Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Rural living history & threshing memories September 3, 2024

A wagonload of oats awaits threshing at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Fall Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

MEMORIES. A HISTORY LESSON. A step back in time. The Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Fall Show is that and more. It’s also entertainment, a coming together of friends and families and neighbors. A reason to focus on farming of yesteryear.

Oats drape over the edge of the wagon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

I was among the crowds gathered over the Labor Day weekend at the showgrounds south of Dundas. This show features demos, rows and rows and rows of vintage tractors and aged farm machinery, a tractor pull, flea market, music, petting zoo, mini train rides and a whole lot more.

The scene is set to resume threshing with thresher, tractor, baler and manpower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

For me, a highlight was watching a crew of men threshing oats. The work is hard, labor intensive, even dangerous with exposed belts and pullies. It’s no wonder farmers lost digits and limbs back in the day.

This part of the threshing crew pitches oats bundles into the threshing machine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

While my observations are not connected to memories, my husband’s are as he recalls threshing on his childhood farm in rural Buckman, Morrison County, Minnesota. After Randy moved with his family from rural St. Anthony, North Dakota (southwest of Mandan), his dad returned to threshing oats. In North Dakota, he used a combine. But his father before him, Randy’s grandfather Alfred, threshed small grains.

Hard at work forking bundles into the thresher. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)
Lots of exposed pullies and belts line the threshing machine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)
The workhorse of the operation, the threshing machine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

As I watched in Dundas, men forked bundles of oats into a McCormick-Deering thresher. The threshing machine separated the grain from the stalk, the oats shooting one direction into a wagon, the straw the other way into a growing pile. I stood mostly clear of the threshing operation with dust and chafe thick in the air.

Feeding the loose straw into the baler. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

From the straw pile, a volunteer stuffed the stalks into the shoot of an aged baler. An arm tamped the straw, feeding it into the baler. Another guy stood nearby, feeding wire into the baler to wrap the rectangular bales. A slow, tedious process that requires attentiveness and caution.

Watching and waiting for the straw to compact in the baler. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

The entire time I watched, I thought how easy it would be to lose focus, to look away for a moment, to get distracted and then, in an instant, to experience the unthinkable. Farming is, and always has been, a dangerous occupation.

Carefully guiding wire into the baler to wrap each bale. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

Randy understands that firsthand as he witnessed his father get his hand caught in a corn chopper. Tom lost his left hand and part of his forearm. But Randy saved his life, running across fields and pasture to summon help. It is a traumatic memory he still carries with him 57 years later.

Threshing at Sunnybrook Farm, St. Anthony, North Dakota, as painted by Tom Helbling. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But memories of threshing are good memories, preserved today in an oil painting from the farm in North Dakota, Sunnybrook Farm. My father-in-law took up painting later in life. Among the art he created was a circa 1920s threshing scene. We have that painting, currently displayed in our living room. I treasure it not only for the hands that painted it, but also for the history held in each brush stroke.

Threshing grain, living history in 2024. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

The painted scene differs some from the threshing scene I saw in Dundas. In North Dakota, horses were part of the work team, the tractor steam powered. In Dundas, there were no horses, no steam engine at the threshing site. Still, the threshing machine is the star, performing the same work. And men are still there, laboring under the sun on a late summer afternoon.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Looking for farm work & remembering my work on the farm August 1, 2024

A farm site west of New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WOULD YOU PICK rock, walk beans, clean up pig or cow muck? Joe and his crew will.

I can, too, as I’m experienced. But I have no desire to return to those farm tasks that are now only long ago youthful memories.

The sign I spotted in a Redwood Falls convenience store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)

Recently, I saw a sign, more like a note, posted by Joe on a convenience store bulletin board in Redwood Falls, deep in the heart of southwestern Minnesota farm country. I grew up in that area, on a crop and dairy farm.

Rocks picked and piled at field’s edge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2014)

Like Joe, I worked the land and labored in the barn. I picked rock, which is exactly as it sounds—walking fields to pick rocks from the soil and toss them onto a wagon or loader. Rock removal is necessary so farm equipment isn’t damaged during crop prep, planting and harvesting. It’s hard, dirty work when done by hand.

Likewise, walking beans is hard, dirty, hot work. That job involves walking down rows of soybeans to remove weeds and stray corn plants, either by hand or by hoe. At least that’s how I walked beans back in the day. Today that may involve spot spraying herbicides.

A tasseling Rice County corn field. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

And when I worked corn fields, it was to detassel corn for the Dekalb seed company. I arose early, boarded a school bus with a bunch of other teens, arrived at a corn field and proceeded to walk the corn rows pulling tassels from corn plants. Dew ran down my arms, corn leaves sliced my skin, sweat poured off my body as the day progressed under a hot July sun. Of all the jobs I’ve had, detasseling corn rates as the most miserable, awful, horrible, labor intense work I’ve ever done.

Inside a Rice County dairy barn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’d rather shovel cow manure. And I did plenty of that along with other animal-related farm chores.

If Joe and his team are willing to take on tasks that are labor intensive, hot and smelly, then I applaud them. We need hands-on folks who are not afraid to get their hands dirty, to break a sweat, to do those jobs that place them close to the land. Jobs many other people would not do.

An abandoned barn and silo along a backroad in the Sogn Valley of southeastern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)

I don’t regret my farm work experiences. I learned the value of hard physical labor, of working together, of understanding that what I did was necessary. Certainly farming has changed, modernized in the 50 years since I left the land. Machines and computers make life easier.

But sometimes it still takes people like Joe and his crew to plant their soles on the earth, their feet in the barn, to make a farming operation work, even in 2024.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

From city to countryside, flooding continues to affect Faribault area & beyond June 24, 2024

Roads are closed throughout the area due to flooding. Here a barricade blocks Dahle Avenue at its intersection with 220th Street East along the Straight River east of Faribault late Sunday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 23, 2024)

NEARLY TWO DOZEN city streets, county highways and township roads remain closed throughout Rice County due to floodwaters. The number seems unprecedented. Closures include several streets in Faribault along the Cannon and Straight Rivers. More rain is possible later today. Exactly what we don’t need. However, Faribault city officials noted both rivers began to drop Monday morning.

A couple checks out flooded Dahle Avenue. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 23, 2024)

As inconvenient as these road closures may be, especially to locals, it’s nothing compared to the flooding of businesses, homes, campgrounds and more, especially in neighboring Waterville. The small town draws lake-lovers to summer cabins and campgrounds with tourism an important part of the local economy.

The muddy, fast-moving Straight River, photographed late Sunday afternoon from a bridge on 220th Street East, east of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 23, 2024)

Other small towns, like Morristown and Warsaw, have also been impacted by the rising Cannon River. That water (and water from the Straight River) eventually ends up in Faribault and then Northfield and other places along the river and its watershed. In Faribault, public safety officials are keeping a close eye on the King Mill Dam, over which the Cannon flows. I’ve not seen that area, which is now barricaded to motor vehicle and foot traffic, and wisely so. The dam is a popular fishing spot. The road past the dam is also a busy traffic route, a connection to Minnesota State Highway 60.

Rounding 195th Street West, a flooded cornfield, photographed northwest of Faribault late Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

Out in the countryside, too much rain has drowned corn and soybean crops, turning fields into lakes. I feel for the farmers, who depend on a good crop for their livelihood. It’s too late in Minnesota’s short growing season to replant. Crop insurance will cover some of their losses.

Excessive rain flooded this cornfield, transforming it from farmland to lake. Photographed late Friday morning along 195th Street West. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

Rice County has a diverse topography of flat lands and rolling hills, plus differing soil types and drainage systems. Those, and rainfall amounts, affect whether a farm field floods. The entire county has experienced substantial rains. Just last Friday afternoon and into Saturday morning, we measured 3.1 inches of rain in our gauge. The day prior, 1.75 inches. Ten inches of rain fell here in eight days. Too much.

A flooded cornfield along 195th Street West, photographed Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)
Ducks swim in the cornfield turned lake late Friday morning along 195th Street West. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

Ask any farmer, and he/she can likely give you rainfall totals. I saw some of that rainwater on Friday morning while on a short drive along backroads northwest of Faribault. And that was before Friday’s three-inch rainfall.

A bit down the road, more flooding in the rolling terrain along Fairbanks Avenue northwest of Faribault, photographed late Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

On Sunday afternoon, most fields in the area I traveled were not flooded, but at least one township gravel road along the Straight River was flooded and barricaded. I expect if I expanded my tour, I’d see a whole lot more road closures and flooded fields. (Click here for a list of roadways that are closed in Rice County.)

Public officials are warning people to heed warning signs (like this one on Dahle Avenue) and stay out of flooded areas due to the dangers of swift-moving, high water. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 23, 2024)

In the all of this, there’s nothing we can do to control the weather. We can only prepare and then deal with whatever comes. Those, of course, are just words, not really helpful to anyone dealing with flooded fields, flooded roads, flooded homes, flooded businesses, flooded campers, flooded parks, flooded…

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

All about country at rural Minnesota event June 5, 2024

Set against the backdrop of the historic Waterford School, the flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

IF I WAS A COUNTRY WESTERN SONGWRITER, I could probably pen a single inspired by the recent Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Spring Flea Market and Consignment Auction. Scenes from this event seem prompts for country western lyrics—boots, dogs, tractors, seed corn caps, blue jeans…gravel roads and pick-up trucks.

Street signs on the showgrounds honor families who helped found the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Club. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Many of the folks I saw there likely live either on farms or have a connection to farming. Just like me, born and raised on a southwestern Minnesota crop and dairy farm.

A bus converted by a vendor for hauling flea market merchandise. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Rural draws people of all ages to this country location along Minnesota State Highway 3 south of Dundas, to look, shop, bid, buy and converse twice yearly. Neighbor meeting neighbor, swapping stories, comparing rainfall totals and crop updates. Strangers mingling. Vendors trying to make a buck or ten off merchandise they’ve crammed into vehicles and trailers and then displayed on tables and lawn.

The horse head that reminded me of a movie from 52 years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Goods are spread out like a potluck of merchandise. You never know what you’ll find. I found a horse’s head, reminding me of a horrific scene from the 1972 film, “The Godfather.” The head could make for a creative Halloween prop. Nothing particularly country about this discovery, although horses in whole are decidedly country.

Toy tractors hold timeless appeal. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
A caster truck, used with a pully system to move hay into a hay loft. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
An array of goods at the flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Mostly, I saw merchandise that related to rural life. Toy tractors and trucks. A caster truck, which differs from a truck you drive. Old stuff that’s obsolete, holding the memories of yesterday’s family farms.

The dog-in-the-truck-window that drew my interest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

And dogs, oh, so many dogs. Leashed, lounging on a picnic table, penned. Even in the back window of a pick-up cab, a cute dog photo that often draws interest from passing motorist. So says the guy who owns the truck. Farms and dogs go hand-in-hand.

The historic Waterford School, moved on-site and soon to be placed on a new foundation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

There are stories to be heard here, lyrics to be written. If the old Waterford Schoolhouse, recently moved onto the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines showgrounds and not yet open, could talk, oh, the stories it could tell. The songs it could sing.

Vintage polling booths inside the former Northfield Township Hall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

The same goes for the vintage polling booths inside the Northfield Township Hall. They aren’t for sale, simply part of the historic backdrop for vendors selling goods. If only those voting booths could talk, sing…

This quilt inside the clubhouse/office summarizes well the values of rural life. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

This place, this nonprofit, this event is about history. Preserving it. Showcasing it. Honoring it. Honoring farmers and farming. The land. The hands that work it. The people who live on it and love it. And those who appreciate the stories of country western music.

For sale: Boots and jeans, staples of country wear. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

I can almost hear the guitar, the lyrics:

Truck kickin’ dust on a gravel road, headin’ into town on a Saturday night. Boots shined up.

She’s sittin’ on a stool at the Circle Bar, sippin’ a cold one, waitin’ on him.

Truck kickin’ dust on a gravel road, headin’ into town on a Saturday night. Boots shined up.

She’s sittin’ on a stool waitin’ on him, smellin’ of wild roses growin’ in ditches.

And so on, until she breaks his heart or he breaks hers and he’s driving back home to the farm, truck kickin’ dust on a gravel road.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

At a southern Minnesota flea market June 3, 2024

This particular vendor sold farm-themed toys. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

THEY PULL UP in their campers, pick-up trucks, converted buses and vans, often hauling trailers crammed with merchandise. They are traveling merchants, making the flea market circuit to pedal their goods.

A vendor with a patriotic flare. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Recently I attended the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Spring Flea Market at the club showgrounds south of Dundas. A second market, along with a tractor show, threshing demo and more, is held Labor Day weekend. Occasionally, I purchase something. But mostly, I look and photograph. There’s a lot to see.

Between the flea market and a consignment auction, there was lots to see and buy at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines showgrounds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

From people-watching to shopping to searching for unusual finds to photograph, I find myself drawn to this open air market of second-hand, handcrafted and new merchandise. There are characters and stuff you’ve never seen before and may or may not need, and a vibe that feels of yesteryear.

A vendor’s penned dog. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Vendors bring their dogs, their finds and even bacon. As I wound among the booths, I smelled the scent of meat. A merchant stood next to his vintage camper frying bacon on a tabletop propane camper stove. I wanted to settle into his fold-up lawn chair and help myself to a slice or three, plus a cup of coffee and perhaps scrambled eggs. I settled instead for a bag of mini-donuts purchased from a food stand.

Mini tractors drew kids and collectors. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

I mostly meander. And watch. I saw a preschool boy beeline straight for a table of toy tractors. Grandma followed. Plenty of farm toys are available in sizes from matchbox to larger. A farm kid’s dream store, for sure.

I seldom drink pop, but I do like this Pepsi sign. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Me? I don’t shop for anything specific. But I’m drawn to old, not replica (of which there are plenty) signs. This time a vintage Pepsi sign caught my eye. For $130, and perhaps it’s worth that much, it wouldn’t be mine.

Not the safest toy, but one I loved as a child of the 1960s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Nor would the Tinkertoys…because I probably have a cylinder of those stashed under the attic eaves. I loved those “let’s see if you can poke your siblings’ eyes out” with the wooden sticks toy.

I appreciated the box cover art more than the ice skates. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

If I still skated, I could have purchased matching skates for myself and Randy. But, nope, not gonna risk falling at my age. I’ve already broken two bones while wearing flip flops and shoes.

Beautiful hand embroidery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Eagle sculpture. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I see car emblems as art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

I really liked the eagle sculpture and the car emblems and the embroidered dish towel. They’re art to me and I do love art.

Head inside the town hall for more treasures. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

The most interesting finds of the morning came at my last stop, where a handmade painted sign posted outside the old Northfield Township Hall promised ANTIQUES, TOOLS, TOYS INSIDE. There I met Gary Kowalski, labeled “PICKER” on his business card. He’s from Montgomery, lives in a former funeral home and picks for goods from Minnesota to Michigan to Texas and in between.

This photo of soldiers sparked a conversation between me and picker Gary Kowalski. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

A singular framed black-and-white photo of three soldiers in full formal military uniform grabbed my attention. Their smiles, the way they leaned into each other, told me they were not only in service together, but also friends. That’s when Gary stepped in to say he found the photo, along with other WW II items, in Texas. He’s a veteran himself and guesses the three were on leave for some rest and relaxation, thus the happy pose.

The Legion jacket that prompted a conversation about my home area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Gary had one more item that really made my day. An American Legion Post 38 jacket from Redwood Falls. It came from my home county. Yes, he’s been picking 20 miles to the east of my hometown. I’m always thrilled when someone, anyone, is familiar with a prairie place. Few people around this area hold any knowledge of communities in the southwestern corner of Minnesota. It’s a good place to pick, but others are better price-wise, Gary shared. He wasn’t sharing, though, specific picking sites. He doesn’t need the likes of me, who thinks picking would be a fun gig, competing for finds.

On a perfect spring morning, folks visit and shop at the flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

He needn’t worry. I’ll stick to attending flea markets, where I’ll watch for characters, shop, and scout for oddities among all that merchandise pulled from campers, pick-up trucks, converted buses, vans and trailers.

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NOTE: Check back for more photos from the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines showgrounds. And click here to read my first post on the consignment auction.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The rhythm, reverence & remembrances of a rural Minnesota auction May 30, 2024

Watching the auction from behind the auctioneer’s truck at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Consignment Auction on May 25 south of Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT AN AUCTION that evokes nostalgic curiosity, drawing people together to peruse second-hand merchandise, perhaps to bid, perhaps only to watch silently from the side. Even to mourn.

The auctioneer and clerk sell and record items sold. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Recently, I attended the spring auction at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines showgrounds south of Dundas as an observer. I didn’t need any of the goods sold on consignment with all commissions donated to the nonprofit. But, still, I watched and wove among the items auctioned by Valek Auction Co. of Northfield.

Lining up for bidding numbers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
A familiar milk bucket, just like the one my dad used when milking his Holsteins. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Familiar grain wagons, too. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

I felt like I was back on the farm, filling a bushel basket with silage for the cows, scrubbing the milk bucket with a brush, mixing milk replacer in a galvanized pail, watching corn flow into an aged grain wagon…

A grain bin repurposed as a shelter/resting area at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines showgrounds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Rural auctions like this, for those of us who grew up on working farms or still live on them, are like steps back in time. Decades removed from farm life, I would feel out of place on a modern-day farm with all the technological advancements, the oversized equipment. That bushel basket, that milk bucket, that pail, that grain wagon…all are the stuff of yesteryear. Farming today is much less labor intensive, more efficient.

Items are auctioned off a hay rack. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
A vintage hay loader. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Merchandise lines the gravel road. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Still, we often hold onto the past, the memories of back-in-the-day, the “way it used to be.” Nostalgia runs strong at auctions. I saw that, felt it, overheard it as folks gathered around the auctioneer’s pick-up truck, leaned on the hay rack piled with auction goods, meandered among the merchandise lining both sides of a gravel road.

A 1950s vintage stroller, exactly like the one used for me and my five siblings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Many of the auction items were vintage, likely pulled from the back corners of a dark machine shed or abandoned barn or from weeds along the edge of a grove. The rusted metal baby stroller could have been the one I rode in, the pitchfork the one I used to bed straw, the hand-reel lawnmower my grandma’s.

A vintage grain drill. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Planting dates written inside the lid of the grain drill. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

This particular auction held so much relatable history. I doubt I was alone in feeling that way. While looking at a vintage grain drill, an implement used to plant small grains, I discovered historic documentation. There, on the underside of a metal lid, a farmer recorded the dates he planted oats, barley and wheat, beginning in 1951 until 1969 with a few years missing. Planting and finishing dates are important to farmers as they put seed in the ground, anticipate harvest. I thought of this farmer who 73 years ago wrote that first entry on his grain drill, holding the hope of harvest within him.

Inspecting before bidding starts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

There’s a certain reverence and respect in rural auctions. An honoring of farmers and farm life and the responsibilities that come with tending the land. This isn’t just stuff being sold to the highest bidder, but rather something of value, of importance, that once belonged to another. I remember standing at my father-in-law’s farm auction decades ago and feeling a certain sadness in the sale of items gathered from shed, house, barn and elsewhere.

Lil Fox Wagon, one of several on-site food and beverage vendors. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Farm auctions represent the final verse in a hymn, the congregation gathered, the auctioneer chanting the liturgy. Comfort and community and closure come. At the hay rack. Among the rows of numbered auction items. At the lunch wagon. All until the last item is sold.

Resting during the morning auction. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Hallelujah. And amen.

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NOTE: Check back tomorrow to read my prize-winning poem, “Sunday Afternoon at the Auction Barn,” published in 2014 in a Minnesota literary anthology.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

You know you live in rural Minnesota when… April 25, 2024

A tractor pulling a manure spreader fuels up at the local co-op. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

LIVING IN FARIBAULT, a city of some 24,000 surrounded by farm fields, I sometimes see ag machinery pass through town. I live along an arterial route. Tractors pulling implements or solo tractors and combines occasionally roar by my house, especially during spring planting and fall harvest.

But the sighting of a tractor with attached manure spreader spotted several blocks from my house at the local Faribault Community Co-op Oil Association on a recent afternoon proved a first. I’d never seen a manure spreader, marketed as a box spreader, within city limits. But there the New Holland brand spreader sat, linked to a Case International tractor. Right there aside the co-op fuel pumps along Division Street in the heart of downtown.

Leaving the co-op. The historic Alexander Faribault house can be seen on the other side of the hedge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

My mind asked, “Why? Why wouldn’t you unhook a manure spreader before driving a tractor into town to fuel up?” I’ll never know.

Whatever, the scene drew my eyes and reminded me of the importance of agriculture in this region. Although farming has changed from mostly small family farms with livestock to much larger acreages minus the animals, the importance of agriculture to the local economy remains. All I need do is drive into the country to observe farmers busy in the fields, planting corn and soybeans.

Back in the 1860s and 1870s, wheat was the primary crop in this area. Flour mills populated the region. None remain here today.

But what remains are memories and history, including the Alexander Faribault house, which sits next to the co-op, on the other side of a hedge row. The house, built in 1853 and thought to be the oldest woodframe house in southern Minnesota, served as a fur trading post for the town founder. He also farmed, on land that is today within the city limits, and sheltered Indigenous Peoples on his farm.

After waiting at the Division Street/Minnesota State Highway 60 stoplight, the tractor continued east across the historic viaduct, presumably heading back to the farm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Community Co-op has been in Faribault since 1925, closing in on 100 years in business. That’s remarkable really. Good customer service and loyalty withstand the tests of time. And no one seems to mind a tractor with attached honey wagon pulling up to the pumps on a Sunday afternoon in April.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Chick Days,” hatcheries & memories from rural Minnesota April 3, 2024

My friend Joy’s chickens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’M NO CHICKEN farmer. I’m not even particularly fond of roaming chickens (ducks or geese). But this time of year on “Chick Days,” I feel nostalgic, remembering the delivery of newly-hatched chicks. They arrived on my southwestern Minnesota childhood farm via the U.S. Postal Service, cheeping raucously and, I’m certain, desiring to escape their cardboard boxes.

A snippet of a promo for “Chick Days” at a local business.

Today, chicks still ship via mail, but need to be picked up at the post office or at a local supplier on “Chick Days.” That may be at a farm store, a grain elevator, a feed store…

A boarded up hatchery in southwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Gone are the days when chick hatcheries were found in many farming communities. But this is not Mayberry anymore. Rural America has changed significantly since I was growing up in the 1960s and 1970s with businesses now shuttered, buildings vacated.

A 1950s or 1960s era greeting card from a hatchery in Minneota, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

But, if you look closely enough, dig deep enough, ghosts of those businesses remain, including chick hatcheries. Among the vintage greeting cards my mom saved (she saved everything), I found a holiday card from Dr. Kerr’s Hatchery. That was in Minneota; that’s Minnesota minus the “s.”

Minneota sits on the prairie northwest of Marshall in Lyon County. This small town is perhaps best-known as the home of the late Bill Holm, noted writer and English professor at Southwest Minnesota State University. Among his work, Boxelder Bug Variations, a collection of poetry and essays about, yes, boxelder bugs. Minneota celebrates Boxelder Bug Days annually.

But it doesn’t celebrate chicks, as far as I know, or the hatchery with the unusual name of “Dr. Kerr’s Hatchery.” There’s a story behind that moniker. I just don’t know what that may be.

Signage is a reminder that this building once housed a hatchery in Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I do know, though, that Morgan, 60 miles to the east of Minneota, also had a hatchery, aptly named Morgan Hatchery. I photographed the exterior of the former hatchery and feed store in 2013 while en route to my hometown of Vesta.

Chickens are fenced next to the red chicken coop on Joy’s rural acreage. Sometimes they also roam free around the yard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Thoughts of home take me back to those chicks delivered by the mailman, as we called letter carriers back in the day. After retrieving the box (es) of chicks from aside the roadside mailbox, Mom released them into the chicken coop. There they clustered around shallow water dishes under the warmth of heat lamps. I don’t recall many details other than the fluffy fowl feathering all too soon. For me, the chicks’ transition toward adulthood quickly ended my adoration.

A fenced rooster at my nephew and niece’s rural acreage. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

There’s a reason I dislike being in close proximity to chickens: pecking hens and a vicious rooster. Gathering eggs from angry hens as a young girl proved an unpleasant chore. And avoiding a mean rooster proved impossible. One day Dad had enough of the rooster attacking his children. He grabbed an ax and that quickly ended the hostile encounters. I still hold trauma from that rooster. But I’ve gotten better about being around chickens. However, if I even pick up on a hint of meanness, I flee.

Farm fresh eggs from Nancy and Loren’s chickens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
The difference in eggs, with the yolk from a store-bought mass-produced egg on the left and a farm fresh egg on the right. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Given my history, I’ll never own chickens. But I eat chicken. And I eat eggs. I especially like farm fresh eggs from free-range chickens. The dark orangish-yellow yolk hue, the taste, are superior to mass-produced eggs.

A maturing chick. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

And I still think chicks are cute, even if they quickly morph into feathered birds I’d rather not be around.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The unwanted birthday gift has its day March 6, 2024

An amaryllis begins to bloom. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

THE BOXED BULBS on an end cap at a big box store caught my eye, as intended. I worked briefly as a grocery store clerk back in the day when cashiers read and punched prices onto cash register keys. I learned then all about moving products by strategically placing them on the end of a shelf row.

So here I was, falling for the age-old marketing gimmick of pushing impulse purchases. But on this day, I was thankful for that end cap display of boxed amaryllis bulbs. This would make the perfect birthday gift for my soon-to-be 5-year-old grandson. Or so I thought.

On Isaac’s birthday in early January, we gathered to celebrate. As Isaac opened his gift stash, it was obvious he liked some presents more than others. That’s the thing about kids his age. They can’t hide their honest reaction, their true feelings. He loved the LEGO sets, the sticker book, the… But when he pulled the boxed bulb from the gift bag, Isaac promptly tossed it aside. Not set the box on the carpet, but threw it. Not even an explanation from Grandma about planting the bulb which would flower in big, beautiful red blooms changed his mind. He didn’t care.

I should back up a minute and explain why I thought this would be a good gift for my grandson. Last spring I gave several packets of seeds to the grandkids. Spinach, carrot and flower seeds, which my eldest daughter planted with her son. He took an interest once the seeds sprouted and the plants grew. Amber called him “Farmer Isaac.”

The farm girl in me felt encouraged. My grandchildren, who live in a sprawling new housing development in the south metro, are far-removed from their rural heritage. It’s important to me that they understand their agrarian roots. Randy and I grew up on crop and dairy farms—farms with large gardens from whence came most of our food. Youth like Isaac and his sister, Isabelle, need to know that food originates on farms, not grocery store shelves. As preschoolers, they loved to dig in the dirt at our house. I would hand them shovels and the dirt would fly. Kids need to touch the earth, splash in mud puddles, gather sticks and pine cones and leaves and do all those activities that connect them to the land. And make their hands dirty.

Emerging amaryllis. (Edited photo; Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

But now here was this dormant amaryllis bulb all ugly and brown and not looking at all like anything that would ever grow. But, once potted, grow it did. When the first green leaves emerged from the massive bulb at the end of January, Isaac suddenly took an interest. “You better take a picture to show Grandma,” he instructed his mom.

Isaac loves space, puzzles, art and now amaryllis. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

A few weeks later, the first of several flowers bloomed. And there was Isaac again in a photo, right elbow learning on the kitchen island by sheets of paper for his next art project, left hand on his world atlas, jigsaw puzzles and that once dormant amaryllis bulb now blooming in the foreground. His smile was wide, his happiness evident. The amaryllis had its moment. Big. Bold. Beautiful red. No longer tossed aside. Finally and fully appreciated by the birthday boy.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Crafting an obituary: Emmett “breathed John Deere” March 5, 2024

A row of John Deere tractors at the 2022 Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show, rural Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

AS A WRITER, a storyteller, I read obituaries. Doesn’t matter if the deceased is known to me or not. I find obits interesting for the stories therein.

Stories weren’t always part of obituary writing. Obit style has evolved since I graduated in 1978 with a journalism degree from Minnesota State University, Mankato. And that is a good thing. Today’s death notices are not just summaries of facts, but rather personalized in a way that helps the reader understand the person as a person. That holds value to those who are grieving and to those of us who hold no connection to the individual.

I need to backtrack for a moment and share that writing an obituary was my first writing assignment in Reporting 101. Although I’ve forgotten details about that long ago college course, I remember the professor stressing the importance of spelling names correctly. That carried through to all types of newspaper reporting. First reporting job out of college, I learned a source was Dayle, not Dale.

Emmett Haala (Photo source: Sturm Funeral Home)

That MSU instructor also imprinted upon me the importance of obituaries. As I age, I find myself drawn more and more to reading obits. Too often now, I know the deceased. Recently, I found a gem in the obituary of Emmett Haala, 87, of Springfield (that would be Springfield, Minnesota), who died on February 28. His funeral is today.

Hanging out by a John Deere tractor at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

It wasn’t the basic facts about Emmett that captivated me, but rather his interest in John Deere tractors. He, according to his obit, “lived and breathed John Deere.” Now to anyone with a rural connection, the idea of fierce tractor brand loyalty is familiar. This retired mechanic began his career at age 14 at Runck Hardware and Implement in Springfield, eventually opening Emmett’s Shop in 1970. He was a trusted mechanic who serviced all machinery brands, but favored John Deere.

“Nothing runs like a Deere” is the John Deere slogan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

That tidbit got me reminiscing and also contemplating the importance of open houses in rural Minnesota. Events that continue today. Emmett, his death notice read, shared many memories of John Deere Days at Runck Hardware and Implement. He “…enjoyed making hot dogs and coffee for the throngs of people attending and showing the newest John Deere movie.”

To this day, I remain a fan of John Deere. Here Randy and I pose aside a vintage John Deere at Bridgewater Farm, rural Northfield in October 2023. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

That was it. I was hooked. I attended John Deere Day at a farm implement dealership while growing up in southwestern Minnesota. While the event was a way for machinery dealers to get farmers inside their shops, the open houses were also a social gathering for rural folks. My siblings and I piled into the Chevy aside Dad and Mom for the 20-mile drive to Redwood Falls and John Deere Day.

Free food—usually BBQs, baked beans, chips and vanilla ice cream packaged in little plastic cups and eaten with a wooden spoon—comprised dinner (not lunch to us farm types). Maybe there were hot dogs, too, like at Emmett’s place of employment. Memories fade over the decades.

A worn vintage John Deere emblem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

But I do recall the John Deere movies shown post meal at the theater in Redwood Falls. Sure, they were nothing but advertisements for “the long green line” of farm machinery. But to a kid who seldom set foot in a theater, the promotional films held all the appeal of a box office hit. Plus, there were door prizes like bags of seed corn and silver dollars. I never won anything. A cousin did.

At the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

And so all those John Deere memories and more—including the distinct pop of my dad’s 1950s John Deere tractor—rushed back. Putt, putt, putt. Emmett belonged to the Prairieland Two Cylinder Club. Nostalgia is powerful. So is the art of crafting an obituary. Many of today’s obituaries feature detailed personal stories, not simply superlatives. Stories that reveal something about the individual who lived and breathed and loved. Stories well beyond life-line basics. Stories of life. Stories that resonate, that connect us to each other. Stories like those of Emmett, who “lived and breathed John Deere.”

(Book cover image sourced online)

FYI: I recommend reading this guidebook to obituary writing by retired The Wall Street Journal obit writer James R. Hagerty: Yours Truly: An Obituary Writer’s Guide to Telling Your Story. Hagerty is the son of Marilyn Hagerty, columnist for The Grand Forks Herald. In a March 2012 “Eatbeat” column, Marilyn reviewed her local Olive Garden and gained instant internet fame.