Juvenile eagle atop a Suburban parked at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf, Faribault. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)
IT IS A SYMBOL OF FREEDOM. The bald eagle. And on this Fourth of July morning, Randy and I watched a juvenile eagle for some 20 minutes at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf in Faribault.
Bird whisperer Randy first spotted the large bird across the green atop a Suburban parked in a row of seven vehicles next to Mott Hall. From that distance, its identity was indistinguishable. We only knew that this was a large bird of prey.
We headed west, aiming to get a closer look while also keeping our distance. On the lawn outside Pollard Hall, just across the street from the bird’s vehicle hang-out, we watched for some 20 minutes.
Randy snapped photos with his phone. I’d left my Canon camera at home as this was simply supposed to be a walk around campus and a place to do my physical therapy exercises. Not a photo opp.
We studied, considered, debated. Hawk? Or juvenile eagle? In the end, based on shape, coloring, screeching voice and clumsiness, we decided that this was a juvenile eagle. It showed no fear of us while it flew down the row of vehicles onto the roofs of five mini vans and two Suburbans. When it reached the last vehicle, the Suburban nearest us, we crossed the street for a closer look. Randy snapped more pictures.
Eventually, the eagle took flight behind Mott Hall toward the woods. But then Randy would soon spot it again, this time in a tree with many dead branches. The eagle perched there, eating its late breakfast. A squirrel. I refused to look. I understand this is the natural world, but I’d rather not watch.
What started as just a routine walk on Faribault’s east side became so much more. An opportunity to observe America’s symbol of freedom up close on the Fourth of July.
This battery-powered T-Rex was my son’s toy. It roared, turned its head, moved its arms and flashed its red eyes. My grandkids were terrified of it at one time. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
IF YOU HAD JUST DISEMBARKED a roller coaster only to see a T-Rex chomping up the tracks and roaring towards you, would you trust that you would survive?
So what does this have to do with anything relevant to today and, well, to me? Lots.
Last week my vestibular rehab therapist changed things up a bit. He led me from our usual private meeting room down the hall to a more spacious room with a large screen TV, a table, chairs, toys, a dollhouse and some type of exercise equipment I couldn’t identify.
“Yeah, I get to play,” I exclaimed to Ryan.
WE’RE GOING TO DO WHAT?
He had other things in mind. “You’re going to ride a roller coaster,” he said. I looked at him in disbelief and then with fear as he pulled out a virtual reality headset.
“I don’t like roller coasters,” I stated. That is true. The last one I rode was nearly 50 years ago. The Woody at Arnold’s Park in Spencer, Iowa. They called it The Woody back then for a reason. Built in 1930, this is the 13th oldest wooden roller coaster in the world. And this amusement ride was, for me, absolutely terrifying as the cars clacked up and down and around the tracks.
I also have minimal exposure to VR, having tried my son’s headset once and experiencing great difficultly in navigating anything. Simply being in a virtual world proved uncomfortable and disorienting.
So when Ryan mentioned roller coaster and VR in the same sentence, I felt my angst rise. But I recognized that he was serious and that this was just one more effort to retrain my brain by exposing me to motion and to noise in an attempt to manage symptoms resulting from vestibular neuritis, Meniere’s Disease and peripheral sensory neuropathy.
REMIND ME, WHICH BUTTONS DO I PUSH?
Alright then. Ryan set up the computer program, tightened the headset on my head, then handed me the controls, instructing me on which buttons to push. He told me to point the laser at the triangle to start the ride. I couldn’t even manage that as my hands shook. I failed at multiple attempts to use the hand controls, so eventually my patient PT took over. Young people can manage tech stuff far better than aging Baby Boomers like me.
Soon I was on the dreaded roller coaster, riding up and down and all around while noise roared. It was a lot of visual and auditory stimuli as intended. Curves and the roar of a waterfall proved the most challenging. Almost immediately I asked to sit. But when I grew more comfortable, Ryan had me standing with my hand touching the back of a chair to help me feel grounded. I took multiple breaks.
OH, NO, THERE’S MORE!
When I thought a roller coaster ride was surprise enough, yet more awaited me. I soon noticed dinosaurs lurking in the background. Then a Tyrannosaurus separated from the herd and began chomping the track, moving at a ferocious pace directly towards me.
“My granddaughter would love this,” I said in the midst of all that chaos, then corrected myself. “Well, maybe not.” Isabelle, 7, loves dinosaurs but even this teeth-baring meat eater might scare her.
In the end, I survived. Both the T-Rex and the roller coaster. Ryan was pleased with my ability to mostly handle the stimuli. Now I wonder what he has planned for physical therapy tomorrow?
At the intersection of Minnesota State Highway 21 and Seventh Street in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
LOOK UP THE WORD “big” in my 2003 Webster’s New World Thesaurus (which really isn’t all that new), and I find the word “huge.” I am not surprised. These are synonyms, something the average person would likely understand.
But apparently not everyone recognizes the sameness. Like the person who recently posted a BIG HUGE SALE sign at a busy Faribault intersection.
Writer and English minor that I am, I noted the message redundancy. Then I took a photo through the windshield from the right passenger side of our 2005 Dodge Caravan (which is nearly as old as my thesaurus).
If anything, the sign creator accomplished his/her objective and that was to get passersby to take notice. I hope the sale was a BIG HUGE success.
Hy-Vee in Faribault grilled pork burgers outside its patio area on Thursday with a tractor parked nearby. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
I LUNCHED YESTERDAY with a guy from northern Rice County who farms and runs an auto body repair shop. The shop is Andy’s primary business with crop farming secondary. He rents out some of his acreage, tending only his alfalfa field. He has plenty of customers for his hay. Mostly people with horses and dairy goats, he said.
This massive tractor provided photo ops outside Faribault’s Hy-Vee grocery store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Before Thursday, I’d never met Andy. But I asked if Randy and I could join him at a patio table outside Faribault’s Hy-Vee. The grocer was serving free pork burgers, chips and bottled water as part of its “Feed the Farmers that Feed America” event. The Iowa-based supermarket chain is working with Feeding America-affiliated food banks to help end hunger. A donation jar was filling with bills.
A farm site north of Faribault, photographed from Interstate 35. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2023)
Events like this remind me just how important agriculture is to all of us. Without farmers, we’d be hard-pressed to feed ourselves. Or at least I would since I don’t have a garden or animals or anything except two broccoli plants started from seed by my 4-year-old grandson.
A tractor waits at a stoplight aside other traffic on busy Minnesota State Highway 21, just off Interstate 35 in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Events like this remind me also that agriculture is an important part of my community. Farm fields surround Faribault. Tractors rumble through town, sometimes past my house.
Parked at the Hy-Vee event, a corn (and beer) themed ATV. Guests enjoy free pork burgers on the patio. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Although I was raised on a crop and dairy farm, I don’t always consider how agriculture impacts us in our daily lives. Without farmers working the land, tending crops, the shelves at HyVee and other grocery stores would be empty. Farmers’ markets wouldn’t exist. And I’d be really hungry because, as much as I like broccoli, that’s not enough to quell my hunger.
Sign on the Oak Ridge Cemetery limestone crypt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
THEY ARE PLACES of sorrow, of history, of art, of beauty. Of stories, too. They are cemeteries.
Trees fill the historic Oak Ridge Cemetery in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Decades ago, as a child, I feared cemeteries, thinking about the bodies buried in caskets beneath the ground. The unexpected death of my paternal grandfather when I was not quite eight shaped my thoughts then of graveyards. But my thinking and perspectives changed as I aged until I felt comfortable walking in a cemetery. I had accepted death.
The natural beauty of Oak Ridge, especially the oaks, is one of the things I most appreciate. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
An informational sign about Levi Nutting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
It’s Faribault’s first cemetery, incorporated in 1857, five years after the town was founded. The death of his 26-year-old wife, Mary, on Christmas Day 1856 prompted Levi Nutting to lead founding of an official cemetery. Nutting was a man of prominence. As an early area settler, he helped shape his community, serving as mayor and Rice County commissioner. Nutting also held several state government offices, including that of a senator.
Nutting family grave markers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Levi and many other Nuttings lie buried beneath the soil at Oak Ridge among the oaks and spruce and maple. This place feels like a hilltop island of peacefulness. Not that it’s quiet here. But a sense of calm and serenity in this spot of remarkable natural beauty prevails.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
History also infuses Oak Ridge, not only in names on gravestones, but also on informational plaques scattered throughout the grounds.
The burial spot of a Civil War veteran, flagged for Memorial Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Civil War veteran Michael Cook’s marker details his death. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
There are a whole lot of long ago dates inscribed in stone. The first known burial here was in 1850, before cemetery incorporation. Men who fought in the Civil and Spanish American Wars lie here. So do legislators, business leaders, farmers, paupers, immigrants and more, according to the Oak Ridge website.
Loving words on a husband and wife’s tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
“IN THEIR DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED” reads the message on the headstone of Rodney A. Mott and Mary Ripley Mott.
