Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

My not-so-royal shopping experience June 25, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:11 AM
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DID YOU REALIZE that Walmart has a wedding department? I didn’t…until last night.

While my husband shops for weed killer, I am several aisles away browsing the mish mash of merchandise in the bargain aisle. I am prowling for items that will make suitable game prizes for a family reunion. (Bear with me here; I’m getting to that matrimonial merchandise.) Think humorous here, not necessarily wonderful, prizes.

I finger placemats, examine drinking glasses, grab a small bag of plastic compasses. “Do you think these really work?” I ask my husband, who by this time has found the weed killer, walked half way across the store for an ink cartridge and returned to the discount section.

“Well, if there weren’t so many, I could probably tell,” he says, flipping the compass package in his palm. He tosses the bag back onto the shelf.

I can see he’s getting a bit impatient with me, although I explain that my shopping was stalled by my visit with friends Michelle and Eric, who are also scanning this section.

Half-way down the aisle, I spot a jeweled tiara. I pick up the crown which, except for a tiny, missing center “diamond,” will make the perfect pretty prize for the woman who brings the most beautiful bridesmaid’s dress to the reunion.

We’re going with a wedding theme at the family gathering. Long story on that, but suffice to say that we are celebrating the 20th wedding anniversary of my cousin Jeff and his fictional northwoods bride, Janet. Jeff’s “marriage,” primarily the announcement of said event on April Fool’s Day 1990, is the stuff of family legends. But I digress.

This hefty tiara, which is no cheaply-made, plastic version for some princess’ birthday party, seems quite appropriate for the planned theme. But, as delighted as I am with this find, I encounter one problem. The tiara is unmarked—no bar code, no discount price sticker, no nothing—and there are no other crowns on the shelves.

This spells Cinderella-type trouble. I know that upon reaching the cash register, I will have to wait and wait and wait until someone does a price check. If I’m lucky, that someone will not possess the personality of a wicked step sister.

I am not lucky.

“Did you get this in the wedding department?” asks the clipboard-carrying supervisor who has taken her sweet old time responding to the cashier’s call for assistance.

“Uh, no, I got it in the bargain aisle. I didn’t know you have a wedding section,” I reply.

“Did you know it’s missing a jewel?” she asks, seeming hopeful that I will vanish.

“Yeah, but I don’t care,” I say. “I want it.”

“Were there any others back there like this?” she questions.

I want to say, but don’t, “How stupid do you think I am?” Rather I simply reply, “No.”

Behind me, the line of customers grows. “You might want to go to another check-out lane,” I tell the woman behind me. “This could take awhile.”

“That’s OK. I’m waiting for my husband,” she smiles.

Beside me, my husband fidgets. “Let’s just go,” he states, his voice edged with impatience. He’s not smiling.

“No, I really want this. Don’t be so crabby,” I say, foregoing an explanation of why I need this tiara. He’s tired and not in the mood for an explanation.

My fear now is that the treasured crown, since it originated in the wedding department, will cost more than I am willing to pay.

“Can’t I just have it for a dollar?” I ask the clipboard-carrying supervisor.

“I can’t do that,” she glares.

OK then, sorry I asked, I think to myself.

Eventually, she gives me a price of $3.50. It’s more than I want to pay. But since I’ve made my husband and all those Walmart customers wait, I buy the tiara.

Just for good measure, when we arrive home, I place the crown upon my head and wave a slow, lazy princess wave, first with my right arm and then with my left, turning from side to side as if greeting my subjects.

“I’m Miss Vesta,” I say, referring to my hometown, site of the upcoming family reunion.

“You don’t live in Vesta any more,” my husband notes.

He’s right. But for one night, this night, I deserve this moment. I have, after all, overcome so many obstacles to acquire this crown.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Terrifying tornado tales from Minnesota June 24, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:22 AM
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ONE WEEK AGO TODAY, numerous tornadoes ravaged Minnesota, killing three, destroying hundreds of homes and injuring many.

This morning, thankfully, weather conditions are calm with low humidity and no indications that more storms could develop.

Even so, we Minnesotans remain unsettled, still reeling from the destruction wreaked upon this land, and upon our psyches, only seven days ago.

Memories of such devastation linger for years, if not decades. Just last night, while working on a trivia contest for an upcoming reunion, I am paging through a family history book when I come upon a story written by my Uncle Merlin, the family historian.

He writes of an F5 tornado (the most powerful) which decimated the small southwestern Minnesota farming community of Tracy on June 13, 1968, killing nine. At the time, Merlin, his wife and their two young children lived about 20 miles away just outside of Lamberton three towns directly east of Tracy along U.S. Highway 14.

My uncle had just returned home from work when the weather turned ominous. “We were watching for tornadoes as the conditions were right,” he writes. “Then to the southwest we saw it—a huge tornado. As we watched, we saw large amounts of debris lifted into the sky—we thought it hit Revere and about that time Iylene (his wife) took one-year-old Janelle and I took Ronda down into the basement. About an hour later we found out that this tornado hit Tracy causing a large amount of destruction and costing several lives.”

Reading my uncle’s story, I feel his anxiety as he rushes his young family to safety, fearing the twister is within miles of his home.

Then I flip the page of the history booklet and read of Merlin’s first tornado encounter, on today’s date—June 24—in1953 or 1954. Although only about 10 years old when a twister struck his childhood farm south of Vesta, he clearly remembers the details and that day, his sister Elvira’s wedding anniversary.

“The sky turned all kinds of colors and we kids were really scared,” my uncle remembers. “My dad and brothers were out doing the chores and milking the cows. Harold (his brother) got caught in the hog barn as it hit and my dad and one of my brothers had to hold the double doors of the barn closed on one end and two of my other brothers did the same on the other end.”

His words draw me in, placing me there in the barn with my grandfather and uncles as they hunker down, struggling against the fierce winds to hold the barn doors in place.

“There was one loud crash and then stillness,” Merlin continues. “My sister Jeanette looked out the north window of the house and shouted, ‘Mom, the whole grove is gone.’ That was really close.”

The tornado spared the house and farm buildings, but destroyed the stand of trees sheltering the farm site on the flat, open prairie of southwestern Minnesota.

Almost three decades later a twister struck nearby, on the farm where I grew up, taking down a silo, tossing wagons about in the field, ripping a railing from the house… Even though I was grown then and no longer living at home, the psychological impact of that storm still remains.

I fear tornadoes, a fear imprinted upon me after viewing the devastation wreaked upon Tracy in 1968 and then reinforced all those years later on my home farm. I sometimes dream about tornadoes.

Yet, I know my dreams, my feelings, are nothing compared to those Minnesotans who experienced the destructive tornadoes of a week ago. For them, nightmares are reality.

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IF YOU HAVE A TORNADO story you would like to share, please submit a comment to this post.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An asparagus bouquet June 19, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:40 AM
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Fresh asparagus from Twiehoff Gardens in Faribault.

LIKE MOST WOMEN, I love flowers. So I appreciate when my husband unexpectedly, for no reason other than “just because,” picks up a bouquet for me.

The same goes for asparagus.

Right about now you’re likely wondering how I can compare an asparagus spear to a flower.

One, you say, is romantic and a symbol of love.

The other, you argue, is a vegetable, nothing other than food to consume.

However, I don’t define the two quite so concisely. I contend that asparagus, like flowers, can, indeed, express love.

My husband recently proved that. “I have a surprise for you,” he says, handing me a small bundle packaged in a plastic shopping bag.

I peek inside. “Asparagus!” I exclaim before taking his face between my hands and planting a big kiss upon his lips.

I am a happy wife.

He knows how much I have desired garden-fresh asparagus. So he has stopped at Twiehoff Gardens on his way home from work for the vegetable that will satisfy my yearning.

Asparagus may not be roses. But you can bet when I wash, dice, cook and eat that tasty spring treat, I am thinking of my husband and how very happy he has made me with $1 worth of asparagus.

Twiehoff Gardens along St. Paul Road in Faribault offers an abundance of fresh produce.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections, in words and photos, upon graduation June 10, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:41 AM
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A soon-to-be graduate walks down the hallway of Westbrook Walnut Grove High School one last time.

ALL ACROSS THIS COUNTRY, family, friends and faculty gather in hot, stuffy gymnasiums or auditoriums to celebrate high school and college graduations.

The honored students perch on hard folding chairs, fidgeting, sweating in their caps and gowns, some crying, others smiling, most simply wishing the ceremony over.

Speakers speak of friendships and memories, of lessons learned and lessons yet to be learned, of the past and of the future.

Mothers wipe away tears. Cameras flash. Applause rings out and choirs sing.

And then the graduates march, down the aisle, tassels swaying, smiles wide, into the waiting arms of those who love them enough to let them go.

My niece, Carlyn, left, and a classmate prior to graduation from Westbrook Walnut Grove High School.

Graduation gowns await graduates at WWG High School.

The guys hang out one last time before graduation ceremonies at WWG High School.

Family, friends and faculty gather in the WWG gym for graduation ceremonies.

A family member videotapes the WWG High School graduation ceremony Sunday afternoon in Westbrook.

WWG students await their diplomas.

A long line of family and friends forms to greet WWG graduates with flowers and hugs.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A mother’s thoughts as her daughter leaves for Argentina June 9, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:31 AM
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I TOSSED AND TURNED LAST NIGHT, as if wrestling alligators in my sleep, although I dreamed of white rats.

Twice I got up, once to pop an Ibuprofen that I hoped would loosen the muscles in my shoulders that felt like taut, knotted ropes.

The drug worked its magic, if but briefly. I awoke this morning with tension pain still sweeping across my shoulders.

I expect that ache to linger, at least until I hear from my Argentine-bound daughter. She leaves in several hours from the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport bound for Houston and then for Buenos Aires.

I’ve made her promise to contact me as soon as possible, to assure me she’s safely reached her destination.

You would think by now that I would be used to this footloose, fancy-free life my second daughter leads. She’s been to Argentina before, lived there for six months while studying abroad and doing mission work. Prior to that, she traveled domestically, beginning in high school.

But this time it’s different. She’s on her own, arriving in Buenos Aires without a defined living space, without a defined schedule of activities, without parameters set by a university. She’ll stay in a hostel for awhile until she finds an apartment.

She’ll be a working woman, interning as a public relations assistant with a company that offers walking tours of the Argentine capital.

I worry that she won’t come home. She’s a Spanish major who loves South America. But my daughter assures me that she purchased a two-way ticket.

The practical, sensible mother in me wants her to stay here, in Minnesota (heck, I’d even settle for the Midwest, even the U.S.), and find a good-paying job (even just a job) to repay the college loans that will come due later this year.

But I must let her go, to follow her dreams, to take this adventure, now while she’s young and free.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Ready to spread her wings and fly away, to Argentina (again) May 16, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:31 PM
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NOT ALL THAT MANY years ago, she was a little girl with an affinity for wearing skirts and hair ribbons. Today she is a young woman, shopping for business skirts. She wears her curly hair down now or, occasionally, up, minus the ribbons.

As a preschooler, she ran everywhere. Today she drives a sporty red car or walks to her destination.

Once she preferred to be alone, shut away in her toy room. Later, she grew to enjoy the company of friends, and even me.

In elementary school, her academic success began. She competed in a regional spelling bee every year she was eligible and brought home numerous ribbons and, one year, a trophy. Her dad still laughs about the time she asked him how to spell “silage.” He’s no speller.

Four years ago she graduated at the top of her Faribault High School class with a 4.0 grade point average and gave a commencement speech.

Smart. Sweet. Independent. Strong. A woman of faith.  She is my daughter.

On Saturday, Miranda, now all grown up at age 22, graduated with the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, centennial class. She earned a bachelor’s degree in Spanish and a double minor in International Studies and Communications Studies.

Miranda poses in front of the UWL hillside letters at the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse.

But that’s not all. She graduated with highest honors, which requires a 3.75 GPA or higher. In the College of Liberal Studies, her college, about 50 of the 459 graduates earned highest honors.

My daughter has, indeed, done well academically. I’m proud of her.

But I’m especially proud of her independent spirit. She is fearless, adventuresome. In a few weeks, Miranda leaves for a three-month public relations internship in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where she previously studied and did mission work for six months.

Yesterday, when we were packing her belongings, I coaxed her into sitting on my lap. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “I’m going to hold you like this for four months,” I said, pulling her even tighter. “Then you can’t leave.”

I, of course, didn’t mean it. Well, I sort of meant it. As a mother, I selfishly would like nothing more than for my daughter to live in or near Minnesota.

But as a mother, I also know that I must let her go to live her dreams, to be happy—wherever that may be.

Looking down on La Crosse from Grandad's Bluff. To the right is UWL, my daughter's home for four years.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Thoughts as I celebrate my 28th wedding anniversary May 15, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:29 AM
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TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO, 28 years seemed like forever.

I was not quite 26 then as I stood before the altar in a small Lutheran church in an equally small town and married the man I love.

Today, one rented lake cabin, several jobs, one house and three kids later, we are celebrating 28 years of marriage.

Of course, the years have brought much more than those major life changes. They have brought sorrow and laughter, trials and celebrations and, now, the advent of the golden years.

Through it all, Randy and I have been there for each other, which sounds so cliché. But we are a good team.

He balances my serious nature with his quirky humor. He makes me smile, even laugh.

He calms and steadies me when I need calm and steady.

He possesses an incredibly strong work ethic and faith.

Randy has always been supportive of me—as a stay-at-home mom, then as a mom and writer. For that I am grateful.

But mostly, I am thankful for the unconditional love of this man who has been my husband for 28 years.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Harold, Herschel, uh, I mean Haven, or whoever you are… May 13, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:35 AM
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A FEW DAYS AGO while cleaning my office, I came across an obituary I clipped from the local newspaper in late March. Typically, I am not in the habit of saving obits. But this one intrigued me.

You see, the deceased, 78-year-old Harold D. Bauer of Rochester, was one of 11 children born to Lawrence and Leona Bauer. Right about now you’re likely thinking, well, what’s so unusual about that, Audrey? Big families were the norm years ago. You would, of course, be correct in concluding that.

However, the oddity in this family of Bauers is the children’s names. All 11 offspring have names beginning with the letter “H.”

What were those parents thinking?

For anyone who has more than one child, you’ll understand.

While growing up, I could never comprehend how my mom could call me by the wrong name. “Lanae, dust the furniture,” she might say, looking directly at me. Sometimes she realized her mistake; most often not. Given I have five siblings, this name confusion happened frequently. On occasion, my mom even called me by one of my three brother’s names, the ultimate offense in my youthful opinion.

But when I became a mother of more than one, I finally understood just how easy it is to call a child by a sibling’s name. In haste or anger or frustration, I have blurted out the wrong name. And sometimes, my brain is so full of thoughts that the incorrect name simply trips off my tongue.

Now, imagine if you were Lawrence and Leona Bauer, parents of 11 kids with all those “H” names: Harold, Hazel, Hope, Henry, Homer, Haven, Helmer, Harris, Harlow, Herschel and Harriet.

Can you imagine the mix-ups in that household? And what about teachers who had to remember all those H. Bauer kids? Imagine marrying into the family and trying to remember which “H” went with which face. It couldn’t have been easy.

And how did Lawrence and Leona even come up with all those “H” names? You have to admit that a few names on the above list are unusual.

After I got over my initial interest in all those H. Bauers, I reread Harold D. Bauer’s obituary. He has three daughters, whose names all begin with…the letter “C.”

Cindy. Candace. Charise.

I know, I know, you thought I was going to say “H.”

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Joy in a memory garden April 27, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:16 AM
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Valentina's memory garden

MY FRIEND JOY lives up to her name.

Everything about her speaks to pure joyfulness. She’s always positive, happy, industrious, creating, caring, giving…

So Sunday, when I stop briefly at Joy’s house to shoot photos for a church project, I am taken with the evolving garden she is designing in honor of her granddaughter Valentina. With Joy, everything is a work in progress.

The memory garden, ringed with stones and rocks, is a testament to a grandmother’s love for the sweet baby girl who died two days after birth in 2006. Valentina’s twin, Samantha, lived.

Joy first showed me this developing memory garden several years ago. On this day, I am treated to a circle of blooming blue hyacinths and a cluster of blossoming white tulips. Also scattered in the hard soil are a few lonely white pansies. A white-budded tree hydrangea grows as a focal point inside the circle.

Joy’s garden, admittedly, needs some upkeep with dandelions and other weeds creeping into the space. But it’s easy to overlook that and focus on the love and thought that went into this small spot of earth.

My eyes gravitate to the word “COURAGE” that centers this garden.

“Why courage?” I ask.

Joy explains that Valentina means courage.

I marvel at how Joy crafted Brazilian agates into letters—C-O-U-R-A-G-E—carefully  placing the stones into concrete. I also marvel at how this determined grandmother and her son Dan, Valentina’s father, hauled hefty bags of Brazilian stones onto airliners and back to Minnesota so Joy could incorporate Valentina’s homeland into this memory garden.

There is so much love here, in this spot, in this earth. And even though Dan lives today in Brazil with his family, back in Minnesota, one grandmother holds close her precious granddaughter in a garden that exudes courage and joy.

Dandelions mingle with hyacinths in Valentina's memory garden. The rusted scissors adds interest. "I never throw anything away," Joy says.

Joy formed COURAGE from Brazilian stones.

Looking down into a cluster of blooming hyacinths.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, sweet Friday morning surprises April 23, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:19 AM
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A just-opened iris in my backyard.

I LOVE MORNINGS like this, which begin with simple surprises.

When I pull the shade on my south bedroom window, my eyes linger on a patch of yellow that wasn’t there yesterday. I grab my glasses and see that an iris is blooming.

Later, after I’ve hung my first load of laundry on the clothesline, I stroll over to the backyard flowerbed, to that spot of yellow, and admire the arching petals and the lavender beards that define this plant.

On my way back toward the house, I sidestep a hint of purple, a tiny wild violet peeking through the blades of grass.

Back inside, I settle in at my computer, open my e-mail and find an uplifting note from my friend Virgil. He’s caught up on my blog posts, he says, and adds, “fun reading the articles and I like the flower pictures!”

Virgil, like me, appreciates flowers. He’s a retired science teacher and a grower of Asiatic lilies and gladioli. I’ve, more than once, been the happy recipient of his floral bouquets.

I also open two forwards (typically I don’t open forwards) from Virgil—one a humorous piece about the English language and the other an inspirational story about a pro-golfer who, unlike Tiger Woods, is devoted to his cancer-stricken wife.

And then, as I’m still smiling at my friend’s messages, my teenage son gallops down the stairs. “Mom, can I have a hug?” he asks, already extending his gangly arms toward me. I nearly leap from my office chair, stretching my arms heavenward to embrace this growing child of mine.

As I wrap my arms around my 16-year-old, I relish the moment. He does not always welcome my hugs. But now, for this moment, this morning, I hold him close. I feel his body, still warm from the blankets that cocooned him through the night. I place a gentle mother’s kiss upon his cheek.

Then, before he leaves for school, my boy hugs me again, twice. I plant another kiss upon his left cheek. He slides his hand up, as he always does, and swipes his palm across his cheek, wiping away my kiss.

“I love you,” I say.

He turns, without a word. The door slams shut behind him.

Iris close-up

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling