Minnesota Prairie Roots

A SHARP OCTOBER WIND cut across Central Park, chilling me as I walked. For several months now, Randy and I have power walked here and in the surrounding neighborhood as part of a new exercise routine. But these daily outings have proven to be more, much more, than an effort to raise our heart rates, build strong bones and stay in shape. They have opened our eyes to sides and peoples and challenges previously unseen by us in Faribault.

That includes homelessness. I’ve come to recognize those without housing security. And although I’ve never stopped to ask their stories, I’ve wondered. I wonder if they have enough food, where they sleep, why they are homeless. And I wonder, what are we as a community doing to help them find housing and more?

On the evening I noticed a cardboard box aside a tree and investigated, I had even more questions. Food filled the box. Unopened boxes of Raisin Bran and baked goods mostly. Why was this box of food placed there, next to a tree near the band shell?

The next morning the box sat inside the band shell, a single loaf of French bread lying on the grass. And three days later, when I noticed a cardboard box edging over a trash can, I investigated again. To my dismay, I found the food dumped, a head of cabbage, hazelnuts, baked goods and more inside the garbage barrel. I didn’t dig deeper. Why this unnecessary dumping of food?

Several weeks later I spotted boxes of food again, this time three boxes left by a picnic table on the band shell’s north side. Inside were half-gallons of milk, eggs, dried lentils, cereal, baked goods, crackers, salad and, at the bottom, rotten pears. The temperature hovered at 60 degrees, not nearly cold enough to keep perishables. I expect someone had good intentions in leaving the food there.

I’ve observed people waiting in line for food, clothing and more across the street at The Society of St. Vincent de Paul Center for Charitable Services. I’ve observed, too, volunteers’ vehicles parked outside The Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour, home to the Community Cafe, which every Tuesday evening serves a free meal. The church sits across from the park, next to a bank, a block from St. Vincent.

An acquaintance, whom I suspect is homeless and whom I haven’t seen in the park since I asked if he has a home (I did so respectfully), told me he got food from St. Vincent, ate at the Community Cafe and at Buckham West Senior Center. So I know these outreaches are working.

Then there was the evening Randy and I witnessed a drug deal, or more accurately, a suspected drug deal. A motorbike drove into the center of the park and an exchange occurred between two young men. There was a bit of yelling before one of the guys (the one who’d been waiting on a park bench) dashed toward an empty parked car that we’d noticed idling upon our arrival. We’d been warned about drug deals at Central Park. But to be warned differs from witnessing.

And the day I found a small pack lying on the sidewalk, then opened it to check for identification, I discovered a stash of marijuana secured in plastic wrap, along with prescription eyeglasses and a large print Sudoku book. Randy reminded me that pot is now legal in Minnesota when I suggested turning the drugs in to police. So we left the bag, hanging it on a low lying park fence. Days later it was gone.

There’s plenty of drinking happening at Central Park, too, even if consumption is banned, allowed by permit only. I’m no teetotaler. But I am a rule follower. And it troubles me to see this drinking and then alcohol bottles and cans and boxes strewn about. A liquor store sits right across the street. I once saw a young homeless man charging his cellphone in an exterior outlet of the liquor/grocery store. And I recently witnessed a woman, seated at a picnic table, chugging a Hamms beer too early in the day.

All of this—the suspected drug deal, the abandoned food boxes and trashed food, the homelessness (including the person sleeping on a picnic table inside the band shell, bike nearby), and substance abuse—leaves me feeling melancholy. I don’t know the circumstances, the stories, the situations behind anything or anyone I’ve observed. I only know how I feel. And that is helpless, sad and with a whole lot of questions.

I recognize, though, that we each are likely only a financial, health or other crisis away from hunger, homelessness, addiction, despair. And that is, perhaps, what imprints upon me most. We are human. And to be human is to face challenges that can lead into the darkest of places. To be human is also to take an eye-opening walk through a city park to see that previously unseen and in the seeing to recognize the need is great among us.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling