Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

In celebration of public libraries & all they offer April 9, 2025

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Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I LOVE LIBRARIES for the most basic reason. Books. I love to read. And, for me, Buckham Memorial Library, only blocks from my home, is my go-to source for reading materials.

(National Library Week promo sourced online)

The week of April 6-12, National Library Week, I’ve been celebrating public libraries and all they offer. And that’s well beyond books. Libraries have evolved from a shushed setting of a stern librarian sitting behind a desk to warm and welcoming community spaces. I so appreciate the way libraries connect and grow community. I value the vast and varied services and programming they offer.

Dancers at a previous Hispanic Heritage Month event in Northfield, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019.

Through the years, I’ve enjoyed many author talks in the Great Hall at Buckham. I’ve even participated myself in a poetry reading and a local authors event. Likewise, I’ve attended author talks at the public library in neighboring Owatonna. In Northfield, I’ve gone to a Hispanic Heritage Month celebration. I’ve checked books out from both those nearby libraries and from all over Minnesota through the inter-library loan system. Almost any book is available to me with only the click of my keyboard and mouse. You’ll even find my writing in books available at the library. That includes This Was 2020: Minnesotans Write About Pandemics and Social Justice in a Historic Year, an award-winning book published by the Ramsey County Public Library.

Books and magazines I checked out from the Northfield Library in the past. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

If I didn’t have access to books through libraries, I would struggle. Many evenings I settle into the recliner and read. Reading is an escape for me and a source of information. That I have the freedom to walk into a library and choose a book is not something I take for granted. As a child, I didn’t have easy access to books given my small rural Minnesota community did not have a library. And now, as public and school libraries face book bannings and funding cuts, I hold even more dear the freedom to choose books from the shelves of a well-stocked library.

Sunflowers burst color into the library garden where flowers and vegetables are grown for the community. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I can also choose a whole lot more like movies and music CDs. My library also offers Adventure Kits which hold yard games, hobby-focused items (for bird watching, cake decorating, rockhounding, etc) and more. There are 3D printer labs, a Makerspace, ukulele lessons, art and gardening classes (even a community garden), a seed library, free state park passes… The list goes on and on.

This information was posted in a display at my library several years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Libraries truly are hubs for learning, and not just from books, magazines and newspapers.

Immigrant portraits by a local artist were displayed in the library corridor. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

Occasional art exhibits in the hallway linking my library to the Faribault Community Center also teach me. Currently, the traveling exhibit “Testify: Americana Slavery to Today” spans that space. It’s an informative and emotion-evoking panel display of photos and information that left me deeply touched and near tears. In the past, I’ve viewed portraits of immigrants and second-generation immigrants by local artist Kate Langlais as part of her “I Am Minnesota” project. Creating an art gallery in a corridor that would otherwise serve as simply a functional connector between two buildings seems a wise use of space.

My poem, “Funeral during a Pandemic,” is published in this book available for check out at my local library and other Minnesota libraries. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Libraries truly are about connecting. Connecting us to stories, knowledge, information and ideas. Connecting us to each other. Young parents gather in libraries for storytime. Youth meet in my library for pizza and book discussions. The library brings music and other entertainment to the community for kids. Years ago, my son learned to yo-yo from Dazzling Dave, a national yo-yo master. Dave is still teaching Faribault kids to yo-yo during summertime library programming.

The best book I’ve ever read on the craft of writing. It’s the only Stephen King book I’ve ever read because I don’t like his genre of books. (Book cover sourced online)

My son, who now works in software research and development, taught himself to code by checking out thick books on coding from the library. And that was in junior high. I’ve checked out books on writing and photography to grow my skills. But mostly, simply reading improves my writing.

Outside the Northfield Public Library during a past Hispanic Heritage Month celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I could go on and on about how much libraries offer and how much I value, appreciate and love them. So much draws me to the library. “Drawn to the Library” themes National Library Week. Whether the library in my community or one in a nearby city or a Little Free Library in a front yard, libraries are vital to our communities, to our country, and to me personally. They are an open and (mostly) uncensored place to access knowledge, to widen our world, to connect and grow community.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In which I meet Adolfo, Jose & little Milan October 17, 2024

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Faribault is home to people from many countries as noted on this interactive map at a past International Festival in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TWO DAYS. TWO CONVERSATIONS. And I am the richer for meeting Adolfo and Jose and hearing their stories.

I should backtrack a bit and state that for me to strike up conversations with people I don’t know is not unusual. Such interactions widen my world, broaden my understanding and simply help me learn more about others.

It was little Milan, Adolfo’s one-year-old grandson, who initially drew me to pause during a morning walk through Faribault’s Central Park. Adolfo was pushing Milan in an umbrella stroller when Randy and I crossed paths with them. Milan, with his big brown eyes, black hair and radiant smile, is the essence of cuteness. Cute babies and kids are always a reason to stop and chat.

The pair walk through the park every morning as Adolfo cares for Milan while his mom is at work. I don’t recall whether Mom is Adolfo’s daughter or daughter-in-law. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the deep love Adolfo has for family and his willingness to care for his grandson before heading to work in the afternoon.

Kids used markers to create flags from their native countries while attending the local International Festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

ESCAPING COMMUNIST VENEZUELA

I asked Adolfo about his background, what brought him to Faribault. He moved here from Orlando to be with family. But he’s originally from Venezuela. His home country, he said, is not a good place to live. The reason: Communism and violence. He left family behind and desperately wants them here, safe in America.

By that time, little Milan was out of his stroller, pushing it, then dropping to the ground, his pants covered in bits of dried leaves, his tiny hands clasping two Matchbox cars. He is close to walking alone. Milan proved a distraction from the deep pain Adolfo obviously feels separated from his family still in Venezuela.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” I told my new friend. And I genuinely meant that as my heart hurt for this man who has endured so much already.

“God bless you,” Adolfo said, as he made the sign of the cross, held his hands to his heart.

Adolfo repeated our names several times, clearly an effort on his part to remember them. I repeated his, too, and Milan’s, and wished I knew Spanish. Adolfo spoke Spanish to Milan, who is being raised bilingual. What a gift to that little boy with the big brown eyes, with the loving family, with the Grandpa whom I consider kind, caring, loving and brave.

Children gather at Faribault’s Central Park to break a pinata during an International Festival. This photo placed first in a local photo contest and remains one of my favorite. I love that it reflects the diversity of Faribault and shows kids simply being kids with no thought of ethnicity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FINDING A WELCOMING NEW HOME IN RURAL MINNESOTA

A day later I met Jose, a young man taking his lunch break at a park near Montgomery. He was working there for the Le Sueur County park system. Jose moved to nearby Le Center 15 years ago, having lived in California, Texas and Mexico. Like Adolfo, Jose is grateful to be here, with family. I told him how happy I am to have him living in Minnesota.

It didn’t take long before he opened up about how much he feels welcomed here, how he’s learned to love our four seasons, even winter. Jose shared about learning to drive in winter. And then he recounted being “baptized by black ice.” He walked onto the unseen ice and found himself flailing backwards. This part of Jose’s story included theatrical actions that left all of us laughing.

What a delightful young man. He’s hardworking, loves his family and likes living in a rural area. To hear that he’s found Minnesotans to be friendly pleases me. The reality is that not everyone welcomes individuals like Jose and Adolfo. I do.

I am the richer for having met these two men, whose life experiences and stories are vastly different than mine. Yet, we are the same. We have families and heartaches and hopes and dreams. That commonality connects us. And so does our humanity.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Gathering with family & friends at summer reunions in Minnesota July 30, 2024

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The Kletscher Family Coat of Arms of Posen-West Prussia. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)

REUNITING. RECONNECTING. REMEMBERING. Those words define reunions, whether among family or friends. Summer marks prime reunion time in Minnesota, including for me, especially this year.

I’m flanked by cousins, Joyce, left, and LeAnn. We were born within months of each other and grew up spending lots of time together at family gatherings. (Photo credit: Kirt Kletscher)

From Pine River in northern Minnesota to Vesta on the southwestern Minnesota prairie to the Twin Cities and elsewhere, I’ve reconnected with people who are important to me, with whom I share roots and/or connections. And it’s been a joy because the older I grow, the more I realize that time is not a given and we need to gather and appreciate one another. With hugs, love and care.

My parents’ tombstone in the Vesta City Cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

My most recent reunion happened July 28, when Randy and I traveled 2.5 hours west to my hometown of Vesta in Redwood County for the Kletscher Family Reunion, held annually on the last Sunday in July. First we stopped at the cemetery to visit the gravesites of my parents, grandparents and other family members. I wiped away tears before we followed the gravel road into town, to the reunion site, the former Vesta Elementary School, now turned city hall and community center.

Vesta Elementary School in the 1960s.
The old school gym, site of the family reunion. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)
The school today, as a city hall and community center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

To walk back into the building where I spent my first six grades learning to read, write, spell, do math and more felt comforting and disconcerting, like stepping back into a school that no longer looks the same, but still holds the same memories. Clapping erasers outside on the east brick wall. Listening to Mrs. Kotval read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books after lunch. Scrawling letters in a penmanship book. Weaving a rug from rags. Building snowforts. Jumping rope on the front sidewalk. Performing on the stage. So many memories in this space.

A summary of a 30-page family tree/scroll. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)

And on Sunday, that space also held some 60-70 descendants of Henry and Ida Kletscher, parents of twelve, two dead in infancy and only three surviving today. The family tree, printed on 30 pieces of paper, stretched across several tables. I am one of 39 grandchildren, my children among 114 great grandchildren of Henry and Ida in a line that today also includes 114 great great grandchildren and one great great great grandchild. We are a large and prolific bunch that continues to grow. That we still gather annually is a testament to the strength of family bonds. I grew up near my paternal grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, spending lots of time together.

Everyone brings food for the potluck. There’s always blueberry dessert. The spread covers several tables. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2013)

But my generation and those thereafter have scattered well outside Redwood County. Family arrived from Wisconsin, Iowa, North Dakota and all parts of Minnesota from Blaine to Delano to Alexandria to Owatonna, Faribault, Waseca, and many other communities near and far. Those from even more distant locations like the East Coast did not attend.

As at all reunions, I intentionally circulated, attempting to converse with everyone at some point. This gathering, conversations were not so much about the past as about the present. We talked kids, grandkids, retirement (or not), health challenges, home improvement projects… There was a lot of phone scrolling, too, to show photos of grandchildren.

Aunt Iylene tatted these flags celebrating our German heritage and the Kletscher family’s new home in America. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)

I cooed over new baby Wren; met Aubrey from West Fargo, going into first grade and whose name was easy for me to remember (and mine for her); saw photos of a wedding dress under construction by bride-to-be Sarah; encouraged Andy, who is in a drug trial study at Mayo Clinic for his debilitating heart condition; listened to Lynn’s recitation of a humorous poem her teacher didn’t appreciate back in the day; admired Aunt Iylene’s tatting projects (which she gave away on Sunday and which honor Grandma Ida, who also tatted); listened to stories of heartaches and challenges and life.

A highlight of the reunion was watching and listening to Kirt play Ardyce’s accordion. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)

And then there was the impromptu concert by my cousin Kirt, who plays accordion. He brought his and was also gifted, at the reunion, with Aunt Ardyce’s 73-year-old accordion, a gift to her from her parents when she was only thirteen. She took lessons briefly as did two of her children. But the instrument has mostly sat in its case for seven decades…until Kirt picked it up and commenced to play, but only to a select few of us in the entry hallway. To watch my 86-year-old aunt, seated next to her nephew, listening intently to “her” accordion brought me such joy. I couldn’t help but think how happy this moment would have made my grandparents.

A plaque honors my grandpa and others who were instrumental in construction of Vesta Elementary School. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)

We were here, in this place, because of Henry and Ida. Henry served as clerk of Independent School District #639 when the Vesta School was built in 1958. To think that, 66 years later, Grandpa’s descendants would gather here to celebrate family felt incredibly right. Two hours after we ate a potluck lunch (which always includes blueberry dessert), we honored Henry and Ida with 1919 root beer floats. My grandparents were married in November 1919.

Here we were in 2024, a family still going strong—reuniting, reconnecting, remembering and honoring the legacy of Henry and Ida Kletscher. Henry, the 25-year-old farmer, who married Ida just days before her eighteenth birthday 105 years ago.

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FYI: In addition to the Kletscher Family Reunion, I’ve reconnected in July with Sue, a blogging friend; aunts from New Jersey and Missouri and family from Minneapolis; my son from Boston; and met three of Randy’s cousins originally from North Dakota. There are more gatherings to come with a Helbling Family Reunion in two weeks and 50-year class reunions for Randy and me in September.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Connecting at Car Cruise Night in Faribault May 23, 2024

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(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

THRONGS OF CAR ENTHUSIASTS converged in historic downtown Faribault last Friday evening for the first of four Car Cruise Nights of the season. All over southern Minnesota, car shows are resuming along Main Streets, in parking lots and grassy spaces as the weather warms and people want to be outdoors.

Loved this restored tow truck. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Emblems are art in my eyes, including this one for a Mustang. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
There’s art everywhere on a vehicle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

In Faribault, the crowd was the largest I’ve seen for the event, which has become a draw for anyone interested in antique, collectible, vintage and sports vehicles. Not just cars. Trucks, too. Vehicles stretched an impressive six blocks along Central Avenue.

Friendship, sweet friendship. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

But Car Cruise Night is about more than just vehicles. It’s also about community. The show brings all ages, from preschoolers to teens to seniors, into the downtown. I saw a lot of people I knew and chatted for awhile with each of them, catching up on lives. Eventually I got to looking at the cars and trucks, only to be distracted again by a familiar face. But that’s OK. I value connecting with others.

This truck handle connected three cultures in conversation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

One interaction stands out for me. As I admired ornate gold-plated handles on a shiny white pick-up truck, a young Somali man (also appreciating the art) asked about the cost. I had no idea. Then the owner, who was Hispanic, stepped up and shared and the three of us talked. Different cultures connecting over gold-plated handles and emblems. Smiling. Engaging. It was a beautiful moment.

Visiting on a street corner during the car show. Many Somali immigrants and refugees live in downtown Faribault and elsewhere in our community. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

I noticed my new friend holding a lidded cup with a tea bag label draping over the edge. “Is that Somali tea?” I asked. “I love Somali tea.” He confirmed it was and directed me to a shop where I could purchase the tea, which is tea combined with milk and spiced with cinnamon, ginger, cloves, cardamom… I had the tea at a Somali event several weeks ago and love not only the taste, but also the scent. I didn’t buy tea at the car show, because I was shooting photos. A camera and liquids don’t mix. But at least now I know where I can source this delicious beverage in my community.

Old aside new. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Wooden spokes on a 1930s Buick. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
This sprint car drew lots of interest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Plenty of people were enjoying food and drinks purchased from food trucks and sidewalk vendors along Central Avenue. Restaurants were also open.

This Ford convertible seemed to stretch into forever. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

Music, albeit much louder than I can tolerate, added to the vibe of Car Cruise Night. Bands are a new feature.

Historic buildings backdrop the car show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

The entire event brought people together on a picture perfect May evening. I’ve lived here for 42 years and continue to appreciate Faribault’s downtown historic district of aged brick and limestone buildings, an ideal backdrop for a car show. It’s a lovely setting in which to view vehicles, to converse, to connect, to build community.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

FYI: Upcoming Faribault Car Cruise Nights are set for 6 pm – 9 pm on Fridays, June 21, July 19 and August 16.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In which I learn about African culture & make new friends in my community February 19, 2024

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This welcoming sign was posted on the door of a downtown Faribault business in 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)

IN A VALENTINE’S DAY post last week, I focused on connecting in everyday life, on hugging all of humanity. Those words proved prophetic for me personally. And I am the better, the richer, for the insights I learned, the connections I made, during a February 15 talk by a Minnesota college professor, cultural consultant and author at Books on Central in Faribault.

Author Joseph L. Mbele, photographed at the International Festival Faribault in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

Joseph L. Mbele was the featured speaker at this public event highlighting cultural differences. Faribault is a culturally-diverse community, home to many immigrants, including significant Somali and Hispanic populations. And that has all too often created tension between locals and those who now call my southern Minnesota city home. Mbele recognizes that and has worked with community leaders, business owners and others in Faribault and neighboring cities to raise awareness of cultural differences and bridge the gaps which divide us.

Via storytelling, humor and insightful perspectives as someone who grew up in Tanzania and has lived in the U.S. for 32 years, Mbele riveted the attention of the group gathered in the used bookshop run by Rice County Area United Way. Rather than fully recap Mbele’s presentation, I want to focus on the personal interactions I experienced with two young Somali men in attendance.

This teen represented Somalia (blue flag with a white star) at the International Festival Faribault in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

When I arrived at the bookstore, I settled onto a folding chair next to Solomon, as I heard it, (or perhaps correctly Sulaiman/Suleiman; I didn’t ask for the spelling of his name). I can’t sit next to someone and not engage in conversation. I soon learned that Sulaiman, 34, came to the U.S. from Somali at age 14, graduated from Faribault High School, played soccer on the fields by the junior high, has a wife in Somalia (the process is lengthy to bring her to the U.S., he said), works as an over-the-road trucker and has a job interview with a local company this week. Any business would be fortunate to have him on their team. He impressed me with his friendly personality, wide smile and openness. Sulaiman reflected what Joseph Mbele stated earlier about Africans being highly-social, desiring to be around and engage with other people.

I felt thankful to learn from my new friend that he hasn’t faced many challenges as a native Somalian living in Faribault. I didn’t have the heart to share the negative comments I’ve heard about Somalians. I focused instead on getting to know this delightful young man pressed next to me in a row of folding chairs in the cozy bookshop.

Banadir, a Somali restaurant and grocery, is located in historic downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)

Throughout Mbele’s talk highlighting African culture like African time (versus American time when everyone is on time), sidewalk gatherings to share news and to socialize, the social importance of food and music among Africans, the value of coming together and much more, I felt the sense of understanding unfolding. Laughter erupted often. Heads nodded. Questions surfaced during discussion. It felt good to be part of this gathering, to learn, to connect. I love that Mbele addressed bookstore volunteer Dave Campbell as “brother.” That endearing name shows that Mbele values Campbell and their personal connection. They are friends.

A diverse group attended a past International Festival Faribault, here observing the flag ceremony. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

And I felt, too, that I’d made a new friend in Sulaiman and, afterwards his brother, Ibrahim (again, I’m uncertain on the name spelling), also in attendance. As I retreated to the rear of the bookstore to grab a sweet treat and refill my water glass, Ibrahim approached and we chatted. He extended his hand in a handshake, significant because Muslims typically would not shake a woman’s hand. Mbele explained earlier the separation of men and women is not one of disrespect but faith-based and cultural.

A sign photographed at a past International Festival Faribault, where I first tasted sambusa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Ibrahim and I talked only briefly. He was, like his brother, warm, engaging, friendly. I remember him telling me that food brings people together, that he likes pizza. And I replied that I like sambusa, a Somali triangle-shaped pastry stuffed with spicy meat. We laughed. Earlier he invited those attending the bookshop gathering to visit Somali restaurants and shops in downtown Faribault.

And then Ibrahim asked, “Can I hug you?” Of course. We embraced right there in the back of the United Way bookshop. I felt such warmth, such affection, for this young man I’d just met. There were no cultural differences between us. We were simply two individuals who respected and appreciated one another. United by our humanity.

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Jospeh Mbele’s latest book, an easy and informative read. (Book cover sourced online)

FYI: I’d encourage you to read any or all of the books written by Joseph L. Mbele: Africans and Americans: Embracing Cultural Differences; Chickens in the Bus: More Thoughts on Cultural Differences; and Matengo Folktales. This professor at St. Olaf College in Northfield is a gifted storyteller and writer. I’d also encourage you, if you live in my area, to shop at Books on Central. All proceeds from book sales go to the Rice County Area United Way and help people and organizations in my area.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hugging humanity with valentine love February 14, 2024

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The traditional valentine bouquet, red roses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

AHEAD OF US ON THE SIDEWALK, two young men, both on rollerblades, paused. As Randy and I drew nearer, I noticed one holding a bundle of wrapped flowers. I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, for me! Thank you!” I exclaimed, stretching my arms as if to take the bouquet. They laughed.

It was one of those chance encounters that proved delightfully fitting on the Sunday before Valentine’s Day. Randy and I were out for an afternoon walk on the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf when we met the teens. The state campus is often used as a pathway by students from Shattuck-St. Mary’s, a private college prep school in Faribault. MSAD sits between Shattuck’s upper and lower campuses.

Given their rollerblades, I figured the two were hockey players at Shattuck. They confirmed that. And they confirmed that the flowers were for a girlfriend. “He’s in love,” the Minnesotan said of his Canadian roommate. I smiled, happy to witness this gentle ribbing, this evidence of young love. Oh, to be sixteen again and feeling madly in love.

Another valentine tradition, assorted chocolates in a heart-shaped box. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Love. While we romanticize love on Valentine’s Day with flowers and chocolate and cards and dinner out, it is so much more than romanticism. Ask anyone who’s older and who has been in a relationship for awhile. Like me. Love is listening and caring and kindness and simply being there in the quiet of each other’s company. It’s supporting one another through challenging days and celebrating together in the good times. Or simply enjoying the ordinary days, which comprise the bulk of life.

And love in February is two 16-year-old hockey players skating along the sidewalk, one cradling wrapped flowers for a girl.

I received this handcrafted valentine in the mail from my friend Beth Ann. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
I adore this valentine crafted by Jack, Amelia and Ben and mailed to me from northwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
Valentine chalk heart in the window of Keeper’s Antiques in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

Valentine love, for me, is also handmade valentines in the mail, vintage valentines from my mom’s collection and window displays themed to February 14. It is childhood memories of shoeboxes crafted into valentine receptacles, boxes of candy conversation hearts and Juicy Fruit gum taped to red hearts. It is my 5-year-old grandson’s homemade paper valentine heart stuck to the front of my fridge.

My son crafted this cloth valentine 25 years ago in kindergarten. I hang it on my door every Valentine’s Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Valentine’s Day brings loving thoughts of family (including my husband of nearly 42 years) and friends. February 14 is truly a day that stretches beyond romantic love. I sincerely hope individuals who are not in romantic relationships feel included. Love is universal. Love hugs all of humanity.

One of my favorite valentines, because of its theme, among my mom’s vintage valentines. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I love the vibe of Valentine’s Day, a day when our thoughts focus on a world full of love in a world too often filled with hatred. On this singular day, we can intentionally choose to exude positivity. We can choose to forgive and focus on that which connects, rather than divides, us. We can choose to listen and encourage and use only generously kind words. We can choose to skate along the sidewalk like 16-year-olds intent on delivering bouquets of happiness. And we can choose, too, to stop, stretch our arms toward those flowers and engage in conversation with individuals we meet in the everyday moments of life. We will all be the richer for having connected, for showing love to one another on Valentine’s Day and well beyond February 14.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Connecting via “human books” in Owatonna September 12, 2023

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Photographed in the front window of a downtown Faribault business. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2022)

LISTENING TO AN AREA RADIO STATION Tuesday morning, I learned about a project which seems pure genius. It’s the Human Library®. Developed 23 years ago in Copenhagen and now spread internationally, the library “hosts personal conversations designed to challenge stigma and stereotypes.” And it’s coming to Owatonna this week.

From 4-7 pm Thursday, September 14, the Owatonna Human Rights Commission is hosting a Human Library® in the Gainey room at the public library. The goal is “to foster conversations that can challenge stereotypes and prejudices.”

Kids of varied ethnicities and skin tones gather as one to break a pinata at a past International Festival Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted, award-winning photo, 2012)

I love this concept of one-on-one conversations among community members who might not otherwise connect. If we’re honest, most of us tend to stick with others who are most like us. Those in our circles. But this, oh, this opens the doors to meeting new people, to understanding, to friendships and much more. And we can only be the better for it by talking with one another, learning, growing our knowledge and compassion.

The idea is simple. Check out a “human book” for 15 minutes by meeting with community members who’ve agreed to participate in the project. Ask questions. Share. Simply chat, get to know one another. Break down barriers. Find common ground. Embrace differences. “Read” as many “human books” as time and availability allow.

We are a diverse country, as represented at a past International Festival in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

The list of 20 participating individuals in Owatonna is lengthy and diverse, exactly as intended: Somali Americans, African Americans, senior citizens, business owners, religious leaders, Hispanic, LGBTQ+, educators, veterans, handicapped individuals, law enforcement officers, nonprofit leaders, recovered addicts and healthcare workers.

A welcoming sign hangs on the American Legion building in small town Mazeppa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2018)

Owatonna, like many communities in southern Minnesota and throughout the state, nation and world for that matter, has faced tough issues such as racism, prejudice, discrimination and hatred. Sometimes those issues are right there, publicly visible in ways that make me wonder how humans can treat each other with such disrespect and meanness. But just as dangerous are the insidious comments and behaviors that creep under the radar into communities. We all know they are there—the slights, the whispers, the off-the-cuff hurtful remarks, the intentional exclusion…

A welcoming message at Just Food Co-op in downtown Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

I hold hope that projects like the Human Library® can effectively make a difference in enlightening, in changing attitudes, in helping each of realize that we are all human, more alike than we are different.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Connecting in life’s everyday moments August 30, 2023

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I love this positive message posted on a rear vehicle window. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

WE STOOD OUTSIDE the local library, minutes before the 9 am weekday opening, waiting for staff to unlock the front door and let us inside. Rather than wait silently, I struck up a conversation with the elderly man next to me. I’ll always choose talking to a stranger over saying nothing. That’s my nature.

Via conversations, I have met many interesting individuals, listened to their stories, sometimes shared mine. It’s all about pausing, about truly taking the time to engage others in meaningful ways, if even for a minute or ten.

On this morning, I learned that I was talking to a 94-year-old Korean War veteran. We had an instant connection as my dad also served in the “Forgotten War.” I sensed immediately that my new acquaintance did not want to talk about anything war-related and I respected that. My dad had been the same.

Instead I veered to a safe topic, this veteran’s early appearance at the library. “I have nothing else to do,” he said. My heart hurt at his words as I imagined how long his days stretch before him. He comes to the library to read newspapers. Not books. He struggled to read books in high school and never attempted since.

As we walked through the now open library doors, he ahead of me, I had one more thing to say. “I challenge you to read a book.” I doubt he will. But that’s OK. He reads newspapers, watches sports on TV. And on this day, he shared just a bit of his life story with me. And I felt honored to hear it.

Vintage dresses for sale at Antiques Plus in New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021 used for illustration only)

AT THE ANTIQUE SHOP

Weeks prior, I found myself unexpectedly assisting a bride-to-be as she tried on vintage dresses at a local antique shop. Tall and slender with a thick braid falling to the side of her left shoulder, Angela radiated beauty inside and out. I offered to zip the zipper-back dresses she was considering for her October rehearsal dinner. She slipped into a flared pink dress that, even on her slight frame, fit too tightly. Next Angela donned a sleeveless chocolate brown wool dress that seemed custom-made for her. But I wanted to be honest. “Wool can be itchy,” I warned. She agreed that the heavy, textured fabric did feel a bit uncomfortable. Finally, I zipped the last dress—a long white sleeveless dress in a nubby fabric. When Angela expressed doubts about wearing white, I advised she’s the bride and can wear whatever she desires.

I left before Angela made a decision on the vintage dresses. But I didn’t leave before I learned that she works as an engineer at a medical device company in the metro and that she loves her job. What a joy to meet a young woman so devoted and passionate about her profession. That gives me such hope. We also shared a faith-filled moment, one which I will keep private between me and Angela. I consider her an angel in every sense of the word and felt blessed to have met her.

Roxy of Owatonna sent me a clutch of uplifting mini cards which I can give to others. She has been such an encourager to me during my recent health struggles. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

IN A GROCERY STORE PARKING LOT

Last Saturday, I experienced another uplifting moment, this time in a grocery store parking lot. The auburn-haired teen wheeling my cart full of groceries to the van asked about my plans for the rest of the day. I had none, I said, then asked about hers. She was meeting friends after work. As we parted, I told her to have fun with her friends. And she wished me a good day. Again, I felt such hope. This young woman could have simply pushed the cart, unloaded the groceries and said nothing. But she chose to engage. That says a lot about her character, her humanity.

It is everyday encounters like this which fill my spirit. Life offers so many opportunities to connect, to be there for one another. Whether to converse, to encourage or to zip the backs of vintage dresses for a bride-to-be, opportunities await us. We need only pause, listen, care.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Conversation hearts February 14, 2023

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Not candy conversation hearts…but a collection of my mom’s vintage valentines which can also be conversation starters. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

CANDY HEARTS. I’ve never liked their chalky texture and taste. But these hard pastel candies are as much a part of Valentine’s Day history as valentines, red roses and chocolates. And they are a starting point for conversations: Be mine. Hugs. Love.

What exactly is love? It’s not a word completely defined without context. Yet, there is a basic understanding of romantic love, of love within a family, of love between friends. But what about the everyday love that we can express in words, especially towards those not in our friends and family circles?

Let me explain as I reflect on several conversations with strangers over the weekend. There’s nothing particularly dynamic about these brief encounters. Still, they are worth noting given each exchange reaffirms the importance of connecting with others as we go about our daily lives, sort of like handing out candy conversation hearts. I should note that I am comfortable initiating conversations with people I don’t know, if it feels right.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

HEART HAPPY

So there I was, in the check-out lane at a local grocery store when I noticed the man behind me with a shopping cart full of healthy foods. (Yes, I do notice what others are buying.) “You eat oatmeal, too,” I said, nodding toward the two cylinders of old-fashioned rolled oats standing side by side in his cart.

“Ever since I had my heart attack 13 years ago,” he said.

While I don’t remember my exact rambling reply, it went something like this: “Oatmeal’s supposed to be good for your cholesterol and the first time I ate it I thought I can’t do this every morning and then I added fruit…”

“Lots of fruit,” he qualified, when my run-on sentence ended. We fully agreed on the need for lots of fruit.

“Good for you that you’re eating healthy.” And then I wanted to tell him about how my father-in-law hated oatmeal and stuffed it in his pockets at Catholic boarding school in North Dakota but then I ran out of time because my groceries were being scanned and I had to move on, minus any old-fashioned oats in my cart.

Heart-shaped cut-out cookies I baked on a previous Valentine’s Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

HOMEMADE SWEETNESS

That same morning, I popped into the post office to mail homemade M & M cookies to my son in Indiana. He’d celebrated his birthday only days prior and I’d failed. I failed to mail him a box of goodies. He obviously expected one. The day before his birthday, Caleb texted to ask if he should be expecting a package. Uh, no. My mom guilt kicked in big time and the next morning I was in my kitchen baking cookies.

Waiting in line at the post office, I wondered how long it would take those sweets to arrive in Lafayette. I once shipped homemade cookies that somehow ended up in Montana, arriving 10 days later in Indiana. So you can understand my apprehension. As I stepped up to the window, the postal clerk asked the usual “anything liquid, hazardous, perishable…?

“Are cookies considered perishable?”

I expected the usual no, but instead got a yes. The clerk clarified by asking if I baked the cookies. When I confirmed I had, she advised me to touch “yes” on the screen, further clarifying that this didn’t mean the cookies would arrive any earlier or that they wouldn’t be diverted to Montana. But I am happy to report the package arrived in Lafayette on Monday, unbelievably fast. I appreciated that the postal clerk appreciated that homemade cookies lack preservatives and are, indeed, perishable or at least capable of going stale. I have to think that conversation with her factored into the swift delivery.

Red roses from my husband for a previous celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

LIKE GETTING A DOZEN ROSES

On to another grocery store, once again waiting in line, this time on a price check for the customer ahead of me. I decided to guess the price of the mixed bouquet of wrapped flowers he held. “I’d pay $7.99 for them,” I said. “But they’re probably lots more because of Valentine’s Day.” I was way off. They were nearly $17.

“You should have guessed higher,” he said.

“Whoever they’re for, she’ll appreciate them.” The cashier concurred.

“They’re for my daughter, for her dance recital.”

That simply made me smile in the sort of way that filled my spirit with happiness and joy. The love of a father for his daughter. Had I not initiated a conversation, I never would have experienced this everyday, love-filled dozen roses moment.

A fused glass heart created by Northfield artist Geralyn Thelen for the “Spreading the Love” sculpture, public art installed in downtown Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

SUNSHINE ON MY SATURDAY

As I moved ahead, waiting for a teenager to bag my groceries, I noted her long hair cascading in ringlets. “I love your hair. It’s beautiful. How do you get it to curl like that?”

She explained how she rolls curlers into her hair and sleeps in them overnight. Her wide smile revealed to me just how much she appreciated my sincere compliment. As she pushed my shopping cart across the grocery store parking lot toward the van, this bubbly young woman commented on the sunny day and asked how mine was going. Her very being radiated warmth like the February sunshine. It was as if we were exchanging conversation hearts when she wished me a wonderful day and I reciprocated.

Life is filled with opportunities like this. Maybe not to talk about oatmeal or cookies or flowers or curly hair or sunny mornings. But to interact, to connect, to show others that we value them, that they matter to us in the everyday moments of our lives.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Beyond books: Connecting at the library January 3, 2023

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Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2022)

I MET HER AT BUCKHAM Memorial Library on the final day of 2022 in front of the “Lucky Day” shelves. The two-unit section—one for fiction, one for nonfiction—features newly-released titles immediately available to library patrons. No reserving or waiting, just the luck of finding a new book on the shelves.

As I browsed the fiction, I noticed her approach from the right, pushing a walker. I scooted a tad to the left, giving her more space. I wanted her to feel comfortable as we stood side-by-side.

I don’t recall which of us spoke first, but I think I did. I rarely remain silent in the closeness of strangers. And she was close.

(Photo credit: Goodreads)

“Have you read that book?” I asked, pointing to Three Sisters by Heather Morris. She hadn’t. But she’d read The Tattooist of Auschwitz, also by Morris. I hadn’t. We talked about the books briefly, about the difficulty of reading these fictional stories of concentration camp atrocities. Yet, we agreed reading them was important, perhaps even necessary. She directed me toward the fiction section, strongly suggesting I check out The Tattooist. Now. I’d already learned this woman beside me was opinionated and strong.

I felt her eyes following me to the fiction shelves. “Did you find it?” she asked upon my return. When I shook my head no, my new book-loving friend called out to the reference desk librarian to find the missing book for me. The computer showed the book was lost. He ordered it from another library.

In the meantime, I indulged this older book lover as she handed me two novels pulled from the “Lucky Day” fiction shelves—Joy Fielding’s The Housekeeper and B.A. Paris’ The Prisoner. “Have you read these?” she asked. I hadn’t and accepted her choices. Turns out she likes thrillers and mysteries as much as I do, even referencing Nancy Drew as the books which long ago sparked her interest in mysteries. Those teen mysteries did the same for me. Her recommendation of The Prisoner, a psychological thriller, proved an excellent read. I finished it in three days. She also recommended New York Times bestselling author C.J. Box. I had too many books already, so tucked that name into my memory.

A section of my poem selected for publication in “This Was 2020…” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Next I’ll move on to The Housekeeper, the other psychological suspense novel she chose for me, ironically with a character named Audrey. I told the book enthusiast that I am a writer and that since she selected two books for me, I wanted her to read an anthology that includes a poem I wrote. I struggled to remember the lengthy name of This Was 2020—Minnesotans Write About Pandemics and Social Justice in a Historic Year, a collection of poems and short stories published by the Ramsey County Library. But I remembered enough for the reference librarian to find the book on his computer and then on the shelves. I thumbed through the pages until I found Funeral During a Pandemic. “That’s me, my poem,” I pointed. We conversed briefly about the difficulties of my father-in-law’s funeral during the COVID-19 pandemic. I didn’t tell her that my mom died in January 2022, at the height of omicron, in a time when most people were no longer masking and large funerals were allowed. I could have penned a sequel poem.

A Boomerang Bag available to patrons at Buckham Memorial Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2018)

Eventually we parted, me lugging a cloth Boomerang bag weighted by books, she shoving her walker with books inside a plastic bag. When I later aimed back toward the check out desk, she called out, “Can you mail this for me?” She thrust a bright yellow envelope toward my outstretched hand. I agreed to mail the get well card to her niece who’d fallen on the ice.

She left the library and I soon followed with my bag of books. She maneuvered beside a car parked in a handicap space. Even though offered assistance to wrangle her walker into a weathered white late 1980s K car, she refused. She had this. But she did express concern about navigating an icy patch of pavement leading to and next to her car. She feared falling and breaking bones, something that’s happened thrice already. I empathized, sharing that I’d also had a hip replacement and broken bones twice during falls. “We’re sisters,” I laughed. But I meant it. We share a broken bone history, a love of books and a habit of mailing greeting cards to those who are celebrating or grieving or in need of encouragement.

Some of the get well cards I received after a bone break. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

“I love that you’re sending a get well card to your niece,” I said, waving the yellow envelope. I like to send cards, too. I’ll be sure to mail this.”

She replied, “I’m old school. I don’t even have a computer.”

“I need one to do my work—to write.”

“I always wanted to be a writer,” she blurted.

“It’s not too late,” I encouraged. A look flashed across her face, albeit briefly. A flash of possibility.

I had one final question. “What’s your name?”

“Noreen.” (Or maybe it’s Norene; I didn’t ask for the spelling.)

I don’t recall our parting words. But it doesn’t matter. I’d made a new book-loving, opinionated friend who dreamed of becoming a writer. It was, indeed, my lucky day at the library.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling