishes I would just stay home and let him do his guy thing. But last Saturday I decided that, since I hadn’t attended the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines, Inc., show in years, I would tag along with him.

Randy made for an excellent tour guide, patiently explaining this engine to me and that engine to me, identifying tractors and answering my many questions. I’m always full of questions.

And I’m always looking for the interesting and unique. So I stray away, drawn to the unusual. That happens often as I tend to see what others may not notice.

But that’s OK. It makes life more interesting.

I discovered there’s a lot more to see at a steam and gas engines show than mechanical stuff.

Here’s the proof, straight from my camera.

I nearly missed this gem of a vintage picnic basket tucked near a machine. Even though I think it had been modified with custom decals, I still like it.

Cowboy boots hanging on the exterior of an 1860s log cabin marked the building as an on-site shoe repair shop. Inside, Randy Malecha of Willie's Shoe Repair in Northfield demonstrated his craft.

Upset or frustrated? These folksy gingham DAMMIT dolls from the craft/flea market offered a creative way to vent frustrations. Not that I condone cursing...

Whoa! I did a double take when I saw this gigantic trap. "How many varmints can that catch?" I wondered as I side-stepped The Thing.

(Watch for more Rice County Steam & Gas Engines show photos in upcoming blogs.)

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A back shot of Tim Swanson's 1959 Chevy Impala.

A FEW WEEKS AGO while attending a car show in Faribault, I saw my dad’s car. Well, not exactly Dad’s car, but close enough.

Tim Swanson of Faribault owns the 1959 four-door black and white Chevrolet Impala that so reminds me of a car from my childhood. Unlike Tim’s car, my dad’s Impala was mostly black with a white stripe running down each side.

Tim’s Chevy features a Tuxedo Black paint job accented by Snowcrest White across the top and trunk of the car. If anything, you have to appreciate those classy color names, which Tim verified for me in a thick Chevy manual.

He’s pretty proud of the car he redid, stripping it down to the metal, removing “crappy carpeting” (his words, not mine), replacing the seat covers and more. And he should be. This car shines, literally, and with pride in ownership.

Even though Tim isn’t nearly old enough to remember 1959, the 59 always has been his favorite year, he tells me. And that, he explains, traces to the plastic car models he built as a boy. They were always 59s.

He’s even more precise about what he likes specifically on his 1959 Chevy. It’s the teardrop taillights.

I have to agree with Tim. The taillights look like exotic eyes with the curves of the trunk mimicking nicely-arched eyebrows. I’m sure Tim doesn’t quite view it the same way as me.

As I circled Tim’s car, I thought of my dad, who died six years ago. I remembered how all of us kids piled into the backseat of his Chevy so many decades ago. And I wondered why he ever sold that attractive Impala to one of the Rohlik boys.

Couldn’t he just have driven the car another 40 years?

A gorgeous taillight on the 1959 Chevy.

The 1959 Chevy Impala had a factory list price of $2,710.

Tim Swanson owns this 1959 four-door Chevrolet Impala, one of 85,238 built.

The beautifully-redone interior of Tim Swanson's 1959 Chevrolet Impala four-door.

No, this isn't Tim Swanson's car, but a 1960 customized Chevy I photographed in downtown Kenyon, Minn. It really doesn't look all that much like the original, but, hey, it's still kind of cool, isn't it?

© Copyright 2009 Audrey Kletscher Helbling