The Memory Tree at Trinity Lutheran Church, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
WHEN THE PAPER ANGELS come off the tree, the personalized ornaments go up. From Angel Tree to Memory Tree, an artificial tree standing in the narthex of my church, Trinity Lutheran in Faribault, morphs each holiday season.
From Angel Tree to Memory Tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
First, my long-time Bible study group assembles and decorates the tree which serves duo purposes. From this tree, people choose paper angels upon which anonymous identifying information is printed. Age, sex and Christmas gift ideas. People who pick an angel then buy gifts and bring them back unwrapped. My bible study group wraps most with some left unwrapped as nonprofit social service organizations request.
This mini John Deere tractor honors Harland. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Once this project is done, the tree becomes a Memory Tree, a place where people can honor loved ones via a personal ornament tagged with the name of the deceased and his/her death date.
Barb ran a local hair salon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
I love this idea because we have all lost loved ones whom we miss, especially during the holidays. The ornaments on this tree are a visual reminder of our loss and love. This tree represents communal grief. To acknowledge and share grief is to find our way toward healing.
Marv loved living in the country and farming. His youngest daughter and her family now live and farm on the family farm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
This Christmas, may the memories you hold of loved ones now gone bring a smile to your face, joy to your heart, perhaps even tears to your eyes. We grieve because we loved. Hold onto the memories, hold onto the love.
Two of my poems and a work of creative nonfiction are published in this literary anthology. (Book cover sourced online)
FOR THE 16thCONSECUTIVE YEAR, my writing has been selected for publication in the Talking Stick, a literary anthology published by the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc based in northern Minnesota.
The editorial board chose two of my poems, “Up North at the Cabin” and “Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire,” and a work of creative nonfiction, “Birthing Everett,” for publication in volume 34, titled Toward the Light. The recently-released book features 128 pieces of writing by 76 writers either from Minnesota or with a strong connection to the state.
I consider it an honor to be published in the Talking Stick, which includes the work of talented writers ranging from novice to well-known. I especially appreciate that entries are blind-judged so each piece stands on its own merits. There were 275 submissions from 119 writers for this year’s competition.
Grandpa Randy and grandchildren Izzy and Isaac follow the pine-edged driveway at the northwoods lake cabin. This is my all-time favorite cabin photo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2020)
I’m particularly excited about two of my pieces published in Toward the Light. Anyone who’s ever spent time at a lake cabin will enjoy my “Up North” poem as it centers on nature and family togetherness. I was in my sixties before I first experienced cabin life. Now I’m building memories with my grandkids each summer at a family member’s lake cabin. That centers this poem.
My grandson Everett, nine months old, plays with his toys in his Madison, Wisconsin, home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
A grandchild also focuses “Birthing Everett,” a deeply personal story about the birth of my 10-pound grandson in January. My daughter Miranda nearly died during childbirth. I knew I needed to write about this to heal from my own trauma of nearly losing her. I will be forever grateful to the medical team at UnityPoint Health-Meriter Hospital in Madison, Wisconsin, for saving Miranda’s life. You just don’t think of women dying during childbirth any more, but it can, and does, happen.
Isaac on the beach at Horseshoe Lake, rural Merrifield, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
SOMETIMES A PHOTO isn’t perfect. And this one certainly isn’t, at least not technically. The image of my 6-year-old grandson is not sharp. And that’s because I was sitting a beach away, zooming in with my cellphone camera.
My 35 mm Canon was inside the cabin. I knew I would either have to shoot with my phone or miss the moment. I opted to click the white circle on my Android.
Why do I love this photo, despite its technical flaws? I love the moment in time I’ve captured of my young grandson. Isaac was busy digging in the sand at lake’s edge when he paused. I don’t recall the reason he stopped shoveling. And that in itself holds appeal as those who view the image can imagine what Isaac is seeing to his left.
I remember the set up of this scene, though. Randy and I were on lakeside grandparent watch while Isaac’s parents headed into Nisswa for coffee. We were all vacationing together at a family member’s Horseshoe Lake cabin in north central Minnesota. Isaac’s older sister was inside the cabin reading.
The day was cold with a strong wind churning the water. Not a day for swimming or for sunbathing. But, for Isaac, it was still a good day for digging in the sand. He kept venturing closer and closer to the lake, water lapping at his pant legs. I asked Randy to roll up Isaac’s pants.
There’s something about a boy by the water, pants legs rolled up, shovel in hand that speaks to carefree days of summer, to youthfulness and to simple child’s play in the great outdoors. I love seeing kids playing outside, away from video games and electronics. I’m all for handing a child a stick (or a shovel) to encourage creative play.
I love this photo also because it tells a story in a simple and uncomplicated scene of water, sand, shovel and boy. Photography, for me, is often about storytelling.
I like the composition of this photo, too, with Isaac off-center, the sand pile on the right side of the frame. And then the wavy lake seemingly takes on a personality of its own like a threatening intruder. But Isaac didn’t let the moody lake, the cold day or the strong wind deter him from his work.
As with any photo, lighting ranks high. I like the lighting in this image. I like the simplicity of the photo.
Even though not technically perfect, this photo holds what’s most important to me—love. Do you see it?
An angler fishes in Horseshoe Lake, rural Merrifield, on an August evening. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
IN MID AUGUST, Randy and I headed nearly 200 miles north of Faribault for our second stay of the summer at a family member’s cabin in the Brainerd lakes area. This trip our eldest daughter and her family joined us for several days. There’s nothing quite like time with the grandkids at the lake. Time to play, to relax, to make memories. And that we did. I cherish our days together Up North.
We mostly hung out on the beach or in the cabin. Weather conditions were not ideal with cool temps and strong winds prevailing when all six of us were there together. Yet, we got outdoors—the kids running along the sandy beach, digging a hole along water’s edge, enjoying the placid water on a warm and sunny day before the weather changed.
Looking upward toward the pines from a lakeside hammock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
MAKING MEMORIES
I led the 6 and 9-year-olds on a scavenger hunt. We searched for a feather, a mushroom, a nest…that which nature offers like a gift if only we pause to see and appreciate. Randy taught Isaac to play Marbles on a homemade wooden board. It’s a long-time favorite of the extended Helbling family. We played Yahtzee and Connect 4, on an over-sized outdoor board. The puzzlers among us (not me) pieced together a lemonade stand. We headed into town for massive scoops of ice cream, a cabin tradition. And one day we picked peas from our sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s plot in a community garden. Later I taught Isaac how to shell them. The kids delighted in a timed Ninja course at a Crosslake playground and posed for photos behind Paul Bunyan family cut-outs at another park. We devoured s’mores around the campfire.
A campfire is the place to share stories, create memories. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
This is the stuff of memories. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mostly unplanned. Moments that connect us, deepen bonds.
Moody clouds at sunset over Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
Being outdoors, away from home and work and schedules and the demands of everyday life, opens us to the joys of vacationing. The haunting call of a loon and the sighting of a bald eagle perched atop a pine proved exhilarating. A bank of moody, pink-tinged clouds slung low in the evening sky drew all of us to focus on and admire the scene.
A mural in Crosby. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
MORE CHERISHED MOMENTS
When the grandkids and their parents left several days before us, our world seemed too quiet. No more kids scampering up and down the loft ladder. No more requests to go to the beach. No more…
But, sans kids, there were still moments to be cherished. Lakeside dining with friends at Breezy Point. Popping in to chat with a Faribault friend who lives in Nisswa now and works for the Chamber of Commerce. And then a chance encounter with adults with disabilities on an outing at Mission Park, rural Merrifield. I learned that visually-impaired Shannon, who uses a white cane and carries over-sized yellow sunglasses, likes to sing. I asked her to sing for me. And she did—to a movie soundtrack of ”My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Deon. I thought my heart would burst with joy as this young woman first mouthed the words, then sang them quietly and then louder as I encouraged her. It’s one of those moments I will forever treasure. Me nearly in tears and everyone inside that picnic shelter smiling during this impromptu weekday morning concert.
A mural by Adam Turman in downtown Crosby highlights recreational activities in the Cuyuna Lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
SOUTHERN MINNESOTA CONNECTIONS ON THE RANGE
On the way home, there were more delights during a stop in Crosby, an Iron Range community that is evolving into a destination with its many outdoor activities, shops and murals. I spotted a mural by Minneapolis artist Adam Turman, whose work can be found on murals in Northfield and on Faribault Mill products. He’s a favorite muralist of mine. I saw also, much to my delight, Faribault Mill blankets and Caves of Faribault cheeses in separate shops. I felt Faribault-proud seeing those wool blankets and exceptional cheeses for sale in Crosby.
ICE CREAM, GREEK STYLE
But it was the homemade ice cream—Rave Creamworks’ Super Premium—at Victual in Crosby that got rave reviews from me. Randy and I shared a large scoop of Baklava ice cream laced with flaky phyllo dough, chopped walnuts and honey. It is the shop’s bestseller among 24 choices, so said the teen behind the counter. I loved this creamy ice cream, which I expect my friend, Father Jim Zotalis at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour in Faribault, would appreciate given his Greek heritage. Baklava is a Greek pastry. Even in that ice cream I felt a connection to southern Minnesota. We can leave home, but we never really do.
At a previous Helbling reunion, I pulled stories from a family history book to display. Some of the stories were part of a family history trivia contest I planned. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID about the importance of family reunions. They allow us to reconnect, to celebrate, to reminisce, to build new memories, to support, encourage and appreciate one another and our shared histories.
A snippet of a photo from the July 1938 family reunion in Courtland attended by 511 Bodes. My grandparents, Lawrence and Josephine Bode, are in the center of the picture, between the adults holding the babies. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THE BODE FAMILY
My first reunion of the summer was a small gathering with a maternal aunt, uncle, cousins and my youngest brother and his wife in south Minneapolis. Aunt Rae, my godmother, was in town from Missouri. Over a table laden with breakfast foods, we talked and laughed and then afterwards moved to the screened in porch for more catching up and a discussion about the current state of affairs in this country. Mostly, though, we talked family. Since my mom’s death in 2022, I’ve felt even more the need to stay connected to her siblings and their families.
The annual Kletscher reunion always starts at noon with a potluck. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THE KLETSCHER FAMILY
The next reunion happened on the last Sunday of July. The extended Kletscher family met in Echo, a small southwestern Minnesota town some seven miles north of my hometown. There, in a community center, we filled tables with homemade foods for a noon potluck. Afterwards, I circulated in an attempt to talk to nearly everyone in attendance. This reunion has been going on annually for probably seventy years or more. I don’t always make it. But I try to because I’d rather see my cousins and my remaining aunts and uncle at a happy event rather than at a funeral.
A photo board displayed at a Helbling reunion several years ago.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THE HELBLING FAMILY
And then there is the Helbling reunion, held last weekend at a nephew’s rural Faribault acreage. This gathering brings my husband Randy’s family together from all across Minnesota and the country. Our son flew in from Boston. Our second daughter and her family arrived from Madison, Wisconsin. Others came from Michigan, Missouri and North Dakota. This event happens annually. And each year family members travel from all over to see each other, which says a lot about just how important family connections are to all of us.
Jams and jelly won in the family raffle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
This year organizers changed things up a bit by replacing BINGO with a raffle of homemade/home-grown foods and goods. There were cookies, banana bread, multiple jams, wine, honey, engraved stones, crocheted animals, garden fresh potatoes, salsa and more, including canned rabbit meat. I brought an anthology that included five pieces of my writing. Randy brought a bottle of Cry Baby Craig’s hot sauce, an allowed raffle item given it’s made in Faribault.
Everyone went home with something. But perhaps the best part of the raffle was the money raised for the Community Action Center in Faribault via the sale of $5 raffle tickets. With $300 in raffle ticket sales and a company match by an employer, the CAC will be gifted with $600 from the Helbling family. This family cares.
Tom and Betty Helbling, circa early 1950s.
I love my husband’s family. They are a genuinely loving, kind, caring, compassionate, generous and supportive group. During the reunion, we shared family updates while the kids bounced in a cow-shaped bouncy house. During a corn hole tournament, Tristan and his teammate once again walked away with the “trophy,” a mini corn hole board. My six-year-old grandson showed me how to pound nails into a round of wood in a game of hammerschlagen. My granddaughter and I watched baby ducks swim in a pond next to a menagerie of poultry, goats and two black sheep. Kids shot rockets high into the air. Adults gathered in lawnchair clusters to chat. Slowly, as the sun set, family members began to leave. I left feeling so loved.
The evening prior, the siblings and their spouses met at the Craft Beverage Curve in Faribault for food, drinks and conversation. The new addition to the reunion proved popular. Family raved about the setting. I felt a deep sense of pride in my community. But mostly, I felt the love of the Helbling family which I have been part of for 43 years. Tom and Betty Helbling would be proud of the family they started. And they would be happy that, on the second Saturday in August each year, their family reconnects at a reunion.
The fused glass heart art of Northfield artist Geralyn Thelen, used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)
I JUST WITNESSED the most beautiful moment outside my home.
A scream and the flash of my letter carrier racing across the front lawn toward the street initially drew my attention. I thought someone was in distress, needed help. But not so.
I looked out the living room window to see a car parked along the side street intersecting with the main arterial route past my house. I live on a corner lot. Two young kids leaned out the back window, their arms outstretched toward the letter carrier, clearly their dad.
I simply stood and watched, observing the pure joy, the incredible love between father and children. It showed in one child climbing through the open window, wrapping legs and arms around Dad. Not wanting to let go. It showed in the wide smiles and the screams of delight. The hugs.
My heart filled with joy as I watched, smiling the entire time.
To witness this unbridled happiness in the darkness of all that is happening in this country and around the world brightened my day.
Once the letter carrier started heading back to his mail truck, I popped my head out the front door and called to him. I told him that the interaction between him and his young daughter and son made my day. He responded how blessed he is to have his loving family who were simply out garage-saling. Until the kids spotted Dad. And then all joy broke lose and love erupted.
A piano at the Arts Center of Saint Peter. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2024)
MOMENTS IN LIFE EXIST that imprint upon the spirit a deep sense of contentment, peace and joy. That happened Sunday afternoon as I sat inside St. John’s Lutheran Church, Lakeville, for a piano recital. As the 11 pianists, including my 9-year-old granddaughter, Izzy, played selections on the grand piano rolled to the front of the sanctuary, I thought, life is good.
And it was good in the 45 minutes when family and friends gathered to hear these young musicians, and one mom, also a piano student, play. Love filled the space. I could feel it. I could hear it in the music, in resounding applause, in congratulatory words. I could see it in broad smiles, practiced bows, photos snapped, hugs shared, and flowers and other gifts given.
Life at its basic is about loving and supporting and encouraging and celebrating.
A SANCTUARY
The recital inside the sanctuary felt, too, like a sanctuary from all the hard stuff happening in the world today. We all need a break from that. These pianists provided that escape as they played tunes like Whispering Wind, Lemonade Stand, Spanish Dancer and the more familiar Linus & Lucy and Star Wars. I swayed to the music, smiling the entire time.
JOY IN CREATIVITY
When young Scarlett and her teacher, Roxanne, played Ode to Joy together, I was whisked away to a wedding. More joy.
The students’ playing was flawless, practiced, disciplined and filled with a creative spirit. I admired the players’ skills, from novice to more advanced, as their fingers landed upon piano keys.
When a young mom stepped up to play two selections, I spotted her husband across the pews. He was beaming, so proud of this woman who studied piano as a child and decided to resume lessons as an adult. She wants a grand piano, she shared in a brief conversation with me after the recital. But that meant convincing her husband. I’d say she’s convinced him.
LIFE IS GOOD
Likewise, Audra, Brysen, Ellie, Evan, Evie, Grayson, Izzy, Jessica, Oscar, Scarlett and Viva convinced me that a piano recital is about much more than just playing and listening to music. It is about family and friends and love. It’s about creativity and celebrating and delighting in one of life’s basic joys—music. Life is good, oh, so good when listening to Trampoline Tumble, Banana Split, Twilight Reverie and 18 other songs played on a grand piano on a Sunday afternoon in May in southern Minnesota.
This page from an altered book crafted by my friend Kathleen shows my mom holding me. Mom died in January 2022. I love the quote. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THREE MOTHERS. Three strong women. Three remarkable experiences. This Mother’s Day I feel compelled to share the stories of a trio of moms. Their stories are decidedly different, yet similar in the common denominators of strength and love.
Photographed in a small southern Minnesota town, a box containing Naloxone used as an emergency treatment for an opioid overdose or suspected overdose. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)
MOTHER OF A RECOVERING ADDICT
Let’s start with the woman checking out my clutch of greeting cards recently at a local chain discount store. As I stepped up to the counter, a young man bade her goodbye. “I love you, Mom,” he said while walking toward the exit.
It was one of those moments when I simply had to say something. “That’s so sweet,” I said, looking directly at the clerk.
I don’t remember our entire conversation. But I do recall the highlights. Her son is a recovering addict two years sober. “I almost buried him,” she told me.
“You must be so proud of him,” I replied. And she was and is and I wanted to reach across that check out counter and hug her. But I didn’t. My encouraging words would have to suffice. I walked out of that store feeling grateful for this mom who never gave up on her son and for the son who recognizes the value of her ongoing love and support.
This shows two of the 22 Miller siblings featured in an exhibit at the Waseca County History Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)
MOTHER OF TWENTY-TWO
Then there’s Lucille Miller of rural Waseca, married to Alvin and mother of their 22 children. Yes, twenty-two, all single births. I learned about the Miller family recently while touring the Waseca County History Center. An entire display focuses on them.
Lucille gave birth to her first child in December 1940 at age 17 and her last in January 1966 at age 43. Fifteen girls and seven boys (oldest to youngest): Ramona, Alvin Jr., Rose, Kathleen, Robert, Patricia, Marylu, Diane, John, Janet, Linda, Virginia, Helen, Art, Dolores, Martin, Pauline, Alice, Angela, Marcia, Gregory and Damien.
I can’t even fathom being pregnant that often, birthing that many children, or coming up with that many names. But Lucille Miller did just that and raised her children on the family’s Blooming Grove Township farm. She died in August 2006, her husband not even a year later. Lucille and Alvin never intended to have 22 kids. But these deeply spiritual parents considered each and every one a blessing.
Information I found online backs that up. This mother of many also “took in” several kids, led two women’s organizations and worked to establish local group homes for the disabled. Three of the Miller children had disabilities.
Helen Miller’s book about growing up in a Minnesota farm family of 22 children.
Helen Miller, 13th in line, calls her mom “a saint.” (I certainly don’t question that assessment.) She’s written a book, 21 Siblings: Cheaper by the Two Dozen, about growing up in this mega family where the Catholic church and school centered life and organization was key in keeping everyday life running smoothly. Chores were listed, then assigned, and siblings used the buddy system. I have not yet read the book, but intend to do so.
I expect the obituary of Lucille’s daughter, Virginia Miller Pelto, 60, who died on May 8, 2014, just days before Mother’s Day, reflects the way in which her mother lived: Of the many things Virginia loved, above all she loved people. As a very spiritual person, she put the world on her shoulders and in her prayers. She donated time to her church, her community and anyone who needed to just talk. Any mother would be proud to have a daughter with such a giving and compassionate spirit.
My daughter Miranda and grandson Everett, 3 months old when this photo was taken. (Photo courtesy of Miranda, April 2025)
MOTHER OF EVERETT
Finally, there’s the story of my second daughter. Miranda became a first-time mom in mid-January. Considered a “geriatric mom” given her closing-in-on-forty age, she was closely-monitored throughout her pregnancy. Miranda was in excellent physical condition—she’s a letter carrier. Her pregnancy proved uneventful with labor commencing the day before her due date. But then everything changed. For the worse. Labor was long, delivery difficult with baby’s head and shoulder getting stuck. Once Everett—all 10 pounds of him—was born, Miranda experienced extensive postpartum hemorrhaging requiring the transfusion of three units of blood. A team of doctors and other medical personnel at a Madison, Wisconsin, hospital worked to save her life.
A week later, after Miranda and John were semi-settled at home with Everett, Randy and I traveled to Madison to see all of them. When the new parents recounted harrowing details of that difficult birth, my strong strong daughter said she feared she might die. Before she saw her son.
As Miranda and I stood in the nursery, arms wrapped around each other gazing down at newborn sleeping Everett, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. I still get emotional thinking about how I nearly lost my daughter on the day my second grandson was born. I’ve written about that experience in a short story, “Birthing Everett,” which will publish in late August in The Talking Stick anthology.
We all have mothers. We all have stories, whether we are sons or daughters or mothers ourselves. Today I honor all mothers, especially Miranda, Lucille Miller and the store clerk who nearly buried her son. They are three strong women.
This stained glass window of the women at Jesus’ empty tomb rises above the altar at Holden Lutheran Church, rural Kenyon, Minnesota.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
EASTER SUNDAY MARKS a day of celebration among Christians as we rejoice in the resurrection of Jesus and the promise of eternal life.
My favorite Easter hymn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
It is a day of joyful song, of prayerful gratitude, of alleluias.
Eggs dyed with my mom many years ago.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
It is a day, too, to gather with family over brunch or a ham dinner. It is a day to find Easter baskets and hidden eggs.
It is a day of memories made and memories remembered. It is a day of missing those loved ones no longer with us, but loving on those who are near or far.
The risen Lord centers the trio of stained glass windows above the altar at Trinity Lutheran Church, Wanamingo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
It is a day when the sun rises on a struggling world, where hope is needed now more than ever.
Have a blessed and joy-filled Easter, dear friends!
I did not expect this reaction when I randomly pulled the novel from the shelf, drawn by its catchy title printed in a colorful font, drawn by the simple cover art of a lakeside Northwoods cabin. I do, indeed, judge a book by its covers, front and then back synopsis. These covers hit all the marks for me, someone who appreciates stories rooted in rural. Stories that are simple, yet complex. Stories that make me think, that tap into my empathy, that move me. Stories that are strong in place.
(Book cover sourced online)
In some ways, this book reminds me of the writing of Minnesotan Lorna Landvik, author of the popular Patty Jane’s House of Curls, The Tall Pine Polka, Once in a Blue Moon Lodge and more, most of which I have read. But the author of The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County hails from neighboring Wisconsin, which is similar to Minnesota, but different.
These are what we call bars (the kind you eat) in Minnesota and Wisconsin. Maybe elsewhere. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
At the heart of this story are the funeral ladies, a group of long-time friends who prepare meals for mourners at St. Anne’s Catholic Church. Casseroles—not hotdish as we call casseroles in Minnesota—concocted with canned cream soups. Shredded beef. Peanut butter bars. Pies made with Door County cherries. Food for the body and soul. This reminded me of the Reception Committee in my childhood home church on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. That group of Lutheran women prepared funeral hotdishes comprised of hamburger, pasta, a vegetable and assorted canned cream soups with salt and pepper for seasoning. The recipes are published in the 1985 St. John’s Anniversary Cookbook. The covers of that cookbook have fallen off my tattered copy. A cookbook is central to Swinarski’s novel.
The point here is that The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County is absolutely relatable for me. I felt comfortably at home with the story initially, even when I learned of a heartbreaking scam involving main character Esther Larson. That shapes the story. Then the story-line focus shifts from friendship, faith and family to tough topics after a Food Network star and his children arrive to bury his estranged wife in her hometown.
Mental health gets attention in this book. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Without revealing too much of the plot, know that family relationships, love and trauma weave into this novel. That trauma is post traumatic stress disorder, experienced by paramedic Cooper Welsh after participating in a holiday parade interrupted by a deadly shooting. In real-life, six people died in November 2021 when a driver plowed his SUV into a Christmas parade in Waukesha, Wisconsin, killing six and injuring many others. I expect Swinarski patterned her fictional tragedy loosely after this event or the many other mass shootings this country experiences.
I appreciate that the author, even in this fictional account of such violence and its personal aftermath, writes with authenticity. As a reader, I felt emotionally invested. I was rooting for Cooper and for those who love him. Swinarski doesn’t just touch on PTSD. She dives into it head on, writing in her acknowledgments that she talked to individuals dealing with PTSD to craft Cooper’s life story. That research shows.
A sign along the interstate advertises Ishnala Supper Club in Lake Delton near the Wisconsin Dells. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
She writes, too, in an authentic Wisconsin voice with a strong sense of place. Noodles in chili (yes, it’s a thing in Wisconsin). Beer not wine. Brandy old-fashioneds, Wisconsin’s signature drink. Supper clubs. And eating at the popular Wisconsin-based fast food chain, Culver’s.
There are so many reasons to love The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County. Even if you’re a Lutheran from Minnesota who eats hotdishes, not casseroles.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Recent Comments