Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Nature makes us kin as spring emerges in Minnesota April 24, 2024

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Green is slowly tipping trees, coloring the ground as we bridge into spring. This hillside scene was photographed in Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

THIS TIME OF YEAR in Minnesota—this early spring—everything appears more vibrant. At least to my winter weary eyes. My eyes, which have viewed mostly muted shades of brown and gray for too many months, can’t get enough of this landscape edging with color.

Bold blue skies blanket River Bend’s prairie, which will soon be lush with new growth. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Intense green in buds and lush lawns, thriving with recent rains and then sunshine and warming day-time temps, layer the landscape. Sometimes the sky is such a bold blue that my eyes ache with the beauty of it all. Green against blue, the natural world a poem, a painting, a creative story.

Buds emerge against the backdrop of the creek at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Like most Minnesotans, I find myself emerging, getting outdoors more, immersing myself in nature. Not that I don’t spend time outside in winter. But now, in late April, I’m out more often.

The Straight River twists through River Bend Nature Center, winding through Faribault to connect with the Cannon River. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Parks and trails and the local nature center draw me into woods, along prairie, aside replenished wetlands and ponds, by rivers and creeks. Even a walk through a neighborhood to observe tulips flashing vivid red and yellow pleases me. There’s so much to take in, to delight in as this season unfolds.

Inspirational signs are scattered throughout River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,” reads a quote from William Shakespeare printed on a memorial plaque placed on a bench at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault. I’m no Shakespearean scholar, but I interpret that to mean nature connects us.

Turtles galore lined logs at River Bend’s Turtle Pond on a recent sunny afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

That happened recently at the Turtle Pond. I paused to photograph three turtles lining a log, still as statues in the afternoon sunshine. Then a passing friend noticed and asked what I saw. And then he pulled out his cellphone to photograph. And then the photographer who was shooting senior photos on the boardwalk bridge over the pond, noticed the turtles, too. We were, in that moment, kin in nature, touched by the countless turtles perched on logs in the water.

This bridge spans a creek in Falls Creek County Park, leading to hiking trails in the woods on one end and an open grassy area on the other. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Nature also connected me with others at Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault. A family picnicking by the park shelter prompted memories of long ago picnics there with my growing family. I walked over to tell the young parents how happy I was to see them outdoors, grilling, enjoying the beautiful spring day with Ezra in his Spider-Man costume and Millie in her stroller. Nature makes us kin.

Wildflowers are blooming, including these at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

People simply seem nicer, kinder, more open to conversation when they’re outdoors. It’s as if the wind whispers only good words into our thoughts. It’s as if clouds disperse to reveal only sunny skies. It’s as if sounds are only those of silence or of birds, not of anger and hostility. Nature calms with her voice, her presence.

Water mesmerizes as it flows over stones in a clear-running creek at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

I love to stand aside a burbling creek, to hear water rushing over rocks. In that moment, I hear only the soothing, steady rhythm of music and none of the noise of life. Peace, sweet peace, consumes me.

Trails at Falls Creek County Park are packed dirt, narrow, rugged, uneven and sometimes blocked by fallen trees. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

The same goes for walking within nature. Trees embrace me. Wildflowers show me beauty. Dirt beneath my soles connects me to the earth, filling my soul.

On a recent afternoon at River Bend, geese searched the prairie for food. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

And then there are the creatures. The Canadian geese wandering the prairie, searching for food, their long necks bending, pilfering the dried grass while I dodge the droppings they’ve left along the pathway. They are fearless, a lesson for me in standing strong.

Deer at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Deer gather, then high-tail away when they grow weary of me watching them. They’ve had enough, even if I haven’t.

A nesting mallard hen and drake, nearly camouflaged on a wetland pond at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

And at the pond, mallards nest. Unmoving. Determined. Heads folded into feathers. Settled there among dried stalks, water bold blue, reflecting the sky. Spring peepers sing a symphony of spring. It is a scene, a performance that holds me.

Rustic signage, which I love, marks landmarks and trails inside River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Shakespeare was right. “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Learning more about The Faribault Dakota from a local historian April 12, 2024

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Jeff Jarvis shows an artifact while talking about the Dakota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

“WE’RE ALL CONNECTED. We’re all one.” Those closing words by local historian and artist Jeff Jarvis as he ended an hour-long presentation on “The Faribault Dakota” at Books on Central Thursday evening resonate. I’ve long been geographically-connected to Indigenous Peoples, first in my native Redwood County and now in Rice County. But Jarvis’ definition of connection stretches well beyond geography to the connection we all share simply via our humanity.

Jarvis, who is also an artist and graphic designer, handed out this mini guidebook at Thursday’s presentation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

Jarvis spoke to a standing room only crowd packed into the Rice County Area United Way used bookstore on Faribault’s Central Avenue. The third speaker in the popular literary event series hosted by the bookshop since its fall opening, his talk was more history than literary. Interest ran high.

My interest in the Dakota traces back to the southwestern Minnesota prairie, where I grew up between the Upper and Lower Sioux Indian Reservations. Today the word “community,” references these homes of the Mdewakanton Dakota. When I moved to Rice County 42 years ago, I moved onto land once inhabited by the Wahpakute Dakota. But it wasn’t until I listened to Jarvis speak that I learned even more about the place I initially called home on the southeastern tip of Cannon Lake west of Faribault.

An Indigenous Peoples exhibit at the Rice County Historical Society. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)

Long before fur traders and settlers moved to this region of southern Minnesota, the Dakota called this land home, typically living along the area’s lakes and rivers, including the Cannon. I knew this; I’ve attended many presentations on the Dakota by local historians. But I wasn’t aware that the former Ackman Store, the rental home where Randy and I lived for 2 ½ years after our 1982 marriage, was near the site of a trading post opened by fur trader and town founder Alexander Faribault.

Native American artifacts found in Rice County and displayed at the Rice County Historical Society. These are not the artifacts shown by Jarvis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)

Jarvis asked me after his presentation whether I saw ghosts while living there. I didn’t. And in a conversation with Lou Ackman, who grew up and lived along Cannon Lake and loaned Indian artifacts for Jarvis to show Thursday evening, I learned that people often searched the Ackmans’ farm fields for artifacts.

When Randy and I moved into Faribault, our geographic connection to Indigenous Peoples continued. We purchased a house below Wapacuta (sic) Park, where we still live today. It was upon this now park land that the Dakota placed their dead, (wrapped in buffalo robes or blankets) upon scaffolding until later burial. Jarvis also shared that the Dakota sometimes suspended wrapped bodies from trees to catch the spirits in the windy hilltop location prior to burial 1-2 years later. I’d never heard this prior to Thursday.

Peace Park, an unmarked Dakota cemetery near Buckham Memorial Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

But I was aware that Peace Park, a triangle of land near Buckham Memorial Library, is an Indian burial grounds. Jarvis termed it an unfenced and unrecognized cemetery marked by a faith-based WW II monument and nothing indicating this is sacred ground of the Dakota. Several bodies were discovered buried there in 1874, he said, not wanting to delve deeper into that troubling topic at Thursday’s event.

Jarvis covered a lot more in his one-hour presentation. Most I knew. Some I didn’t. I always appreciate learning local history, especially about the 300-400 Dakota who relocated from Cannon Lake to live in elm bark huts and teepees in the area along the Straight River from Division Street to the wastewater treatment plant.

The community of Faribault, Jarvis said, had/has a lot of color and was/is “a beckoning place” to many peoples. He referenced the Indigenous Peoples of yesteryear and the immigrants of today. “We’re all connected. We’re all one,” Jarvis said. He’s right.

One of two rainbows arches over Faribault Thursday evening. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling April 2024)

As I stepped outside the bookshop after Jarvis’ talk, cloudy skies opened to reveal stunning double rainbows—a symbol of promise and of hope. A symbol that we all live under the same sky, that we’re all connected.

FYI: To learn more about Jeff Jarvis’ work on the local Faribault Dakota Project, click here.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Signs & sloths.” Say that thrice. April 11, 2024

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A sign in the produce section of a Faribault grocery store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

I’M DRAWN TO SIGNS. Business signs. Roadside signs. Homemade signs. Nearly all signs, except political signage, attract my interest. The campaign signs I can do without, especially those that are in place too early and well beyond allowable time-frames (as in my neighborhood). But I digress.

Perhaps it’s the creative in me that leads my eyes to appreciate the artistry of signs. I consider fonts, color, design, art—all the pieces that come together in conveying a message. Sometimes the individual parts work. Other times, I’m left wondering.

That’s exactly how I felt upon viewing a sign recently in the produce department of a local grocery store. It was the sloth art which caught my eye. I’ve always thought sloths to be ugly-cute. Except for their sharp claws, they appear cuddly. I just want to wrap one in a hug, feel its long, furry arms embracing me.

Considering the hand-drawn grocery store sloth art snagged my interest, the sign accomplished its original intent—to make me look. But I felt confused. What’s the connection between a leaf, twig, bud-eating sloth and vegetables in a produce section? There is none, as far as I can determine. The slow-moving mammal eats neither corn nor Brussels sprouts. I do.

And sloths live in the tropical rainforests of Central and South America, far from the cold and snow of Minnesota, which can feel tropical in the heat and humidity of summer. Sloths can be found in Minnesota hanging on trees inside the Tropical Encounters exhibit at Como Park Zoo and Conservatory in St. Paul. Perhaps Chloe from Como inspired the grocery store artist. Who knows?

Whatever the story behind the produce section sloth sign, I appreciated it. But not enough to purchase corn or Brussels sprouts on this April day in southern Minnesota.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Reaching Orpheus,” a must-see original play about grief, loss & relationships April 5, 2024

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Promo for the world premiere of “Reaching Orpheus,” opening Friday, April 5, in Faribault. (Promo credit: Paradise Center for the Arts)

EIGHT MONTHS. How long has it been since you lost a loved one? For Alex, a lead in the play “Reaching Orpheus,” it’s been only eight months since she tragically lost her husband. For me, it’s been one week and four days since my sister’s husband, my brother-in-law Dale, died of cancer.

Thursday evening I attended the dress rehearsal of “Reaching Orpheus,” a drama scripted and directed by Dan Rathbun of Owatonna. The six-member cast debuts Rathbun’s third original play this evening at the Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault. When I settled into my theater seat, I brought the raw emotions of new grief.

Alex (Innana Antley) and Ian (Dean Lamp) interact during a scene inside Wonky Leg Brewery. (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

The seasoned and talented cast brings that and much more to the stage as they share the universal experiences of grief, of loss. How we handle it. How we react to it. How we begin to live again in the face of deep loss. It’s there, all there, unfolding in dialogue inside a family brewery and in the mountains of Colorado. As director Rathbun writes in his director’s notes, “Rock climbing is an excellent metaphor for the struggle with grief.”

Alex and Sean (Samuel Temple), an engaged couple in real life, perform together for the first time in lead roles. (Photo credit Amber Holven)

Like Alex, we all struggle to climb our way out of grief. Just as Sean, who plays another lead role and who has experienced the tragic death of his sister, Sara, does. Sean runs the brewery with his father and also teaches mountain climbing.

This is a play in which any of us could perform the roles, portray the emotions. Not because all of us are skilled actors and actresses—most of us aren’t—but rather because we have all gone through the challenges shared on stage.

Playwright Rathbun and his cast of six cover the stages of grief, of loss: anger, denial, guilt, regrets, a desire to handle things on our own, escape… So much. So authentic. So relatable.

Certain lines imprinted upon me. Alex, who claims, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She’s not.

Friends Alex and Abby (Jessica Bastyr). (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

And then her intense, well-meaning friend Abby, who says, “I’m happy to help.” She wants to help, to fix things, to make everything better for Alex. She doesn’t. Not initially.

And then there’s Ian, Sean’s dad, who follows the coping path of picking himself up, dusting himself off and going on with life after his daughter’s death, all the while ignoring his feelings and his volatile relationship with his son.

Sean tucks his feelings inside, until he slowly begins to open up to Alex, whom he’s teaching to mountain climb. Their conversations include phrases we’ve all heard, thought, spoken or written in the midst of grief: “I know how you feel.” I’m so sorry for your loss.” “It’s exhausting to be the strong one.”

Alex and James (Jason Meyer) in a tender moment. (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

Even James, Alex’s deceased husband, and Sara, Sean’s dead sister (played by Paula Jameson), offer their observations and thoughts in several scenes. There’s value in hearing their perspectives, too.

This thought-provoking play offers so much. Even humor. We all need laughter in the heaviness of loss. And we all need each other in the heaviness of grief. We all need to think, too, about how we respond to grief, the often trite sympathies we offer, the words we say that perhaps hurt more than comfort.

Beyond that, the playwright reminds us, via Sean, “…to tell people how much they mean to us every day.” Sean suggests we hold funerals before a person dies. That, too, I understand as I think back to my own mother and how we celebrated her 80th birthday nine years before her January 2022 death. I remember the family and friends who packed a small town community hall to honor my beloved mom. She felt so cherished and loved. I remember, too, my last visit with my brother-in-law, 3 ½ weeks before his March 25 death. He was well enough yet to sit up, engage in conversation, share memories. It was a good visit.

And today I think of a dear friend, bed-ridden, in hospice and dying of cancer. Her family, even through their pain, has opened their home to everyone, anyone, who wants to see their loved one. Each time I see my friend, deliver a meal to her family, I stand by her bedside, tell her, “I love you.” We laugh. We cry. And we never part without kisses placed upon each other’s cheeks.

Alex climbs the mountain, physically and emotionally. (Photo credit: Amber Holven)

This is grief. This is loss. This is love. “Reaching Orpheus” brings that all onto the stage. Deep and real, like the mountains we all must climb, have climbed.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

More than just mannequins in a Faribault shop April 2, 2024

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Joyful mannequin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

AMONG THE TRANS-SIBERIAN ORCHESTRA TOUR and other t-shirts, the refurbished shoes, the hats, the colorful purses, the VHS tapes, the stereo and even the television set playing in black-and-white, they stood out. The dark-skinned mannequins, joyfully jubilant.

I happened upon the pair after popping into Closet Sale, a recently-opened thrift and secondhand shop in downtown Faribault. Inside the cozy space at 103 Central Avenue, they stood, mouths stretched wide as if to shout, “Welcome!” or perhaps, “Hey, you, stop and look!”

No matter what I imagined their words to be, I was drawn to the two. Drawn by their poses. Drawn by their expressions. And drawn by their skin color. I don’t recall ever seeing a black mannequin in a local store, even though Faribault is home to many people whose skin tone is anything but white.

Love the vivid LEGO glasses on this mannequin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

Upon seeing the extroverted pair, I felt as happy as they appeared. They had character. Spirit. Personality. Their bold over-sized glasses added fashion flair. They seemed the creative type—perhaps musicians or painters of vivid abstracts or performers.

I recognize that’s a lot to take from two store mannequins. I offer no apologies. To me, the duo are more than plastic models showcasing merchandise. They represent my culturally diverse community, including the man who runs Closet Sale. He’s Juan Pablo Zuñiga Navarro, native of Chile.

