IN THIS GO-BETWEEN TIME of almost spring here in southern Minnesota, the landscape appears mostly winter drab, plain, devoid of many photo opportunities. That is until I look beyond the bare-branched trees, the barren land, the basic gray of March skies.
Color, although not abundant, can still be found among the neutral hues.
Camera in hand, I watched for bright spots and more on a recent business road trip with my husband to Rochester. I kept an eye out for anything I thought would be photo-worthy. Or interesting. My definition of both may differ from yours.
But I enjoy on-the-road, literally, photography—taking photos from the passenger seat inside a moving vehicle. This requires awareness, anticipation and quick framing with the camera set at a fast shutter speed. Clean, or mostly clean, windows help as does a smooth road.
Sometimes I get the image I want. And sometimes I get an unfocused photo. It’s a bit of a crapshoot.
Regardless of photo outcomes, I’m content to scan my surroundings, appreciating the nuances of rural Minnesota. On this particular Thursday morning along US Highway 14 about 20 minutes west of Rochester, I was drawn first to fog enveloping a farm site. Gray on gray on gray on gray. Gray skies. Gray bins. Gray grain dryers. Long gray metal buildings.
Once in Rochester, color popped at me from a roadside attraction, the 151-foot tall Ear of Corn Water Tower built in 1931 for Reid, Murdoch & Co. The food cannery used the 50,000 gallon water tower in its canning operation, which included canning corn. The business changed hands twice before the plant closed in 2018. But the water tower landmark remains. I found it definitely photo-worthy as we passed by.
But something as simple as as an over-sized American flag flapping in the morning breeze, a red barn flashing color, a sprawling white farmhouse, a row of power lines, a distant farm site can grab my visual attention, too.
I’m drawn to photograph rural scenes because of my farm background. Deep in my soul, I long to live again in the countryside, away from close neighbors, near nature, cocooned by quiet. But reality is that will never happen.
And so I find ways to reconnect with the land. In my writing. In my photography. In every season.
Every farm field holds the hope of a farmer. Every farm site holds memories and hard work. And dreams. I see this on the road, through my camera lens, as my focus shifts with every mile covered.
I view an ever-changing rural winter landscape of red barns, aged farmhouses, towering silos, untilled fields and then, on the edge of Kenyon, signage boasting local high school sporting championships. Such signs are common in small Minnesota communities.
Nearing the end of this quick road trip, an eagle leads us along Minnesota State Highway 60 west of Kenyon before veering to the right. When I see this majestic bird on this day, I feel as I always do about eagles—in awe of their size, their power, their speed. I snap three quick frames.
Time passes. Miles pass. Rural southern Minnesota unfolds before me, captured through the lens of my camera on an almost-spring day in March.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Westward bound deep into Minnesota farm country May 28, 2026
Tags: agriculture, barns, Brown County, commentary, farm fields, farm sites, farming, land, landscape, Mankato, memories, Morgan, New Ulm, Owatonna, photography, Redwood County, rural Minnesota, sky, southern Minnesota, travel, Vesta
THROUGH SEVEN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA counties we traveled—Rice, Steele, Waseca, Blue Earth, Nicollet, Brown and, then, home to Redwood. Westward bound.
Only occasionally now, mostly for the annual family reunion and on this day a beloved aunt’s funeral, do Randy and I follow this 125-mile route back to my native Redwood County.
Every trip, I see the immensity of sky and land as the landscape unfolds before me. The farther west we drive, the more rural the look, the feel, with the exception of Mankato and New Ulm.
We bypass the small towns along four-lane U.S. Highway 14 while passing endless farm sites and fields.
I have my eye on the view from the passenger side of our van, scanning the land, watching for photo ops. Photography can be a challenge while traveling at highway speeds. Still, I try, managing to capture images that document the ruralness of this place.
Barns, especially red ones, always grab my attention. They symbolize agriculture more than any other building. Yet, most no longer center a farming operation. Absent of animals, many barns have been repurposed or have fallen into heaps of rotting wood. I always appreciate a well-kept barn still standing strong against elements and the passage of time.
This trip I’m also cognizant of crops at the beginning of the growing season. Corn is popping up in rows across the land, green shoots reaching toward the sun, the sky. Green is good. When my next trip this direction comes in late July, that corn will stand towering and dense across acres of fields.
I may not be a farmer, but my connection to the land more than 50 decades removed from my childhood farm remains strong. I still look at the crops. I still hope to spot a herd of Holsteins. I still see a silo and mentally climb the interior ladder to throw down silage. I still eye a grove of trees with the playfulness of youth.
While nostalgia runs high on trips like this deep into Minnesota farm country, reality is that farming remains as challenging as ever with ever-rising expenses, low commodity prices and the uncertainties of weather. Will rain fall when needed? Will storms come with devastating wind and hail? Always, always, the risks exist from planting to growing to harvest.
But on this day, mile after mile after mile, I see the hope of a farmer. I see a way of life. I see dreams.
And I feel small in this place where land and sky dwarf farm sites, where fields stretch across endless acres, where the highway ribbons ahead of us across seven rural southern Minnesota counties, westward bound.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling