One of my favorite winter photos, of a farm site along Interstate 35 north of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)
WE MINNESOTANS PRIDE ourselves on our winter hardiness. But this week is testing even the hardiest among us as temps drop into the double digit subzero range. Add the wind and it feels like -30 to -40 degrees outdoors. No wonder extreme cold warnings have been issued for our state. Exposed skin can freeze in minutes. No wonder schools are closing and shifting to e-learning.
A flowering tree, photographed in Faribault in spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2024)
The bright sunshine fools no one. It’s an illusion of warmth. But the sunshine also reminds me that much warmer days are only months away, that winter isn’t forever, that we will get through this cold spell. We always do.
Photographed at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour garden in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
But as I wait and (mostly) shelter indoors, I find myself drawn to floral photos I took during the spring and summer. Images which visually remind me that the snow will melt, the earth will thaw and warm, seeds will grow, flowers will flourish and these frigid days of winter will be only a memory.
Coneflowers, Rice County Master Gardeners’ Teaching Gardens, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
It’s a bit of a psychological endeavor, this convincing myself that spring will be here “before we know it.” Some days, especially during a cold snap, that seems almost laughable. I admit, my appreciation of winter has diminished as I’ve aged. I’m not alone in feeling that way among my Baby Boomer friends, which is likely the reason many flee to warmer climates for a week, or even months, during winter. I say good for them if that’s a feasible option. It’s not for me.
Dreaming of summer days at Horseshoe Lake in the central Minnesota lakes region. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2023)
So I find ways to cope. Read more. Write more. Walk indoors at the mall instead of outside. And when I do go out, bundle up, clamp a stocking cap on my head without care that it flattens my hair. Eat dark chocolate. Drink tea. Cook soups and chili. Pull out my warmest sweater to layer over a tee and flannel shirt. Connect with friends more. Remember hot summer days Up North at the cabin.
Tulips, one of the first flowers of spring in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2020)
And never forget that the flowers will unfurl in the sunshine and warmth. Bold, beautiful, vibrant blooms. Lovely. Filling my soul and spirit in a poetically beautiful way that winter can’t.
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.
A railroad trestle crosses the Straight River by Fleckenstein Bluffs Park near downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
LINES AND LIGHT INTERSECT, layering the snowy landscape on a late afternoon in February.
I find even dried vegetation to be visually interesting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
I am following the Straight River Trail in Faribault from Fleckenstein Bluffs Park. Daylight presses towards early evening with sunlight slanting, shadowing, scripting as I take in the woods, the river, the dried vegetation, then the hard lines of metal and stone.
When I look up, I see a bold blue sky backdropping treetops. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
Birds chatter among the trees that border the trail, along the rambling river. I pause. Listen. Appreciate that these feathered creatures manage to survive winter in Minnesota. Even with temps reaching to 30 degrees on this day, I feel the cold.
Randy usually outpaces me as I stop often to take photos. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
I move initially at an unhurried pace. Walk too fast and I miss too much. Randy is well ahead of me, yet he also hears the birdsong, notices the robins, chickadees, a lone woodpecker.
In a dip near the park, tracks in the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
Tracks mar the snow. Animal and human. I wonder about the wildlife that venture onto the river where snow meets ice, meets open water.
The poetic Straight River. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
A pocked layer of thin ice nudges water which flows, rippling, curving with the topography. The creative in me reads poetry in the way the water wends. I am lost in the moment, in the scene, in the setting, in the wildness.
Lines cross this 120-year-old limestone building along the Straight River Trail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
I press on, toward the aged limestone building hugging the trail. Diagonal lines—power and shadows—cross the stone on the boarded building with a misplaced modern garage door. This 1903 building originally housed Faribault Gas & Electric Company, supplier of power to Faribault via the Cannon Falls hydroelectric plant. Every time I view this building, I wish it could be restored, used in a way that celebrates its history.
The icy river is melting, opening to flowing water. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
My thoughts meander here along the Straight River Trail. Focusing on history and nature and introspective observation.