I appreciate diversity of ownership in Faribault’s historic district. Today’s downtown core is no longer just that of white ownership. Those of Hispanic and Somalian ethnicity also now run businesses along and bordering Central Avenue. We’ve come full circle. Immigrants from many countries, all speaking different languages and with their own customs, faiths and dress, settled this city. Set up shop. Crafted shoes. Built furniture. Brewed beer. Sold dry goods. And much more. All to make a better life for themselves and their families in the land of opportunity.

Just like yesterday, the immigrants of today are working hard to achieve the American dream. Many have escaped war-torn countries, violence, extreme poverty. I recognize that. So I welcomed Juan Pablo to Faribault, told him, “I’m happy to have you here!” I am. And I’m happy also to have those two spirited mannequins, who welcomed me into Juan Pablo’s shop. Joyfully. Exuberantly.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Lion or lamb March 25, 2024

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Photos by wildlife photographer Dave Angell, exhibited previously at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2023)

MARCH ROARED INTO MINNESOTA like a lion this past weekend. Louder in some parts of our state, like in Minneapolis northward. And quieter in other parts, like here in Faribault.

Snow falls under grey skies Sunday afternoon in my backyard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

We got only a few inches of snow in my community. I think. It’s difficult to measure in a spring storm that mixes heavy snow, light snow, wet snow, sleet and rain. Yes, it’s been quite a mix of precip. But I can assuredly tell you that the once barren landscape is layered in fresh snow under grey, drippy skies.

Snow falls, layering patio lights, fence and evergreens Sunday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

The Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport recorded 8.2 inches of snow, the biggest snowfall of the season. They can have it, although I’m sure Minnesotans attempting to fly out for warm spring break destinations did not appreciate all the flight delays and cancellations on Sunday.

Snow creates an interesting black-and-white grid on my patio bricks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

Other than attending church services early Sunday morning and stepping onto the back stoop to take a few photos, I stayed inside all day. It was an ideal “sprinter” day (as my friend Gretchen aptly terms this season) to settle in with a good book. I’m reading The Violin Conspiracy, a novel by Brendan Slocumb centering on a gifted Black violinist. It’s a riveting, emotional read. Sometimes I wanted to roar like a lion at the unfairness, the prejudice, the challenges that thread through this book. I’m half-way through the novel.

A few more lions, but mostly lambs, have been added to this March calendar at Buckham Memorial Library since I photographed it on March 16. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

Lion. Lamb. That applies to life, to books, to the month of March.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2016 from Shepherd’s Way Farm, rural Nerstrand)

If I have a choice, I’ll choose a gentle lamb. I dislike conflict. I dislike sprinter storms that create travel woes, that require snow removal. But often we have no choice. Weather and life roar in like a lion and we face the challenges. Sometimes with fear. Sometimes with bravery. However we react, we are the stronger for having faced the lion. More empathetic. More compassionate. Less afraid. And that is the lesson of March.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“In every walk with nature…” March 20, 2024

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Leaping across a path near the parking lot at River Bend Nature Center in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2013)

THEY LEAPT LIKE BALLERINAS across the dirt trail, white tutu tails flashing.

They were a herd of 11 deer sighted recently at Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center. I stood on Raccoon Trail aside Randy simply watching. One after the other they leapt with such grace, such practiced precision.

I photographed these deer at River Bend in April 2022, not far from where we sighted 16 deer on March 13. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)

Only moments earlier, as we hiked down Arbor Trail on the nature center’s northeast side, Randy touched my arm, motioning me to stop. There, ahead of us, across the intersecting dirt path, several deer lingered in lowland grasses. I didn’t initially see them, my distance vision not all that acute. But eventually I spotted the camouflaged deer.

Rustic signs mark trails at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)

And then we saw more in the distance, nearer the Prairie Loop. There, barely visible behind trees.

A sense of wonderment, of awe, of just wanting to take in the scene before me overtook my spirit. Such moments in nature deserve full attention. We watched while two men walked right past us, unaware of the nearby deer so engaged were they in conversation.

We waited, whisper-quiet. Watching. Then the deer moved, ambling along the edge of tall dried grasses, staying parallel to the trail. Soon more deer emerged from a stand of trees and trailed the first traveling troupe. It was a sight, the endless stream of deer moving east.

Our attention turned that direction, toward the deer, one by one, long-leaping over Raccoon Trail, into the woods, up the hill, toward the prairie. We started counting. One, two, three…all the way to eleven. Only when the last deer exited the stage did we dare move, so mesmerized were we by the performance.

Inspirational quotes like this are spread throughout River Bend. I especially love this one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2019)

Randy and I resumed our hike, following Raccoon Trail until the biting wind of the March evening prompted us to turn back. By that time we were talking again or walking in comfortable silence. I wished aloud that I had my 35 mm camera with me. I’ve never been this near so many deer at River Bend. Eleven. But perhaps it was better I was without my camera so I could focus on the moment rather than on focusing and framing images.

Camouflaged deer among the prairie grasses of River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)

Then, back at the intersection of Raccoon and Arbor Trails, Randy alerted me to more deer. Five this time. Standing statute still, without stage fright. Watching us. Us watching them in a stare-down. I wondered which of us would move first. Wildlife or human.

This sign posted in a kiosk along Raccoon Trail reminds visitors that deer and other wildlife, are just that, wildlife. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

I ooohed over the cute babies, last year’s fawns. Even if deer are dreadful when darting onto roadways and unwanted when dining on garden flowers and vegetables, I appreciate them in their natural habitat. This is their home, their stage, this land of tall grasses and woods. Here they walk with elegance. Here they leap with the grace of seasoned ballet dancers. Here they give me pause to stop, to listen to the trill of red-winged blackbirds as we watch each other—deer and human—in the fading light of a March evening at River Bend.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, the sweetness & beauty of almost-spring in Faribault February 26, 2024

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A DQ Peanut Buster Parfait. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WEEKS OUT FROM THE SPRING EQUINOX, The Little DQ of Faribault opened for the season with its usual opening weekend special of Peanut Buster Parfaits.

Randy and I, if we remember, stop by for ours each February. We not only like the ice cream treat layered with peanuts and hot fudge, but we also celebrate unshuttering of the small walk-up/drive-up Dairy Queen as the unofficial start of spring in our southern Minnesota community of some 24,400.

We also appreciate a bargain, the parfaits discounted to $2.49 this past weekend as they are for the DQ’s October closing. Last autumn we missed out on final weekend parfaits by two vehicles. At the drive-up window, after we’d patiently waited in line, the DQ employee told us they’d just run out of ice cream. Argh. The early bird gets the worm. Or, in this case, the ice cream.

But on Sunday afternoon, there was ice cream aplenty at the DQ along Faribault’s Lyndale Avenue. And only two vehicles crept ahead of our van to the drive-up window. We would get our pre-spring equinox parfaits.

Just as we placed our treats in cup holders, the sun broke through a previously mostly cloudy day. We considered momentarily sitting outside at a DQ patio table to eat our treats. But the noisy location at the intersection of two busy state highways is not particularly enjoyable. So we headed to a park near our house, settling onto a picnic table next to the playground and soccer field.

Picnic tabletop message. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

Before I even sat, I noticed words printed upon the tabletop: You all are Beautiful. Now I don’t condone graffiti, but I do value positive and uplifting messages in public places. Those words tasted as sweet as my ice cream treat.

As I settled in, the sun warming my back, a slight breeze cooled the afternoon temp of 49 degrees. I reminded myself this was only February 25 and atypical weather in Minnesota. We have had an unusually warm and nearly snow-less winter here. Despite a bit of a chill, it was a beautiful day to be outdoors, under the blue sky.

River Bend offers a diverse landscape of woods and prairie. As a prairie native, I especially love the dried prairie grasses, like this singular stem photographed two years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2022)

Prior to picking up our parfaits, Randy and I hiked at River Bend Nature Center to offset the calories we were about to consume. Or so we told ourselves. Now here we were, spooning way too many calories and too much sodium into our bodies. But sometimes you gotta forget the 710-calorie count, the too much sugar and salt, and indulge. We did.

As Randy held his parfait cup with his winter-gloved hand, I braved the cold against my skin and then worked through an ice cream headache. The faint beat of drums and of music carried across the park, presumably from a gathering down and across the street. We’d watched party-goers arrive and I momentarily considered crashing the house party of these acquaintances.

But I had my Peanut Buster Parfait. I had blue sky. I had sunshine. I had Randy beside me. I had people to watch. Young families arrived to play on the playground and soccer field. Ball and bike. And smiles to match that message: You all are Beautiful.

Beautiful. That word fit the moment on a beautiful February Sunday afternoon in southern Minnesota when I tasted, savored, almost-spring.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

February snow in a mostly snowless Minnesota winter February 16, 2024

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The unshoveled sidewalk in front of my house stretches before me mid-morning Thursday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

VALENTINE’S DAY BROUGHT our first measurable snowfall since Halloween in this unusual snow-drought winter here in Minnesota. I haven’t missed snow, especially after last winter’s exceptional record snowfall that caused even the hardiest of Minnesotans to wonder if the snow would ever end.

A winter with minimal snow makes life all-around easier. I doubt anyone living in our state would deny that. It’s easier to navigate without snow-packed roads and sidewalks. Randy’s commute to work on icy roads Thursday morning took 50 minutes rather than the typical 32. And no snow also means less work as in no snow to blow, blade or shovel.

I used my new Snow Trax for the first time Thursday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2024)

Thursday morning I had about three inches of snow to clear, not much really by Minnesota standards. I bundled up, starting by pulling long johns on under jeans. Then I layered a fleece-lined sweatshirt over a tee and flannel shirt topped by a lightweight jacket. I clamped Snow Trax onto snow boots. A stocking cap and mittens completed the ensemble.

I headed out the back door into the garage to grab the scoop shovel and the wide-bladed plastic snow shovel. I knew it would take both to effectively clear snow.

Snow layers my neighbor’s evergreens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

It was a beautiful morning with a white landscape set against a backdrop bold blue sky. Snow outlined branches, layered evergreen boughs and seedheads. And the sun glittered diamonds across the snow. Anytime the sun shines in winter, I feel better. There’s something about sunshine that offsets even the coldest temperatures, the deepest snow, causing spirits to soar.

My distorted shadow on the snow-covered lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

As I pushed and scooped the snow from the sidewalk and driveway, I felt my stomach, leg and back muscles tightening. I worked at a steady pace, not pushing myself. Soon I found myself overheated. I unzipped my jacket, then the sweatshirt. I felt like I was sweating, even with a temp below 20 degrees. Shoveling snow, even if only a few inches, is a work out.

Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Melding with the scrape of the shovel and the click of studs on my Snow Trax was the splash of tires on the wet roadway. In February, the sun is strong enough to melt remaining ice and snow from hard surfaces cleared of initial snow. I wanted to get the snow off the sidewalk and driveway so the sun could melt the thin layer of ice and snow I couldn’t completely shovel away.

Remnants of a floral bouquet I received three weeks ago lie atop the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I labored an hour shoveling snow, finishing on the south-facing patio. Randy grills year-round, so our patio always needs to be free of snow. As I pushed snow, I remembered the bouquet of mostly dead flowers I’d tossed out two days earlier. I pulled them from under the snow, laid them atop a patio table. The purples, pinks and greens contrasted against the virgin white snow, visually pleasing me.

On this Thursday, this day after Valentine’s Day, I didn’t mind the snow all that much. It felt, in a way, like the first snowfall of the season. Magical. Beautiful. And definitively more like Minnesota ought to appear in mid-February.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling