Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Celebrating community journalism during National Newspaper Week & my backstory October 8, 2024

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I am a down-to-earth writer who focuses on writing about people, places and events primarily in Minnesota. Here I’m pictured outside Jack Pines Resort, rural Osage. I was there attending a book launch party for an anthology in which my writing published. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo by Randy Helbling, September 2024)

I’VE ALWAYS LOVED WRITING. From early on, my love of language, of words, of grammar, of, yes, even spelling, defined me. Give me a book to read. Give me a spelling test. Give me a pen and a notebook. And then a computer. Words, words and more words. I will find them, use them, create stories with them.

At one time, I wanted to pursue a degree in German. But, after a year in college, I changed direction because I didn’t want to teach. I decided to study journalism. It was absolutely the right decision for me, my interests and my skills.

With that intro, I join the many writers who are celebrating National Newspaper Week October 6-12. That includes journalists from my local paper, The Faribault Daily News, in which my writing publishes each weekend and sometimes more. I no longer consider myself a full-fledged journalist as much as a writer. These days I write from a personal perspective, more as a columnist, rather than as an objective reporter. I write fiction, creative nonfiction and poetry, too.

MY JOURNALISM EXPERIENCE

But I did work as a full-time newspaper reporter and photographer after graduating with a mass communications degree (news/editorial emphasis) in 1978 from Minnesota State University, Mankato. I worked for newspapers in Gaylord, Sleepy Eye, Mankato, Owatonna and Northfield. Eventually I gave up journalism when I started a family. The long and odd hours are not conducive to family life.

Today my three kids are long grown and gone, and I’ve found my way back to writing with an added focus on photography. What makes a good writer, a good newspaper reporter? Topping my list are the abilities to listen and focus on detail. I’ve always considered myself a good listener, a necessity for any newspaper reporter. I developed the skill of taking notes while actively listening. Organization also factors in. There’s always a bit of homework involved in prepping for an interview. Research the subject. Prepare questions, but be open to asking more as the interview progresses. Focus on details. Tell a story.

I worked in journalism before the days of cellphones, so I filled notebooks with pages of notes. I also studied and worked in the profession before computers and digital cameras. My first job out of college, I typed all of my stories on a manual typewriter, shot all my photos on film. I would never want to go back to either. Give me a computer and a digital camera. It’s much easier to create with those.

FOCUS ON LOCAL STORIES

I love sharing stories and photos of people, places and events that weave into my life, that I discover. I find joy in following a gravel road, in discovering interesting signage, in exploring small towns, in meeting ordinary people following their passions… People often tell me I find the most interesting things. I agree. And then I tell them it’s right here in their own backyard if only they pause to look, and see.

Therein lies the value of community journalism, which I want to highlight and honor during National Newspaper Week. Our local newspapers are all about local. Local reporters cover and write about the people, places and events that are happening locally. They write stories ranging from features to hard news. I covered all of those, too, while working as a full-time reporter. It’s not an easy job. People are quick to criticize, slow to praise. So I want to state right now that I appreciate our local news team. They work long, odd hours, just as I did, to gather and write the news. They care.

Everyone ought to care that freedom of the press thrives, that these journalists are covering our government meetings, writing about our neighbors, highlighting ordinary people who do extraordinary things and much more. We need newspapers as much today as ever before, perhaps even more.

Please, support your local newspaper by subscribing. And thank a newspaper reporter for their dedication to the profession. They deserve to be recognized, especially during National Newspaper Week.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Autumn searches for water, at least in Minnesota September 30, 2024

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Parched, cracked earth by the Turtle Pond, River Bend Nature Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2021, used for illustration only)

IN AN AUTUMN WHEN RAIN REMAINS elusive and drought once again settles upon Minnesota, I am reminded of a poem I penned 14 years ago for a competition. “In which Autumn searches for Water” was among 28 pieces of prose and poetry published in “It’s All One Water,” a collaboration between the Zumbro Watershed Partnership and Crossings at Carnegie in Zumbrota.

The invitation to the 2012 “It’s All One Water” reception and group show in Zumbrota.

The winning entries were printed in a beautiful 55-page booklet that paired the writing with submitted photos, all themed to water. I opted to pen a poem personifying Autumn as a woman searching for water upon the parched land. To this day I still love that strong visual, inspired by my long ago observations at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault.

And if I were to tap further into my visual memory, I would also see a semi trailer full of hay parked in a southwestern Minnesota farmyard in the summer of 1976. That was a year of severe drought, when my dad bought a boxcar full of hay from Montana so he could feed his cows and livestock. It was the year that nearly broke him as a farmer.

A REALLY DRY & WARM SEPTEMBER IN MINNESOTA

Here we are, 48 years later, settling once again into drought/abnormally dry weather conditions in Minnesota after a winter of minimal snow followed by an excessively wet spring, a dry-ish summer and now a record warm and dry September. This September, the Twin Cities recorded only 0.06 inches of rain and the most days of 80-degree or warmer high temps in any September. It doesn’t feel like fall in Minnesota, more like summer. But at least temperatures cool overnight.

Areas of western and central Minnesota are under a Red Flag Warning today, code words for a high fire danger, due to dry, windy conditions and dropping relative humidity. We are experiencing “near critical fire weather conditions” here in the southern part of the state.

AND THEN THERE’S TOO MUCH WATER

Contrast this with the weather my friends in western North Carolina and other areas affected by Hurricane Helene are experiencing. One is OK (as is her house). But she expects to be without power for a week and is relying on limited cell service at the local firehall. Another friend, a native Minnesotan, lost his car and may lose his home in Hendersonville after a creek swelled, flooding his garage (with four feet of water) and house (30 inches of floodwaters). A foundation wall “blew out” of his home. He is currently staying with family in Florida.

So, yes, even though the lack of rain and abnormally warm weather in Minnesota concern me, I feel a deeper concern for the folks dealing with loss of homes, businesses, infrastructures and, especially, deaths of loved ones. The devastation is horrific. It will take months, if not years, to recover.

RESPECT FOR WATER & MY POEM

In 2012, the following statement published in the intro to “It’s All One Water”: It is our hope to inspire respect, protection, preservation and awe in honor of water, our most precious of Natural Resources. How one views water right now depends on where they live. But I think we can all agree that water is “our most precious of Natural Resources.”

Autumn leaves in the Cannon River, Cannon River Wilderness Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)

In which Autumn searches for Water

Water. The wayward word rises in a faint rasp,

barely a whisper above the drone of buzzing bees

weaving among glorious goldenrods.

I strain to hear as Autumn swishes through tall swaying grass,

strides toward the pond, yearning to quench her thirst

in this season when Sky has remained mostly silent.

But she finds there, at the pond site, the absence of Water,

only thin reeds of cattails and defiant weeds in cracked soil,

deep varicose veins crisscrossing Earth.

She pauses, squats low to the parched ground and murmurs

of an incessant chorus of frogs in the spring,

of Water which once nourished this marshland.

Autumn heaves herself up, considers her options

in a brittle landscape too early withered by lack of rain.

Defeat marks her face. Her shoulders slump. She trudges away, in search of Water.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

© Copyright 2012 “In which Autumn searches for Water” by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Latest “Talking Stick” anthology publishes & I’m in, again September 19, 2024

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I couldn’t resist posing with Paul Bunyan at Jack Pines Resort following a book launch party there on September 14. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

FOR 33 YEARS NOW, a writing group in northern Minnesota has published Talking Stick, a literary anthology packed with poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. It features not only the writing of well-known Minnesota writers, but also that of emerging writers. And that says a lot about this book published by the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc based in the Park Rapids area.

Getting published in this anthology is a competitive process with blind-judging. The judges—this year a university English professor and writer, a writer who moved to Minnesota for a rural artist-in-residency, and the author of a cozy mystery series—have no idea whose work they are considering for honors. The Jackpine editorial team chooses their top pieces to pass along to the judges for review and awards.

There were 280 submissions from 121 Minnesota writers or writers with a strong connection to our state in the 2024 writing competition. Of those, 113 works from 72 writers were published. That includes 63 poems, 22 creative twist pieces, 15 creative nonfiction stories and 13 fictional stories.

Me with author and fiction judge Jeanne Cooney, right. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

My short story, “Dear Mother,” earned second place in fiction as decided by author Jeanne Cooney. She’s written “A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery” series and has launched a new “It’s Murder” series. Did my mention of Hamburger Noodle Hotdish and red Jell-O salad in my story influence Cooney’s decision? I’d like to think not, but I suppose subconsciously it could have. When I wrote my short story, though, I had no idea who would be judging the fiction category. Hotdish simply fit into the storyline.

The beginning of my prize-winning fictional story, “Dear Mother.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

Cooney called “Dear Mother” a “Very good story. But needs to be clearer.” She was right. Her comments helped me shape a stronger, better piece of writing. Dark writing. Mine is a story that begins seemingly ordinary enough, wrapping up in a surprise ending. Or rather an inferred dark ending.

Congratulations to everyone whose work published in “Talking Stick 33.” Those include readers of this blog. Thanks also to Managing Editors Sharon Harris and Tarah L. Wolff for their ongoing dedication to the craft of writing. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

Last Saturday afternoon, I gathered with other writers and supporters for a party launching publication of Talking Stick 33—Earth Signs at Jack Pines Resort (no connection to the writers’ group) in rural Osage, a four-hour drive from Faribault. The event included a writing workshop (which I did not attend), book reading and socializing.

I’m not especially comfortable reading to a roomful of people, even though I’ve done so many times. But I practiced and then read “Dear Mother” with dramatic inflections and soft tones in just the right spots, managing to convey exactly what I wrote. There’s something to be said for hearing a poem or story read aloud. The piece comes alive via the voice of the writer.

As I listened to all these writers, I felt a strong sense of community. I felt encircled by a group of incredibly talented and supportive creatives. People who care about language and emotion and damn good writing.

My collection of “Talking Stick” books. I’ve been published in 15 of these 16 volumes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

This marks the 15th consecutive year my writing has published in Talking Stick. A poem, “Misunderstood,” and a work of creative nonfiction, “Lessons Inside the Dome,” were also selected for publication in the 2024 volume. Both are Faribault-rooted. My poem focuses on the connection between the Wahpekute and today’s homeless population living in woods along the Straight River. In “Lessons,” I write about walking inside the Shattuck-St. Mary’s School dome during the winter and lessons I learned there.

My writing is often rooted in experiences, in observations, in overheard conversations, in memories. I’ve covered everything from farming, to aging to domestic abuse, trauma, Minnesota Nice and more. Writing prompts have come from a vintage family photo, a sign on a barbershop window in Northfield, a painting by Andy Warhol… There are stories everywhere.

I’m grateful to the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc for repeatedly choosing my work for publication in Talking Stick. That includes 15 poems, 10 short stories, nine creative nonfiction stories and two creative twist stories (written using a list of pre-selected words). I’ve thrice been awarded second place (poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction). I’ve also earned eight honorable mentions (four for fiction, two for creative nonfiction, and one each in poetry and creative twist). Winning those awards is validating to me as a writer.

But just as validating is being among other writers. Writers who appreciate the craft of writing and the hard work it takes to shape a poem or a short story. Writers who understand the importance of word choice. Writers who recognize the power of words. Writers who don’t settle for the mundane, the cliché, the everyday. Writers who will spend several hours together on a glorious September afternoon in the northwoods celebrating the release of Talking Stick, a stellar literary anthology. We have much to celebrate in Minnesota, in this place that produces a remarkable number of talented writers.

FYI: To purchase a copy of “Talking Stick,” click here. Thank you for supporting Minnesota writers.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, the places my photos go, including into a vets home in Bemidji August 19, 2024

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This photo, taken at the Grant Wood Rest Area along I-380 south of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, was published in a book about architecture. It was converted to black-and-white in the book. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THROUGHOUT MY 15 YEARS of blogging, I’ve sold rights to dozens of images sourced from Minnesota Prairie Roots. My photos have published on websites, in tourism guides, on album covers, on packaging for a toy company, in magazines and newspapers, on business promotional materials, on signs and banners, on the cover of a nonprofit’s annual report, in books…

Three of my photos published in this book. (Book cover sourced online)

I’m especially proud of the three photos published in The World of Laura Ingalls Wilder—The Frontier Landscapes that Inspired the Little House Books by New York Times bestselling author Marta McDowell. I grew up only 25 miles from Walnut Grove, Wilder’s childhood home. Wilder inspired me as a writer and photographer with her detail-rich creative style. I’m also proud of my two Grant Wood-themed Iowa rest stop photos printed in the book Midwest Architecture Journeys. I have copies of both books.

My Laura Look-Alike Contest photo displayed in a Chicago museum. My friend Laurel happened upon the photo while touring the museum and snapped this image for me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo by Laurel Engquist)

Likewise, I had the honor of selling rights to photos displayed in a temporary Laura Ingalls Wilder exhibit at the American Writer’s Museum in Chicago, at the Minnesota Children’s Museum in St. Paul and at the National WWII Museum in New Orleans. Atherton Pictures purchased rights to a southwestern Minnesota farm site photo for a WWII video created for the museum. I’ve never visited any of the three museums.

The Minnesota Veterans Home, Bemidji, which can house 72 veterans, recently opened. (Photo courtesy of Minnesota Veterans Home, Bemidji)

Seldom do I see how my photos are used once I email the original high resolution digital images to the buyer. But this summer I had the joy of seeing my framed photos displayed in hallways of the new Minnesota Veterans Home in Bemidji. I was in town to bring my son, who lives in Boston and was in Bemidji for the international unicycling convention, home to Faribault. I knew I had to make time for a stop at the veterans home.

Me with two of my photos, a scene from the Northfield Area Veterans Memorial on the left and the other at the Rice County Veterans Memorial. (Photo courtesy of Minnesota Veterans Home, Bemidji)

So in between Unicon 21 events, Randy and I headed to the vets home in hopes of seeing my six framed art prints. We found four, thanks to Maryhelen Chadwick, public affairs/volunteer coordinator at the Veterans Home. When we showed up unexpectedly, Chadwick graciously led us through the sprawling Town Center in search of my photos. There, in the hallways of this public space, which includes a multipurpose room, theater, club room, learning studio, family dining room, therapy gym and meditation room, we located four of my photos.

This photo, converted to black-and-white, hangs in the Bemidji veterans home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My photo of the Traveling Vietnam Memorial Wall also hangs in the vets home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Curated by a St. Paul art company, the selected images are all veteran-themed. Oversized photos of veterans’ memorials in Faribault and Northfield anchor a hallway wall. Elsewhere in the public space are two more images shot in Faribault—a veteran playing taps at a Memorial Day program and a photo of items placed at the Traveling Vietnam Memorial Wall. Chadwick later found my photos of sculptures at the county memorial in Faribault and the Rock County Veterans Memorial, Luverne, in the residential wing of the veterans home.

My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo)

To see four of my six photos showcased in a public space where veterans, their families and friends, staff, and others can view my work is humbling. I am the daughter of a Korean War veteran. My dad, Elvern Kletscher, fought on the front lines in Korea as a foot soldier. He experienced the worst of war. The injuries. The killing. Atrocities so awful, so horrific that he was forever changed by his time in combat. He suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (unrecognized at the time of his discharge). He endured much pain, heartache, trauma. Nightmares. Flashbacks.

My photo of a sculpture at the Rock County Veterans Memorial, lower right, is showcased in a group of images in the Beltrami Household. (Photo courtesy of Minnesota Veterans Home, Bemidji)

But, in his later years of life, Dad found solace among other veterans in a support group through the Redwood County Veterans Service office. I remember how hard officials worked to secure the Purple Heart that Dad finally got 47 years after he was wounded on Heartbreak Ridge. I was there for that emotional public ceremony.

My photo of a dove and eagle at the Rice County Veterans Memorial in Faribault graces a hallway of the Beltrami Household. (Photo courtesy of Minnesota Veterans Home, Bemidji)

Today emotions swell again as I think of my framed photos hanging in the Minnesota Veterans Home—Bemidji. To me these are not just veterans-related images procured as art. They are a photographic “thank you” to every person who has served our country. Because of individuals like my dad, I live in a free country, in a democracy. I never take that for granted. To be able to express my gratitude via my photos is truly an honor, a joy and deeply meaningful.

I hope my photo of a dove sculpture, symbolizing peace, and an eagle, symbolizing freedom, conveys my gratitude to the veterans living in the Minnesota Veterans Home, Bemidji. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

NOTE: Maryhelen Chadwick kindly found and photographed my eagle/dove and soldier sculpture photos per my request after I visited the home. They hang in the Beltrami Household, one of four 18-room residential areas, a space I could not tour due to privacy.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

My prize-winning poem: “Sunday Afternoon at the Auction Barn” May 31, 2024

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Turek’s Auction Service, 303 Montgomery Ave. S.E. (Highway 21), Montgomery, has been “serving Minnesota since 1958.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited and copyrighted file photo February 2014)

AUCTIONS ARE PART of my rural DNA. As such, a photo I took ten years ago of an auction barn on the edge of Montgomery, Minnesota, inspired me to write a poem. I entered “Sunday Afternoon at the Auction Barn” in the 2014 The Talking Stick writing competition. It earned second place in poetry and publication in The Talking Stick 23, Symmetry, a literary journal published by the northern Minnesota-based Jackpine Writers’ Bloc. It also earned the praise of noted Minnesota poet and poetry judge Margaret Hasse. She’s authored six full-length collections of poetry.

First, my poem:

Sunday Afternoon at the Auction Barn

Shoulder brushes shoulder as bidders settle onto plank benches

in the tightness of the arched roof auction barn,

oil stains shadowing the cement beneath their soles,

where a farmer once greased wheel bearings on his Case tractor.

The auctioneer chants in a steady cadence

that mesmerizes, sways the faithful fellowship

to raise hands, nod heads, tip bidding cards

in reverent respect of an aged rural liturgy.

Red Wing crock, cane back rocker, a Jacob’s ladder quilt,

Aunt Mary’s treasured steamer trunk, weathered oars—

goods of yesteryear coveted by those who commune here,

sipping steaming black coffee from Styrofoam cups.

In her critique of my poem, Hasse wrote:

“I loved how you turned a humdrum occasion of bidding on antiques in an old barn into a closely observed and luminous occasion. The writer John Ciiardi once wrote that close and careful observation can “leak a ghost.” The surprise of your poem was the elevation of a commercial or material enterprise into a spiritual gathering—with a fellowship, liturgy, reverent respect, and people who commune. The ending—visual and concrete—was just right. The poet Franklin Brainerd wrote a poem something to the effect, “in a world of crystal goblets, I come with my paper cup.” There’s something both unpretentious and appealing about “sipping steaming black coffee from Styrofoam cups.”

Hasse’s comment reflects that she understands the spirit and spirituality of my poem. It was a joy to write. As I recall, the words flowed easily from my brain to keyboard to screen as I visualized bidders inside that auction barn, like congregants in a church. When poetry works like that, it’s magical and fulfilling and beyond beautiful.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Poem copyrighted in 2014

 

A look back, a look ahead: How school shapes us, expands our world September 6, 2023

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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.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The Weekly Phone Call May 11, 2023

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My sweet mom, featured on the Parkview Facebook page, Mother’s Day 2020. (Photo credit: Parkview Senior Living)

IN EVERYTHING I WRITE, truth rests. In creative nonfiction, more than any other genre, truth writes the story. In poetry and fiction, life experiences, observations and emotions weave into poems and stories. Not necessarily the full truth, but based on reality. The adage “write what you know” rings true for me.

In 2017, I wrote a short story, “The Weekly Phone Call,” and entered it in the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc annual competition. That work of creative nonfiction along with two poems, two fictional short stories and another piece of creative nonfiction were chosen for publication in Fine Lines, The Talking Stick Volume 26. It marked my most successful year with TS, an annual anthology featuring work by Minnesota writers or those with a connection to Minnesota.

Five of my works (poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction) published in Fine Lines. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2017)

The book title, Fine Lines fits my selected entry, a story about the Sunday evening phone calls I made to my mom. Every. Week. I looked forward to them, as did Mom. My short story is one of raw emotions, of grief and pain. And today, days before Mother’s Day, seems an appropriate time to share this piece of my writing.

I hope it sparks an understanding that simple connections linking us to those we love are to be valued. When Mom could no longer hold or talk on a phone in the years before her January 2022 death, I felt a deep loss. I missed her voice. I missed her stories. I missed sharing my life with her. And today, I miss her, as I try to recall her voice, the words she spoke, yet always remembering the love we shared.

Parkview Senior Living in Belview, where my mom lived for many years. While 120 miles separated us, Mom and I remained connected via our weekly calls. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The Weekly Phone Call

It’s 6:30 p.m. on Sunday when I punch the green phone icon.

“Hello, Arlene speaking,” she answers, the indiscernible dialogue of a television blaring in the background.

“Hi, this is Audrey,” I say, then wait while she turns off her TV. “How are you doing?”

Her answer never deviates. She is tired and blames the weather. Already sadness threads through my thoughts. Inside the sheltered walls of a care center, she can’t feel the bite of a winter prairie wind, the drench of rainfall, the smothering humidity of a July afternoon. She feels only artificial heat and cold while sequestered in her over-sized dorm style room.

My mind drifts as Mom laments an in-house obsession with BINGO, recounts an escape attempt by a friend—big and exciting news—and complains of failed jets in the whirlpool tub. I listen, insert appropriate responses, and await the usual repetition of information.

When she repeats herself, I say nothing. There is no point. My love prevails in silence. But inside, my anger rises at her declining memory. I want the mom who never forgot a birthday, who remembered what she ate for lunch, who knew names. I miss her undeniably kind and positive spirit. I am grieving.

But I tell her none of this. Instead, I end our conversation with “I love you” and a promise to call her next Sunday, at 6:30 p.m.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Original 2017 publication credit: Fine Lines, The Talking Stick Volume 26

 

In celebration of National Poetry Month, a selected poem April 5, 2023

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I took poetic license and photoshopped this image of the button I wore identifying me as a poet at a poetry reading. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2015)

APRIL MARKS National Poetry Month, a time to celebrate poetic verse and poets. As a long-time writer, I unequivocally state that penning poetry is challenging. Why? Every. Single. Word. Counts.

That makes sense given the structure of poems.

I’ve written poetry off and on since high school. All those decades ago, I wrote angst-filled poems reflective of teenage moods, emotions and life. Recently a high school friend returned a poem I wrote for her nearly 50 years ago, a poem handwritten on lined notebook paper. The folded page, yellowed with age, holds words focusing on my future and the ultimate question at life’s end: What good have I done?

The poem dedicated to Janette is not particularly well-written. Yet, it has value in reflecting my thoughts, in opening myself up, in showing vulnerability to a trusted friend. Will I share it with you? No.

My poem, “Final Harvest,” and two pieces of creative nonfiction were selected for publication in this anthology in 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2020)

But I will share my poem, “Final Harvest,” which published in Insights, Talking Stick 29. It was chosen by the editorial team of Menahga-based Jackpine Writers’ Bloc for the 2020 edition of TS, a selected collection of poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction by Minnesotans or those with a Minnesota connection.

This scene at Parkview Senior Living in Belview, Minnesota, inspired a poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2019)

The poetry I write, like nearly all of my writing, carries a strong sense of place, often rooted in my agrarian roots. And, like nearly all of my creative writing, my poetry is rooted in truth. A cornstalk growing in a pink bucket in the community room at Parkview Senior Living, where my mom lived before her 2022 death, inspired “Final Harvest.” It is not at all angst-filled. But, in a round about way, it asks the same question: What good have I done?

Final Harvest

The cornstalk rises tall, straight

from the pink five-gallon bucket

set next to an uncomfortable tan chair

on carpet the color of dirt.

If the retired farmer in the wheelchair

looks long enough, he imagines rows of corn

rooted in a field of rich black soil,

leaves unfurling under a wide blue sky.

Staff stops to check the corn plant

seeded on May 13, not too late,

says the old farmer as he pours water

into the bucket, soaking the soil.

I focus my camera lens on the cornstalk,

pleased and amused by its placement here

like a still life shadowing beige walls

in the community room of my mom’s care center.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Alright, winter, time to leave Minnesota as spring arrives March 20, 2023

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Trees bud at Falls Creek Park, rural Faribault, in late May 2022. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)

TODAY, THE FIRST DAY of spring, hope springs that this long winter of too much snow will soon exit Minnesota. Most Minnesotans, including me, are weary of days marked by new snowfall that has accumulated, pushing this 2022-2023 winter season into top 10 records in our state.

Asparagus, one of my favorite spring vegetables. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But now, with the official start of a new season on March 20—the season of new life, the season of planting and budding and greening—I feel a mental shift. Psychologically, my mind can envision a landscape shifting from colorless monochrome to vivid greens. I can feel the warmth of warmer days yet to come. I can smell the scent of dirt released, breaking from winter’s grip. I can hear the singsong chatter of returning birds. I can taste asparagus spears snapped from the soil.

A bud beginning to open in late April 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2020)

All of this is yet to come. I understand that. A date on a calendar doesn’t mean spring in Minnesota. That season is realistically weeks away. April can still bring inches of snow.

Crocuses, always the first flower of spring in my flowerbeds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021)

But we are edging toward spring. I feel that in temps sometimes reaching just past 40 degrees. I feel it in the warmth of the sun, shining brighter, bolder, longer. I see dwindling snow packs and exposed patches of grass. I hear spring in vehicles splashing through puddles rather than crunching across snow. I see spring, too, in the endless potholes pocking roadways.

The first line in my winning poem, posted roadside in 2011. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)

On this first day of spring, I am reminded of a poem I penned in 2011, a poem which splashed across four billboards along a road just off Interstate 94 in Fergus Falls in west central Minnesota. To this day, publication of that poem remains an especially rewarding experience for me as a poet.

Billboard number two of my spring-themed poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)

I submitted the poem to the now-defunct Roadside Poetry Project’s spring competition. Poems changed out seasonally in this Fergus Falls Area College Foundation funded contest. It was a bit of a challenge writing a spring-themed poem, as I recall. Not because of the theme, but rather the rules—four lines only with a 20-character-per-line limit. But, as a writer, it’s good to be challenged.

Line three of my Roadside Poetry Project spring poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)

I suppose you could say the same about Minnesota weather. It’s good to be challenged by an especially snowy winter so we appreciate spring’s arrival even more. Yes, that’s a positive perspective—a way to mentally and psychologically talk myself into enduring perhaps six more weeks of winter in this official season of spring.

The last of four billboards featuring my Roadside Poetry spring poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)

NOTE: I intentionally omitted any pictures showing snow/winter.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Minnesota prairie roots revisited, remembered, reflected January 25, 2023

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My “Hope of a Farmer” poem exhibited at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum. The exhibit also includes my poem, “Ode to My Farm Wife Mother.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

WHEN I RETURNED to my beloved southwestern Minnesota prairie in September, I did so with one primary purpose—to see my poetry showcased in the “Making Lyon County Home” exhibit at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum in Marshall. Any additional attractions—like viewing a public art sculpture outside the local ice arena and a stop at Brau Brothers Brewing—would only enhance the day trip.

Randy Walker’s “Prairie Roots” sculpture defines the entrance outside the Red Baron Arena on Marshall’s east side at 1651 Victory Drive. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

My one regret is that Randy and I didn’t stay overnight, allowing more time to explore local sites without feeling rushed. Forty years have passed since I visited Marshall en route to the Black Hills on our honeymoon. The college and county seat town lies 20 miles to the west of my hometown, Vesta in Redwood County, and 140 miles from my current home in Faribault.

A serene country scene just north of Lamberton in southern Redwood County on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2013)

This area of Minnesota is the place of my roots. My prairie roots. It is the place of wide open space, expansive skies, small towns and endless acres of cropland.

A prairie sunset photographed from Minnesota State Highway 67 between Redwood Falls and Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The land where I grew up inspired my blog name, Minnesota Prairie Roots. The name fits me as a person and a creative. The sparseness of the prairie taught me to notice details, to fully engage my senses. To appreciate the landscape and people. The vastness of the flat land and the star-flushed night sky and achingly beautiful sunsets. Here I connected to the land—bare feet upon dirt, bike tires crunching gravel, dirt etched into my hands from working the soil. Here I connected to the people—down-to-earth, hardworking, linked to the land.

A favorite children’s picture book about the prairie gifted to me by my friend Kathleen.

For those who are not of prairie stock, the sparse landscape can seem uninteresting, empty, desolate. Even I admit the challenge of “if you’re not from the prairie…” A children’s picture book by that title, written by David Bouchard and illustrated by Henry Ripplinger and published in 1995, speaks to the prairie sun, wind, sky, flatness…grasses.

The tall grasses stretch to the prairie sky. The bent tops of the stems are also meant to resemble hockey sticks given the sculpture’s location outside the ice arena. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

Tall grasses are often associated with the prairie. Yet, those grasses were mostly missing from the landscape of my youth as cultivated crops covered the earth. But on our farm site, a sliver of unmown grass grew between granary and grove and gravel driveway, stretching high, stems bending in the wind. That Little House on the Prairie (Walnut Grove is 20 miles from Vesta) space opened summer afternoons to imaginative play. I hold many memories rooted in those tall grasses, in the prairie.

Depending on the time of day and viewing point, the steel grass stems showcase different colors. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)
The sculpture reflected in an arena window. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)
Just another view of the grass stems, emphasizing the orange and yellow hues. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

Prairie Roots. That name graces a public art sculpture outside the Red Baron Arena in Marshall. Minneapolis artist Randy Walker was commissioned by the City of Marshall in 2018 to create the sculpture reflecting the prairie landscape. I knew in advance of my September visit that I needed to see this artwork if time allowed. We made time. Walker used 210 painted steel poles to represent tall stems of grass, prairie grass. They are colored in hues of yellow, orange, red and green, reflecting seasonal changes and light.

Prairie grass grows within the sculpture. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

And in between all those steel stems, prairie grass grows, thrives.

A grasshopper clings to a steel grass stem in the “Prairie Roots” sculpture. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

I even spotted a grasshopper on a steel stalk, taking me back decades to the hoards of grasshoppers that amassed and hopped through that patch of uncut grass on the farm.

Viewing the sculpture toward the field, this perspective shows the meandering course of the Redwood River in the Marshall area on the floor of the gathering space. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

Walker’s sculpture holds visual appeal against an expansive backdrop sky and open field (when viewing the art from the arena entrance outward). Via that perspective, I see the enduring strength of the prairie, and the immensity of land and sky, this place of my Minnesota prairie roots.

Please check back for more posts about my day trip back to southwestern Minnesota in September 2022.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling