An inspirational word in an art installation honoring Barb Larson, shot and killed in 2016 inside her workplace, the Faribault Area Chamber of Commerce & Tourism. Used here for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
IN MY BIBLE, I highlight verses that resonate with me, that inspire, that uplift and offer hope. Those include Jeremiah 29:11. It reads: For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. In faith communities, this specific scripture is often directed to youth, who are our future.
On Wednesday morning those words written by the prophet Jeremiah were shared by Matt DeBoer, principal of Annunciation Catholic School in south Minneapolis, following a mass shooting at the adjacent church. The shooter fired from outside through stained glass windows into the church, killing two students and wounding 18 others, including three parishioners in their eighties. All were attending a back-to-school morning Mass.
The churning Straight River, visually reflective of what we’re feeling now in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
“NEVER AGAIN”
This act of gun violence is nothing short of horrific. No one can deny that. Fletcher, 8, and Harper, 10, are dead. Seven others were critically injured, taken to a level 1 trauma center. All are expected to survive. The level of pain and grief and anger, yes, anger, we are feeling collectively in Minnesota right now is palpable.
In all the media coverage I’ve watched and read, I keep circling back to Principal DeBoer and his message at a late Wednesday morning press conference hours after the shooting. He shared the school’s Jeremiah 29 based theme for 2025-2026 of “a future filled with hope.” Hope happens to be one of my favorite words, but not one I personally relate to a mass shooting. Yet on Wednesday morning, the principal called for all of us to look to the future with hope, because we can’t change the past. I listened. I heard. I heard him say, “Never again.” I heard DeBoer ask us to commit those two words to our speech pattern. “Never again.”
And I heard, too, his call for action as he referenced this African proverb: When you pray, move your feet.
As the day progressed into evening vigils, I continued to watch television coverage. Clergy led a prayer service at the Academy of Holy Angels, a nearby private Catholic high school that Annunciation students often attend beginning in ninth grade. In a message also themed to hope, Archbishop Bernard Hebda mentioned the broad support received from those of all faiths—Protestants, Jews, Muslims… And from Pope Leo XIV. I would expect nothing less. We are all hurting.
Another vigil followed at Lynnhurst Park. As I watched television coverage begin, I focused on the diverse crowd. A young girl seated on the ground clutching a teddy bear. A priest in a wheelchair. Attendees sheltering flickering candles with their hands. People in bright orange t-shirts emblazoned with “Protect Minnesota.” Photographers working. A woman in a black tee with the simple word, “Enough,” and a slash drawn through a circled gun. Instrumental music played—”Bridge Over Troubled Water”—setting an introspective mood.
“Doing something” must be about our kids. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrightedfile photo)
“WE NEED TO…”
And then the line up of speakers stepped up, addressing the crowd. The mood at this vigil was decidedly different. This gathering focused on a call to action in oftentimes fiery and emotional speeches by politicians and local leaders calling for stronger gun laws. In all the thoughts shared, Minnesota Lieutenant Governor Peggy Flanagan’s message rose to the top for me. While she spoke the usual “You are not alone” and “Enough is enough,” here’s the one soundbite that sticks with me: “We need to love our babies and our children more than our guns.” That bears repeating. “We need to love our babies and our children more than our guns.”
On this, the morning after the murder of two children and wounding of 17 others at Annunciation Catholic Church less than an hour from my Faribault home, I reflect on Flanagan’s words. And I think of my own two elementary-aged grandchildren starting the new school year on Tuesday. I want them to feel, to be, safe. I want this gun violence to end. As the mayor of Minneapolis said, his is “a city united in grief,” which must now become “a city united in action.”
I hold hope that perhaps this time something will change. I understand that gun violence is complicated, that it involves addressing the root causes of such violence. Yet, if not for the guns—three used in the Minneapolis shooting—two children would still be alive.
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This story has been updated to include the first names of the two children killed in the shooting. Their names were released late Thursday afternoon. The number of injured has also been updated to 18.
I’ve photographed many stained glass windows in churches. I looked through my archives and found this image of a window at Mother of Good Counsel Votive Chapel, LaCrosse, Wisconsin and it struck me as fitting for this post. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
I HAD MY MORNING PLANNED. Wash sheets and towels and hang them on the line. Pay bills. Write a blog post. I finished the laundry. But then all activity stopped and my attention focused to breaking news—a mass shooting in south Minneapolis.
For hours I’ve watched media coverage of events unfolding at Annunciation Catholic Church and School in south Minneapolis. Early today two school children were shot and killed during morning Mass. Seventeen others were injured, among them two adults. Four required surgery. Seven were in critical condition at Hennepin County Medical Center, a level one trauma center. Several went to other hospitals.
My heart breaks for the families, friends and classmates of the eight and 10-year-olds who were killed. My heart breaks for all who were part of and witness to this violence. Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey and Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara, who spoke at a press conference, echoed the same. Their pain and anguish were evident in their words, their voices breaking with emotion.
I was especially touched by Mayor Frey’s message that we must go beyond simply saying “thoughts and prayers” because, as he stated, these kids were literally in church praying. He’s right. I believe in prayer. But I also believe that caring and compassionate action must accompany prayer. Frey called upon all of us to wrap our arms around the affected families, to love and support them. These are not only Minneapolis families affected, but American families, he said, adding that these shootings happen far too often.
According to officials, the gunman, dressed in black and armed with a rifle, shotgun and pistol, fired from the outside through church stained glass windows, hitting victims sitting in the pews. The man, in his early 20s and with no known criminal record, is dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, according to the police chief.
Both the mayor and police chief used the word “evil” when describing this morning’s shooting. They also used words like “deliberate act of violence,” “unspeakable act,” and “unthinkable tragedy.” We’ve heard those words way too often following mass shootings that have occurred way too often. Once is too often.
My day goes on, not as I planned, but tinged now with deep sadness. I can’t shake the images of children emerging from Annunciation School with their parents, hands clasped, faces showing the deep pain they are feeling. They are forever changed.
IF I LISTEN CLOSELY, I can hear the incessant chirp of crickets beneath the steady drone of traffic rushing past my house. I live along a busy street, where noise is a constant except in the deep hours of the night. Even then, though, the lone blare of a siren may pierce the night silence, enough to awaken me.
I hear lots of sounds. But that’s not the same as listening. There’s a difference. Hearing is simply taking in sound waves. But listening requires intentional focus. Not only physically hearing, but also paying attention, picking up on verbal and non-verbal cues, remaining quiet.
Many of us are not particularly good at listening. It requires discipline, silence and an understanding that whatever we hear holds significance. Chirping crickets signal the end of summer. Screeching sirens indicate an emergency. And when someone is speaking to me, it means they have something to say. And I need to listen.
I consider myself to be a pretty good listener. As a journalist, I really honed my listening skills, a necessity in covering any news story, doing any interview. And on a personal level, I’ve always been more interested in what others are saying than in hearing my own voice.
Therein lies the problem. Too many of us like the sound of our own voices. If someone starts sharing their own story, their own challenges, we tend to interject our own stories. That’s when a push “pause” seems appropriate. Our listening skills need to kick in as we clamp our lips in silence and remember that the conversation is not about us.
So all of this leads me to the meeting between President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin on Friday in Anchorage, Alaska, to discuss the war in Ukraine. Noticeably absent will be Ukrainian leader Volodymyr Zelenskyy. Now you’d think, given the war is raging in Ukraine, that Zelenskyy should be at the table. He asked to be there. But, if the two other leaders heard, they didn’t listen. A pre-meeting conversation between Trump and Zelenskyy isn’t the same as including the Ukrainian president in the summit.
From all accounts, the Trump administration is now billing Friday’s meeting as a “listening exercise.” I find that to be an interesting choice of words. I can’t imagine that either Trump or Putin will really be “listening,” based on past meetings between the two and observations I’ve made about them. But, hey, maybe this time they really will hear the crickets chirping above the drone of war, the blaring of sirens.
This poster inside Trinity Lutheran Church shows an architectural drawing of Ridgeview Heights and a Vacation Bible School mission fundraising goal for the housing project. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
ON MY WAY TO SUNDAY MORNING church services, I missed an opportunity to live my faith. Reflecting on that moment, I’m still uncertain what I could have done. But the guilt I feel about doing nothing at the time remains.
Let me set the scene. While driving to church, Randy and I dropped off some mail downtown. Up the hill from the post office, I noticed a parked car crammed with stuff. Someone clearly lived out of the vehicle, one I’ve previously seen. Then my eyes shifted to the adjacent street corner and an individual, cocooned in a bright gold blanket, sleeping atop a bench. And then we turned the corner.
“I should take a picture,” I told Randy, my mind already creating a story that would enlighten others about homelessness in Faribault. But then I quickly realized that taking a photo wouldn’t be particularly kind. And so we continued on to church.
Still, I couldn’t shake the image of that person stretched atop a bench along Central Avenue. I wondered about his story, why and how he found himself without a home. And I considered how vulnerable and exposed I would feel sleeping like that in a public place. Those thoughts followed me into church.
“HOUSING FOR THE HOMELESS”
When I stepped inside the sanctuary, I immediately noticed a “Housing for the Homeless” poster near the organ. There are coincidences and then there are what I term “God moments.” And this, in my mind, was clearly divine. I’ve seen enough of these occurrences in my life to distinguish the two. God was assuredly nudging me to write on the topic of homelessness and housing insecurity in my community.
That sign in church was a promotional for the chosen mission of this year’s Vacation Bible School, which started that very evening at Trinity. Participants are donating their monetary gifts to Ridgeview Heights, an accessible, sustainable housing community to be built in downtown Faribault just blocks from the slumbering man on the bench. The VBS fundraising goal is $500.
That $500 may seem inconsequential considering the $2.5 million project cost. But every dollar helps in constructing the two buildings aimed at housing families with children, including those experiencing homelessness. Two of the eight units will serve as free emergency shelters and the other six will be market rate workforce units.
A COMMUNITY ACTS
The Community Action Center, which works collaboratively to alleviate hunger, homelessness and poverty among individuals and families in the community, is the lead on Ridgeview Heights. With an in-kind land donation from the city of Faribault, two grants, gifts, community donations and financing, the CAC is able to break ground at 4 p.m. today, August 6, for the much-needed two and three-bedroom units.
So first I saw the sleeping man, then the poster. And then came the sermon…with a directive that congregations ought to think, plan and act in ways that bless people. The guest pastor encouraged us not to think less of ourselves, but to think of ourselves less (a loose quote from C.S. Lewis). In other words, turn the focus outward on the community rather than inward to the church’s needs. The VBS kids will be doing exactly that this week with their “Housing for the Homeless” mission focus.
A FAMILY THAT CARES
Now you may think my story ends here. But it doesn’t. On July 28, I received a mass email about an upcoming Helbling family reunion. Organizers are changing things up this year by raffling items made by family members. One of several ways to qualify for a raffle entry is via a $5 charitable donation. All donations will go to the Community Action Center in Faribault with a dollar-for-dollar match from my eldest niece’s employer.
Truly, I was meant to write this story. I may have bypassed the man sleeping on the bench. But I got the message, loud and clear, that I needed to write about homelessness and housing insecurity in Faribault. I’ve seen the tents pitched along the river, beside train tracks, behind evergreen trees, next to a park. I’ve seen the homeless in the library, sleeping in the Central Park bandshell, biking and walking about town, including past my house. I am aware of the long waiting list for emergency shelter. Even if I failed to “do” something, I can raise awareness through my writing. And by doing that, perhaps I am helping in some small way to bless my community, including the man sleeping on a bench in the heart of downtown Faribault on a Sunday morning.
WHEN MY FRIEND SUE rummaged in her purse for something she wanted to give me, she pulled out a button with the message “Make America KIND.” Perfect. I am all for kindness. Sue’s simple act of gifting me with that button, which I pinned to the faded 1970s vintage denim jacket I was wearing, was an act of kindness in itself.
That got me thinking about kindness, not only because of the button, but because Sue and I, along with our husbands, had just finished lunch at the Damsite Supper Club in Pine River. Every Wednesday from 11 a.m.-2 p.m., veterans eat for free. So Sue’s spouse, Charley, enjoyed a complimentary meal as did other vets. The restaurant honors the veterans for their service with the kindness of a meal and then by inviting them to sign a dining room wall.
Signage at the Kindness Rocks Garden explains how the garden works. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2024)
Right across the road, my friend reminded me, sits the Kindness Rocks Inspiration Garden. The memorial garden honors Bryce Mink, 11, who died in 2023 of undiagnosed lymphoma. Painted stones decorated with inspiring words and art fill the rock garden. The garden is a visual of kindness.
Before we went on our way, Sue had another gift for me. A bag of books. Fiction, nonfiction and poetry books she felt a “Prairie Lady” would appreciate. She’s downsizing and set aside Visibility: Ten Miles—A Prairie Memoir in Photography and Poetry, Light on the Prairie, Pioneer Girl—The Annotated Autobiography of Laura Ingalls Wilder and several other books. Sue knows me well and I’m grateful for her kindness.
An encouraging message in the Kindness Garden.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2024)
KINDNESS DEFINED
What does it really mean to be kind? By my definition, the word means “being nice.” In actions and/or in words. Being generous, caring, compassionate. Being thoughtful. Giving without expecting anything in return. Doing what is right and good. Listening. Encouraging. Supporting. Many words define kindness.
My sister-in-law Rosie showed kindness to Randy and me when she surprised us with a homemade caramel roll upon our recent arrival at her lake cabin. She knows how much we love these rolls from Valeri Ann’s Family Foods, an eatery just down the highway in Merrifield. What a thoughtful gesture given these sweet treats sell out quickly. Rosie got the last two, saving one for us.
In the Pine River kindness garden, one simple message written on a stone by Finley. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2024)
KINDNESS IN A HUG
Then there’s the kindness Randy and I recently extended to a stranger via a vintage desk we carried to the curb. When a passerby stopped a while later, I stepped outside to greet her. She wanted the free desk. I also invited her into my living room to look at a table we no longer need. Because the woman spoke limited English, we struggled to communicate, finally resorting to pen and paper until her friend arrived to interpret.
Eventually, the woman decided she wanted the desk only. So Randy helped load it into her friend’s car. And then I spontaneously hugged this Somali immigrant who graciously and gratefully thanked me. It felt like the right thing to do. We held each other for a moment, our embrace warm, genuine.
Kindness came full circle. It didn’t take much effort for me, Randy, Sue, Rosie and the Damsite Supper Club to “Make America KIND” in our own unique ways. Just imagine if every single person extended kindness to family, friends and strangers. This would be a much gentler, compassionate and caring country.
TELL ME: I’d like to hear about a recent act of kindness you either gave or received.
Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo used for illustration only)
I HAVE SEVERAL THINGS on my mind today which are roiling my emotions. Not on a personal level. But on a broader, national scale.
First, I feel heartbroken over the loss of lives in Texas following flash flooding. The latest death count I’ve read is eighty-five, 27 of those children. Dozens remain missing. Most heart-rending are the deaths of the young campers at a summer camp. I think many parents, myself included, can relate to dropping a child off at camp with the full expectation that they will be there when we come to pick them up at camp’s end. For too many, a parent’s absolute worst nightmare—that of losing a child—is now reality. I feel for anyone who has lost a loved one in these floods, no matter their age. I am thankful for the 850 rescued thus far.
Titles of two photos in the “Testify” exhibit I saw. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2025)
ALLIGATORS
Secondly, I’m deeply-troubled by the gloating and hype about “Alligator Alcatraz,” a deportation detention facility in Florida. Those in power have been flaunting the name, stating quite clearly what will happen to anyone who tries to escape. There’s nothing remotely “funny” about alligators attacking and devouring human beings. There’s nothing “funny” either about placing people in cages. But neither seems to bother those who are vocally promoting this facility in such a vile way.
As soon as I heard the words “Alligator Alcatraz,” I was reminded of a traveling exhibit, “Testify—Americana Slavery to Today,” that I saw at my local library in April. Within that exhibit was a studio portrait of nine unclothed Black babies and toddlers sitting or standing in one long line. The circa 1897 image by a photography studio was simply titled “ALLIGATOR BAIT.” I remember standing there, my jaw dropping in disbelief. The photo was right above another image, that one of the African-American 9th Calvary Regiment, ca. 1939.
Then I read the text below the two photos: The juxtaposition of photos heightens the irony of being hawked as unwanted, or “alligator bait,” while at the same time being drafted into a calvary regiment to serve in the name of the United States’ highest ideals. Historians have actually investigated to determine if African-American children were indeed used by hunters to lure alligators. The results were somewhat inconclusive, but the fact that research was needed is telling.
I wondered when I saw the “ALLIGATOR BAIT” photo how humans can be so cruel? I wonder the same today.
Hands of an octogenarian used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A TROUBLING EMAIL
Lastly, a few days ago I received an email from the Social Security Administration, which I initially thought to be phishing given the title, “Social Security Applauds Passage of Legislation Providing Historic Tax Relief for Seniors.” Turns out this was legit. I’m sure many of you got the same email.
As I read on, I couldn’t quite believe what I was reading—a clearly partisan piece of propaganda from an agency I thought was non-partisan. Not only that, the content was not complete or accurate.
Whoever crafted this email and thought it was OK to mass-send, it is not OK.
LET’S DO BETTER
There you go. This is what’s on my mind today, just days after celebrating the Fourth of July in a country I love, even with all its faults, atrocities, injustices and troubles. But we can, and must, do better. I believe we can.
Protesters stand along Minnesota State Highway 19 by Ames Park in Northfield during the June 14 NO KINGS protest. This is one of my favorite signs among the many held by hundreds of protesters. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
A strong statement against a system of government by one person with absolute power. I suggest you look up these words, as I had to with some. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
This shows just a portion of the massive crowd gathered for Northfield’s NO KINGS protest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
While your eyes may focus on the protest sign in the middle, look to the right. and this sign: IF NOT ME, WHO? IF NOT NOW, WHEN? (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
So many positive messages promoting love, compassion, care, kindness… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
I saw this mural, “The Inheritance of Struggle,” inside the Memorial Student Union at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, Tuesday afternoon. It shows “the contributions made by people of various ethnicities and cultures in the form of tears, sweat, blood and life in the building of the United States.” It’s fitting for today, Juneteenth, and for NO KINGS day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
A sculpture in a southern Minnesota Catholic church shows Mary holding the hand of Jesus. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
AS A KID, he set up an ironing board as an impromptu altar and made his two brothers attend Mass in their southside Chicago home. They teased, “You’re going to be Pope.” And today Robert “Bob” Prevost is just that, Pope Leo XIV.
I love that story, among the many reported since Prevost was selected by a Conclave of Cardinals to lead the Roman Catholic Church. He is the 267th pope and the first American elected to that powerful position.
From everything I’ve read and heard in media reports, he seems a good choice. His brothers say he will address tough issues (like immigration) and will bring people together. I’ve heard the words “building bridges” used often when referencing Pope Leo XIV. I am hopeful this man, who speaks five languages and who spent most of his church service in Peru, can use his global experiences and perspectives to make a positive difference in the world.
Oh, how we need a leader like him, described as humble, intelligent, calm, a good listener, unafraid to criticize, to be a voice of reason.
Ten years ago I photographed this polaroid picture and comment at an exhibit on voting rights at St. Olaf College in Northfield. This seems applicable to today. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
IN THE 1970s, students at my alma mater, Minnesota State University, Mankato, protested the Vietnam War. Today MSU students are protesting the detainment of an international student and the revocation of visas for five others who attend this southern Minnesota college where I studied journalism.
US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has also detained a student from Riverland Community College in Austin, Minnesota, and from the University of Minnesota in the Twin Cities. Other international students from colleges across the state have also had their visas revoked. The same is happening at college campuses throughout the country. Students snatched off the street, from their apartments, by ICE. Pffff, gone, just like that with no explanation and no initial access to their friends, families and legal assistance. This does not sound like the United States of America I’ve called home my entire life.
I’m not privy to specifics on why particular international students were targeted. But I have read and heard enough reliable media reports to recognize that these are likely not individuals committing terrible crimes, if any crime. In most cases they have done nothing more than voice their opinions whether at a protest or via social media. College campuses have always been a place for students to speak up, to exercise freedom of speech, to be heard. To protest.
I photographed this inside my local public library, not recently, but not all that long ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’m grateful that student journalists at The Reporter, the Mankato State student newspaper where I worked while in college, are aggressively covering this issue. In particular, I reference the article “SCARED TO LEAVE MY HOUSE’—Mavericks react to ICE-detained student, what’s being done by Emma Johnson. She interviews international students who, for their own protection, chose to remain anonymous. It’s chilling to read their words. Words of fear. Words of disbelief and disappointment in a country where they once felt safe and free. The place where they chose to pursue their education, jumping through all the necessary legal hoops to do so. And now they fear speaking up and are asking their American classmates and others to do so for them. So I am.
We’ve always been a nation that welcomed international students. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I photographed this sign on an American Legion post building in a small southeastern Minnesota community. It’s a reminder that veterans have fought for our freedom, including freedom of speech, and that we have always been a welcoming country. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
These are troubling times. In my life-time, this has always been a nation where we’ve been able to freely express ourselves, where that freedom has been valued. We can agree to disagree. Respectfully. Without name-calling. Without the fear of suppression, retaliation and/or imprisonment. But I see that changing. Daily. And that, my friends, is cause for deep concern.
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NOTE: I welcome respectful conversation. That said, this is my personal blog and I moderate and screen all comments.
Corn rows emerge in a field near Delhi in my native southwestern Minnesota prairie.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I COME FROM A LONG LINE of engaged citizenry rooted in the rich dark soil of the southwestern Minnesota prairie. On that land, generations of my family used their voices and skills to create change, to make the place they called home a better place. My paternal great grandfather, Rudolph, started that engagement by helping found a Lutheran church in my hometown. Pre-building, congregants met in his farmhouse.
My grandfather, Henry Kletscher, served as school board clerk when Vesta Elementary School was built in the late 1950s. I attended school here. (Vintage photo from my collection)
From that church to school boards to county boards, from elementary schools to high schools to college campuses and more, countless family members have served and continue to serve others by representing them, crafting policies, improving lives. I am proud of that legacy.
Now you might ask, what about you, Audrey? I, too, have served, but in a different capacity. I’ve never held a desire to lead, to run for elected office or even sit on a board. Rather, I’ve observed, used the written word to inform others. During my years working as a newspaper reporter, I covered endless county board, city council, planning and zoning board, school board, caucuses and other meetings. I learned a lot about how government does and doesn’t work during those many hours of scribbling notes, gathering quotes, writing news stories. I learned, too, that individual voices matter and are heard. And I shared that in my unbiased, balanced reporting.
Today I craft writing that is not straight news reporting, because I am no longer a newspaper reporter. Rather, my writing is personal and sometimes opinionated. My voice matters…as much as anyone’s.
An opinion piece I wrote in 1974 for my high school newspaper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
While coming of age near the end of the Vietnam war, I began writing angsty poetry about the war. I purchased and wore a POW bracelet, a thick silver band that wrapped around my wrist. It was engraved with the name of an American soldier held as a prisoner of war. I also wrote the occasional opinion piece for my high school paper. Not about the war, but on other topics.
A photo of my dad, Elvern Kletscher, taken in 1980. (Photo from mycollection)
It was my dad, a dairy and crop farmer, who inspired me to voice my thoughts in the May 24, 1974, issue of my school paper, Rabbit Tracks. In an opinion piece titled “Farmers Develop Backbone of America,” teenage me wrote about low farm prices and how farmers were struggling to survive. I had witnessed my dad dumping milk down the drain during a nationwide protest by the National Farmers Organization. All these decades later, I more fully understand how difficult that must have been for Dad. He depended on income from milk sales to provide for our family. But he sacrificed and let his voice be heard in that NFO protest.
Spring planting in Minnesota will soon be underway. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Sunday evening I listened to another farmer voice his thoughts, this time in the open mic part of a Town Hall meeting attended by hundreds in nearby Owatonna. He drove from Janesville to share concerns about how tariffs will negatively affect his farming operation via market loss, dropping crop prices and rising costs for everything from tractor parts to fertilizer and fuel. This farmer of 60-plus years pleaded with his Congressman, Representative Brad Finstad (a fourth-generation farmer who was invited but did not attend), to listen and to do something. It was a powerful and particularly emotional delivery.
This was one of the many signs displayed at the Sunday Town Hall in Owatonna. Organizers rightly guessed that Congressman Brad Finstad would not attend. He was also invited to a recent Town Hall in Faribault, but did not show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
Emotions are running high right now across this country. I cannot imagine anyone who would disagree with that. We may disagree on policies, decisions and leaders. But we still—as of this writing—have a voice, even as efforts to suppress our voices continue. We can protest, like my 82-year-old uncle did on Saturday at the Minnesota State Capitol. We can attend town halls to learn, to speak, to let our voices be heard. We can contact our elected officials via phone and/or email and tell them what we think. We can engage. We can vote.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A long line of speakers and attendees of all ages addressed numerous topics from veterans’ issues to education to housing to healthcare to democracy and more at the Sunday Town Hall in respectful conversation. The common threads weaving through the event were a deep concern for what is happening in our country and to assure our voices are heard.
The beginning of Mary’s letter to the editor, penned in 1974 for Rabbit Tracks. The headline is so fitting for 2025. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
I leave you with this opinion piece published in the October 15, 1974, issue of my high school newspaper. An 11th grader wrote about posters she created and which students were defacing. Here’s Mary’s closing sentence in a letter to the editor titled “Keep Hands, Pens Off”: A lot of time and effort has been put into these signs and the least you can do is keep your hands off of them. If everyone is so anxious to write something on the wall, make your own posters. How applicable those words are to today.
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NOTE: I welcome respectful conversation here. That said, I moderate all comments on this, my personal blog, and make the final decision on publishing comments.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
The day after a mass shooting…thoughts from Minnesota August 28, 2025
Tags: Annunciation Catholic Church & School, commentary, crime, gun violence, Matt Deboer, Minneapolis, Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey, Minnesota, Minnesota Lieutenant Governor Peggy Flanagan, news, shooting, thoughts, vigils, violence
IN MY BIBLE, I highlight verses that resonate with me, that inspire, that uplift and offer hope. Those include Jeremiah 29:11. It reads: For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. In faith communities, this specific scripture is often directed to youth, who are our future.
On Wednesday morning those words written by the prophet Jeremiah were shared by Matt DeBoer, principal of Annunciation Catholic School in south Minneapolis, following a mass shooting at the adjacent church. The shooter fired from outside through stained glass windows into the church, killing two students and wounding 18 others, including three parishioners in their eighties. All were attending a back-to-school morning Mass.
“NEVER AGAIN”
This act of gun violence is nothing short of horrific. No one can deny that. Fletcher, 8, and Harper, 10, are dead. Seven others were critically injured, taken to a level 1 trauma center. All are expected to survive. The level of pain and grief and anger, yes, anger, we are feeling collectively in Minnesota right now is palpable.
In all the media coverage I’ve watched and read, I keep circling back to Principal DeBoer and his message at a late Wednesday morning press conference hours after the shooting. He shared the school’s Jeremiah 29 based theme for 2025-2026 of “a future filled with hope.” Hope happens to be one of my favorite words, but not one I personally relate to a mass shooting. Yet on Wednesday morning, the principal called for all of us to look to the future with hope, because we can’t change the past. I listened. I heard. I heard him say, “Never again.” I heard DeBoer ask us to commit those two words to our speech pattern. “Never again.”
And I heard, too, his call for action as he referenced this African proverb: When you pray, move your feet.
As the day progressed into evening vigils, I continued to watch television coverage. Clergy led a prayer service at the Academy of Holy Angels, a nearby private Catholic high school that Annunciation students often attend beginning in ninth grade. In a message also themed to hope, Archbishop Bernard Hebda mentioned the broad support received from those of all faiths—Protestants, Jews, Muslims… And from Pope Leo XIV. I would expect nothing less. We are all hurting.
Another vigil followed at Lynnhurst Park. As I watched television coverage begin, I focused on the diverse crowd. A young girl seated on the ground clutching a teddy bear. A priest in a wheelchair. Attendees sheltering flickering candles with their hands. People in bright orange t-shirts emblazoned with “Protect Minnesota.” Photographers working. A woman in a black tee with the simple word, “Enough,” and a slash drawn through a circled gun. Instrumental music played—”Bridge Over Troubled Water”—setting an introspective mood.
“WE NEED TO…”
And then the line up of speakers stepped up, addressing the crowd. The mood at this vigil was decidedly different. This gathering focused on a call to action in oftentimes fiery and emotional speeches by politicians and local leaders calling for stronger gun laws. In all the thoughts shared, Minnesota Lieutenant Governor Peggy Flanagan’s message rose to the top for me. While she spoke the usual “You are not alone” and “Enough is enough,” here’s the one soundbite that sticks with me: “We need to love our babies and our children more than our guns.” That bears repeating. “We need to love our babies and our children more than our guns.”
On this, the morning after the murder of two children and wounding of 17 others at Annunciation Catholic Church less than an hour from my Faribault home, I reflect on Flanagan’s words. And I think of my own two elementary-aged grandchildren starting the new school year on Tuesday. I want them to feel, to be, safe. I want this gun violence to end. As the mayor of Minneapolis said, his is “a city united in grief,” which must now become “a city united in action.”
I hold hope that perhaps this time something will change. I understand that gun violence is complicated, that it involves addressing the root causes of such violence. Yet, if not for the guns—three used in the Minneapolis shooting—two children would still be alive.
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This story has been updated to include the first names of the two children killed in the shooting. Their names were released late Thursday afternoon. The number of injured has also been updated to 18.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling