Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Outside on a “summer” day with the grandkids in southern Minnesota March 29, 2025

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This photo taken at 4 p.m. Friday, March 28, shows the unusually high March temperature in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2025)

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO, the temperature registered 81 degrees on the State Bank of Faribault sign in our historic downtown. At 4 p.m. Saturday, the temp read 38 degrees. That’s a 43-degree plunge. Such is the fickle nature of weather in southern Minnesota. One day summer. The next day winter.

Let’s talk that one day of summer. The two oldest of our three grandkids were here for a sleep-over Thursday into Friday afternoon. We took full advantage of the unseasonably warm temps with lots of time outdoors. Who wants to stay indoors when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing and it feels like summer? None of us.

So out we went Friday morning, first to hang laundry on the clothesline, which didn’t interest Izzy, almost nine, and Isaac, six, quite as much as I had hoped. “We have a dryer,” Izzy informed me as she handed me clothespins. So does Grandma. But Grandma prefers hanging laundry outdoors, under the sky, under the sun, in the wind.

This looks just like the caterpillar found in our backyard on Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

A CATERPILLAR, SQUIRRELS, BRAMBLES & A ROCK

Time outdoors led to discoveries, like the woolly caterpillar Izzy found in the backyard and which she insisted was poisonous. I insisted it was not while using a dried maple leaf and a piece of bark to move the fuzzy ball to a safe place in a flowerbed. She worried and warned that I was not to touch the poisonous caterpillar. “Izzy, it’s not poisonous,” I repeated. I’m not sure she believed me.

We noted all the holes dotting the backyard, spots where squirrels dug for hidden walnuts. Empty shells littered the dormant lawn.

The previous evening, Grandpa led Izzy and Isaac up the hill through the woods behind our house. It’s a bit of a climb past fallen branches and brambles. But they were adventurous, determined to make it to the top, to Wapacuta Park. There they found the playground equipment rather scary—Grandpa concurred—but a gigantic rock a whole lot of fun as they scampered atop it. This is the same mammoth rock their mom, aunt and uncle climbed as kids. Life come full circle.

The Fleckenstein Bluffs Park playground. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TIME TO PLAY & TIME TO ASK SERIOUS QUESTIONS

Late Friday morning we headed to Fleckenstein Bluffs Park near downtown to a playground the kids found much more to their liking. Another rock (albeit fake) to climb, a towering climbing apparatus, musical instruments, sand diggers, mini spinning seats and more, including fossils imprinted in the fake rocks.

We spent time, too, on an overlook above the Straight River. There the grandparents had to answer questions about homelessness given the blue tent pitched alongside the river. “Why do they live in a tent?” Sometimes adults don’t have all the answers. But we tried. Izzy worried that the police were coming to arrest those living in the tent when she saw a cruiser driving down the bike trail. No, Izzy, they’re not going to arrest them.

Beavers have given up chewing on this tree along the Straight River, we discovered during a walk on Friday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

BEAVERS, GEESE, A HERON & MEMORIES

And so we followed the Straight River Trail, noting trees chewed by beavers, a sandbar in the river, chimes on an apartment balcony clinking in the wind, a pair of geese moving from land to river, a magnificent blue heron flying low above the water…then those geese again, swimming.

Izzy stopped to pluck stones from alongside the trail, dropping them into an empty yogurt cup she’d brought with her. We walked sometimes hand-in-hand, Isaac and Grandpa well ahead of us, also clasping hands. This time together in the outdoors is the stuff of memories, of learning, of connecting with nature.

This used bookshop in Faribault is a must-stop when the grandkids visit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

DRAGONS, TORNADOES & THE BIG WIDE WORLD

On the drive home, we stopped at Books on Central, a used bookstore run by the Rice County Area United Way. We like to take the kids there whenever they are in town. Izzy found a fantasy book about dragons she’s read, but wanted to own. And a nonfiction book about tornadoes. Isaac was looking for atlases. Jeanne, who volunteers at the bookshop, found two, as yet unprocessed, atlases in the back room. Isaac was happy, promptly sitting down to page through the books. We also chose a book for their baby cousin, Everett, in Wisconsin.

And so that was our day together. A time of laundry hanging, backyard observing, playing, walking and enveloping ourselves in nature. But above all, it was time for us as grandparents to be with our beloved grandchildren, simply enjoying an unseasonably warm late March day in southern Minnesota, “poisonous caterpillar” and all.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, sweet baby boy, how I love you March 26, 2025

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A banner in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, shows the state capitol. I love Madison with its lakes, green space, bike trails, etc. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FOR WEEKS, RANDY AND I wanted to drive the four hours to Madison, Wisconsin, to visit our second daughter and her family. But each time, one of us was sick with or recovering from a cold. We were not about to make the trip until we were both fully healthy. Last weekend we were.

Friday morning we packed, loaded the van, then hit the road, crossing the Mississippi River into Wisconsin at La Crosse. That marks about the half-way point from Faribault to Madison. By early afternoon we’d arrived at our daughter and son-in-law’s home in the capital city.

Holding Grandpa’s finger. This is not Everett’s hand, but that of our eldest grandson, now in kindergarten. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I couldn’t exit the van fast enough. I wanted to see my grandson. Everett was born in mid-January and I’ve only seen him once in person since then. Video chats and photos filled the gap. But they are not the same, as we all know.

That sweet baby boy, who was an even 10 pounds at birth, now weighs nearly 17 pounds. He’s filled out. He’s smiling, cooing, interacting. And this grandma couldn’t have been happier. I watched him, cuddled him, played with him, read to him, talked to him, kissed him, rocked him, fed him, burped him, rubbed his tummy… Randy and I sent the parents out on a dinner date so they could have time alone together and we could have time alone with our grandson.

There’s nothing quite like spending time with a baby, especially a dear one, to make you forget about all the craziness happening in the world. And we know there’s plenty of chaos and reasons to feel concerned on multiple levels right now. I needed to be with Everett…to calm my spirit, to distract me, to remind me of love, of peace, of hope for the future.

In the days I spent with Everett, we bonded, grew our love for one another, gazed into each other’s eyes. Precious precious moments that I hold now in my memory, in my heart. I miss him so much already.

I called him sweet baby, darling boy, my love, all terms of endearment that carried a heart full of love.

(Book cover sourced online)

When I read It’s Hard to Be a Baby, a picture book written by Cheryl B. Klein and illustrated by Juana Medina, to Everett, his mama and I laughed. Babies have no idea, none, how difficult it is to be an adult sometimes. I’m thankful they don’t. But I suppose babies do struggle occasionally when we adults can’t figure out why they’re crying. Are they hungry, cold, tired, in need of a diaper change, bored…? None of us have quite figured out why Everett is so enamored with the living room ceiling fan. It’s not even turning. Yet he smiles broadly and coos every time he sees that fixture. It makes him so happy.

I love watching my second daughter with her son. Miranda’s a natural. So loving and tender, deeply in love with this baby who nearly cost her her life. She experienced severe postpartum hemorrhaging after Everret’s difficult birth. He was big; she is not. Miranda needed blood transfusions. A team of doctors and other medical staff at UnityPoint Health-Meriter Hospital in Madison worked to stop the bleeding and save her. I shall be forever grateful to them. This was a reminder that, yes, there can be complications and women can still die during childbirth.

Located at the entry point to Minnesota near La Crosse, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Since Miranda became a mom, I feel, too, a strengthening of our relationship in this shared experience of motherhood. I’m the mother of three, the grandmother of three. Two of my grandkids live only 35 minutes away. But not Everett, and that’s hard. So I whispered in his ear, “Move closer to Minnesota.” Then I turned to ask my daughter, “Did you hear that?” She did.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering Mom three years after her death January 13, 2025

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Me with my mom in January 2020, right before COVID restrictions stopped visits to care centers. I saw little of Mom in the final years of her life due to the pandemic. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020 by Randy Helbling)

TODAY, JANUARY 13, MARKS three years since my mom died. I hadn’t intended to write about this anniversary date. But then two friends blogged on topics that changed my mind.

My dear friend Beth Ann from North Carolina, who blogs at It’s Just Life, writes today about observing a grocery store encounter between a daughter and elderly mother that reminded her of her sweet mom whom she lost several years ago. The point of Beth Ann’s post is that grief comes in the most unexpected of moments and hits you hard. She’s right.

Hot fudge pudding cake slathered with real whipped cream and topped with sprinkles. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Then my friend Sue, who lives in Minnesota, winters in Arizona and blogs primarily about food at Ever Ready, published a post featuring Hot Fudge Sundae Cake. Waves of nostalgia and grief swept over me as I scrolled through Sue’s post. Hot Fudge Pudding Cake, as my family called this delectable, easy-to-make dessert, was a favorite of Mom’s and of me.

Neither Sue or Beth Ann could have known I would be reading their words on the third anniversary of Mom’s death. But I did. And it was meant to be because my grief needed an outlet. My friends’ writing prompted me to write this post.

The cover of the altered book created by Kathleen. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In the process of writing, I headed upstairs to pull a mini keepsake book from a closet. My friend Kathleen, formerly of Minnesota and now of Idaho, created the altered book for me following my mother’s death. She tapped into my blog to pull quotes, information and photos that truly summarize Mom’s life and our relationship. The book brims with words of love, faith, family and farm life, all at the essence of my mom. It truly is one of my most treasured possessions.

The first page in the keepsake book shows my mom holding me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

So on this day, while the grief of losing Mom feels particularly heavy, it is the creativity of friends that comforts me. Beth Ann’s “Right There in the Baking Aisle” resonates. Sue’s shared recipe brings smiles as I remember. And Kathleen’s keepsake mini altered book stirs within me so many memories of the mom I loved, and still love.

TELL ME: Who are you grieving? What can spark your grief? What comforts you in grief?

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Five especially memorable personal moments in 2024 December 31, 2024

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Time passes… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THE END OF A YEAR always evokes a time of personal reflection. A time to consider the events, the moments, the feelings, the blessings that stood out in the 366 days passed. I’ve selected five, from the many, that happened in my life. Certainly, there’s much more that affected me personally. But these are ones that imprinted deeply upon me.

My unborn grandson’s room, photographed at Thanksgiving. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

1. A BLESSING BREWING

The year 2024 brought incredibly joyful news to my family. That news came in a six-pack of all natural & locally brewed craft beer from Big News Brewing Co. My second daughter and her husband brought the beer in August, when they arrived from Madison, Wisconsin for the annual Helbling family reunion.

I was excited to taste this beer from a new brewery (so I was told) in Madison. I pulled out a bottle, read the label, BABY Boyd IS BREWING—ARRIVING JANUARY 2025, and realized this was no ordinary beer. I was about to become a grandma for the third time. Miranda and John pulled off the surprise. I was so focused on the journalistic aspect of the Big News Brewing Co. name that I totally missed the bare baby feet graphics on the necks of the bottles. Soon that baby boy will arrive.

A message from Barb, published in the memorial folder at her funeral. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)

2. THE BLESSINGS OF FRIENDSHIP

On the flip side of birth is death. And in 2024, I lost a dear friend, Barb, to cancer. We have been part of the same couple’s bible study group for some 20 years. I’ve lost track. As she neared the end of life, Barb and her family opened their doors wide so family and friends could come and go. We carried in meals and, more importantly, love. Barb, no matter how awful she felt, always had time for visitors. Her strength, her unwavering faith, her cheerful attitude uplifted all of us. She understood the value in being together, of approaching death with courage and faith. Of saying goodbye.

But it was after Barb’s funeral, as her casket was wheeled out of church to the waiting hearse, that I felt the full blessings of the friendship we (and by “we” I mean our bible study group) shared. Barb had chosen the guys as pallbearers. We six women stood side-by-side waiting as our husbands gathered around the casket. I stretched out my arms, motioning for my friends to come close, to wrap our arms around one another. There we stood, a line of women linked. Linked in grief, friendship and love. It was a powerful moment.

Flags for countries of origin displayed at a past International Festival in Faribault celebrating my community’s diversity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

3. A BLESSING FROM A NEW FRIEND

Also powerful was the moment I met a Venezuelan immigrant while on a walk in Faribault’s Central Park. Adolfo was pushing his one-year-old grandson, Milan, in a stroller when I paused to greet them. I learned that Adolfo had fled violence and Communism in his home country and wanted desperately to get his family to America. His pain was palpable. “We’re so happy to have you here,” I told my new friend. Adolfo responded with a broad smile and the words “God bless you” as he made the sign of the cross and held his hands to his heart. I will forever cherish that moment and the memories of the morning I met Adolfo and Milan in Central Park.

A graphic of the first coronavirus. Source: CDC

4. BLESSING ANOTHER

I am also grateful for the opportunities I’ve had in 2024 to encourage a young man, whom I’ll call J, in his struggles with long haul COVID. A friend, after a short conversation in a grocery store parking lot, connected me to J’s mom and from there the door was opened. I understand how devastating this diagnosis. I spent six months in vestibular rehab therapy in 2023 trying to overcome the many debilitating symptoms of long haul COVID. I’m better now, but still experience residual, primarily with sensory overload issues.

J’s case is much more severe than mine, especially physically. He had to drop out of college, used a wheelchair, struggled with overwhelming symptoms too numerous to mention. I tried to offer him hope, support and encouragement. Empathy, compassion and understanding. I also referred him to my physical therapist, whom J is now seeing. Few people understand this chronic condition, or even make an effort to understand, which makes working through long haul COVID even harder. That I could take my experiences and help J, and his mom, has helped me, too. I can see the good in a very difficult year in my life when I was basically home-bound. Empathy and the capacity to help others grows with each challenge we face in life.

Randy and I with the mandala our son crafted for us. (Copyrighted photo by Caleb Helbling)

5. BLESSED WITH LOVE

Finally, my last memorable moment of 2024 came just recently with a Christmas gift from my son, who was visiting from Boston. Caleb gifted Randy and me with a mandala he laser cut from plywood, stained and glued together. Six layers. When I realized what it was, I wept. I cried because of the love Caleb’s gift represents. I cried because I recognized the time, effort and thought he put into crafting this artwork for us. Hearts theme the piece. It speaks “family.” If art can capture love, this mandala holds endless love.

And so 2024 ends. A year that brought joy and sadness. But also a year overflowing with love…from family to friends to community.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The Christmas that wasn’t December 30, 2024

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This shows a snippet of a Christmas card I received in 2023. To me it represents the gathering of family, all back home for the holidays. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2023)

I WANT A CHRISTMAS DO-OVER. Yup, 2024 marked the Christmas that did not happen. I’m not referencing the real reason for Christmas of celebrating Christ’s birth, but rather family time together. Due to illness, my core family could not gather.

I was over my COVID by Christmas, testing negative the day prior. But by that time, my son, a son-in-law and the grandkids were ill with influenza, which they presumably picked up at an extended family holiday gathering. Many others became ill, too, following that event. I didn’t attend due to my COVID. Our daughter is sick now and the granddaughter is still recovering.

Tis the season to spread viruses. And this Christmas seems worse than any I can recall in recent memory.

A plane arrives at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The hardest thing through all of this, besides missing celebrating Christmas, was not seeing my son until a week after he arrived in Minnesota from Boston. But I didn’t want him here while I had COVID. And then he got sick. Finally, by the end of Christmas week, my mama’s heart could hold no more sadness. Except for occasional coughing, Caleb was through the worst of his illness. I had to see him.

I bought flowers (not this particular bouquet) for my eldest daughter, who had been caring for a houseful of sick family all of Christmas week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2016)

So off Randy and I headed to our eldest daughter’s house late Friday morning, Christmas gifts stuffed into a cardboard box, banana bread packed and a bouquet of flowers in hand for Amber. Upon our arrival 35 minutes later, we unloaded the goods into the entry, the daughter, son-in-law and grandkids keeping their distance in the living room. Caleb watched the kids open their gifts from him while Randy loaded his suitcase and backpack into our van. I stepped indoors briefly, then waited outside.

Once we were all out of the house, Izzy and Isaac came to the front window and waved goodbye. There would be no hugs, only those sweet waves, which was better than nothing.

At this point, I was just happy to see my son and have some time with him before he flew out two days later. He worried that he might make Randy and me ill. I told Caleb that we were willing to take the risk because I needed to see him. I think most mothers would understand that. I cherish my time with my son given we see each other only once or twice a year. I am not one of those moms fortunate enough to have her kids all living in their hometown or nearby. That said, I am aware that some moms are grieving children who have passed or are estranged or cannot, for whatever reason, return home for the holidays. I’m sorry for the sadness and pain they feel at a time like Christmas.

The Boston skyline photographed from Tufts University. Randy and I traveled there in 2016 to attend Caleb’s graduation. He now lives and works in greater Boston. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2016)

The time I had with Caleb was brief. But it was enough. There were meals together. Conversations. Tears. Laughter. Love, lots of love. An unexpected gift from him of a massive mandala he laser cut, stained and glued together brought me to tears. Hearts theme the art. To me it represents family love. And the love of a son. The son I had to see. The son I hugged good morning and goodnight and then goodbye early Sunday evening as we dropped him off at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport for his flight home. Home to Boston. Not Minnesota.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Health update December 23, 2024

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Graphic of the first coronavirus. Source: CDC

GRATEFUL. That sole word defines the state of my soul today. I feel gratitude for you, my dear readers, who care so much. When I blogged late last week that I tested positive for COVID, you responded with words of encouragement and kindness. I am grateful.

When I shared my disappointment in not immediately seeing my son, who flew in from Boston on Friday afternoon, and in missing an extended family holiday gathering on Saturday, you lifted my spirits. Whether you commented here, emailed, texted, or simply held me in your thoughts, thank you. Your words mattered to me. I am not surprised by your response. You have always given me so much love.

Today I am happy to share that I am doing well. That was not a given going into testing positive for the coronavirus given my history with viral infections. But getting on the antiviral med, Paxlovid, made all the difference, along with being up-to-date on my vaccinations.

Paxlovid helped immediately in nearly eliminating my horrible COVID cough. After a night of no sleep due to coughing, one dose of Paxlovid in my body and I slept fine with no coughing. As I write, I can’t recall the last time I coughed. Mostly, I feel near-normal. Not quite, but close.

ABOUT PAXLOVID

I have to pause here and write a bit about Paxlovid, which I’m taking twice daily (three pills at a time) for five days. The taste is beyond awful, something I can only describe as bitter and metallic. That repulsive taste lingers. I’ve found that chewing a strong, mint-flavored gum helps mask the taste. That tip came from my eldest, who got the tip from her brother-in-law. As much as I detest the horrid taste of the med, it’s a small thing to put up with if it means a shorter and less severe case of COVID. The drug absolutely is working for me.

That said, I wish it was easier to get Paxlovid. When you need it, you need it. And, to be effective, it must be taken within five days of developing symptoms. I tested positive Thursday evening, too late to reach a doctor for a prescription. Friday morning I called my clinic when it opened, then waited another 1 ½ hours to talk to a doctor. After that phone visit, I waited for the pharmacy to fill my prescription. It wasn’t until late afternoon, when Randy got off work and could pick up my prescription at the busy pharmacy, that I finally got the med in my body. I lost nearly an entire day going through all those steps. It should be easier to get.

Then there’s the cost. Thankfully, Medicare covered the cost of Paxlovid for me. But I was shocked to see on the pharmacy receipt that the drug costs $1,707. Do the math and that’s $171 for each dosage. Now, if I didn’t have insurance or didn’t have insurance that covered that cost, I likely would not have taken Paxlovid. Price should not be a factor in whether you have access to treatment. But that’s reality, unfortunately.

GRATEFUL FOR HEALING & GATHERING

So here I am, on the end of COVID which, for me, proved fairly mild thanks to modern medicine. Whether my long haul COVID symptoms flare with this new infection remains to be seen. But I am hopeful.

Mostly I am grateful. Grateful that I will soon see my son and my daughter and her family. The plan now is to gather on Christmas Day. As long as I’m doing well. And I fully expect I will be.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Timing is everything December 20, 2024

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One of my favorite signs photographed in Crosby during the COVID-19 pandemic. I appreciated the Minnesota slant with the Paul Bunyan plaid. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2020)

BUMMED. That singular word describes my feelings just days before Christmas…because I’m sick. Thursday evening I tested positive for COVID, after testing negative the day prior.

This afternoon my son flew in from Boston. The plan was to pick him up at the Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport. Instead, Randy is at a local pharmacy picking up Paxlovid and cough medicine for me. Our eldest picked up her brother at the airport.

I haven’t seen Caleb since August. I was anticipating our reunion, how we would embrace quickly before placing his luggage in the van for the ride to our Faribault home. Instead, he’s staying with Amber and family a 35-minute drive away. He may as well be in Boston.

Tomorrow my extended family is gathering for Christmas. I, of course, will miss that.

These things happen. Illness is never convenient. Especially during the holidays. For now, my focus is on getting better. My body does not handle viruses well. I’ve experienced debilitating long haul COVID. I lost the hearing in my right ear due to a virus. I had whooping cough at the age of 48.

Coughing kept me awake last night. Just when I would be nodding off, the coughing would start. It’s not nearly as bad as the coughing I experienced during three months of pertussis. But it’s bad enough.

Hopefully in a few days I’ll be doing better…feeling well enough (and non-contagious) to gather with loved ones later next week. For now, I’m keeping my distance. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s Christmas by spreading COVID.

#

FYI: I’d encourage you to click here and read a story on MPR about the current rise in COVID, RSV and flu cases in Minnesota. Whooping cough is also at a high in our state. Stay well, my friends. And stay home if you’re showing signs of illness.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Connecting past to present via my “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree December 16, 2024

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Me, in the red jumper, with my siblings Doug (back) and front, left to right, Monica, Brian and Lanae on Christmas Eve 1964 in our childhood home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

NOSTALGIA SHAPES my Christmas tree choice, as I expect it may yours. I want a tree that is short-needled, imperfect, leaning toward Charlie Brownish. That type of unshaped tree is the tree of my childhood Christmases on a southwestern Minnesota dairy and crop farm.

UPDATE: Ken’s Christmas Trees, 1407 Fourth St. NW., Faribault, has closed for the season. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2024)

In the old 1 ½-story wood-frame farmhouse where I lived the first 11 years of my life with my parents and four of my five siblings (Brad wasn’t yet born, the new house not yet built), our Christmas tree sat on the end of the Formica kitchen table. The house was too small to put the tree elsewhere. An oil-burning stove occupied much of the tiny living room, which would be the usual spot to place a tree.

A touch of red at Ken’s Christmas Trees, which also sells wreaths and evergreen garland. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2024)

I loved that the tree sat on the table, which was draped with a red-and-white checked oilcloth tablecloth matching the red-and-white checkered linoleum tile floors. Kitchen walls were painted yellow on top with some type of red-bordered gray wall covering below. A maroon Naugahyde rocker sat in front of the trap door leading to the dirt-floored cellar.

An overview of Ken’s Christmas Trees, located in a lot next to Jersey Mike’s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2024)

In that setting, Dad placed our grocery store Christmas tree. On the kitchen table, on the end next to the window facing west. Imagine gathering there in the dark of December, Dad in from doing chores, Mom dishing up meat, boiled potatoes, gravy and a side vegetable to pass around. Homemade bread piled on a plate. Milk from our cows poured into cups. Meals during the holiday season held a bit of magic because of that tiny Christmas tree.

Tinsel sparkled in the glow of holiday lights. To this day, I drape tinsel on my tree even if it’s a bit of a hassle. I love the old-fashioned look, the memories connected to tinsel.

This paper Baby Jesus goes on my Christmas tree every year. It’s from the 1960s, from my Sunday School Christmas lesson. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I remember favorite ornaments, too. The wax lamb, which Mom cautioned not to hang too close to the heat of a bulb. The glittery gray dove. The mini white church with a red window, hung near a red bulb so the window glowed. The colorful vintage round ornaments that we handled with care lest they break, and some did. I have a few of those. And then the paper baby Jesus, nestled in a manger, and an angel robed in white. I have both, cut from Sunday School lessons and looped with yarn to hang from evergreen boughs.

My husband, Randy, accompanied by Ken’s son, carries our $37 tree to the van. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2024)

When I shop for my Christmas tree each December, usually at Ken’s Christmas Trees in Faribault, these visuals guide me. I am, I suppose, attempting to recapture those Christmases of yesteryear. A time when, unencumbered by the responsibilities of adulthood, I experienced the absolute joy of the season. There were no worries—only that of remembering my line for the Sunday School Christmas service.

This cut-out of Ken Mueller stood at the tree lot in 2023. Mueller faced a major health crisis this past year, but has since recovered. His kids are now running the tree lot. It’s all about family with the Muellers, too. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2023)

Today I experience Christmas through my grandchildren, Isabelle, 8, and Isaac, almost six. Next Christmas another little one—my second daughter is due to deliver a boy in January—will add to the magic of the season. Kids have a way of infusing anticipation and unbridled joy into Christmas.

Shoppers search for the “perfect” tree, for them, at Ken’s lot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2024)

When my core family (minus the pregnant daughter and her husband, who live 260 miles away) gather around my Charlie Brownish tree in the living room (not the kitchen) on Christmas Eve, I hope they feel the magic. The magic and joy that come in being together, especially with the son in Minnesota from Boston. Celebrating the birth of Christ. Celebrating family. Understanding that, no matter what tree decorates a home, it is the homecomings, the conversation and laughter that matter most. The love we feel for one another centers our family celebrations.

Our 2023 Christmas tree purchased at Ken’s tree lot and placed in a corner of our living room. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2023)

The tree is simply a decoration, a memory, a focal point. In the living room. Not atop the kitchen table.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Feeling especially grateful this Thanksgiving November 27, 2024

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I created this Thanksgiving display in a stoneware bowl. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

GRATITUDE. It’s a word that gets tossed around a lot this week as we observe Thanksgiving. And that’s good as we all need to pause, reflect and focus on reasons to feel thankful.

Health and family often top that list. And I’m staying in that lane of feeling especially grateful this year for restoration of my health and for my dear family—my husband, three adult children, two grandchildren and sons-in-law. And the soon-to-be-born second grandson.

This map shows the geographical distance separating my family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

While my core family is scattered from Boston to eastern Wisconsin to Minnesota, we are never far apart, thanks to smartphones. So, yes, this mom and grandma, who once lived in the days of no phone service (not even a landline) and of typewriters, is especially grateful for technology that allows us to stay easily connected.

Still, that does not make up for in-person time together as a family. It doesn’t happen often that we are together. But in August, we were. All of us. For the annual Helbling family reunion. If ever my mama’s heart was full and happy, it was then. The son actually spent several weeks in Minnesota after flying in from Boston for the international unicycling convention in Bemidji and then staying until the reunion. To have that lengthy time with him, whom I typically only see at Christmas, was beyond wonderful. Technology allowed this extended stay as he could work remotely, although he did complain about my slow internet speed.

A sampling of some of the exercises I did while in vestibular rehab therapy at Courage Kenny, Faribault, from April to September 2023. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

And then there’s my health. This past year marked the year I reclaimed my life after spending 2023 dealing with issues caused by long haul COVID. I spent six months in vestibular rehab therapy to retrain my brain. I learned to feel comfortable walking without feeling unbalanced. I learned to manage sensory overload (which remains a residual problem). And much more. I shall be forever grateful to my healthcare team, specifically my physical therapist Ryan, and my family for getting me through an incredibly difficult health challenge. My symptoms were debilitating. Few understood then and few understand now what I experienced.

But because of that experience, I’ve been able to encourage and support others who are in the throes of debilitating long haul COVID. I understand. I empathize. And my compassion for them runs deep. This is real and life-changing.

Information about the eye muscle surgery I underwent in Minneapolis under the care of a neuro ophthalmologist. I had this same surgery performed at age four. These are my pre-surgery eyeglasses, without mega prisms. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

In January, I underwent bilateral strabismus surgery to realign my eyes. Although that surgery failed (as it does up to 20 percent of the time), I remain grateful for one thing—my vision. It’s certainly far from perfect. I still see double if I’m not wearing my prism-heavy prescription eyeglasses. I struggle to tell if photos I am taking or processing are clear. But the bottom line is that I can see. And that is reason to feel grateful. I. Can. See.

This tag of reasons to feel grateful hung on a Gratitude Tree outside the Northfield Public Library in 2019. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In all of the challenges of life, reasons exist to feel thankful. It’s easy enough to fall into complacency and take good health, family, friends and life in general for granted. Don’t. None of those are a given. No matter what, we can choose to feel grateful, even in the midst of struggles. Something positive can come from negative. Life brims with reasons to feel grateful. I am.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers! I am grateful for all of you, for your support, for your friendship, for the light you shine in my life.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
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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