MINNESOTA WINTERS can get long. So long that many of our older residents flee to Arizona or Florida, becoming snowbirds for a few months before returning here in the spring. They don’t have to worry about shoveling or plowing snow or navigating snowy roads.
But for those of us who live here year-round, winter requires stamina and distractions to endure the snow, ice, cold and darkness that hallmarks Minnesota winters. In recent years, the Minnesota Department of Transportation has provided an entertaining diversion from winter in its annual Name A Snowplow Contest.
Recently, the winning names in the sixth annual competition were announced, demonstrating once again the creativity of those who came up with monikers for snowplows in each of MnDOT’s eight districts. It’s a process to get there from submissions, to selection of finalists, to voting. This year nearly 19,000 people voted, with “Oh, For Sleet’s Sake” as the top vote-getter. Gotta love that wintry version of “Oh, for Pete’s sake!”
As a creative myself, I’m always surprised by the names, most of them a play on phrases, a song, a pop culture whatever. You really do have to be up on your current musicians and such. I am the first to admit that I am not.
But “Flurrious George,” the name picked for District 6 in southeastern Minnesota with headquarters in Rochester (my district), is rooted in a name familiar to me. It’s based on the mischievous monkey in the Curious George children’s picture books. You know, the monkey who messes with The Man in the Yellow Hat.
Yet, this snowplow name stretches beyond a monkey and a man to a personal memory. Of my mom. In the final years of her life, when COVID-19 kept me from seeing her in a long-term care center 2 ½ hours from my home, Mom developed an attachment to Curious George. She couldn’t get enough of this monkey’s antics. She loved to watch Curious George cartoons on DVDs stacked in her room. Mom was so fixated on the story that a staff member, on her own time, shopped for a stuffed toy Curious George for her. She clutched that monkey like a toddler’s security blanket.
I don’t know what happened to Mom’s Curious George. I wish I had the plush monkey she cradled on her lap, touched with her fingers. It would connect me tangibly to my loving mother, who died four years ago in January 2022.
I’ve never really cried over losing Mom. I just haven’t. Until today. As I was writing this post about a snowplow named “Flurrious George,” I remembered photographing Mom holding Curious George when I visited her in March 2021. I hadn’t seen her in a year due to COVID visitor restrictions. I clicked on the story I wrote five years ago. I read. I scrolled. And I cried.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
In which I protest, grieve & reflect June 19, 2025
Tags: America, assassination, commentary, government, grief, June 14, Minnesota, mural, news, NO KINGS protest, Northfield, protest, protest signs, reflections, Rep. Melissa Hortman, Sen. John Hoffman, thoughts, United States
I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling