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
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
On the protest line, twice on June 14 June 16, 2026
Tags: Appleton, commentary, democracy, faith, Faribault, Flag Day, ICE detention center, Interstate 35 protest, June 14, Medford, Minnesota, Minnesota Speaker of the House Melissa Hortman, No Kings Day protest, protest, protest signs
IF NOT FOR THE DATE, June 14, Sunday would have been like most Sundays for me. Off to early church, then bible study and back home for brunch.
But June 14, 2026, was not just another Sunday. This date marked the one-year anniversary of the politically-motivated assassinations of Minnesota Speaker of the House Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, and the shootings of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette.
June 14 also marked Flag Day.
And June 14 marked another No Kings Day event, nationally a concert and locally several protests.
I began my Sunday in church, where the pastor’s sermon focused on love. That seemed a fitting topic given the day. I jotted notes, taking away the key point that true love is “the willingness to do good.” The pastor applied that to both the love between and among people and the love God has for us as sinners unworthy of his love. Of course, the sermon got much more in-depth. I left church and bible study feeling loved and more determined than ever to show love in my actions. And words.
A quick change into jeans, a tee, denim jacket and tennis shoes and hair pulled into a pony tail and baseball cap placed atop my head, I was ready to join the weekly protest along Minnesota State Highway 60 in Faribault. The organizer changed the usual 11 a.m.-noon Saturday protest to Sunday because of the national No Kings Day event.
Randy and I were ready with new signs, mine themed to the national event wording: Rise up. Sing out. I added “Resist.” I’ve been publicly resisting the actions of the current administration for more than a year now. I cannot imagine remaining silent and therefore complicit.
Forty of us stood strong outside the Rice County government services building on Sunday, holding our protest signs, conversing, listening to Vietnam era protest music strummed on a guitar and sung by several protesters. It felt empowering to be there among like-minded individuals, raising our voices, trying to make a difference, creating awareness and, yes, showing love.
Love came in a heartbreaking sign carried by a little girl whose friend was deported to Mexico with her family. “Protect our friends,” her message read. She’d drawn, with the help of her mom, two girls holding hands. One brown, the other white. Two pink hearts filled out the poster.
This is love, when a little girl creates a love-filled message that calls upon adults to “Protect our friends.” Urging us “to do good.”
I carried a similar two-sided sign, NO ICE PRISON IN APPLETON stenciled on one side, RISE UP, SING OUT, RESIST on the other. Plans are underway to open an ICE detention center in an abandoned private prison owned by CoreCivic in Appleton in far western Minnesota. The little girl who carried the sign asking us to “Protect our friends” is likely unaware of this planned prison. She knows only that someone took her friend, whom she misses.
This little girl is among the reasons we protest. We care about our children, about the country they will inherit, about our democracy.
Five hours after the Faribault protest ended, Randy and I stood with 10 others on a bridge over Interstate 35 by Medford, each of us holding a single letter to spell out two messages: NO WAR and NO KINGS. As 25-30 southbound vehicles per minute zoomed by below, we stood strong with our letters plastered against the fence, small American flags in between, large American flag flying in the brisk wind at the beginning of our line. Down the road in Owatonna, a similar group faced northbound traffic on the Bridge Street overpass with the same messages.
It felt good to be here, to make new friends, to commiserate, to uplift, to wave, to show travelers on the interstate below that we love this country enough to protest threats to democracy, injustices, war,…the abundance of words and actions that are anything but loving.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling