A portion of the program for the celebration honoring Robert L. Crandall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
AS I SIPPED ROOT BEER through a colorful striped straw, the soda mixing with melting vanilla ice cream, I thought of the 93-year-old who enjoyed this simple summer treat. Bob, born Robert Lee Crandall, delighted in root beer floats. And on this first day of autumn, in the Great Hall of Buckham Memorial Library, an appreciative group gathered to honor this Faribault man for the legacy he left in his community.
Crandall, who died in January 2021, gifted nearly $3 million to the City of Faribault, designated specifically for the benefit of his beloved local library. That mega gift came in four installments totaling $2,940,927.
Anne Pleskonko, right, who knew Bob Crandall personally, presents a mock check for nearly $3 million to the Library Advisory Board, city officials, Library Director Delane James and others on Saturday.
What a gift. What a reason to celebrate with music (by Mike Hildebrandt, Dallas Musselmann and Doug Madow), memories and presentation of an over-sized check representing Crandall’s generosity. He will also be recognized with a permanent plaque to be installed in the library entry. Grateful words cast thereon will honor his gift and its impact on future generations.
Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2022)
The monies, according to Library Director Delane James, will be used in three ways, in a plan created by the Library Advisory Board and approved by the Faribault City Council: A third of the original gift will become a permanent endowment that benefits both present and future library users. Another third will be used to upgrade the library’s current space. James cited technology, hearing loop system and acoustic treatments upgrades to the Great Hall, for example. And the final third of Crandall’s original gift will go toward equipping a future maker space incubator.
I’d like to think Crandall, old enough to remember the Great Depression as a young boy, would approve of this sound financial plan. He spent hours at the library, quietly reading and studying books about investing. And he kept up on the daily stock market, said Anne Pleskonko, who met Crandall six years ago in her then-job at Milestone Senior Living. She got to know the man behind the legacy—a man fond of John Wayne movies and television series like “The Andy Griffith Show” and “Columbo”.
She spoke of his sense of humor, of his walking and biking the Sakatah Singing Hills State Trail, of his fondness for bacon, molasses cookies and pickled pigs’ feet. And root beer floats.
A snippet of the words to be engraved on a permanent plaque honoring Robert Crandall. (Edited Minnesota Prairie Roots image, September 2023)
As I finished the last of my root beer float, I considered Pleskonko’s closing statement that Crandall’s nearly $3 million gift is “a gift for all for generations to come.” I understood that fully as I observed the young families surrounding me, including the sweet blonde-haired girl toddling across the carpet, leaving so many of us smiling. I’d like to think that Crandall would be smiling, too, happy to see little ones in the library he loved, the place where he gained knowledge on investing, the place he clearly held so dear.
Posted on a door at Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
IN LIFE AND IN DEATH, there are reasons to celebrate. And this Saturday, September 23, from 11 am – 12:30 pm, the City of Faribault will celebrate the legacy of Robert L. “Bob” Crandall.
The celebration has been moved inside to the Great Hall due to an uncompleted renovation project on the Library Plaza steps. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)
He held a deep love for his local public library. According to his obituary, Crandall “spent many hours at the Buckham Memorial Library studying and reading books on investing.” He also watched CNBC to stay updated on the stock market. I can only assume that his focused reading and television viewing led to sound and knowledgeable investment strategies. As a result, my community, my library, is benefiting from this avid reader’s generosity.
I expect Saturday’s event, which begins with music by Mike Hildebrandt & Friends followed by a ceremony of gratitude, will reveal how some of Crandall’s legacy money was spent. The Faribault City Council, Library Advisory Board and staff tasked themselves with working together to ensure his gift would “make a positive and lasting impact for the citizens of Faribault.”
Inside a section of Buckham Memorial Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)
Aside from his interest in investing, Crandall liked John Wayne movies and stamp collecting. And bacon. He also hiked, biked, played cards and vacationed in Mexico. Plus, he spoke fluent Spanish. I bet this nonagenarian shared many an interesting story about his travels, his life experiences, but in a humble and gracious way. He moved to my community decades ago to work at the then Faribault Regional Center.
The obituary for this Anoka-born man lists no surviving family, but many friends at his final home, Milestone Senior Living in Faribault. But he certainly leaves many other friends, people like me who appreciate his multi-million dollar gift to a place I love, too, Buckham Memorial Library.
Story updated at 9 pm Thursday, September 21, to reflect a new location for the celebration inside the library Great Hall rather than outdoors on the front plaza.
Early on in my diagnoses, my brain felt like this, scrambled. Art by Bill Nagel, previously exhibited at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
FOR ME, THE FEELING of imbalance started shortly after an early January virus, likely *COVID-19. At the time I didn’t make the connection between the two. But eventually medical professionals did. That led to multiple diagnoses of vestibular neuritis, Meniere’s Disease and peripheral sensory neuropathy. Yes, it’s been a lot to handle. But I’m in a much better place health-wise than nine months ago thanks to professional intervention and a whole lot of hard work.
The thing about having a vestibular disorder is that it’s unseen. You can’t see inside my brain to view the damage. And, for the most part, you can’t see the effects of a malfunctioning vestibular system, unless you’re my husband or eldest daughter who can. Randy and Amber can look at my face, see my eyes squinting, my look of fatigue, tell-tale signs I’m not doing well. And if I’m closing my eyes or holding my hands on the sides of my face, I’m blocking my peripheral vision, thus reducing visual input.
All of that aside, I’ve at least reclaimed my balance. Most days. Brief bouts of vertigo set me back mid-summer. Via vestibular rehab therapy to retrain my brain, I’ve learned to manage and live with my many ongoing symptoms and mostly get on with my life. Maybe not as I did previously, but with a renewed appreciation for something as simple as walking with confidence, as watching TV, as shopping for groceries.
A promo postcard from VeDa. The painting, “Uncharted Waters,” is by vestibular patient Nicolle Cure.
FOCUS ON BALANCE
Today, though, I want to focus on balance, for two reasons. Imbalance was the first issue I overcame. And secondly, September 17-23 marks Balance Awareness Week, started in 1997 by the Vestibular Disorders Association. That national nonprofit is “a lifeline of support to anyone affected by vestibular (inner-ear and brain balance) disorders.” VeDA has proven an invaluable resource for me in learning about my vestibular-based diagnoses.
Knowledge is power. Just ask my physical therapist at Courage Kenny. Ryan answered many questions during my vestibular rehab therapy sessions, especially early on when I was just learning about my health issues. He always replied thoughtfully, helping me to understand what was happening in my brain and how we would work together through targeted exercises to manage my symptoms.
I’ve come a long way from the days of standing in place turning my head back and forth to the beat of a metronome. Today I’m power walking 15 minutes in the morning, 15 minutes in the evening with Randy. Even I’m amazed that I can do this. Not all that long ago, I couldn’t walk a block, often needing to hold onto Randy.
Fiona the Flamingo is VeDA’s Balance Awareness Week logo/mascot.
EVEN THOUGH MY DISORDER IS INVISIBLE, I STILL NEED TO BE SEEN, ENCOURAGED…
There is hope for anyone dealing with a vestibular disorder. Many seniors (and, yes, I’m a “senior”) struggle with balance. So do those who’ve suffered traumatic brain injuries like concussions. That includes my sister-in-law Rosie, my go-to support. Because she understands. And encourages. She realizes the importance of physical therapy in recovery.
In sharing a bit of my story with you, I am aiming to increase awareness. Make Vestibular Visible themes Balance Awareness Week. A promo from VeDA reads: Balance Awareness Week is our time to shout from the rooftops: “I have a vestibular disorder and this is my story.”
This is my story. One of challenges, of professional intervention, of hard work, of acceptance, of perseverance, of relying on others, of patience, of strength, of gratitude, of tears, of resilience, of focusing on what I can do (and not what I can’t). It is also a story of recognizing that no matter what we face in life—whether visible or invisible—we all need to be seen, to be uplifted, to feel cared for and loved.
*I self-tested negative twice for COVID, but those tests (if done incorrectly and for other reasons) can be wrong, my primary doctor told me. He guesses I had COVID in January, and I agree based on my symptoms.
I happened upon this book while searching for recently-published astronaut and geography books for my 4-year-old grandson. I never did find those sought-after titles. Not that it mattered. What I discovered instead were three must-read books: My Powerful Hair, Boycott Blues—How Rosa Parks Inspired a NationandWe Are Better Together.
Parks is certainly familiar to me as the Black seamstress who in 1955 refused to give up her seat to a white man on a city bus in Montgomery, Alabama. That sparked a bus boycott and the Civil Rights Movement. Likewise, working together to effect change, to improve our world, to help one another is a familiar theme.
“The Native Man, His Eagle & His Chanupa,” an oil painting by Dana Hanson and part of her 2018 “Healing the Land” exhibit at the Owatonna Arts Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018, used for illustration only. Art copyrighted by Dana Hanson.)
THE IMPORTANCE OF HAIRREVEALED
It is the story on hair, though, which proved a particularly teachable read. My Powerful Hair focuses on Native Peoples’ hair and its importance in their culture, their history, their lives. Through the writing of New York Times bestselling and award-winning author Lindstrom, who is Anishinaabe/Metis (and an enrolled citizen of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe), and Indigenous artist Littlebird of Oregon’s Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde, I learned the symbolism and power of hair in Native American culture. Admittedly, this is something I should have known, having grown up on the southwestern Minnesota prairie between the Upper Sioux and Lower Sioux Indian Reservations (today termed “communities”). I thought I was informed. But I wasn’t, not about hair.
Told from the perspective of a young Native girl, My Powerful Hair explains the reasons Native Peoples grow their hair long. And keep it long. Hair holds stories, memories, strength, sorrow, connections to each other and to Mother Earth. And more. Page after page, the narrator shares events in her life that weave into her hair. When Nimishoomis (her grandfather) taught her to fish, her hair reached her ears. When her cousins taught her to make moccasins, her hair flowed past her shoulders. In the sharing of these moments, I began to understand the power of hair in Native American culture.
A photo panel at the Traverse des Sioux Treaty Center in St. Peter shows Dakota leaders photographed in Washington D.C. in 1858. The photo is from the Minnesota Historical Society and is used here for illustration only.
FORCED HAIRCUTS
I also understood fully, for the first time, the trauma inflicted upon Indigenous individuals forced long ago by white people to cut their hair. The writer and illustrator don’t hold back. In the first few pages, a young Nokomis (grandmother) is in tears as the hands of a Catholic nun grasp, then cut, her braids. It’s an emotionally impactful visual.
But this was reality at Indian boarding schools, within faith communities and elsewhere back in the day, in a time period when efforts focused on erasing Indigenous culture, on conforming Native Peoples to European ways. It was wrong.
Displayed at Bridge Square during Northfield’s Earth Day celebration in 2022. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022, used for illustration only)
“A TERRIBLE INJUSTICE”
A blogger friend from the central Minnesota lakes region recently shared a bit of her family’s experience per my request. Of unverified (records were often destroyed) Cherokee ancestry, Rose speaks of her mother’s trauma after being sent to a Catholic girls’ school in Crookston. “Mom didn’t tell us much about her experience there,” Rose says, “only that they made her cut her long black hair. My mom never cut her hair again for the rest of her life. She saw the forced haircut as a terrible injustice.” Injustice seems a fitting word.
In an author’s note, Carole Lindstrom shares the same trauma, documented, she writes, in a photo of her grandmother and two great aunts with their black hair shorn above their ears. They were forced into an Indian boarding school in the early 1900s.
“Honoring the Legacy of the Dakota People” focuses this artwork by Dana Hanson. Chief Taopi centers the painting with Alexander Faribault to the left and Bishop Henry Whipple on the right. The word “Yuonihan” means honor or respect. This art hangs inside Buckham Memorial Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2022. Art copyrighted by Dana Hanson.)
