TO WRITE A FICTIONAL BOOK, you begin with an idea, which births words. Words beget sentences, then paragraphs, then chapters. But the process is not quite that simple. Creating a work of fiction requires attention to detail from character development to dialogue to setting to plot. I’ve written short stories that have published, thus understand the craft.
I want to hone in on one word—details. They are a hallmark of a good story, of creative writing. And they are also the hallmark of small towns. Let me explain.
How many times have you driven through a community without really seeing it, without noticing the rich details that, like details in a story, make it unique, interesting?
I notice the little things. Perhaps it’s my journalism and photography background that draw me to look closer, beyond the surface. I seek out anything that is different, unusual, surprising. And I’m never disappointed.
Drive slowly around any small town or walk along Main Street with a focused perspective and you will soon see the details that integrate into the story line of a community. That includes Kenyon, a Goodhue County town of around 1,900 best known for its Boulevard of Roses.
Minnesota State Highway 60, along which all those roses grow, runs right through the heart of Kenyon, intersecting with state highway 56. The intersection thrums with traffic. But I wonder how many motorists notice the bold Fox’s Garage Firestone Tires sign painted on the side of a stalwart brick building half a block away from that busy intersection? It’s an artsy nod to local history.
Nearby, at the Kenyon Veterans Memorial Park, I discovered Jacob’s Tree and a plaque honoring Jacob Wetterling and all missing children. It was an unexpected memorial in a place focused on veterans. But it also seemed fitting to honor the 11-year-old Minnesota boy who was abducted by a stranger in 1989, his remains found 27 years later. Jacob was, after all, a small town boy grabbed while biking to a video store.
Kenyon once had a video store, now a tobacco and vape shop. The K-Town Video sign tells me that.
Likewise, remnants of fuel pricing signage still banner a former gas station where today Che Che’s Lunchera food truck serves up Mexican food under the station canopy.
Details like these point to a town’s history, to its evolution. Back at the vets park, a fading vintage sign once directed snowmobilers to gas and food along a designated trail route.
I hold a fondness for signs and Kenyon offers plenty of homegrown signage. That includes clever and humorous messages posted outside Kenyon Meats along highway 60. I expect many motorists have noticed SMOKE MEAT NOT METH and DON’T FRY BACON NAKED. And now the newest—YOUR MOM LIKES OUR MEAT.
But it takes a turn onto a side street and through an alley to see an old John Deere tractor parked next to a pick-up truck behind a building. This is a farming community rooted in rural.
Along that same alley, next to the post office parking lot, I noticed a basketball hoop standing between dumpsters and a recycling bin. It seemed out of place until I realized there’s probably an apartment above the post office. The hoop hints at teens dribbling a basketball across the pavement on a hot summer evening, arms and legs flailing in a pick-up game, sweat beading their foreheads.
Across the street at the Kenyon VFW, I spotted the silhouette of a veteran on a side door with an honoring message of “WE SALUTE YOU.” More characters, more dialogue, more stories. On this visit to Kenyon, I looked for details that often go unnoticed. And when I looked, I saw community.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
ICE OUT, a photo essay & commentary from Minnesota February 13, 2026
Tags: businesses, commentary, Content Bookstore, Division Street, Governor Tim Walz, ICE OUT, immigration, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Minnesota, Minnesota Strong, news, Northfield, photo essay, photography, signs, strength
THE DAY AFTER BORDER CZAR (anyone dislike that title as much as me?) Tom Homan announced a draw-down of federal immigration agents in Minnesota, I’m feeling, as Governor Tim Walz said, “cautiously optimistic.” Recent history has proven that we can’t necessarily believe or trust what federal government officials tell us. But I’m trying to be hopeful.
For more than two months, 3,000 immigration enforcement agents have been working in Minnesota. And if anyone still believes that they are/were doing only targeted enforcement, arresting “the worst of the worst,” then I have some lakefront property to sell you.
Let’s go back to Thursday morning, when Homan made his draw-down announcement complete with praise for his agents and the success of their mission in Minnesota. I couldn’t listen any more. I’d heard enough.
I had an appointment in neighboring Northfield anyway so off I went to this college town that, like Faribault, has been recently inundated by ICE. Except in Northfield, a decidedly blue city, the business community is publicly vocal about its opposition to ICE’s presence unlike in my decidedly red city.
In the heart of downtown Northfield, on one side of a block along Division Street, nearly every business has posted an anti-ICE sign and/or uplifting signage. I felt the strength of those shopkeepers willing to stand up for and encourage others. There’s power in raising united voices in opposition to wrong.
Inside Content Bookstore, where I stopped to shop for a baby shower gift, I discovered even more messaging and ways in which the Northfield community is stepping up to help their immigrant neighbors, including children affected by ICE’s actions. Monies from the sale of Minnesota state flag and “Rebel Loon” (our state bird) stickers will go toward books and activities for those kids. Content is also collaborating on a poetry chapbook, Words to Meet the Moment: Poetry Against Fascism, releasing soon.
As ICE supposedly ends Operation Metro Surge in Minnesota (which also encompassed cities and small towns outside the metro like my city of 25,000), we are left with a mess. Let me define that. The personal toll is huge. Trauma has been inflicted upon thousands. “Generational trauma,” Governor Walz said.
I worry about the kids who witnessed family members being taken or who saw armed, masked immigration officers with guns outside their schools (with classmates taken by ICE), outside their daycares, outside or inside their homes, at their bus stops, on the streets. It’s hard enough for adults to see such threatening power, aggression and use of excessive force. But our children? The mental health of all Minnesotans concerns me, especially that of the youngest among us.
And then there is the financial fall-out with people now unable to pay their bills, including rent, facing eviction because they haven’t gone to work out of fear of ICE. Again, legal status matters not as anyone with brown or black skin has been targeted. These same individuals and families have relied on community members and nonprofits to help with rent payments and to bring them groceries. This is not long-term sustainable.
Until we are all confident that ICE is really, truly gone and is doing only targeted enforcement of “the worst of the worst,” we will all remain on edge. Rebuilding trust, restoring life to normalcy will assuredly take time.
Likewise, the Minnesota economy has suffered severe damage, especially small businesses. Governor Walz has proposed a $10 million forgivable loan recovery plan to help the business community and is also hoping for help from the federal government. Good luck with that.
While in Northfield on Thursday, I learned that ICE agents recently went along Division Street, asking for employment records at some businesses. I don’t know details. But in my mind, I envision these armed, masked officers as a threatening presence in the heart of this picturesque, riverside American city. This community doesn’t back down from threats. In September 1876, townsfolk stopped the James-Younger Gang from robbing the First National Bank. Northfield is a community which cares for one another and which, in the midst of a federal invasion, has stood, is still standing, Minnesota Strong.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling