One of the clocks in my small collection of vintage alarm clocks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
TIME TICKS. Things to do. Places to go. Appointments to keep. People to see. Conversations to have. Books to read. And for me, also, stories to write, deadlines to meet. Tick. Tick. Tick.
As I age, I feel more cognizant of time and the need to use it in the best possible way. The need to balance work and leisure. The need to spend more time with my core family. The need to use my talents in a positive way, in a way that makes a difference. The need to be there for, and serve, others. Tick. Tick. Tick.
We can’t stop time and aging. But we can manage how we use our time. I’m of the age where there’s significantly less time ahead of me than behind, although none of us knows the number of our days on this earth. Tick. Tick. Tick.
An important message displayed on a Scrabble board at LARK Toys, Kellogg, MN. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I hope we can all use our time to show compassion and empathy for others. Be kind. Be that person who listens rather than talks. Be that person who smiles, who hugs, who holds a door open. Be that person who sends an encouraging text or note. Be that person who reaches out to someone who is hurting, grieving, in need and do whatever you can to uplift and help. Tick. Tick. Tick.
I used magnetic words to create this short message on my fridge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Think before you speak or write, because words matter. Words can build relationships or words can destroy them. In a time when vitriol runs rampant, pause before letting words fly across a keyboard or from your mouth. I expect we all hold regrets for words we’ve written or spoken. Use self-control. Ask like you care. Time ticks. Let’s use our time in a way that embraces goodness and kindness, love and compassion. Tick. Tick. Tick.
WHAT WOULD YOU like to add to this conversation about the use of time?
Faribault artist Kate Langlais painted this acrylic portrait of Pope Francis, displayed at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault, in 2022. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2022)
HER COMMENT SUMMARIZES what many Catholics and others are likely thinking this week as they mourn the passing of Pope Francis on Easter Monday. Dorothy Storch writes this on the Facebook page of the Church of St. Patrick, Shieldsville. a rural southern Minnesota church near me: “Our Pope of peace and mercy, kindness and love. A man of God.”
A side and rear view of St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church, New Prague. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Perhaps that could be written about previous popes and other faith leaders. But not always. And not with the depth of admiration for Pope Francis, often termed “The people’s pope.” He changed things up in the Catholic church, opening minds and hearts and relating to people in a way that made him seem more like one of us.
Mass, about to begin at the Basilica of Saint Stanislaus Kostka in Winona. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A posting on the Facebook page of the Church of St. Dominic, 16 miles to the northeast of Shieldsville in Northfield, explains: “His life was a shining example of humility, compassion, and servant leadership. Pope Francis reminded us through both word and action what it means to care for the poor, to welcome the outcast, and to live simply with a heart open to God. He walked closely with the people, always pointing toward mercy by living our faith with the same grace and humility.”
Loving words from the Bible in the heart of downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Even though I am not of the Catholic faith, I’ve heard, read and seen enough media reports about Pope Francis to understand that he was, indeed, a compassionate man of both words and actions. Words, especially when you are a faith leader, require positive action. Pope Francis visited inmates, embraced those with disabilities, met with migrants, washed feet and much more. Washing someone’s feet is truly an act of humility and service.
“Faysel,” who fled the war in Somalia.Kate Langlais created this portrait for an “I Am Minnesota” project featuring our state’s newest immigrants. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Pope Francis advocated for migrants, immigrants, refugees and others, calling for compassion and care. Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio to Italian immigrants in Argentina, this first pope of the Americas understood the plight of immigrants and other marginalized populations. He wasn’t afraid to speak up, to take a stand for what he thought was right, what Jesus would have him, and all of us, say and do. He gave voice to the voiceless, to those silenced by power, policies, politics and life-altering destructive actions. He built bridges, not walls.
Children of many ethnicities are part of the Mary statue in Mary’s Garden at St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church, New Prague. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In acknowledging the passing of Pope Francis, a post on the New Prague, Minnesota, Catholic Community Facebook page calls him “a figure who has left an indelible mark on the Catholic Church and the world.” I agree with that assessment of a man who cared deeply about people, and about the environment. We could all learn from this thoughtful pope who intentionally took the papal name of Francis from Saint Francis of Assisi, a man of faith focused on poverty, peace and protecting the earth.
I expect Pope Francis would have laughed at these solar popes (not of him) which I photographed many years ago at LARK Toys in Kellogg, Minnesota.Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I love how Pope Francis loved. And I love how he loved to laugh. In 2024, he invited comedians from around the world to the Vatican, underscoring the importance of laughter, recognizing its healing power. I recently watched a video clip of him kissing an infant dressed in papal garb along a parade route. A member of his security team brought the baby girl to the pope riding in his Pope Mobile. His broad smile said it all. Pope Francis didn’t find the costumed infant to be disrespectful of him, but rather a reason to laugh. I need to laugh more. We all need to laugh more.
“Peace and Love,” an acrylic portrait by Angelina Dornquast. Photographed in an exhibit at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2024)
What a legacy Pope Francis leaves. It is my hope that the next pope selected by the conclave of cardinals will continue in the path of humility, compassion and kindness. I want Dorothy Storch from St. Patrick’s in rural southern Minnesota to describe the new pope as “our Pope of peace and mercy, kindness and love,” just as she did Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the son of immigrants. He who humbly served with compassionate words and actions, becoming a much-beloved and respected world faith leader.
Love at a past student art show at the Paradise Center for the Arts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
May Pope Francis, now lying inside a simple wooden coffin, rest in peace at the Basilica of Saint Mary Major, which sits in an area of Rome heavily-populated by immigrants. With his coffin and burial choices, “the people’s pope” makes a strong statement even in death about living with grace, humility and compassion, loving all, always.
“Believe” by Mackenzie Miner, a then eighth grader at Faribault Middle School, was exhibited at a past student art show at the Paradise Center for the Arts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
DURING THE PAST SEVERAL DAYS, I’ve thought a lot about how to craft an Easter message about living my Christian faith against the backdrop of what’s happening in our country today. It’s tough, really tough, to feel positive and joyful. But I must believe that things will get better. Eventually.
Rather than dwell on the totality of everything negative, I decided to focus on messages I heard during a Palm Sunday worship service at my eldest daughter’s Lakeville church. Randy and I were there for a pancake breakfast fundraiser and then to listen to our grandchildren sing. We—kids and adults alike—sang the traditional processional hymn, “All Glory, Laud and Honor,” as we waved palm branches. It was an uplifting, praise-filled, reverent experience, reminding me of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem among a joyful crowd waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!” Jesus rode in on a donkey, symbolic of his humility and humanity. Days later, the people would turn on Jesus and he would die an agonizing death upon a cross.
That journey to the cross, followed by the resurrection of Jesus on Easter morning, started on Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week and a time of reflection. The service at St. John’s started with a blessing of the palms. That blessing set the tone for worship, at least for me. The palm branches we held represented celebration, justice and comfort. These are the words that most resonated with me:Bless these protest palms, O God of Justice…may they make us bold and brave to stand up against injustice.
The unsheltered, photographed in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, in June 2018 near the state capitol. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
So, as I stood at the back of the church, I waved my palm frond high like a protest sign, thoughts of injustices racing through my mind. I’ve done some protesting lately with my words. I felt encouraged and empowered to stand bold and brave against injustices. Jesus did. He called people out. He got mad. He chastised. He advocated for and helped those who suffered the most. The outcasts. The lonely. The poor and hungry. He showed compassion and love. He provided. He forgave.
A portion of a quote by John Lewis posted in the window of a Dundas, MN., home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Remember the once popular WWJD/What Would Jesus Do slogan? I think Jesus would be more than a little ticked off about the injustices today, how people are treating one another, how those in positions of leadership are abusing their power. Jesus did, after all, overturn the tables in the temple when it became a noisy marketplace for greedy vendors focused on making money rather than allowing people easy access inside for spiritual reasons.
Posted on the exterior of the Congregational Church of Faribault United Church of Christ. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’d like to think that Jesus wants every single one of us tobe bold and brave in our words and actions. It’s easy enough to sit quietly and do nothing. Just pretend all is well with everyone when, in reality, it’s not. People are struggling. In relationships. With unexpected and unnecessary job loss. Financially. Mentally. In ways I would never have thought possible in this country—suppression, oppression, ongoing discrimination, intimidation, imprisonment… Injustices run rampant.
A loving message posted along a bike trail in Madison, WI. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
We each have the power to do something about those injustices. Volunteer. Encourage. Donate money to charitable organizations or to individuals in and outside your circle who may need a little extra help right now. Smile. Be respectful. Extend small acts of kindness. Simply be a kind, decent, compassionate and loving person.
A message on a tombstone at Valley Grove Cemetery, rural Nerstrand. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But also don’t hesitate to bebold and brave to stand up against injustice, to wave your protest palm branch high, then higher still.
The Damsite Supper Club in Pine River, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
SIX MONTHS AGO, Randy and I met friends, Sue and Charley, for lunch in Pine River while vacationing in the north central Minnesota lakes region. We enjoyed our meals and conversation at the Damsite Supper Club, which really isn’t a supper club by my definition, but which serves damn good food. It sits across the road from the Pine River Dam, thus the restaurant name.
A section of the beautiful rock riffle dam on the Pine River. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
Afterwards, our friends headed back to their Hackensack home while we poked around Pine River. I love exploring small towns for all the treasures they hold. And Pine River holds many, starting with the Kindness Rocks Inspiration Garden, just across from the supper club and river bridge.
The kindness garden celebrates kindness and Bryce Mink. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
This is what it’s all about–love and loving one another. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
In a bend of the rock river by the lily, a memorial stone quotes Christopher Robin in A.A. Milne’s “Winnie the Pooh”: “Promise me that you’ll always remember that you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
Kindness rock gardens, or simply scattered kindness rocks, are, in my opinion, an inspiring addition to any place. Every time I find kindness rocks, I feel a surge of happiness. The positive messages and art painted, written or drawn onto rocks (technically stones) always uplift me.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
Peace, a universal message, a universal hope, a universal prayer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
An overview of the kindness rock garden, which curves like a river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
And right now I feel like we could use a whole lot of kindness rocks in this country. Boxcars full. Truckloads full. Cargo holds full. Dump them upon the land. Let them rise like mountains or flow like rivers. Let inspiring words, followed by acts of kindness, generosity, love, compassion and care, spill upon the soil and take root.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
Bryce was known for his kindness. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
“We love Bryce” kindness rock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
In Pine River, the Kindness Rocks Inspiration Garden grows from tragedy. The corner community garden honors the memory of 11-year-old Bryce Mink, who died nearly two years ago on March 12, 2023, a month shy of his 12th birthday. Bryce went into cardiac arrest, was airlifted to Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis and died two days later. He had undiagnosed lymphoma with a large mass pressing on his chest, restricting his airway, impeding CPR efforts by his mother and resulting in brain damage.
Not only DO your best, but BE your best. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
This is nothing short of tragic, to lose a child unexpectedly, so quickly, so young. But to see Bryce’s legacy of kindness continue in that public park, well, that says something about the impact he made on his community. Bryce was described as “a kind boy and a friend to all.” I believe it. Children, at that age, are often not yet tainted by the unkindness of adults. They live life unencumbered. Make friends easily with most anyone. Play. Learn. Smile and laugh and love and live with exuberance. It’s no wonder we often wish we could still be kids, free of the challenges that come with adulthood.
An encouraging message, even in the most difficult of days. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
It’s tough being a grown-up sometimes, especially now, in a country that seems lacking in the very basics of decency and kindness. Certainly not in everyone and not everywhere, but in too many people and places.
The essence of kindness rocks, to shine your light in a positive way. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
Perhaps it’s time we pick up a rock and, instead of hurling it, print a message of kindness upon it. Write of goodness, generosity, compassion and care: Peace. Do your best. Be kind. Shine your light. Then live those words. Like Bryce did.
Kindness rocks have been planted in gardens outside Most Holy Redeemer Catholic School. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
Recently I discovered an assortment of kindness rocks in flower gardens outside this small southern Minnesota school that educates preschoolers through eighth graders. The school sits across Vine Avenue West from a stunning Catholic church with the same name. I appreciate beautiful historic churches. And kindness rocks.
Hope, always hope, one of my favorite words. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
Most Holy Redeemer Catholic Church. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
You can feel the love that went into creating these kindness rocks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
To say I felt excited about finding the church and rocks in Montgomery would be an understatement. Both inspire, offer hope, encourage. In today’s world, we need more of all three, along with compassion and plenty of kindness.
Words that need repeating. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
A while back, I began collecting kindness rocks, which are actually painted stones with inspirational words and/or art written/painted thereon. I collect these rocks with my camera, photographing them rather than taking them with me. Not all are meant to be taken.
Imagine reading these words when you are struggling. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
The students at Most Holy Redeemer filled my heart, mind and spirit with such positive thoughts via their artwork. Reminders to be kind, friendly, forgiving. Reminders to be hopeful and strong. Those words, especially, resonate with me as I’ve overcome much in the past year while dealing with long haul COVID and vision issues.
This encouraging message fits me perfectly right now. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
“You can and you will” read one message. That could have been/be my 2023-2024 mantra. I expect many others have been uplifted by short messages that grace these stones. “You matter.” “You are loved.” Even if you know that, to read those reaffirming words feels incredibly validating.
We all need to read these encouraging words. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
Life often isn’t fair. But we can all strive to be fair. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
Onward, fearlessly, never give up. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
I love that the students at Most Holy Redeemer are learning the value of positive thoughts and actions, sharing those in an artsy, public way on kindness rocks.
Inspirational signage in one of the gardens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
Lilies. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
Flowers found on a kindness rock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
The rocks are spaced atop mulch among flowers and shrubbery alongside the school. I was so focused on the kindness rocks that I paid minimal attention to the plants. And I love flowers. But then again, I suppose you could say these kindness rocks are flowers. Beautiful. Lovely. Flourishing. Blooming in a space where weeds have no place.
It’s all about kindness… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2024)
FYI: I was interviewed recently about kindness rocks by Katy Read, a writer for the Minneapolis Star Tribune. Her story about kindness rocks published online Friday morning and will be in print Saturday, June 22, in the Strib, on the Inspired page of the Variety section. She interviewed multiple sources, including those who create the rocks and why they do. Thank you, Katy, for spreading kindness with your wonderful feature story.
A lens on my new prism-free prescription eyeglasses circles the surgery location in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
After a 1 ½-hour surgery to realign my misaligned eyes, I was still groggy. Yet, Kat noted, I was coming out of general anesthesia quickly and well. For that I felt thankful. Not everyone handles anesthesia without side effects.
Given my emerging level of alertness, I don’t recall timelines or all conversations. But I do remember the kindness of Kat. And kindness is key when you’re coming out of surgery.
There was no vodka in the recovery room (nor did I want any; I seldom drink hard liquor). (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
HERE, HAVE A DRINK
In addition to compassion and care, Kat gave me food and drink. It was well after lunch and I hadn’t consumed anything (except a few sips of water with Tylenol right before surgery) for many hours. Typically I get hangry when I don’t eat on time. Ask my family. Kat brought cranberry juice along with soda crackers and graham crackers and then ginger ale which she suggested I mix with a second cup of cranberry juice, a cocktail without the vodka. (I think Kat mentioned vodka, but maybe I did.) I shared that my Bible study group has a signature cranberry drink, sans the alcohol. Kat kept a watchful eye on me. I hope she didn’t notice that I didn’t particularly like cranberry juice and ginger ale mixed. Too sweet for me.
But I appreciated the sweetness of my caring nurse, who moved to Minnesota from Missouri, who was named Katherine, called Kathy by her mom and then called Kat in college. Kat suits her, even if she owns three dogs, not cats. More on that later.
At some point, before my surgeon came to see me in recovery, Kat suggested I change from my lavender paper gown into my street clothes. I was all for that. She removed my hospital slipper socks and then helped slip my socks and shoes onto my feet. Can’t have a just-out-of-surgery patient getting all lighted-headed by bending down. I managed the rest of dressing myself, proving I was becoming more alert, alert for the next step in surgery completion.
In the recovery room after eye muscle alignment surgery. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling, January 22, 2024)
LOOK AT THAT “E”
Enter my neuro ophthalmologist surgeon, Dr. Collin McClelland, and a second doctor who had been in the operating room. I dreaded this moment when Dr. McClelland planned to tweak his work by pulling an adjustable suture stitched into my left eye.
Alright then. Look at that E across the room. Do you see one or two? Two. (He did some other vision checks, not just with the E, during the alignment process.) After my surgeon dropped a topical anesthetic into my left eye, he removed the steri strips adhering the suture onto my cheek. He hovered over me, his tools and face a blur. Don’t move. Look up to the left. You’re going to feel a tug. Yup. I did. OK, let’s check that E again. One or two? Two. OK, we need to do this again. Tug. Pain. You’re doing great. Check the E for the third time. Mostly one. OK, I’m going to leave it. And then my doctor worked to tie and cut that suture, simultaneously encouraging me with his gentle voice. You’re doing great. The adjustment process took 20 minutes and was made easier by my kind surgeon.
A section of a 1974 album cover from my collection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
WE’RE OFF TO PROM
Kindness. I felt that in the care I received at M Health Fairview Surgery Center. Skilled care that came with humor and compassion and distractions that enabled me to manage eye muscle surgery. Kind Kat remained after Randy left to get the van from a nearby parking ramp. She escorted me to the restroom, our arms linking as if we were going to prom, Kat said. We needed a song, perhaps John Denver’s “Sunshine on My Shoulders,” theme for my 1970s era prom, I suggested. We laughed, Kat and I.
But I wasn’t laughing when we returned to my recovery room and I noticed Randy’s cellphone and charger lying on a chair, hidden beneath a tote bag. He was supposed to call when he reached the patient pick-up spot. But Randy was long gone, so I grabbed his phone and charger. Then Kat wheeled me onto the elevator that carried us downstairs to await Randy’s arrival, “old people” wrap-around sunglasses protecting my eyes. Thanks, Kat, for the (un)fashionable eyewear.
I’m becoming familiar with these two locations on the campus of the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
THE LONG MINNESOTA GOODBYE, SORT OF
I expected Randy to simply drive up. He didn’t. Rather, he retraced his steps in an attempt to find his phone. Kat called someone to clarify I had his phone. As we waited, I grew restless. I just wanted to go home. Kat sensed that, pulling out her phone to show me a picture of her three dogs. Not cats. I appreciated the momentary distraction.
Eventually, Randy arrived and Kat steered me to our van, guiding me into the passenger seat. Then she hugged me. That loving gesture filled me with happiness, as if I was Kat’s sister rather than simply another patient. Happy despite the eye pain. Happy despite the long, exhausting day.
That happiness soon vanished as Randy took a wrong entrance ramp and we found ourselves aiming east toward St. Paul rather than west toward Minneapolis. I was in no mood for a longer trip, even if lengthened by only 15 minutes. But onward, back home to Faribault to rest and begin healing. Five weeks out, I am doing just that, continuing to heal. And I am remembering, too, the many kindnesses and the skilled care given to me by my compassionate medical team.
My eyes have always been drawn to rocks in nature, here in the creek twisting through Falls Creek Park, rural Rice County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2020)
THEY WERE ROCK HOUNDS, the great uncles who hunted, collected, cut, polished and made rocks in to jewelry. The bachelor brothers were passionate about their hobby, delighted to share their enthusiasm, and their rock collection, with their great nieces and nephews.
I remember the excitement of arriving at Uncle Walter and Uncle Harvey’s Redwood County farm home, where they lived with my great grandma and with their sister Dora. My siblings and I nearly flew out of Dad’s Chevy, through the front door of the farmhouse and down the basement stairs to Rock Station Central.
Agates in water, Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)
My great uncles enthusiastically welcomed us, showing us Lake Superior and honey agates, garnets, geodes and all sorts of rocks they’d found on their forays West and to Minnesota’s North Shore. We fingered uncut stones and polished stones as the pair schooled us in identifying rocks. And they always, always, sent us home with handfuls of small polished stones. And occasionally they gifted us with jewelry they’d made.
The Straight River churns over rocks at Morehouse Park in Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Although this scene played out decades ago, my fascination with rocks remains. I still find myself looking for agates, admiring unusual stones while out in nature. I’m no rock hound, simply someone who appreciates the beauty of rocks thanks to those two caring great uncles.
My friend Joy paints rocks with inspirational messages and fun art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
Joy’s original rock art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
But my interest, my search for rocks has taken a modern day twist, one Walter and Harvey likely would approve of even if not a purist form of rock collecting. I collect inspirational and artsy rocks with my camera. These are painted rocks upon which a single word, message or image has been written, painted or adhered. Whenever I find one—and I’ve found them in many public places throughout southern Minnesota—I photograph them. I feel the same giddiness I experienced many years ago in that farmhouse basement.
Found at Mineral Springs Park, Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2020)
Colorful stickers on painted rocks found at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
Found in Faribault’s Central Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My thrill in discovering painted rocks focuses on the positive messages or images thereon. There’s something undeniably beautiful and wonderful and uplifting about these inspirational rocks. I feel such happiness, such gratitude for the individuals who create, then share, these stones. Rather like my great uncles who showed their love for family via sharing of their rock collection.
Single words inspire on a series of painted rocks found at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
This painting of rocks has spread worldwide as The Kindness Rocks Project with a mission “to cultivate connections within communities and lift others up through simple acts of kindness.” It’s a simple, and much-needed, project in a world filled with discord, division and, yes, even hatred.
Found outside a meat market in Lonsdale. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
A simple message found at Falls Creek Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2022)
A fun find at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
We need more inspirational, artistic rocks scattered in public spaces. I’ve most often found them in parks, tucked along the edges of flowerbeds, sometimes on ledges and steps and at the bases of trees. I’ve found them along trails, outside a public library. Typically they are hidden in multiples.
An especially inspiring message written on a rock painted by Joy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
All it takes are stickers and stones to create art, this found at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)
This rock painted by a great niece sits on my office desk, a daily inspiration to me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My reaction is always the same. Joy. Excitement. I’m suddenly that little girl again standing next to her great uncles at Rock Station Central. I feel loved. I feel, too, as if I’ve uncovered a treasure, a treasure of kindness and positivity and inspiration. And that uplifts me, gives me hope for humanity, that much goodness still remains in this world.
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FYI: For anyone in southern Minnesota interested in rock collecting (like my great uncles did), the Steele County Gem and Mineral Club meets at 6 pm on the second Monday of the month at the Owatonna Public Library.
Expressions of gratitude are written on tags hung on The Gratitude Tree outside the Northfield Public Library in 2021. I love this idea. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2021)
BEFORE I HEAD in to bilateral strabismus eye surgery this week and then recovery and healing, I want to take a moment to thank you, my dear family of blog readers. Thank you for your care, kindness, compassion and prayers. I’ve read all in your thoughtful messages. Mostly, I feel your love and support in my heart. You represent all that is good in this world. I am grateful.
An especially bright spot in the heart of downtown Faribault is the Second Street Garden, a pocket garden with positive messages. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2019)
I expect to be absent from writing and photography and, unfortunately, reading, while my eyes heal. Any blog posts you read this coming week were written pre-surgery and scheduled to publish. I’ll take this one day at a time and update you on surgery when I am able.
Love this LOVE mural in the heart of historic downtown Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2020)
In the meantime, continue to shine your kindness and love into your neighborhoods, your communities, and into this big wide world. I firmly believe we each hold the power to uplift one another, to be that person who puts others before self, who chooses to build up rather than tear down, who exudes a spirit of hope and positivity. Onward, dear friends, onward.
Inspirational signage photographed in a residential front yard, Nerstrand, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
WITH THE BEGINNING of a new year, thoughts turn to what may unfold in 2024. We just don’t know. So much is beyond our control, even if we think it isn’t.
Life brings joy. Life brings challenges. Life brings the unexpected. That’s a given. Life can be downright difficult at times. And that’s where we each have the power to make a difference in the lives of family, friends and even strangers. That starts with listening, not to our own voices, but rather to the voices of others.
How many times has someone asked how you’re doing and you answer honestly (or maybe not so honestly) only to then hear the questioner share his/her story? Suddenly the focus is on the other person and not your situation. Happens all the time. How does that make you feel? In those conversations, I’ve felt dismissed, unheard, like I don’t matter. And I am not a selfish, self-centered person.
The point here is, if you ask someone how they are, opt to listen. Keep the focus on them, not you. People appreciate someone who listens, who shows genuine care and compassion.
We Minnesotans have a tendency to use the word “fine” way too much when responding to “How are you?” I, for one, really want to know when I ask that question. I try not to use the phrase as a meaningless greeting. Oftentimes I’ll customize the question if I know, for example, that someone is facing challenges. That shows I truly care.
I suppose part of my perspective comes from my journalism background. To be a good news reporter requires well thought out questions and strong listening skills. As a reporter, you are an observer, a gatherer of information, not an active participant in the story. Those skills can translate to everyday life, too.
A few months ago I saw a sign in a front yard in small town Nerstrand listing quotes by the late Fred Rogers. Fifth on that list was this: LISTENING IS WHERE LOVE BEGINS. I love love love that quote stressing the importance of listening.
I loved listening to Rogers’ quiet, gentle, soothing voice on his TV show, “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” He exuded calm, peace, serenity. His messages of kindness, love, listening, embracing the beauty in each day and more are definitively positive. We should each strive to live them. Smile. Hold a door. Thank someone. Encourage. And listen, really listen.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
THE THICK FLORAL WRAPPED PACKAGE arrived unexpectedly in my mailbox today. A sweet surprise from the usual junk mail and bills. As soon as I saw the return address, I knew that whatever I found inside would bring me joy. And it did.
Once I managed to remove the stubborn packaging tape, I discovered a foam sleeve filled with greeting cards from blog reader Roxy of Owatonna. Her selected stash of 27 assorted cards that I can give to whomever I wish is much-appreciated. Roxy, simply by reading my blog posts, knows how much I value sending cards to celebrate, encourage, comfort, thank…
What a kind and thoughtful gift, that also includes stamps on some envelopes and some seals. To receive these cards from Roxy uplifted me in the midst of my ongoing challenging and complex health issues. Many times it’s simply a struggle to manage my symptoms, to get through my days and nights.
But in this moment my focus is one of gratitude for individuals like Roxy, whom I’ve never met. She took the time to put together this collection of greeting cards for me. Her act moved me to tears. And one particular card of birds and vines and florals brought even more tears. It was the scripture gracing the front of the blank card that prompted those emotions. Be still and know that I am God is a Psalm (46:10) I’ve relied on to calm me during challenges. The words remind me of God’s presence even in the chaos of life’s uncertainties, especially now.
Roxy also included seven cards designed by Glencoe artist Bonnie Mohr, who specializes in rural art. Like the Holstein cow wearing a laurel wreath and the fitting message, Wear the flowers. And the quart jar of pale pink roses. A lone tree and a single egg in a nest. Simple. And so me, me who grew up on a dairy farm. Me, rooted in southwestern Minnesota. Me, writer of Minnesota Prairie Roots.
That Roxy understands the essence of me reveals her awareness of who I am via reading my blog. She couldn’t have known, though, that I’ve enjoyed Mohr’s work since her art was featured on the November/December 2013 issue of Minnesota Moments. I freelanced for that magazine many years until it eventually folded. The cover Mohr created is a bucolic winter scene of snow falling on a farm site with Holsteins fenced next to an iconic red barn, aged white farmhouse in the background. That painting speaks to my past, to the family farm, to that which was once the heart and soul of rural America.
The soul of America also exists in good, kind and caring people like Roxy of Owatonna, who penned a personal note expressing her gratitude for the joy I bring into her life and for helping her see the world in a different way via my writing and photography. I am grateful for her generous words and for her well wishes as I work toward reclaiming my health.
I continue to feel grateful for my many readers who have so graciously encouraged me through supportive comments and cards. I feel the love from coast to coast and throughout the heartland. Thank you.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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