POWER IN STORIES, IN HERITAGE, IN RESPECT
Rose is thankful for books like My Powerful Hair. “I am glad that stories like this are being told,” she says. “Much First Nations history nearly disappeared. And many First Nations keep their ceremonies and other information ‘secret’ so it won’t be distorted or misused by people who don’t understand, or who seek to harm them.” Based on history, that seems warranted.
This Minnesota woman has one more reason to feel grateful for children’s picture books by Indigenous Peoples. Her grandchildren are of Ojibwe heritage; their other grandmother lives on the White Earth Nation in northwestern Minnesota. “My hopes for my grandchildren are that they learn all they can about their Ojibwe ancestors and customs and values,” Rose says. “I hope they can choose what lessons they want to carry forward in their own life. I hope they are fantastic examples of how people from different backgrounds can get along and respect and love one another.”
And so I learned, not only from Rose, but from reading My Powerful Hair. Stories woven into our hair matter. For they are powerful.
“The Legend,” one of a few remaining wooden roller coasters, located at Arnolds Park Amusement Park in the lakes region of northwestern Iowa. Built in 1930, it is the 13th oldest wooden roller coaster in the world. (Photo courtesy of Arnolds Park Amusement Park Marketing)
SOME 2 ½ MONTHS AGO, I boarded a roller coaster for the first time since I was a teenager screaming my lungs out while riding “The Legend,” a wooden roller coaster at Arnolds Park Amusement Park in Arnolds Park, Iowa. It’s not that I decided this would be a fun activity to try again in my late sixties. Rather, the choice was made for me, as part of my vestibular rehab therapy.
I warned my physical therapist that I don’t like amusement rides. But my comment didn’t deter Ryan. He determined that riding a virtual reality roller coaster on a June morning might be exactly what my brain needed to retrain itself. Since January, I’ve struggled with neurological-based issues resulting from a viral infection, suspected to be COVID, even though I twice self-tested negative for the virus. In early April, I started physical therapy and have been working hard ever since to manage my many debilitating symptoms.
Fast forward to today. I am in a much better place, even while on a VR roller coaster, a tool I’m using to build my visual, auditory and spatial tolerance. Early on I had doubts about my therapist’s plan. Initially, I couldn’t tolerate the VR roller coaster for long (less than a minute) before symptoms flared. After minimal exposure, my head hurt, my eyes hurt and I felt utterly exhausted. When I experienced a health setback mid-summer with vertigo returning, Ryan abandoned the amusement ride therapy for therapies less taxing on my brain.
ROCKS, RABBITS & A ROLLER COASTER
Slowly, surely, I started feeling better and Ryan decided it was time to pull out the VR headset again for another go on the roller coaster. I did not enthusiastically hop on board, only reluctantly agreeing to give it a try. I lasted 25 seconds on a roller coaster ride where boulders tumbled off rocky mountains toward me. Rabbits loping under the track proved the only redeeming feature. I hold a fondness for rabbits, my high school mascot being a White Rabbit.
That was two weeks ago. The following week I did better, albeit on a less visually-stimulating ride, this one under the sea in a darker environment. Still, I could manage only bursts of riding before needing to pause.
NOT ONE, NOT TWO, BUT THREE ROLLER COASTERS
Five days later I was back at therapy, knowing full well that I would again be riding a roller coaster. Make that plural. Three roller coasters. I started therapy Wednesday morning with the least stimulating under-the-sea ride. And just to make that more challenging, Ryan asked me to stand, rather than sit. He allowed me to place my hands on the back of a chair to ground myself. I successfully finished the ride, then took a break before re-boarding, this time without touching the chair. Success again. Time to up the challenge.
Ryan pulled out the rabbit-loping, boulders-falling themed ride. This time I completed the ride, which was visually much more exciting with dynamite and fire and a whole lot more coming at me. Once again, I tolerated the roller coaster twice while standing and without needing to stop.
I felt my confidence grow as each roller coaster ride became more sensory challenging. I could do this. But when the next ride began with a garish parrot getting in my face, I questioned whether I could manage a tropical-themed roller coaster with worn vivid red and yellow rails. (Was it even safe to ride?) It was a lot—the bold hues, the squawking flapping seagulls, the palm trees, the steep climbs, the height, the sharp turns. But I made it. Twice on that roller coaster curving toward the ocean.
DOING GREAT, BUT I HAVE MY LIMITS
My brain was adjusting, learning, retraining itself to take in more visual, auditory and spatial input. Ryan praised my success, both of us somewhat surprised by how well I’d tolerated those roller coasters Wednesday morning.
But before I left therapy, I wanted Ryan to know one thing. If he planned a field trip to nearby Valley Fair Amusement Park next Wednesday for a ride on a real roller coaster, I wouldn’t be showing up for therapy.
The river bottom revealed, weeds and flowers growing where once water flowed in the Straight River at Faribault’s Teepee Tonka Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
CAUTIOUSLY I SIDLED down the silty river bank, hand clasping Randy’s to steady myself. “This isn’t one of the smartest things we’ve done recently,” I said. I held no desire to slip on the unstable ground, to tumble and break a bone. I’ve twice done that. The doctor who recently diagnosed me with osteopenia likely would remind me of my bone density scan results and of my age, which is much closer to 70 than sixty.
But risk outweighed fear. I wanted to reach the dry river bottom, to stand upon the rocky bed, soles touching a place where water once flowed strong and steady.
In this summer of abnormally high temps and little rainfall, the water level in the Straight River, like so many other waterways in Minnesota, is low. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, which monitors river depths, terms the level of the Straight near Faribault as “scrapable.” Defined, that’s “so low that paddlers may have to get out of their watercraft to avoid rocks.” At the Straight River West Bridge Street location in Owatonna, the river level measures only slightly better at “low.” The Cannon River, into which the Straight flows, rates as “scrapable” in Morristown, near Faribault, in Northfield and in Welch.
The effects of the ongoing statewide drought are evident. My county of Rice, like 39 percent of Minnesota, is in a severe drought. And much of southeastern Minnesota, including more than half of Steele County to the south through which the Straight River twists and turns, is in an extreme drought.
Stagnant water ponds near the bridge leading into Teepee Tonka Park with the viaduct in the distance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
It’s no wonder that on this afternoon in mid-September, I can walk upon a rocky river bottom where water once flowed, even flooded this spring into Teepee Tonka Park near Faribault’s historic viaduct. Earlier this summer, a Faribault teen discovered a cephalopod fossil in an area of a local river typically under water. He refused to identify the specific waterway, but I guessed, perhaps incorrectly, that it was the Straight.
A fossil along a trail near the Straight River overlook in Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center, which connects to Teepee Tonka Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
That fossil discovery was also part of my reason for descending the river bank near the east-side Faribault park entrance. I had great uncles who were rock hounds, inspiring in me a childhood fascination with agates and shells and interesting finds revealed only at ground level. That’s carried through into adulthood.
Wildflowers bend toward the narrowed river of exposed river bottom and rocks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
But on this day I found nothing of interest, only weeds and wildflowers sprouting between stones aside the drought-narrowed river. Correction: I spotted a bra atop a rock, just out of reach in the river, and wondered about the story behind that.
Outdoor enthusiasts intending to paddle the Straight or Cannon rivers now would assuredly have their own disappointing stories to tell about abandoned plans. I observed ankle deep water in parts of the Straight, making water recreation impossible, any recreational outings scrapable.
Around this bend in the river, to the right, the water deepens a bit and flows freely. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
Only a pair of hunting dogs let loose by their owner in Teepee Tonka Park enjoyed the low river level on the day I eased down the river bank. They scrambled down the bank, surefooted, racing along river’s edge, shallow water splashing. Then back up they dashed, sprinting along the grassy bank before returning to the river. I delighted in their antics while simultaneously concerned they might come near me. I never quite trust strange dogs not under the control of their owner. A large muddy-pawed dog once jumped on me while I walked at a city park.
Mud. We’ve seen little of that in most parts of Minnesota this summer. There are exceptions, of course, including flash floods in Duluth on Monday, not something any of us want. Light rain fell in Faribault early on this week, enough to dampen the pavement. But I yearn to hear the steady thrum of rain upon the earth. Rain that will ease this drought, replenish our rivers, revive our waterways, restore the land.
Photographed in the front window of a downtown Faribault business. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2022)
LISTENING TO AN AREA RADIO STATION Tuesday morning, I learned about a project which seems pure genius. It’s the Human Library®. Developed 23 years ago in Copenhagen and now spread internationally, the library “hosts personal conversations designed to challenge stigma and stereotypes.” And it’s coming to Owatonna this week.
Kids of varied ethnicities and skin tones gather as one to break a pinata at a past International Festival Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted, award-winning photo, 2012)
I love this concept of one-on-one conversations among community members who might not otherwise connect. If we’re honest, most of us tend to stick with others who are most like us. Those in our circles. But this, oh, this opens the doors to meeting new people, to understanding, to friendships and much more. And we can only be the better for it by talking with one another, learning, growing our knowledge and compassion.
The idea is simple. Check out a “human book” for 15 minutes by meeting with community members who’ve agreed to participate in the project. Ask questions. Share. Simply chat, get to know one another. Break down barriers. Find common ground. Embrace differences. “Read” as many “human books” as time and availability allow.
We are a diverse country, as represented at a past International Festival in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
The list of 20 participating individuals in Owatonna is lengthy and diverse, exactly as intended: Somali Americans, African Americans, senior citizens, business owners, religious leaders, Hispanic, LGBTQ+, educators, veterans, handicapped individuals, law enforcement officers, nonprofit leaders, recovered addicts and healthcare workers.
A welcoming sign hangs on the American Legion building in small town Mazeppa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2018)
Owatonna, like many communities in southern Minnesota and throughout the state, nation and world for that matter, has faced tough issues such as racism, prejudice, discrimination and hatred. Sometimes those issues are right there, publicly visible in ways that make me wonder how humans can treat each other with such disrespect and meanness. But just as dangerous are the insidious comments and behaviors that creep under the radar into communities. We all know they are there—the slights, the whispers, the off-the-cuff hurtful remarks, the intentional exclusion…
A welcoming message at Just Food Co-op in downtown Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)
I hold hope that projects like the Human Library® can effectively make a difference in enlightening, in changing attitudes, in helping each of realize that we are all human, more alike than we are different.
Portraits and stories, including that of Tin Tea owner, Chau, second from right, are featured in the newest “I Am Minnesota” exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
IN THE CORRIDOR LINKING Buckham Memorial Library and the Faribault Community Center, 13 portraits of immigrants and second-generation immigrants line the walls. They are the work of Faribault artist Kate Langlais in her updated “I Am Minnesota” project.
“Faysel,” who fled the war in Somalia. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2020)
This is a remarkable and revealing exhibit, which stretches well beyond faces portrayed primarily in black and white charcoal on gray paper. Langlais also includes the stories of those who now call this region home. Those stories hold the challenges and dreams, the successes, the gratitude and more of individuals who have become integral, and important, parts of our communities.
Faysel’s story from Langlais’ 2020 “I Am Minnesota” exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2020)
Kate Langlais at work in her home studio. (Photo courtesy of Kate Langlais, 2022)
In her artist’s statement, Langlais states in part that, “It is an honor to learn about each individual’s hardships and perseverance, as well as the beauty of their hopes and dreams.”
“Hilda,” successful Faribault business owner. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
That includes the hopes and dreams of Hilda, who came to Faribault in 1996 with the goal of opening a family-run restaurant serving authentic Mexican food. Twenty-seven years later, El Tequila Family Mexican Restaurant is still going strong, even expanding to other communities. Hilda overcame a vocal naysayer who doubted such a restaurant could survive, let alone thrive, in Faribault. She proved him wrong and, in her story, expresses gratitude to a supportive community.
Likewise, another woman with a dream, second-generation Vietnamese-American Chau, opened Tin Tea in Northfield in June 2021 at the age of 19 while also a full-time student at St. Olaf College. Her story begins with gratitude to her parents: “My parents’ incredible journey from Vietnam to a new land left an indelible mark on my life. Filled with hardships and unwavering determination, their arrival in a foreign land with nothing but hope and courage inspired me deeply.”
An unidentified “I Am Minnesota” portrait of a woman hangs next to a drawing of Peter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
To read these stories, to view these portraits, is to witness the strength and determination of individuals like Hilda and Chau. And Peter, an immigrant from the Netherlands who moved with his wife Virginia to Faribault in 2002. Since then, Peter, now a U.S. citizen, has volunteered tirelessly in Faribault, heading up the International Festival, being selected as “Citizen of the Year” (along with Virginia), elected to the City Council, recently named the new Rice County fair manager and more.
Included in Hilda’s portrait is the name of her successful Mexican restaurant, the first in Faribault andnow one of several. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
Thirteen faces. Thirteen stories. They are ours to view, to read, to appreciate. For in seeing, we put faces to the word “immigrants.” For in reading, we learn their backstories. And in both, we begin to understand that our newest neighbors and their families overcame much to call this place, this southern Minnesota, home.
A bus follows a back country road near Morgan in southwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2018)
SHE WANTS TO SAVE the earth. It’s a lofty and noble goal for my granddaughter, who started second grade on Tuesday. Each year, on the first day of school, her mom documents basics about Isabelle on a small chalkboard. That includes a response to “What I want to be when I grow up.” This year Izzy aims to be an environmentalist. As a first grader, her professional goal was becoming a game designer. And on the first day of kindergarten, she wanted to own a toy store and also be a mom.
It’s interesting how Izzy’s interests evolve as she ages, as she grows her world and knowledge and connections with others. The possibilities are endless for her generation. I hold such hope in these young people, just beginning their formal educations.
And I hold hope, too, when I see a photo of Izzy and three neighborhood friends waiting at their urban bus stop. “Smart, Brave, Beautiful” banners Bethel’s tee. What a reaffirming message. For all of them. And how reaffirming that they are of differing ethnicity, their skin tones varied and, indeed, beautiful.
My elementary school, circa 1960s, located in Vesta in Redwood County. The school closed decades ago. (Photographer unknown; photo sourced from my personal photo album)
Sixty years have passed since I was a second grader in a small southwestern Minnesota elementary school, where my paternal grandfather served on the school board. My classmates and I were mostly farm kids, all white. We wrote in “Big Chief” lined tablets which today would not, should not, fly. Attitudes differed in the 1960s. Words like diversity, respect and environmentalist were not part of our everyday vocabulary.
A serene country scene just north of Lamberton in southern Redwood County.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2013)
But words, overall, held my interest all those decades ago. I have Mrs. Kotval to thank for sparking my love of words, of reading, and eventually of writing. Each day after lunch, she read to her third and fourth graders from “The Little House” and other chapter books. Through the writing of Laura Ingalls Wilder, who lived many years earlier in nearby Walnut Grove, I began to appreciate the nuances of the prairie. And I learned the importance of descriptive, detailed writing. Wilder engaged all of her senses to describe the prairie and life thereon in her series of wildly popular books. With her love of the natural world, this writer unknowingly documented the environment for me, my children and for my second grade granddaughter, today an aspiring environmentalist.
Early on, I aspired to be an elementary school teacher. But that changed as I grew my world, my knowledge, my connections. Words focused my passion. Unlike most of my elementary school classmates, I loved penmanship—letters and words flowing in script across the pages of my penmanship book. I loved spelling. I loved reading, even in a school and town without a library and thus with limited access to books. And by high school, that love of words expanded to writing.
Fifth and sixth graders at Vesta Elementary School in the late 1960s. I’m in the back row, far right, next to the windows. (Photographer unknown; photo sourced from my personal photo album)
I want to pause here and stress the importance of passionate teachers in fostering students’ interests. From Mrs. Kotval reading to her students after lunch to junior high English teacher Mrs. Sales teaching me all the parts of grammar to high school teacher Mr. Skogen requiring students to keep journals, their influence on me and my eventual career was profound. I would go on to earn a college degree in mass communications, leading to a career as a journalist, writer, poet and photographer.
That brings me full circle back to Laura Ingalls Wilder, who early on influenced my detail-rich writing and photographic styles. In 2017, I became professionally connected to the author via “The World of Laura Ingalls Wilder—The Frontier Landscapes That Inspired The Little House Books.” Author Marta McDowell chose three of my photos (including one of prairie grasses at sunset) to illustrate her 396-page book documenting Wilder’s life and relationship to her environment. Perhaps some day my granddaughter will open the pages of McDowell’s book and find the photos taken by her grandmother. Whether Isabelle becomes an environmentalist or something vastly different, I expect she will always care about the earth and her role in saving it.
I love this positive message posted on a rear vehicle window. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)
WE STOOD OUTSIDE the local library, minutes before the 9 am weekday opening, waiting for staff to unlock the front door and let us inside. Rather than wait silently, I struck up a conversation with the elderly man next to me. I’ll always choose talking to a stranger over saying nothing. That’s my nature.
Via conversations, I have met many interesting individuals, listened to their stories, sometimes shared mine. It’s all about pausing, about truly taking the time to engage others in meaningful ways, if even for a minute or ten.
On this morning, I learned that I was talking to a 94-year-old Korean War veteran. We had an instant connection as my dad also served in the “Forgotten War.” I sensed immediately that my new acquaintance did not want to talk about anything war-related and I respected that. My dad had been the same.
Instead I veered to a safe topic, this veteran’s early appearance at the library. “I have nothing else to do,” he said. My heart hurt at his words as I imagined how long his days stretch before him. He comes to the library to read newspapers. Not books. He struggled to read books in high school and never attempted since.
As we walked through the now open library doors, he ahead of me, I had one more thing to say. “I challenge you to read a book.” I doubt he will. But that’s OK. He reads newspapers, watches sports on TV. And on this day, he shared just a bit of his life story with me. And I felt honored to hear it.
Vintage dresses for sale at Antiques Plus in New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021 used for illustration only)
AT THE ANTIQUE SHOP
Weeks prior, I found myself unexpectedly assisting a bride-to-be as she tried on vintage dresses at a local antique shop. Tall and slender with a thick braid falling to the side of her left shoulder, Angela radiated beauty inside and out. I offered to zip the zipper-back dresses she was considering for her October rehearsal dinner. She slipped into a flared pink dress that, even on her slight frame, fit too tightly. Next Angela donned a sleeveless chocolate brown wool dress that seemed custom-made for her. But I wanted to be honest. “Wool can be itchy,” I warned. She agreed that the heavy, textured fabric did feel a bit uncomfortable. Finally, I zipped the last dress—a long white sleeveless dress in a nubby fabric. When Angela expressed doubts about wearing white, I advised she’s the bride and can wear whatever she desires.
I left before Angela made a decision on the vintage dresses. But I didn’t leave before I learned that she works as an engineer at a medical device company in the metro and that she loves her job. What a joy to meet a young woman so devoted and passionate about her profession. That gives me such hope. We also shared a faith-filled moment, one which I will keep private between me and Angela. I consider her an angel in every sense of the word and felt blessed to have met her.
Roxy of Owatonna sent me a clutch of uplifting mini cards which I can give to others. She has been such an encourager to me during my recent health struggles. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)
IN A GROCERY STORE PARKING LOT
Last Saturday, I experienced another uplifting moment, this time in a grocery store parking lot. The auburn-haired teen wheeling my cart full of groceries to the van asked about my plans for the rest of the day. I had none, I said, then asked about hers. She was meeting friends after work. As we parted, I told her to have fun with her friends. And she wished me a good day. Again, I felt such hope. This young woman could have simply pushed the cart, unloaded the groceries and said nothing. But she chose to engage. That says a lot about her character, her humanity.
It is everyday encounters like this which fill my spirit. Life offers so many opportunities to connect, to be there for one another. Whether to converse, to encourage or to zip the backs of vintage dresses for a bride-to-be, opportunities await us. We need only pause, listen, care.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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