Markers like this can be purchased for unmarked graves. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Hannah Jane Rockwell’s marker, installed through Oak Ridge’s Sponsor a Marker for an Unmarked Grave Program, simply lists her name, birth and death dates, and then the loving words, “Mother to 10.”
A message written in a notebook at Jeremy’s grave. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Jeremy J. Weber’s black tombstone, still shiny with newness, is surrounded by expressions of recent grief. The 34-year-old father of three died in 2021. A waterproof case includes a notebook for messages and memories. Words written therein are loving, heartbreaking.
Beautiful urn art graces a grave. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Grief is undeniably here. I read that, see that, feel that. But I also feel the love. These were individuals with families who loved them and whom they loved. These were individuals who were valued personally and/or professionally. They were, above all, human beings who held a special place on this earth.
Fitting for Oak Ridge, oak leaves on a tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Cemeteries reveal all of this, if only we take the time to walk among the tombstones, aged and new. Inscriptions, art, names, dates, memorabilia and flowers placed graveside all tell stories. That is the beauty within the boundaries of a cemetery like Oak Ridge, which rises high above a city founded 171 years ago, the place where Levi Nutting moved with his family in 1855, a year later his young wife dead.
The historic limestone pumphouse sits atop the hill, in the heart of the cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
This map shows a section of Oak Ridge’s lay-out. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
FYI: Oak Ridge accepts donations and welcomes volunteers to help with cemetery upkeep. Burial plots are for sale. And markers may be purchased for unmarked graves.
Missing tortoise poster. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
HOW DO YOU LOSE a tortoise? I don’t have the answer and didn’t call to ask. But on Faribault’s east side, Mary the tortoise has gone missing.
I spotted a sign recently for the disappearing reptile on the corner of Ravine Street and Sixth Avenue Northeast. I’ve seen many lost dog and cat posters in Faribault. But a tortoise? Never.
Of course, I instantly thought of the fable, “The Tortoise and the Hare,” in which the slow-moving but determined tortoise wins the race against the confident, boastful rabbit. While the hare naps, the tortoise keeps going. In the end, the loser realizes that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have been so mocking of the tortoise. It’s a good lesson for anyone. It’s OK to be confident, but not at the expense of putting down others.
Back to tortoises. Many years ago, one showed up on our driveway on a summer afternoon. What a surprise. No one expects an errant tortoise on their property. A cat or dog, yes. But an over-sized reptile, no.
My brave brave second daughter scooped that tortoise up, despite my motherly warning not to do so (hey, I didn’t know how the reptile would react), and carried it back home across busy Willow Street. How our neighbor’s tortoise escaped and then safely crossed the street still baffles me.
Just like Mary. What happened to her? And where, oh where, has that not-so-little tortoise gone?
Damage done to the boulevard. Our bedroom was in the direct path of an errant vehicle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
THE SQUEAL OF TIRES, followed by thuds, disrupted our almost-asleep state of being Tuesday evening. “What was that?” I asked Randy. I was more curious than alarmed.
We live along a busy street in Faribault. Odd and loud noises are not uncommon. But, on a week night at 11 pm, this did seem out of the ordinary. Randy waited a bit, then rolled out of bed to check. Curiosity will always get you. He saw nothing except a torn-up patch of boulevard grass outside our bedroom window. No vehicle in sight.
I asked if we should call the police. “What would they do?” Randy asked. He was right. We had nothing to report except the sounds and the displaced patch of lawn. The vehicle was long gone.
Black marks on the pavement show how the vehicle veered out of the traffic lane toward and over the curb. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Morning shed more light on the situation. Black tire tracks curved toward the curb next to the boulevard. It is likely accurate to assume that a driver was going too fast down Tower Place (the hilly side street by our corner lot) and lost control while turning onto Willow Street. Oops. Should have slowed down and stopped at the bottom of the hill. We’re just thankful he/she did not continue on, plowing into our bedroom.
If I was a forensic investigator, I could determine the make and model of the vehicle based on this part left behind on the damaged lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
This is not the first time we’ve dealt with vehicle-related issues on our property. A tire once fell off a car and rolled down the hill, slamming into the side of our house, just missing the gas meter and pipe. Other times vehicles have jumped the curb on icy streets. One landed half-way across our side yard, taking out the stop sign on the way.
Lawn litter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
While outside examining the lawn damage and tire tracks Wednesday morning, I happened upon a rectangular box tossed on the grass near the stop sign. It was an empty box once containing 2.0 grams of Sunset Sherbert hybrid distillate disposable vape. Pluto Labs, THE FUTURE OF CANNABIS, LIVE RESIN, the box read. I don’t pretend to know much about cannabis, except that the Minnesota legislature recently approved the use of recreational marijuana. But that doesn’t take effect until August 1.
Then I flipped the box to read that this was a SCHEDULED 1 CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE… THE INTOXICATING EFFECTS OF THIS PRODUCT MAY BE DELAYED UP TO TWO HOURS. THIS PRODUCT MAY IMPAIR THE ABILITY TO DRIVE OR OPERATE MACHINERY, PLEASE USE EXTREME CAUTION.
It made me wonder. Did the out-of-control driver toss this empty box from his/her vehicle just before rounding the corner and then slamming into and jumping the curb onto our lawn? The dots seem to connect.
Approaching the new City of Faribault water tower, northbound on Interstate 35. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo taken on June 1 from the front passenger seat)
WATER TOWERSAND GRAIN ELEVATORS. They are the defining landmarks of rural communities, the structures that rise high above the land, marking a place. In my native southwestern Minnesota, where the land stretches flat and far with infinite sky, you can see water towers and grain elevators from miles away.
Rice County remains rural at its core. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Long ago I left the prairie to settle in a region with a more diverse topography and a heckuva a lot more trees, lakes and people. I appreciate Rice County, my home of 41 years, with its geographical and human diversity.
Alfalfa dries in rows next to the water tower aside I-35. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Faribault, population nearing 25,000 (big by my standards), is located along Interstate 35 an hour south of Minneapolis. To travelers, it likely seems just another unidentifiable city along the endless four-lane. Another place to pass en route to wherever.
A view of the water tower heading southbound on I-35. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Now a new water tower rising aside I-35 a few miles north of Faribault will clearly identify my community. From the interstate, I’ve watched progress on the 750,000 gallon water storage silo that will serve the growing industrial park. The city received a $2 million grant from the Business Development Public Infrastructure Program through the Minnesota Department of Employment and Economic Development to help fund the estimated nearly $4 million total project.
Faribault’s symbol graces the new water tower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Recently, City Of Faribault and the city logo, a fleur de lis, were painted onto the top of the tower, which currently sits at the base. It’s a simple, memorable design that is Faribault’s signature signature. The graphic, which resembles a lily and was often used by French royalty, honors the French heritage of town founder Alexander Faribault. It should be noted that he was also of Dakota heritage.
Northbound I-35 traffic passes the new City of Faribault water tower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
I like the fleur de lis. It’s artistically-pleasing, elegant, timeless, a classy symbol I’ve come to associate with my community of Faribault. Now, for anyone passing by on I-35, that flourish of gold on the water tower accented by blue will flag Faribault. Even here, far from the prairie, water towers are more than just functional. They identify a place, on the land, under the sky.
A family of Canada geese emerge from the grass growing along the Cannon River in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
EACH SPRING I ANTICIPATE the appearance of newborn ducks and geese in the wild. There’s something about these waterfowl that appeals to me. Perhaps it’s the cuteness factor. Or maybe it’s the reassurance that, despite the ever-changing chaotic world, some things remain constant. Eggs hatch. Ducklings and goslings emerge. And the cycle of life continues.
I spotted adult mallard ducks, including these drakes and hen, but no ducklings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
This year I was a bit late getting down to North Alexander Park in Faribault, a prime viewing spot along the Cannon River for an adaptation of Robert McCloskey’s children’s picture book, Make Way for Ducklings. The book won the Caldecott Medal in 1941 and is a beloved classic about a duck family in Boston.
Parent and baby gosling along the recreational trail in Faribault’s North Alexander Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
On the recent day I went duck and goose hunting with my camera here in Minnesota, far from Boston, I found only goslings. No ducklings. I approached with caution. I’ve learned from experience that Canada geese are aggressively protective of their young. I already hold childhood trauma from enduring vicious rooster attacks. I don’t need to add to that.
I kept my distance from the goose family, relying on my telephoto lens to take me closer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
And so I watched and focused, thankful for my zoom lens which allowed getting close to the geese without getting close. The young ones appeared to be at teenage stage, rather than vulnerable baby stage. Thus my trust of even the youngest rated zero.
Determined goslings assert their independence. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I was fully aware that the geese were aware of my presence. People occasionally toss bread to waterfowl here (something I wish they wouldn’t do), so they may have expected a hand-out. Not from me. I was simply there to observe and document while dodging excrement, one of the hazards of stepping into a Robert McCloskey scene.
Despite the caution, despite the need to watch my step, I will continue to delight in this annual rite of spring which draws me to the banks of the Cannon River in southern Minnesota. Far from Boston.
The gravel road past our friends’ Rice County farm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
EVERYONE OUGHT TO OCCASIONALLY take a drive into the countryside along back county roads and gravel roads trailing dust. It’s good for the soul, spirit and mind to route into a quiet place defined by fields and farm sites. Away from town. Away from houses clumped together in blocks. Into a wide open place where land and sky meet and space seems infinite.
Randy and I found all of that recently as we drove east of Faribault, passing fields sprouting corn, farm sites nudging the highway. We aimed toward our friend Barb and Bob’s farm, invited there to harvest rhubarb. It’s an annual spring rite for us.
Bird folk art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
But for me, this is about much more than gathering rhubarb. It’s about enveloping myself in the peacefulness of rural Minnesota. When only the trill of birds, the roar of a tractor and conversation with our friends break the silence, I feel utterly, contentedly at home. I feel grounded and rooted and connected and transported back to the farm of my youth, albeit 120 miles to the west.
Formerly a smokehouse, this is now used for storing gardening tools. The rhubarb patch flourishes alongside the aged building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I never pull a single stalk of rhubarb from the patch next to the aged clay block smokehouse. While Randy harvests, I roam. With my camera.
Beautiful rural Rice County, east of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
First, I pause to take in the rural landscape—fields, trees, gravel road below a clear blue sky. Oh, place of my heart.
A familiar rural site, a silo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Then I head toward the silo towering over the farm site. Many times I climbed the ladder into the silo back on my childhood farm to fork silage and toss it down the chute to feed the cows. It was hard, smelly work. But when you worked on a dairy, livestock and crop farm 60-plus years ago, chores were labor intensive.
Barb’s “Star Shadow” barn quilt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
From the silo, I turn my focus to the weathered plywood quilt block square displayed on the side of a tin-covered pole shed. The artwork, “Star Shadow,” honors Barb’s passion for quilting. It’s a nice addition to the building. I like barn quilt art, which surged in popularity perhaps a decade or more ago. There are places in Minnesota, like the Caledonia area in Houston County, where you can take a self-guided tour and view 59 barn quilts. For my generation, especially, quilts are part of our family history. Patchwork quilts layered beds, providing warmth on frigid Minnesota winter nights. I cherish remembrances of my paternal grandmother’s quilt tops, quilting frame and the quilts she gifted to me and all of her 40-plus grandchildren.
Apple blossoms. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
This visit to Barb and Bob’s farm brings back so many memories. I wander among the apple trees, most blossoms spent, and watch an elusive Monarch butterfly flit among the branches. I can almost taste the sweetness of apple jelly spooned onto buttered toast.
The growing pile of rhubarb. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I check in with Randy, who hasn’t called me to help with the rhubarb harvest. He understands the pull I feel to photograph. Via photography, I notice details and that is such a gift. He’s gathered a growing stash of thick green stalks tipped in pink. Rhubarb seems such a humble fruit. Perfect for crisp, sauce or pie.
A tractor heads to a field with a roller to pack the soil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
A tractor roars by then, dust rising around and behind as it pulls an unfamiliar farm implement down the gravel road. A roller, Randy notes later when we pass a packed farm field.
Randy carries discarded leaves away from the rhubarb patch. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Then quiet settles again. Randy gathers the pile of rhubarb leaves, tidying the area around the old smokehouse.
We visited near the lilacs. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
We head back toward the farmhouse, this time rousing Barb and Bob, who earlier did not hear Randy’s knocks. We settle in for a chat which turns into a lengthy conversation in the shade of trees, near the lilac bush, in their front yard garden. Birds sing. Butterflies fly. Words rise. Cold, filtered well water poured from a fancy pitcher into thick, hefty glasses quenches thirst. The four of us simply enjoy each other’s company. No hurry. Nowhere to be.
Birdhouse on an outbuilding. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I step away to photograph several of Barb’s many birdhouses.
The shy farm cat. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
And then the orange farm cat appears. I excuse myself again, to photograph Fred, who requires significant coaxing to come closer. But he is skittish. My camera lens, followed by the click of the shutter scares him away.
Bird bath art on the farm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I circle back to the conversation circle, passing a bird bath with a trio of ballet dancers centering that circle. They are graceful and beautiful and seemingly out of place in this rural setting. Yet, they are not. The countryside overflows with grace and beauty. The grace of silence and solitude. And the beauty of the natural world.
On this day, I need this. To be in the serenity of this quiet place. To take in the countryside. To see the sky, the trees, the land. To talk with Barb and Bob. And then to leave with a clutch of rhubarb and the promise of warm rhubarb crisp pulled from the oven.
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