I often meet dogs and their owners while walking the trails. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
But then a dog draws me back to reality. A massive canine, fluffy and white, leashed. His owner stops, allows me to pet his Great Pyrenees with the friendly face, and gorgeous long fur. Ducky. I assess that keeping him clean must be challenging. Ducky’s owner confirms, then continues on.
A sculpture, at least in my eyes, set against a snow-covered hillside. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
Cold bites at my exposed fingers as I retrace my path, heading back toward the park. I notice a sagging wire fence like graph paper gridding a snowy hillside. Single family homes and an apartment complex rise high above the trail, backyards revealing much in the nakedness of winter.
Boxcar art on exhibit as a train passes over the Straight River by Fleckenstein Bluffs Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
Soon a shrill whistle cuts through the bluffs. I race to reach an opening in the woods where I can photograph a train as it crosses a trestle over the river. I miss the locomotive, focusing instead on the moving canvases of art created by transient artists.
Strong fence lines border the river overlook at Fleckenstein Bluffs Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
I see art, too, in the fenced lines of a river overlook in the park, a space packed with snow and inaccessible in the winter.
When I’m walking, I appreciate curves in sidewalks and trails. I find them more appealing not only for following, but visually. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
Then I curve along the sidewalk that rounds the playground before aiming back to the parking lot. I notice reflections of trees in puddles of melting snow. The bold blue sky. The way light bounces off the segmented walkway. I feel invigorated by all I’ve seen, by the sharp cold air, by the essence of time outdoors on a February afternoon in southern Minnesota.
THE EARLY DAYS of February hold a special place in our family. On subsequent days years apart, I birthed my eldest daughter and then, the day before her eighth birthday, my son. What are the odds? My second daughter was born in mid-November.
Amber, age six months.
Time has a way of slipping by. It seems only yesterday that Amber arrived via emergency C-section following a labor so ridiculously long that I don’t even want to remember it. Eventually, my doctor determined she was frank breech. I’ll always remember the joy I felt in seeing my first-born. All 9 lbs., 7 oz. of her. A darling girl turned woman who has always possessed a loving, caring and giving spirit. And a dose of humor inherited from her father.
Often, Randy and I told young Amber that we loved her more than pizza. She observed, in blooming tulips, that “the flowers are opening their mouths.” And once, on a lengthy trip to Mandan/Bismarck for a Helbling family reunion, she refused to nap because she said she might miss something. She declared, then, too, that everyone lived in hotels (given the lack of farm and town sightings). I was pregnant with her brother. It proved a long trip with frequent bathroom stops.
For his eighth birthday, Caleb’s sisters created a PEEF cake for their brother. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
When Caleb was born, the bond between brother and sisters proved almost instantaneous. Both girls eagerly cuddled their 10 lb, 12-ounce baby brother, giving me much-needed time to prepare meals, for example. They later taught him numbers and letters and once created a PEEF birthday cake for him. They remain bonded not only by genetics and memories, but by a genuine familial love and care for one another. Sure, they sometimes got under each others’ skin while growing up. That passed.
Caleb at 1 1/2 days old. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My first memory of Caleb post C-section birth was watching as a nurse brought him to me, near enough to kiss his warm baby soft cheek. Oh, love beyond love. If only I could have taken my chunky son with the head of thick reddish hair into my arms. But the surgeon had yet to perform inguinal hernia surgery.
Post surgery I experienced an excruciating spinal headache that left me nauseated, in pain and unable to hold Caleb for any length of time. Nothing, and I mean nothing, worked and I left the hospital days later still feeling awful. I shall forever feel grateful to the OB nurses who loved on Caleb when I couldn’t.
Love. When I became a mother all those decades ago, then expanding my mother’s love twice more, I understood what it meant to love selflessly. I will always always always be there for my daughters and son. To encourage. To support. To celebrate.
Caleb and Amber. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo August 2017)
This week I celebrate the birthdays of two amazing individuals. Amber, a full-time mom to my two darling grandchildren. I love watching her as a mother; she’s patient, loving, kind, encouraging… Caleb, back in college as a full-time PhD student, whose strength I admire. I miss him and think of him every day, as I do my second daughter living in eastern Wisconsin.
Yet, despite our geographical separation (Caleb lives in Indiana), nothing can distance us from the years we all lived under the same roof. Years of love and memories that bond us as family. Our love endures and so does that we’re-always-here-for-one-another attitude.
Happy birthday, Amber and Caleb, with love from Mom!
HOW ARE YOU, dear friends? I don’t ask that question without expecting an honest answer.
Perhaps you’ve had a really difficult week. Like me. One filled with concern for those you love. One of endless texts and emails among family. Worry. Awake too early. Feeling stressed.
Or maybe everything is going great. And that’s good. Life is a mix of rainy days and sunny days. Or if I put that in the context of winter in Minnesota, days with snow and days without snow. Days when temps are well above zero and days when they are unbelievably cold. Like the weather predicted for the next week.
Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo February 2014.
But let’s put all that aside right now and focus on flowers. Yes, flowers. When I awakened too early the other morning and couldn’t fall asleep again with pain pressing upon my head, neck and shoulders, I prayed. And then I pictured flowers. These flowers. Aren’t they lovely?
And happy is good. Even in difficult days that challenge us, there are ways to find joy. And today my joy comes in remembering the gift of these flowers, how they popped color into a February day and lifted my spirits seven years ago. And now again, today.
The NWS February snowfall totals for the Twin Cities posted mid-day Wednesday.
This shatters the February record snowfall of 26.5 inches set 57 years ago in 1962.
The forecast on a Twin Cities TV station Wednesday morning predicts more snow.
Snow was still falling Wednesday afternoon into evening, earlier in the day at a rate sometimes reaching two inches an hour. With eight days remaining in the month and forecasts for more snow in upcoming days, that record-shattering 30.4 inches will rise even higher.
Another neighbor shovels her driveway. The amount of snow on the ground, in piles, everywhere, is insane.
Passing by on my street, a white truck in a white landscape.
The City of Faribault did a great job clearing streets in my neighborhood on Wednesday.
Bravo, Minnesota.
I just want the snow to stop, But we still have to get through the rest of February and then March and April.
But now that we’ve claimed the snowiest February ever, can we be done with winter?
Winter beauty from my backyard.
THOUGHTS? I welcome positive comments about winter and snow and waiting for spring. Or I’ll accept congratulations/sympathy on behalf of my state for this new February snowfall record.
Wind sculpts snow into drifts in rural Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
YOU KNOW THE MINNESOTAWINTER is getting too long when your husband says…
Maybe they canceled the snow.
(He made that comment Sunday morning upon looking out the bedroom window to, once again, see snow falling, as predicted.)
As much as I appreciate the hard-working snowplow drivers, the constant plowing in of sidewalks and driveways (after Randy has already cleared them) increases his snow removal workload and is especially frustrating. This is the plowed in end of our sidewalk during a previous winter. But this photo could be from this winter. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
They plowed the snow and blew it onto the sidewalk.
(He made that comment Monday morning upon looking out the bedroom window to see snow and chunks of snow/ice thrown onto the walk. He then suited up in his coveralls and boots to, once again, clear snow before leaving for work.
Randy begins the process of clearing snow from our driveway following past winter snowfall. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
I got the old Minnesota work-out this morning.
(He made that comment Monday morning upon completing snow removal duty.)
A huge, hard-as-rock snowdrift blocks our farm driveway in this March 1965 photo taken in rural Vesta, Minnesota. I’m standing with my mom and four of my siblings. I remember the winters of my childhood being particularly snowy.
(In Faribault I’m pretty certain we’ve exceeded that record-breaking 26.5 inches as we’ve gotten more snow than the Twin Cities. I just don’t know where to find the data to back that up.)
One of my all-time favorite photos of my son at age 5. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
FEBRUARY 9 AND 10 HOLD importance for me. They are the dates two of my three children, now all adults, were born. The daughter arrived first, a second daughter 21 months later in November and then the son on February 9, the day before his oldest sister’s eighth birthday.
Yes, I was a busy mom. There never seemed to be time for myself or enough time in a day. Something always needed doing. Someone always needed help or attention. I’m not complaining, just telling it like it was.
I miss those days. I miss my kids. But I did my job, as best I could, raising them to be independent adults. The daughter is married, a busy mother of two, including a newborn. I love watching her with her daughter and son. She’s attentive, loving, caring and just a really good mom.
My eldest daughter at three months old. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
Sometimes when I look at my granddaughter, I glimpse Amber at the same age. There’s a certain way Izzy will act or a profile I’ll catch or a look I’ll see that makes me think for a moment that I’m watching my eldest daughter. What a gift to experience that timeless moment.
With my son, who lives way too far away from Minnesota in Boston, I remember most the moment he arrived home from school. Nearly daily Caleb asked for a hug. He didn’t need to ask. I would have given him one. But to hear his sweet request, oh, what joy that brought this mama. I miss his hugs. Whenever he’s back for a visit, I grab all the hugs I can to hold emotionally close in his absence.
There will be lots of hugs in the next few days as Caleb flies in for a short visit, totally unexpected. It will be the first time since 2012 that we’ve been together on his birthday. I’m excited.
Because of distance and/or busyness of life, I seldom celebrate my kids’ birthdays with them. It just is not possible. But that doesn’t change how I feel about their birthdays. Their births opened my heart to a love that is intuitive and deep and unconditional—a mother’s love.
Happy birthday, Amber and Caleb! I love you both always. And I look forward to celebrating with both of you this weekend. My mama’s heart is happy.
IN SNOW TINGED with dirt, a curled brown maple leaf lies, a remnant of autumn lingering in this month of February.
Above, the sun flares against a blue sky bordered by bare branches.
Below, laundry hangs on the line. Drying at forty degrees.
I delight in it all—heat of the sun, fence line shadowed on a dwindling snow pack, ice melt dripping from gutters, long johns on clothesline, interior kitchen door flung open. All hold the hope of spring in a Minnesota winter that seems always too cold, too snowy, too long.
My neighborhood on Friday morning. With schools and some businesses closed due to the winter storm, traffic was lighter than usual along this arterial road through Faribault.
Faribault was among cities in the path of a Thursday into Friday storm that dumped a lot of snow. I estimate a foot here. After a string of exceptionally warm spring-like days, the snow is a bit of a shock. It shouldn’t be. Afterall, this is February, not May, in Minnesota.
Randy blows a path around the car so I can sweep the snow from it without walking knee-deep in snow.
Friday evening my husband and I tag teamed–him with the snowblower and me with the scoop shovel–to clear snow from our property and that of a neighbor. The task took 90 minutes, a lot longer than usual due to ice under the snow. The snowblower couldn’t gain traction and moisture-heavy snow clung to blower blades. I moved slowly, too, nearly slipping twice on the ice.
In the fading light of day, Randy works to blow snow from the driveway.
Add to that, a city snowplow dug into our street, depositing clumps of asphalt at the end of the driveway. Randy figured that out when he hit the hidden chunks with the blower. Not exactly safe to have pavement missiles shooting from the snowblower. So more shoveling ensued.
Snow from the Walmart and mall parking lot is pushed into mini mountains.
Today compacted snow on city streets is melting. Snow is shoved from parking lots into mini man-made mountains, which, if I was still a kid, I would find ideal for King on the Mountain. The sun shone bright on a Winter Wonderland which just days ago looked nothing like winter.
I grew up playing on snow mountains like this on the farm in southwestern Minnesota.
TELL ME: What’s the weather like in your area? Is your landscape snow-covered? Or is your environment one of warmth and greenery?
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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