Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Gardening: Passing along my rural heritage & much more May 2, 2023

Seeds for sale at Seed Savers Exchange, Decorah, Iowa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2018)

SEVERAL DAYS AGO, my 4-year-old grandson excitedly shared that his broccoli was growing. His mom, my eldest, clarified. Sixteen broccoli seeds and one carrot seed had sprouted, popping through potting soil in three days. That surprised even me, who grew up in a gardening family with most of our food from farm to table, long before that became a thing.

Annuals that are easy to grow from seed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

A year ago, I gifted my grandchildren with several packets of seeds. Flowers only. Zinnias and bachelor buttons, easy-to-grow-from-seed annuals that blossom throughout the summer. Isaac and his mom planted the seeds in flower pots. And then watched seeds emerge into tender plants that grew and bloomed in a jolt of color.

Old-fashioned zinnias grown by my friend Al and sold at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

That was enough for the preschooler to get the gardening bug. This year, in selecting seeds for Isaac and his older sister, I added vegetables to the mix of flowers. Spinach because I knew it would grow quickly and flourish in Minnesota’s still cool weather. And carrots, because Isaac wanted to plant them. Later, he told his mom he also wanted to plant broccoli because he likes broccoli. I’m not sure that’s true. But Amber bought broccoli seeds for her son, whom she’s dubbed Farmer Isaac.

“Summer in a Jar,” sold at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. This photo published in the book “The World of Laura Ingalls Wilder, The Frontier Landscapes that Inspired The Little House Books” by Marta McDowell. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2015)

I can’t think of a better way to encourage kids to try vegetables. And to teach them about plants and that veggies don’t just come from the grocery store. With most families now a generation or two or three removed from the land, it’s more important than ever to initiate or maintain a connection rooted in the soil.

Several types of tomatoes grow in the garden outside Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Soil was the gardening starting point for my grandchildren. Once when they stayed overnight, I got out the gardening shovels and directed them toward a corner flowerbed and a patch of dirt. The dirt flew as they dug and uncovered earthworms and half a walnut shell and bugs. I didn’t care if their hands got dirty. I simply wanted them to have fun, to feel the cold, damp earth, to appreciate the soil beneath and between their fingers.

My great niece waters plants inside her family’s mini greenhouse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2018)

I was a bit surprised when my eldest embraced gardening with her kids. But then again, she was the daughter who always watered flowers and observed that “the flowers are opening their mouths” (translation, “the tulips are blooming”) as a preschooler. I never had much of a garden due to lack of a sunny spot in my yard. But I usually grew tomatoes in pots and always had pots overflowing with flowers and flowers in beds. So Isaac and Isabelle’s mom did have a sort of gardening background.

Heirloom tomato at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

As a farmer’s daughter and a grandma, passing along something like gardening is like passing along part of my rural heritage. My Grandma Ida always had a big garden, an essential with a family of 10 kids. She continued to garden throughout her life, long after her kids were gone and she moved to town. Likewise, my mom planted a massive garden to feed her six kids. My siblings and I helped with the gardening—pulling weeds, picking vegetables… And shelling peas. Of all the garden-related tasks, the rhythmic act of running my thumb along an open pod to pop pearls of peas into a pan proved particularly satisfying. Plus, I loved the taste of fresh peas from the garden. There’s nothing like it except perhaps the juicy goodness of a sun-ripened tomato or leaf lettuce or a just-pulled carrot with dirt clinging to the root.

My friend Al vends flowers and vegetables at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

I don’t expect my grandchildren will garden like their great great grandma or great grandma. But that’s OK. They’ve been introduced to gardening. They see now how seeds sprout and develop into plants that yield beauty or food. Hopefully they will gain an appreciation for garden-fresh, whether fresh from the pots on their patio or deck, or from a farmers’ market.

Purple beans grow in the library garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Even though they live in a south metro suburb, my grandkids remain close to the land with farm fields within view, not yet replaced by massive housing developments. It’s important to me that Isabelle and Isaac always feel connected to their rural heritage, that they value the land, that they grow up to remember the feel of cold, damp dirt on their hands. That they understand their food is not sourced from grocery stores, but rather from the earth.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Not your grandma’s BINGO March 23, 2023

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We played with BINGO cards similar to these at Preschool BINGO Night. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2016)

I COLLECTED MY CARD, then settled onto a chair around the large round table, eldest daughter and son-in-law to my left, granddaughter, grandson and husband to the right. An instruction sheet and popcorn heaped in paper boats were already on the table. Centering the tabletop were orange, white and green tissue paper flowers, green beads and more, remnants from St. Patrick’s Day only days prior.

This was a much-anticipated evening for families packing a massive room at a Lutheran church in a south metro suburb. This was BINGO Night at Isaac’s preschool, an event Randy and I were delighted to attend. Isaac, 4, and his big sister, Isabelle, 6, like to play BINGO when they stay overnight with us.

But this preschool BINGO is not your grandma’s BINGO, I soon discovered. The game we play in our dining room involves balls rolling, rattling in a cage. The game we play in our home also involves placing physical markers on BINGO squares. And the BINGO we play on our dining room table offers coinage as prizes, not toys filling a prize table.

I could see the kids’ excitement when they eyed the loot laid out before them. Izzy focused on plastic dinosaurs. And Isaac, well, I expected he wanted something with which he could create. The desire to win ran strong. The pressure was on for two winning games, minimum, at our table.

The type of BINGO set-up we use at home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)

And then the games began, not with the rattling of balls spun in a metal cage, but rather with a teacher announcing numbers popping onto a computer and then projected onto overhead screens. This was high-tech BINGO. And this grandma was amazed. The game moved at a faster pace than rotating a cage and pulling balls.

I appreciated the absence of distracting noise that accompanies the manual way of playing BINGO. I still struggled to hear, though. I’m deaf in my right ear, the result of sudden sensory hearing loss in 2011. That affects my overall hearing and processing of speech and conversation. Thankfully, my daughter patiently repeated numbers when needed or I turned to the screen behind my back to view the too-small numbers. (And, no, a hearing aid will not help with this type of hearing loss; I would have one if it did.)

I won first place in a contest for this photo of BINGO callers at the July Fourth 2013 celebration in North Morristown, rural Minnesota through and through. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2013)

Two games in, Grandpa scored a BINGO on the cards with pull-across, see-through red squares to cover numbers. I joked initially that I needed corn kernels to play. When I attended the annual American Legion BINGO Night while growing up in rural southwestern Minnesota, I covered squares with kernels of corn. Totally appropriate and accessible in farm country. But we were not in rural Minnesota and this was six decades later. There was not a kernel of corn to be found.

Upon Grandpa’s BINGO win, he and Isaac scooted to the prize table. As I predicted, our grandson chose an art-related prize—a mini painting book. I could see Izzy coveting her brother’s prize, anxious to claim a dinosaur.

BINGO is popular in Minnesota, including at the Rice County Fair in Faribault. This photo was taken in the off-season. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2021)

Game after game after game we played with no winners at our table, but everywhere else. Isaac soon tired of playing and Grandpa grabbed his card. Yes, playing more than one card was allowed. At one point I joked that Isaac should have hacked into the computer while at preschool earlier that day and rigged the games.

Izzy won a dinosaur similar to this one from our basement toybox. Hers was new and not worn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)

Finally, the dad won and Marc and Izzy raced to get a prize. All the while I was repeating silently, “Please let there be a dinosaur still on the table. Please, please, please.” The first grader returned clutching a dinosaur, broad smile lighting her face. I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude that Izzy got a dinosaur, one of three still on that prize table.

About 1.5 hours in, we were down to the last game, a BINGO cover-all. As the game progressed, Izzy was getting more and more excited. She had one number left to cover. I could feel, see and hear her anticipation, her mind likely focused on grabbing a second dinosaur. But she didn’t win and then the tears came. And Grandma tried to work her grandma magic. “Look at how lucky you were to get that dinosaur!” And so on and so forth until her dad said, as we were walking across the parking lot, that he really won the dinosaur and he would be taking it to work. Marc roared and joked until all of us were laughing, even the previously-disappointed dinosaur-loving six-year-old.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

Beyond BIG PLANS, the moments that matter most to this grandma February 20, 2023

Book cover credit: Bob Shea’s website

I GOT PLANS! BIG PLANS, I SAY!” shouts the boy standing atop the highest hill in town, the hill he just climbed.

His plans take him to a big city, to a board room filled with MUCKETY-MUCKS, into a helicopter and onto a football field. He becomes mayor and then President. He has, he continues proclaiming, BIG PLANS.

His plans take him into space, flying in a rocket ship built by the state of Pennsylvania and wearing a space suit made of potatoes from Idaho. There is seemingly nothing he cannot do.

My grandkids, Isabelle, 6, and Isaac, 4, loved this easy reader picture book written by Bob Shea and illustrated by Lane Smith. I did, too. It’s funny, empowering and imaginative. And I loved reading it to my grandchildren as we snuggled into the recliner under a fleece throw. I lost count of how many times I read BIG PLANS during their overnight weekend stay.

As a grandma, I hold onto the moments rather than big plans for my young grandchildren. I want them to appreciate who they are now and Isaac as much as stated the same when he said he wanted to remain a kid. For now he is—a little boy whose knowledge of the solar system is not to be challenged. Likewise his sister with dinosaurs.

Saturday into Sunday afternoon, toys and books and puzzles littered the living room turned playroom. Toys pulled from totes in the basement. A Fisher Price school bus, a fire truck, a bulldozer. Matchbox vehicles, including an ambulance with doors that open, Isabelle noted. Small plastic dinosaurs and larger roaring ones. Cootie and BINGO pulled from an upstairs closet. Toys that their mom and their aunt and their uncle and a host of other children have played with through the decades, imaginations unleashed.

Isaac created art with crayons, inspired by another book we read, Jigsaw Mystery in the Mail by Bob Graham. He drew a birthday cake with two flaming candles, asked me to cut out double layers of cake and then staple the two together to form a card. He asked for an envelope, then requested I address it to United States of America. Nothing more. He expects his mom to drop the card in a mailbox, just like in the book.

The animal-focused book Moon Glowing written by Elizabeth Partridge and illustrated by Joan Paley brought discussion about hibernating beavers, bats and bears. Maybe a bear lives inside the snow cave we discovered in the backyard, Isabelle and I considered. The snow den into which Izzy and I poked a stick three feet long, the stick easily swallowed. I considered for a moment that an animal might come raging out. Certainly not a bear, but…

So we moved onto fishing (Izzy’s idea). She dropped her line over the limestone wall, hauling in fish after fish after fish. I appreciated how creative her mind, how dry maple leaves topping the snow, mulching flowerbeds, morphed into sunnies and crappies and walleyes caught via her stick fishing pole. And then this first grader mentioned that she wished she really was fishing. And although it’s no longer truly safe to ice fish in Minnesota this season, there’s always next winter. Or fishing from the dock at the cabin this summer.

These were the moments of my weekend. No BIG PLANS. But something far better—time with these dear little ones. Time to hug and hold and hang onto the moments that matter most. Like the moment Isaac declared, “Peanut butter pancakes make me happy!”

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Time with the grandkids on a winter weekend in Minnesota January 19, 2023

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A year ago, the grandkids were into “PJ Masks.” This is Owlette. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2022)

KEEPING UP WITH THE GRANDKIDS’ evolving interests can prove challenging. I’m not up on the newest kids’ shows and trends. And just when I think I’ve learned all the latest from first grader Isabelle, especially, and 4-year-old Isaac, they are on to something new. But right now they are focused on dinosaurs and the solar system, both timeless topics.

The pair stayed overnight with us recently as much for Grandma and Grandpa solo time as for their parents having time together without kids. It’s a win-win all around.

At least I know something about space. Here the moon rises. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2020)

The sleep-over was a last-minute decision, meaning we mostly winged it for the weekend. I did, however, stop at the library for a pile of dinosaur and solar system books and a few videos for those moments when the exhausted grandparents needed to rest.

Grandpa and Isaac inside their backyard snow fort. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2023)

When the kids asked to play outside in the snow, we obliged. I forgot, though, how much work it is to get a 4-year-old into winter gear for outdoor play. Grandma and Grandpa bundled up, too, for the backyard adventure. When Randy pulled the scoop shovel and two 5-gallon buckets from the garage and started building a snow fort, I was surprised. Hadn’t he already scooped enough snow this winter? What grandpas won’t do for their grandchildren.

Occasionally we helpers helped the master mason by locating chunks of frozen snow to layer onto the fort walls. It was a process, impeded once by Isaac who scrambled over the wall, partially deconstructing it in the process.

At one point, Isabelle decided we should play snow tag. That would be regular tag played in the snow, doncha know, Grandma? Ah, of course. Easy for the little ones who don’t break through the snow. Not so easy for the heavier elders whose boots plunge through the snow surface.

Grandpa and grandkids climb the hill in our backyard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2023)

Thankfully I managed to avoid the mountain-climbing aspect of our time in the backyard. But Grandpa, Isabelle and Isaac headed up the hill behind our house with Izzy intending to hike all the way to the park at the very top. Grandpa put a halt to that, recognizing that thorns, branches and assorted dangers threatened as the wooded hill steepened. We did not want to risk an emergency room visit.

Fortunately, distraction still works with our grandkids. Oversized rabbits loping across the snowy hillside proved entertaining. A hole in the snow near the fort invited guesses as to what animal dug into the snow. A squirrel was suspect and I noted the following day that was a correct assumption upon watching a squirrel dive head first into the snow and emerge a bit later with a walnut. When I shared my observation in a text to my eldest daughter, Izzy expressed her concern that the bushy tail rodent might destroy the fort. “Grandpa worked hard on that!” she told her mom. She’s right. He did.

Time with my grandkids invigorates me. I view the world from their perspective. They are inquisitive, adventuresome, approaching life with wonderment. They teach me to pause, to be in the moment. When Isaac drew a spaceship on his sort of modern day version of the Etch-a-Sketch (except with a “pen” and button to erase his art), I learned that the two of us were blasting off into space. His sister? Nope. She was staying behind because she is a paleontologist. Ah, yes, that’s right. Across the room Isabelle played with a herd of dinosaurs, or whatever a mixed group of dinosaurs is termed.

Isaac chose oranges over ice cream. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2011)

I don’t pretend to know everything. I didn’t know Isabelle attends first grade in a building built for 600 students, not the 900 it houses. I didn’t know Isaac would choose an orange over ice cream for a bedtime snack and then three days later ask to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for ice cream. But I do know these things: I love these two little people beyond measure. I love any time with them. Simply put, I love being a grandma.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The magic of believing in Santa December 23, 2022

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This shows part of my small collection of Santas (and one St. Nicholas) and Santa cards displayed on a shelf in my dining room. The Santas on the left and right are candles received from my Aunt Ardyce at a family gift exchange in the 1960s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

MY OLDEST DAUGHTER TEXTED on Wednesday asking for a cookie recipe. The kids, she said, would want to leave a treat for Santa.

Oh, to be young again and believe in an overweight bearded man in a red suit bearing gifts on Christmas. Just to clarify, the 6 ½-year-old granddaughter is questioning Santa’s validity. But Izzy hasn’t vocalized her suspicions to her younger brother, Isaac. I expect she wants to share her doubts, yet is hesitating lest she’s wrong. Who wants to risk Santa not leaving gifts?

There’s something to be said for believing in Santa, no matter your age. Or maybe, more accurately, there’s something to be said for the magic that accompanies believing. So I suppose, in reality, I believe in Santa still.

I believe in the joy he brings. The smiles. The goodness. The laughter. The reminder that, even in difficult times, Santa navigates around life’s obstacles through a dark sky, Rudolph’s nose lighting the way. That’s such a strong visual, one we’ve seen illustrated many times in children’s picture books.

This time of year, so many individuals, organizations, churches and more bring joy. They are, like Santa, the bearers of gifts. Toys, food, clothing, gift cards… They become the magic. But it isn’t all about the tangible “things,” although those are decidedly needed and appreciated. It’s also about what giving means to the recipient. It means someone understands, someone cares, someone sees.

Santa is not fictional. He’s real, in a magical sort of way that is timeless and believable, even to the grandma of a suspicious first grader.

TELL ME: What are your thoughts on Santa?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

No BINGO for Grandma August 22, 2022

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A BINGO cage at a church fundraiser. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

SHORTLY AFTER SCRAMBLING out of her sleeping bag, before she got dressed for the day and wolfed down two slices of toast smothered in peanut butter and strawberry jelly, my 6-year-old granddaughter was already asking, “Grandma, when can we play BINGO?” It was only 7:15 a.m. and her brother was still sleeping. I was in my PJs, hadn’t had coffee or breakfast yet and needed to toss clothes in the wash.

But Isabelle was singularly focused. Her love for BINGO was sparked by playing the game at the annual Helbling family reunion six days prior. Young and old alike gathered in the shelter at Palmer Park in central Minnesota to try their luck at this time-honored game of chance. The prizes ranged from kitchen gadgets for the adults to ring pops, play dough and more for the kids. Nothing costly. Just simple prizes. But, more importantly, time together making memories.

Placing BINGO balls in the caller’s board during a church festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

With that backstory, Izzy was delighted to find BINGO balls, a cage, cards and tokens inside a box at Grandpa and Grandma’s house when she and Isaac, 3, arrived for an overnight visit. That first evening we played plenty of BINGO with Izzy as the caller, then Grandpa, then grandfather and grandson. I was content to play. The kids were happy to win small coinage.

Given her enthusiasm, Izzy asked to play BINGO again the next day. I promised, but did not expect game time to commence at her requested 7:15 a.m.

Finally, by 9 a.m., we gathered around the dining room table for our first round of BINGO. Except the start was delayed again…because I got up to do something and on the way back to my chair, while skirting around Randy, stubbed my little toe on the peninsula baseboard. Not just the type of stub that stings for maybe a minute, but rather a serious “insert a bad word I thought but couldn’t say” type of pain. Randy remarked that he heard a snap. Not good.

This is a photo of an x-ray showing the implant in my wrist, held in place by 10 screws. I shattered my wrist in June 2018 after slipping on rain-slicked wooden steps while wearing flip flops. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2018)

I assessed that I’d likely broken my little toe based on the #10 level of pain—enough to make me cry—I was experiencing. I am not inexperienced in the pain of a broken bone having broken my right shoulder and shattered my left wrist in recent years.

“Better call Amber to come and get the kids,” I advised Randy as I moved to the sofa so I could elevate my foot. Already I was feeling bad about BINGO and ruining everyone’s day. While we waited for our eldest to arrive from the south metro, the trio played BINGO, enough for the kids to win quarters. Randy also hung laundry on the line and I sneaked in a few comforting hugs from Izzy and Isaac.

By that time the siblings realized their stay with Grandma and Grandpa was ending prematurely. The 3-year-old plopped himself on the living room floor and emphatically declared, “I don’t want to go home! I want to stay!” Finally, I called Isaac over to look at my smartphone calendar to see when we might plan his next overnight visit. That, thankfully, placated him.

Once the grandkids were packed and on their way home with their mom, we focused on getting me to the clinic. I knew not much can be done for a broken toe. But I didn’t want a misaligned toe and future problems if I didn’t get it checked. Randy made calls and was advised I needed to be seen in urgent care since the clinic had no open appointments. Alright then. It was Friday and I expected a long wait awaited me.

But that wasn’t the worst. Randy dropped me off at the door and I hobbled inside…only to learn that urgent care didn’t open until noon. And it was only 10:45. The check-in staff apologized profusely for the failure of the metro-based call center to tell Randy of the noon opening. Their frustration was clear as they advised me to return around 11:45 to register and then wait.

So I limped back out, trying to walk in a way that minimized my pain. I uttered a few words that I wouldn’t want my grandkids to hear.

Since I can’t comfortably wear a shoe, I am now wearing this supportive and protective walking boot/shoe while my sprained little toe and foot heal. Nope, I’m not showing you my awful looking foot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2022)

When we returned to the clinic, I queued number nine, eventually made my way to x-ray and then got the diagnosis. Much to my surprise, my little toe was not broken, but rather badly sprained. I felt thankful for that mercy. I left with a walking boot and instructions to ice and elevate. Over-the-counter meds manage the pain, which is minimal now. However, my little toe and the adjoining toe plus half of my foot are swollen and bruised.

So that’s my BINGO story. Not one of luck, but rather of unintended bad luck and a whole lot of guilt about sending Isabelle and Isaac home too early. Way too early for this grandma.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Buzz Lightyear reappears at my house June 3, 2022

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Buzz Lightyear. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2022)

SEVERAL MONTHS AGO, I determined to locate the oversized Buzz Lightyear my son, now 28, played with as a child. Buzz is the space ranger toy in the computer animated feature film “Toy Story.” The movie stars Andy and his collection of toys, which come to life.

The son’s childhood Buzz Lightyear collection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2022)

I was searching for Caleb’s Buzz because the grandkids were coming. Last time they stayed overnight, Isabelle and Isaac enjoyed playing with the smaller Buzz Lightyear characters stashed in a tote in the basement. But, oh, I knew they would be impressed with the larger scale ranger who, with batteries inserted, can spew phrases like “To infinity and beyond.” But the challenge was finding that particular Buzz in an upstairs bedroom closet stuffed with totes.

I pulled plastic box after plastic box from the recesses of that dark space. Finally, back in the far corner, after I’d dragged nearly everything out, I found the missing toy. I decided then and there that, as long as I had emptied the closet, I may as well go through everything. What a job.

Just to clarify, most of the “stuff” stuffed into the closet belongs to my son and to my second daughter. The son, back in college 525 miles away pursuing an advanced degree, lives in an apartment with no room for childhood toys. But Miranda lives in a rental house and I decided it’s time she gets her “stuff.” Boxes are now stashed in a corner of a spare bedroom for the next time we see each other. She lives 4.5 hours away in Madison, Wisconsin.

I’m really feeling the need to purge. That’s part of aging and understanding that I don’t want to leave a houseful of material possessions for my kids to sort through some day. I’ve done that with my parents and my in-laws, now all deceased, and it’s not fun.

My son loved playing with this large scale Buzz Lightyear. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2022)

But then I face the dilemma of what to keep so the grandkids have something to play with when they visit and/or stay overnight. I was surprised when they were interested in playing with Buzz Lightyear. But their mom tipped me off that Buzz is the star in an upcoming movie, “Lightyear.” That film releases this month. Who knew? Not this grandma.

Owlette, a character in the currently popular PJ Masks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2022)

I struggle to keep up with the ever-changing interests of the three and six-year-old grandchildren, especially my granddaughter. Her little brother likes numbers, the solar system and maps/globes. But Isabelle’s interests have ranged—Daniel Tiger, Trolls, Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Frozen, Thomas the Tank Engine, Disney princesses, Paw Patrol, PJ Masks… I give up trying to learn the characters’ names before she moves on to the next “in” thing.

But at least I know Buzz Lightyear and Woody and Andy. Yes, those I will keep, along with the Fisher Price bus and the castle and the potholder weaving set and…

TELL ME: If you’re a grandparent, are you up on the latest whatever? And do you keep old toys, games, etc. for the grandkids to play with when visiting?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Valentine’s Day: Of conversation hearts, sparkly sugar & a whole lot of love February 14, 2022

Vintage valentines from my mom’s collection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

AT THE RISK of sounding old, which, by the way, I sort of am, I remember Valentine’s Day back-in-the-day, meaning the 1960s.

I remember bringing a shoebox to Vesta Elementary School, covering the box with white paper, cutting a slit in the lid (the teacher helped) and then pasting red construction paper hearts onto the wrapped box. Whew, that was one long sentence. If I didn’t have a shoebox, I crafted a mega envelope from white paper, decorated it with paper hearts and then taped the valentine holder onto the edge of my desk. Either way, I had a vessel to hold valentines.

I carefully picked the valentines I gave to each classmate. This is from my mom’s collection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

On the day of our Valentine’s party, I arrived at school with cards carefully chosen for each classmate. These were not Disney-themed valentines pulled from a box, but rather generic, often flowery, cards punched from an over-sized book. It took effort to remove those cards. But it took even more effort to choose just the right one for each classmate.

An “I love you” valentine heart crafted for me by one of my children (I think my son) in elementary school. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Words mattered to me even back then. I didn’t want anyone, especially the boys, to misinterpret messages printed on a valentine. That applied to those chalky candy conversation hearts also. There would be no “Be mine” or “True love” for boys I found disgusting. And, no, I did not gift an entire box of those hearts to anyone. I came from a poor farm family. Several candy hearts tucked inside an envelope or a single stick of Juicy Fruit gum taped to a card was the treat limit.

Stencils and colored paper for crafting cards. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)

Those sweet memories of Valentine’s days past remain. But now I’m making new memories. With my grandchildren. On a recent Saturday morning I baked carrot cupcakes, mixed up a batch of cream cheese frosting, gathered construction paper, stencils and foam hearts, and checked valentine-themed books out from the library. Randy and I were headed to see the grandkids and I had projects planned.

Isaac in non-stop motion racing his truck. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)

But first we played, the kids racing over-sized vehicles across the floor, round and round the table and through the house with the expectation that Grandma would do the same and I did for awhile with a toy airplane, which conveniently took flight. But then I needed a break. A break meant decorating those healthy cupcakes I baked, the healthy being the 1 ½ cups of shredded carrots (never mind the cup of sugar in the batter and then an additional cup in the homemade frosting).

Isaac with one of the cupcakes he frosted and sprinkled. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)
Heart-shaped toppings for the cupcakes from my daughter’s stash. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)
The cupcake in the center is minus about half the sugar Isaac dumped onto it. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)
Wiping crumbs and frosting from Isaac’s face. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)

Frosting and decorating cupcakes hold universal appeal for kids. Grandpa and I tag teamed with him assigned to 3-year-old Isaac and me to 5-year-old Isabelle. All went seemingly well with the usual admonition not to lick the knife, then wash the knife and repeat. But then I handed a slim bottle of sparkly pink sugar to Isaac, who tipped the bottle, and, well, you can guess what happened. He dumped enough sugar atop that single cupcake to decorate a dozen. What could we do except laugh, dump most of the sugar off and continue on. Eventually the cupcakes were all decorated and one each eaten.

We played with Owlette and Catboy from the Disney Junior show “PJ Masks.” I had no clue who these characters were prior to playtime. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)

We took a break for more play, this time climbing up Mystery Mountain (stairs) to the Splat Volcano (Isaac’s room), where I got my feet stuck in splat, not to be confused with lava. The kids pulled me free. Good thing because there were valentines to craft. Except we never got to the valentines. I thought it more important for the siblings to create birthday cards for their mom, whose birthday is shortly before Valentine’s Day.

I brought a bag plumped with foam heart stickers for the grandkids to use in creating cards. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)

Again, I supervised Izzy while Randy helped Isaac. I got the easy job as Isabelle is a kindergartner, meaning she can sit quietly and create, managing a pencil and markers and stencils just fine, thank you. She finished her mom’s birthday card long before her brother. Isaac was quite taken with the foam heart stickers I brought. Hearts in hues of pink and purple. He’d stick one on the orange construction paper folded into a card and then stick on another. And another. And another. No valentines were ever made. But if foam hearts can convey love, then my daughter Amber ought to know her son loves her lots.

Stickers galore decorate the birthday card Isaac made for his mom. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2022)

So these are my latest Valentine’s Day memories. Not of candy conversation hearts or heart-covered shoeboxes or fixating on valentine choices, but rather memories of time with my beloved grandchildren. Such sweetness in those love-filled moments…

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TELL ME: I’d like to hear your Valentine’s Day stories, past and/or present.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Lake stories: Of dragons & fish & bears July 29, 2021

The lake cabin where we stay. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

THROUGH THE SCRUB GRASS and pines we hurried. Me leading.

“You go first, Grandma,” 5-year-old Isabelle urged on our mission to corral the dragons. I’d heard them earlier, their breathy, fiery voices coming from near the cabin. Just down the lane, I noted the broken fence and the missing dragons.

There were no dragons, of course, except in our imaginations. But the sound of the blower vent on the water heater prompted the dragon round-up. We four—the two grandchildren and Grandpa and I—chased the creatures back to their enclosure.

Isaac waits to fish with Grandpa. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

This dragon tale is among the memories I hold from our recent stay at a central Minnesota lakes region cabin. Time with Izzy and Isaac, 2 ½, and their parents is precious family time. Days of loving and bonding and building memories.

Sunset through the pines lining the driveway. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

As in previous visits, Randy and I took the kids on numerous nature walks down the pine tree-lined driveway. And when we returned to the cabin, we dropped our finds in a tub of water. To see what would float—acorns, leaves, pinecones, twigs, birch bark… And what wouldn’t—stones. And that offered an opportunity to educate about Native Americans who crafted canoes from birch bark.

Izzy started a shell collection on the beach. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

Staying at a lakeside cabin immerses us in nature without the distractions of technology and life in general. Izzy collected a mound of shells, five of which she was allowed to keep. I brought the rest home for Randy to bleach, dry and then deposit in a pint jar, a visual reminder of our time at the lake. Memories in a jar.

Horseshoe Lake. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

The water and beach drew us. To dip in the clear water, where schools of fish swarmed our feet.

Preparing to fish. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.
None of the fish were “keepers.” Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

Fishing, though, proved futile. While Randy, with the “help” of the grandkids, hooked some fish from the dock, all were too small to keep. Yet, the experience of fishing, of attempting to teach Izzy and Isaac how to reel in a line, bonds Grandpa and grandchildren. I loved watching the trio.

Launching a kite from the dock. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

On one particularly windy day, Randy grabbed two kites from our van and headed to the end of the dock. The kids showed minimal interest, probably because they couldn’t run with the kite lakeside. We mostly watched from the beach as Randy patiently retrieved fallen kites from the water and then attempted relaunch. Repeatedly. His determination impressed me.

Our eldest daughter and grandson relax on the beach. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

Like our last stay, Izzy opened her Sand Pie Bakery and we adults (role-playing vacationers) ordered pies in non-Minnesotan accents. Son-in-law Marc had us nearly rolling on the beach after he asked for a Mississippi Mud Pie in the thickest of Southern drawls. It was good fun, especially when Izzy claimed unfamiliarity with that particular pie while she stood with mud (sand) pie in hand.

Izzy roasts marshmallows. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

But the grandkids are enthusiastically familiar with s’mores, a campfire treat prepared each evening, except on the day strong winds warranted fire safety first due to tinder dry drought conditions. This visit Isaac joined his sister as a s’more making apprentice. I tasked him with spreading peanut butter on graham cracker halves, then adding Hershey pieces. Doing this myself would have proven easier, quicker. But easy and quick are not necessary on lake time.

To the far right you can see the hammock strung between pines with the lake nearby. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

I loved the lazy time of lying in the hammock strung between pines and with a lake view. Izzy and I lay there late one afternoon while I shared about my growing up on a farm. I’m not sure how the topic drifted to that. But my memories interested her…until she brought up bears. “What if there really was a bear here, Grandma?” She asked. We’d shared bear stories around the campfire during our last cabin stay. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, that a bear had been sighted in the neighborhood. I didn’t want to scare her.

“We would just scare it away,” I said, as the hammock gently swayed. That proved good enough for her.

Horseshoe Lake was busy with water sports. Canadian wildfires created hazy skies. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo.

She snuggled up to me. “I love you, Grandma.” In that moment, my heart overflowed with love for this precious little girl. This 5-year-old who wears tulle skirts on nature walks, who collects shells, who bakes pies from beach sand. Who, like me, didn’t want to leave the lake cabin…

© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Family connections in the berry patch & beyond June 25, 2021

Picking berries at Straight River Farm on a Saturday morning in 2012. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

JUNE PROMPTS MEMORIES of Junes past, when our then family of five headed south of Faribault to Straight River Farm to pick strawberries.

We made a game of it, seeing who could harvest the most berries. It added an element of fun as we collectively picked 20-plus pounds of sun-ripened strawberries.

Years have passed since the kids left home and Randy and I picked berries. But now our eldest daughter continues the family tradition by taking her two children to a berry patch. Together the three of them (the kids are two and five) recently picked close to four pounds. While that’s not a lot of strawberries, it’s not all about the quantity. It’s also about time outdoors. About being, and working, together. About learning that strawberries come from fields, not just the produce section at the grocery store.

My grandchildren are a second-generation removed from the land. I want them to understand the origin of their food and to appreciate that their maternal grandparents grew up on family dairy and crop farms. Agriculture is part of their heritage.

Our granddaughter zooms along on her scooter last year at North Alexander Park in Faribault. This past Saturday we shared a picnic lunch near the shelter in this image. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2020.

As their grandmother, I hold a responsibility to continue that connection to the land. This past weekend, when Isabelle and Isaac stayed overnight, we enjoyed the stunning summer weather with lots of time outdoors. That’s one simple way to link to the land. We packed a picnic lunch, with the kids “helping” to make their own sandwiches. Then it was off to North Alexander Park, where they learned to side step goose poop on the paved trail before we finally found a picnic table in a goose-poop-free zone. (Note to City of Faribault: Please place more picnic tables in the park among all those shade trees.)

While eating our picnic lunch, being in nature spurred conversations, which prompted questions, observations and more. Grandma, how many oak trees are there in the world? Leave that grape on the ground; the ants will eat it. The airplane is in the blue sky. Oh, how I love viewing the world from the perspective of my grandchildren. Life is so uncomplicated and simple and joy-filled.

Randy and the grandkids follow the pine-edged driveway at a family member’s central Minnesota lake cabin last summer. This is one of my favorite photos from that time in the beautiful outdoors. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo July 2020.

Later that day, Randy and I took the kids to Wapacuta Park near our home. Rather than follow the most direct path up a steep grassy hill, we diverted onto a narrow dirt path that winds through the woods and leads to a launching point for disc golf. The kids loved that brief adventure into the woods, where we found a broken park bench (Note to City of Faribault: Please repair or replace.) and art flush to the earth. Exposed tree roots and limestone provided insights into the natural world and local terrain.

Randy also posed the kids next to a gigantic boulder near the playground while I snapped photos with my cellphone. Our three adult children responded with enthusiasm to the texted images. Wow! It looks the same as 30 some years ago! It has barely eroded. Amber and I will have to climb it the next time we are in Faribault.

A second trip to Wapacuta the following afternoon led to a lesson about storms as thunder banged, rain fell and we hurried home. Not through the woods this time.

I love every moment with my grandchildren. The time making cut-out star cookies for an upcoming July Fourth celebration. The time in our backyard blowing up a bubble storm. The time at the playground. The time reading and laughing and building block towers and putting dresses on the same Little Mermaid dolls Izzy’s mom and aunt played with some 25-plus (or less) years ago. These are the moments which link generations, which grow family love, which I cherish.

© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling