Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Go local when viewing fall colors October 26, 2025

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City View Park on Faribault’s east side provides a sweeping, colorful view of the city in October. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)

IF I WANT TO VIEW fall colors, I needn’t go far. I can step into my backyard to see glorious golden maples. Up the street from my Willow Street home, more trees blaze. If I follow Second Avenue to its intersection with Seventh Street, I’ll find especially vibrant trees on a corner property owned by friends Mark and Laurie. There are more splashy hues along Seventh Street and all about town. Tree-lined bluffs rising above the Straight River burst with color. Faribault is a beautiful, historic riverside city anytime, but especially in autumn.

A view of the Cannon River from the pedestrian bridge at the Cannon River Wilderness Area between Faribault and Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Yet, even with all the colorful trees in town, I like to go into the countryside to see the colors, too. And it’s not just about the orange, red and yellow leaves. It’s also about sky and water, fields and farms, the “all” which comprises and defines rural Minnesota in September and October.

This weathered barn with the fieldstone foundation sits along the gravel road leading to Richter Woods County Park west of Montgomery in Le Sueur County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

It’s also about following back gravel roads, the vehicle kicking up dust. It’s about meeting massive farm equipment on roadways. It’s about stopping to look at a weathered barn. It’s about traveling at a slower pace.

A view of Kelly Lake and a colorful shoreline. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

And it’s about stopping, exiting the van to walk into the woods or stand along the shoreline of an area lake to admire a colorful tree line.

A sweeping view of the countryside in the Union Lake area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

As a native of the mostly treeless southwestern Minnesota prairie, it was not until I moved to Rice County in 1982 that I fully realized just how overwhelmingly stunning this season is in our state. I didn’t grow up going on vacations with the exception of two—one at age four to Duluth and the second to the Black Hills of South Dakota during my elementary school years. But each autumn, my siblings and I piled into the Chevy with our parents for a Sunday afternoon fall color drive along the Minnesota River Valley from north of Echo to Morton.

A partially-harvested cornfield in the Union Lake area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

And so my love of Sunday drives (which were frequent during my youth because Dad wanted to look at the crops) evolved. As did my understanding that all we needed to do was travel a short distance to see a different landscape. One with woods, colorful woods, in autumn.

Colorful trees by Union Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

The topography of Rice County is incredibly diverse. From the familiar flat prairie to rolling hills and valleys to lakes and rivers and streams, it’s all right here. Lovely.

Sometimes you just have to stop and look up, here in Richter Woods. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

I encourage Sunday afternoon drives, or whatever day works for you. Forget about schedules and the work at home. Get in the vehicle and go. Go local. Appreciate what’s right in your backyard.

Inside Richter Woods, rural Montgomery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Pull over along a gravel road, if it’s safe to do so, and take in the countryside. Stand along the shore of a lake. Walk into the woods. Hear the crunch of dried leaves beneath your soles. Look up at the colorful leaves. And see, really see, the autumn beauty that surrounds you…before winter strips the land, leaving it naked and exposed.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Escape into the Cannon River Wilderness Area November 20, 2020

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SOME DAYS I WISH I could simply disappear, vanish into the woods or wheel across the prairie like the Ingalls family to an unknown destination. Far from reality. Far from COVID-19.

But, since I must live in the context of a pandemic, in the place I call home, I look for places to escape nearby. And, on a recent Sunday afternoon, Randy and I disappeared into the Cannon River Wilderness Area between Faribault and Northfield off Minnesota State Highway 3.

In the nearly 40 years we have lived in Rice County, we’ve only stopped here once, many years ago for a family picnic, but never to hike. On this day we followed the rutted gravel road along the river, past a junkyard and into the wilderness parking lot. We walked a short path to the Cannon River, then a longer one along the river to a foot bridge.

To get there, we passed two tents in the primitive camping area. I delighted in watching a young family gathered in the woods near river’s edge, enjoying the outdoors, away from distracting/detracting technology. At the next tent down, I observed a caged dog.

After passing the campers, we spotted a hillside bluff of limestone looming to the side of the trail.

Springs bubbled water across the muddy path partially covered by a thin layer of wood chips. I found myself tensing at the thought of traversing mud. My slip-on shoes, unlike Randy’s treaded boots, offered zero traction. And, with a history of two falls, one on rain-slicked wooden steps that resulted in a broken wrist and subsequent surgery to implant a plate, I felt angst.

But Randy offered his hand to steady me as we walked across mud, atop slippery rocks and balanced on railroad ties. Eventually, we reached the pedestrian bridge over the Cannon.

If anything soothes me, it is water and wind. And, on this early November day, I stood on that wooden bridge, taking in the elements that calm me. River rushing over rocks. Wind roaring through woods.

 

 

The sun, too, warming me and casting artsy criss-cross shadows upon the bridge deck.

Then I noticed the trees. Tornado trees, I term them. Two years ago, in September 2018, tornadoes ravaged Rice County, including the 800-acre Cannon River Wilderness Area. Evidence of the storm remains in fallen trees, limbless trees, trees stripped of branches. In the woods. In the river. Along the riverbank. Thoughts of tornadoes invite distress as I recall the 1968 deadly tornado in Tracy, Minnesota, a storm I remember from my childhood in southwestern Minnesota. Some things you never forget.

But for a short time, I forgot about COVID as I immersed myself in the natural world. Even among tornado trees, some of which groaned in the strong wind.

As Randy and I retraced our steps along the muddy path, I focused on getting safely back to the parking lot without falling. But in a single step onto a rounded rock, my shoes slipped and I felt myself falling to the right. Thoughts of another broken bone flashed. As did the likelihood that my camera would be destroyed. Yet, Randy, who had been gripping my hand, caught me, even as he, too, nearly landed in the mud. I felt gratitude for his strength, for his support, for his care. We have traversed many a difficult journey through life. Together. And for that I am grateful, especially during a global pandemic.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling