Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Spring in rural Minnesota: The greening of the grey May 7, 2015

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I DON’T KNOW IF ANY GREEN is more vibrant than that of spring, especially here in rural Minnesota.

A scene photographed from Rice County Road 15 between Faribault and Morristown, Minnesota.

A rural scene photographed from Rice County Road 15 between Faribault and Morristown, Minnesota.

Green in the landscape after months of grey and white and black dances a visual delight. It’s as if our eyes cannot get enough of lush green grass and the tight buds of leaves unfurling in flashes of green that sway to the rhythm of the wind.

Farmers, such as this one near Wanamingo, are working the land and planting.

Farmers, such as this one near Wanamingo, are working the land and planting.

Soon seeds sown into black earth will erupt in rows of corn and soybeans like a precision marching band overtaking fields.

harvest

A dryer and bin on a rural Rice County, Minnesota, farm await the 2015 harvest about a half a year away.

The beat of the seasons begins. Planting into growing into harvest. A familiar rhythm in this land I love.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A photo documentary of Minnesota barns & thoughts on their demise April 16, 2015

Barn, 7 se MN

 

BARNS ONCE SHELTERED cows, pigs, sheep, a farmer’s livelihood. Some still do. But most don’t.

 

Barn, 14 se MN

 

Today all too many barns stand empty of animals and are used instead for storage of recreational vehicles and other possessions. Others are simply slumping into heaps, like rotting carcasses with backbones exposed.

 

Barn, 10 se MN

 

I fear barns will soon become memories rather than strongholds, symbols, anchors of farm sites. Their demise has been steady, sure. I see it every time I drive through the Minnesota countryside. Empty barns. Weathered siding. Curling shingles. Boarded windows. Weeds overtaking former cow yards.

 

Barn, 15 se MN

 

I understand the financial burden of keeping up these massive structures. Sometimes it just is not in the budget to maintain a barn that provides zero income.

 

Barn, 11 se MN

 

Back in the day when I rolled a wheelbarrow brimming with ground feed down the barn aisle, forked straw onto cement for cow’s bedding, shoved manure into the gutter, dodged streams of hot cow pee, shoveled pungent silage before stanchions, the barn and associated source of revenue were more important than the house. Long before my childhood home had an indoor bathroom, the barn had a gutter cleaner.

 

Barn, 18 se MN

 

Times have changed. Many farmers no longer raise cattle or hogs or milk cows. They plant cash crops and work off the farm.

 

Barn, 19 se MN

 

And so days and weeks and months and years pass and the empty barns, without the humid warmth of animals, without the daily care of the farmer, without the heartbeat of life, begin to die.

 

Barn, 21 se MN

 

Except for those that are saved.

 

Barn, 9 se MN

 

FYI: All of these barns were photographed in southeastern Minnesota, mostly around Pine Island and Oronoco.

Click here to learn about Friends of Minnesota Barns, a non-profit dedicated to celebrating and preserving Minnesota’s rural heritage.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The pick-up truck March 23, 2015

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The pick-up truck that inspired this most, photographed Saturday afternoon in West Concord.

The pick-up truck that inspired this post, photographed Saturday afternoon in West Concord, Minnesota.

IT’S ICONIC SMALL TOWN. The pick-up truck parked along Main Street within view of the grain elevator.

By my definition, a pick-up serves as a farmer’s all-purpose vehicle. Bags of seed corn piled in the back. Squealing pigs penned for market. Fence posts slid across the bed. Must-have auction purchases tossed in the back.

My image is based upon memory. Yesteryear. My Dad’s red-and-white 1960s vintage pick-up, replaced later by a newer one.

This is a late 1960s Chevy.

This is a late 1960s Chevy.

You can have your shiny new hulking pick-up trucks. I’ll take those aged by history—by the weight of a farmer sliding onto a cracked seat, springs groaning, his seed corn cap nearly brushing the cab interior.

Farmer or not, I don't know. But I told this guy I liked his truck. He bellowed out a big, "Thank you" before firing up the truck.

Farmer or not, I don’t know. But I told this guy I liked his truck. He bellowed out a big, “Thank you” before firing up his unmuffled truck. And just as I shot this frame, a much newer pick-up truck rounded the corner behind him.

I’ll take muddy Red Wings planted on floorboards, grease-stained fingers gripping the steering wheel, smell of cows lingering.

Roll down the windows to the wind. Crank the radio to ‘CCO. Bounce along the gravel road, dust rolling behind in a cloud.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The yellow barn January 7, 2015

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INITIALLY, THE HUE caused me consternation. Who paints a barn yellow? Red, or perhaps grey or white, should define agrarian buildings.

Near Nerstrand, Minnesota.

Near Nerstrand, Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

But the more I study this photo, the more the color appeals to me. Creamy pale yellow, the shade of butter, seems fitting for a building which sheltered, maybe still does, cows and perhaps a myriad of other farm animals.

The hue, too, accents the foundation of locally-quarried limestone. There’s something about a stone barn foundation that portrays strength and history and hard work. Just imagine the time and effort invested and muscles used.

Duo silos flank the barn like soldiers in steely grey uniforms, always at the ready.

This scene pleases me. Every barn, no matter its color, deserves to stand, guarded against the assaults of time and weather and so-called progress.

Of that I am certain.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Rural gratitude December 1, 2014

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ON THANKSGIVING MORNING, between Zumbrota and Pine Island along U.S. Highway 52, I spotted this message:

 

Thank a farmer, along US Hwy 52

 

And I thought how good that this farmer would remind us of his labor, of the crops he grows and the animals he raises, and of the food that sustains us.

Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

Abandoned November 10, 2014

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DO YOU EVER WONDER, as I do, about the history of a place?

Look at this old farm site in the area of Ellsworth in western Wisconsin:

 

Rural, old farmstead

 

Imagine the farmer who settled here, proud to own a piece of land. Consider how he labored to build a barn and a house and then erected a windmill.

The windmill once stood proud, fins catching the wind, providing energy to pump water from the well. An old pump remains dwarfed in the presence of the now bladeless windmill.

The barn, with numerous additions, seemingly defies age in her strong, straight rooflines. But her windows are boarded, her roof rusted.

Mismatch of fence panels askew presents a certain disconnected visual chaos.

Was it illness or lack of money or a non-caring attitude or none of the above that caused this farm site to fall into disrepair and apparent abandonment?

What happened to the house? Who drove the vintage car? Where are the horses? So many questions and no answers.

The place is for sale, or maybe it’s just the car and/or manure spreader.

What is the story of this farm? Every place, every person, writes a story.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A photographic journey through rural western Wisconsin November 5, 2014

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Rural, red barn, bin and field

 

SHADOWS AND CURVES AND LIGHT.

 

Rural, round bales

Sky.

Rural, harvested cornfield

Land.

Rural, white barn and silos

Farm buildings.

All draw my eyes to the landscape, my hand to the camera, eye to the viewfinder, finger to shutter button.

 

Rural, red barn and Harvestores

 

Flash of color: A red barn.

 

Rural, red barn, fields and grey sheds

 

Rural scenes unfold before me on this drive through western Wisconsin, from Nelson north to St. Croix Falls in early October.

 

Rural, red barn and lone cow

 

I am linked to the land by my past, daughter of a southwestern Minnesota crop and dairy farmer. Even after 40 years away from the farm, fields and farm sites hold my heart more than any grid of city blocks or cluster of homes or urban anything.

If I could, I would live in the country again, close to the scent of dried corn stalks and fertile black soil.

 

Rural, house by trees

 

I would live under a sky that overwhelms, inside a white farmhouse with a welcoming front porch. That was always my dream.

But dreams cost money. Instead, I have lived in an old house along an arterial street in a town of some 23,000 for 30 years. I am grateful to have a house, to live in a community I love among dear friends.

 

Rural, country church and cemetery

 

Still, a part of my soul yearns, aches for the land I left.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Season of harvest in southeastern Minnesota, a photo essay October 13, 2014

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Rural Rice County, Minnesota, west of Faribault.

Rural Rice County, west of Faribault.

ACRE UPON ACRE OF CORN unfolds in the mixed sunshine and grey skies of an October afternoon in southeastern Minnesota.

East of Morristown, Minnesota, along Rice County Road 15.

Harvest underway east of Morristown, along Rice County Road 15.

It is the season of harvest.

Just west of North Morristown, Minnesota.

Just west of North Morristown.

Cornfields roll into soybean fields, some harvested, some not.

Semis await the harvest in southeastern LeSueur County.

Semis await the harvest in southeastern LeSueur County.

Harvesting just south of Faribault off Rice County Road 45.

Harvesting just south of Faribault off Rice County Road 45.

A semi ready to be filled with corn.

A semi ready to be filled with soybeans.

Trucks and tractors and combines labor or await the farmers who will toil day into dark to reap that which they’ve planted and tended and watched until now.

Bins likely have been emptied for the new crop.

Bins likely have been emptied for the new crop.

Corn fills a wagon at a farm site east of Morristown along Rice County Road 15.

Corn fills a wagon at a farm site east of Morristown along Rice County Road 15.

More bins to bank the harvest.

More bins to bank the harvest.

Corn brims wagons like a stash of gold, banks of bins or the local grain elevator ready for harvest delivery.

In rural Rice County, a wagon at the harvest ready.

In rural Rice County, a wagon at the harvest ready.

This is the season the farmer awaits.

Waiting...

Waiting…

This October, this harvest time.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections on Autumn’s arrival in Minnesota October 1, 2014

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A tree line tinged in color at Nerstrand Big Woods State Park in southeastern Minnesota.

A tree line tinged in color at Nerstrand Big Woods State Park in southeastern Minnesota.

AUTUMN GRIPS ME like no other season.

Autumn reveals herself in fields ripening along Rice County Road 24 between Faribault and Kenyon, Minnesota.

Autumn reveals herself in fields ripening along Rice County Road 24 between Faribault and Kenyon, Minnesota.

She draws me into fields drying in russet shades,

Maples are flaming, like this one alongside Minnesota State Highway 60 on the east side of Faribault.

Maples are flaming, like this one alongside Minnesota State Highway 60 on the east side of Faribault.

to maples flaming red,

An idyllic rural scene of drying soybeans and gravel road just off Rice County Road 24.

An idyllic rural scene of drying soybeans and gravel road just off Rice County Road 24.

to the aged scent of earth and fire,

Bins await the new crop.

Bins await the new crop.

to the hope of a farmer

Soybeans await harvest.

Soybeans ripe for harvest in Rice County.

and the end of the growing season.

Days of cobalt blue skies or pressing grey give way to evenings that welcome the flicker of candles, apple crisp warm from the oven, sweaters pulled on.

Drying cornfields herald the arrival of Autumn.

Drying cornfields herald the arrival of Autumn in southeastern Minnesota.

These days, as my flip flops crunch upon fallen leaves, I long to hold on to Autumn, to yank her away from Winter’s pull.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Higher than your knees July 11, 2014

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Into the cornfield and up close.

Into the cornfield and up close.

I CAN ALMOST FEEL the corn leaves slicing across my arms, hear the leaves whispering in the wind, see the stalks growing higher and higher, racing toward the prairie sky on a July afternoon.

Corn and soybean fields define southwestern Minnesota.

Corn and soybean fields define southwestern Minnesota.

These are the memories I hold within my cells—the imprint of corn rows stretching into forever. My father’s work laid out before him across the acres. First, seeds dropped into the rich black soil. Next, corn rows cultivated. And then, in autumn, the combine chomping across fields. Golden kernels spilling into wagons. Trips to the grain elevator.

I see all of that in the corn growing in my native southwestern Minnesota.

Through the wildflowers...

Through the wildflowers…

On July 4, my husband and I waded through tall ditch grass and wildflowers to check out a cornfield near Lamberton. Back in the day, corn growth was measured against the expected “knee high by the Fourth of July” standard.

Not quite reaching my husband's shoulders.

Not quite reaching my husband’s shoulders even though the corn appears head high from this angle.

Unless a farmer has to replant or gets his crop in late, his corn is more like shoulder high by the Fourth in today’s agricultural world.

Corn grows in a field next to one of my favorite barns along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

Corn grows in a field next to one of my favorite barns along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

This year, though, with late planting and many fields drowned out by too much rain, corn growth appears behind the norm.

Across the fence and across the cornfield, my brother's neighbor's place.

Across the fence and across the cornfield, my brother’s neighbor’s place.

But one thing remains constant, no matter the weather, no matter the year. Farmers hang on to harvest hope.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling