Two of my poems and a work of creative nonfiction are published in this literary anthology. (Book cover sourced online)
FOR THE 16thCONSECUTIVE YEAR, my writing has been selected for publication in the Talking Stick, a literary anthology published by the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc based in northern Minnesota.
The editorial board chose two of my poems, “Up North at the Cabin” and “Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire,” and a work of creative nonfiction, “Birthing Everett,” for publication in volume 34, titled Toward the Light. The recently-released book features 128 pieces of writing by 76 writers either from Minnesota or with a strong connection to the state.
I consider it an honor to be published in the Talking Stick, which includes the work of talented writers ranging from novice to well-known. I especially appreciate that entries are blind-judged so each piece stands on its own merits. There were 275 submissions from 119 writers for this year’s competition.
Grandpa Randy and grandchildren Izzy and Isaac follow the pine-edged driveway at the northwoods lake cabin. This is my all-time favorite cabin photo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2020)
I’m particularly excited about two of my pieces published in Toward the Light. Anyone who’s ever spent time at a lake cabin will enjoy my “Up North” poem as it centers on nature and family togetherness. I was in my sixties before I first experienced cabin life. Now I’m building memories with my grandkids each summer at a family member’s lake cabin. That centers this poem.
My grandson Everett, nine months old, plays with his toys in his Madison, Wisconsin, home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
A grandchild also focuses “Birthing Everett,” a deeply personal story about the birth of my 10-pound grandson in January. My daughter Miranda nearly died during childbirth. I knew I needed to write about this to heal from my own trauma of nearly losing her. I will be forever grateful to the medical team at UnityPoint Health-Meriter Hospital in Madison, Wisconsin, for saving Miranda’s life. You just don’t think of women dying during childbirth any more, but it can, and does, happen.
An angler fishes in Horseshoe Lake, rural Merrifield, on an August evening. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
IN MID AUGUST, Randy and I headed nearly 200 miles north of Faribault for our second stay of the summer at a family member’s cabin in the Brainerd lakes area. This trip our eldest daughter and her family joined us for several days. There’s nothing quite like time with the grandkids at the lake. Time to play, to relax, to make memories. And that we did. I cherish our days together Up North.
We mostly hung out on the beach or in the cabin. Weather conditions were not ideal with cool temps and strong winds prevailing when all six of us were there together. Yet, we got outdoors—the kids running along the sandy beach, digging a hole along water’s edge, enjoying the placid water on a warm and sunny day before the weather changed.
Looking upward toward the pines from a lakeside hammock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
MAKING MEMORIES
I led the 6 and 9-year-olds on a scavenger hunt. We searched for a feather, a mushroom, a nest…that which nature offers like a gift if only we pause to see and appreciate. Randy taught Isaac to play Marbles on a homemade wooden board. It’s a long-time favorite of the extended Helbling family. We played Yahtzee and Connect 4, on an over-sized outdoor board. The puzzlers among us (not me) pieced together a lemonade stand. We headed into town for massive scoops of ice cream, a cabin tradition. And one day we picked peas from our sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s plot in a community garden. Later I taught Isaac how to shell them. The kids delighted in a timed Ninja course at a Crosslake playground and posed for photos behind Paul Bunyan family cut-outs at another park. We devoured s’mores around the campfire.
A campfire is the place to share stories, create memories. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
This is the stuff of memories. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mostly unplanned. Moments that connect us, deepen bonds.
Moody clouds at sunset over Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
Being outdoors, away from home and work and schedules and the demands of everyday life, opens us to the joys of vacationing. The haunting call of a loon and the sighting of a bald eagle perched atop a pine proved exhilarating. A bank of moody, pink-tinged clouds slung low in the evening sky drew all of us to focus on and admire the scene.
A mural in Crosby. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
MORE CHERISHED MOMENTS
When the grandkids and their parents left several days before us, our world seemed too quiet. No more kids scampering up and down the loft ladder. No more requests to go to the beach. No more…
But, sans kids, there were still moments to be cherished. Lakeside dining with friends at Breezy Point. Popping in to chat with a Faribault friend who lives in Nisswa now and works for the Chamber of Commerce. And then a chance encounter with adults with disabilities on an outing at Mission Park, rural Merrifield. I learned that visually-impaired Shannon, who uses a white cane and carries over-sized yellow sunglasses, likes to sing. I asked her to sing for me. And she did—to a movie soundtrack of ”My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Deon. I thought my heart would burst with joy as this young woman first mouthed the words, then sang them quietly and then louder as I encouraged her. It’s one of those moments I will forever treasure. Me nearly in tears and everyone inside that picnic shelter smiling during this impromptu weekday morning concert.
A mural by Adam Turman in downtown Crosby highlights recreational activities in the Cuyuna Lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)
SOUTHERN MINNESOTA CONNECTIONS ON THE RANGE
On the way home, there were more delights during a stop in Crosby, an Iron Range community that is evolving into a destination with its many outdoor activities, shops and murals. I spotted a mural by Minneapolis artist Adam Turman, whose work can be found on murals in Northfield and on Faribault Mill products. He’s a favorite muralist of mine. I saw also, much to my delight, Faribault Mill blankets and Caves of Faribault cheeses in separate shops. I felt Faribault-proud seeing those wool blankets and exceptional cheeses for sale in Crosby.
ICE CREAM, GREEK STYLE
But it was the homemade ice cream—Rave Creamworks’ Super Premium—at Victual in Crosby that got rave reviews from me. Randy and I shared a large scoop of Baklava ice cream laced with flaky phyllo dough, chopped walnuts and honey. It is the shop’s bestseller among 24 choices, so said the teen behind the counter. I loved this creamy ice cream, which I expect my friend, Father Jim Zotalis at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour in Faribault, would appreciate given his Greek heritage. Baklava is a Greek pastry. Even in that ice cream I felt a connection to southern Minnesota. We can leave home, but we never really do.
The bald eagle I saw nearby within hours of arriving at a central Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
LAST SUMMER, LOON sightings proved common at a family member’s lake cabin south of Crosslake in north central Minnesota. This summer, not so much. While Randy and I heard the haunting call of loons during a recent stay, we only saw them twice—once a threesome swimming near shore and then two flying westward before a thunderstorm rolled in.
But bald eagle sightings more than made up for the absence of loons. We’d been at the cabin only hours when one swooped onto the top of a towering pine near the patio where we were enjoying late afternoon drinks with my sister-in-law. Randy pulled out his cellphone to snap a few photos. I stayed put since my 35 mm camera was back at the cabin. I reasoned that, by the time I walked to the cabin and back, the eagle would have flown away. That’s my usual luck.
And so we continued to chat and catch up on family news, the eagle all the while perched atop the tree like some silent eavesdropper. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I headed to the cabin for my Canon, cautiously optimistic that the eagle would still be in the tree upon my return. It was.
Wings spread wide, the bald eagle lifts off from the treetop. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
I moved slowly away from the patio, pine tree and eagle in view, aimed my telephoto lens skyward and snapped a single frame before the eagle lifted off. I can only surmise that my camera lens appeared threatening to the observant bird with exceptional vision. An eagle can see an animal the size of a rabbit running from three miles away, according to the Wabasha-based National Eagle Center.
Nine minutes later, that same eagle was back, but in a different pine near the lake and on the other side of the patio. Once again, I managed one photo before the majestic bird took flight.
Two symbols of America: the flag and a bald eagle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
I never tire of seeing eagles, whether flying or statue still. They are truly majestic. Regal. Commanding respect. And they are our national bird, a designation officially signed into law on December 23, 2024.
Throughout our week-long cabin stay, I observed bald eagles flying above Horseshoe Lake multiple times. Sometimes high above the water. Other times descending toward the surface, fishing for fish. I hoped I would see a fish grasped in eagle talons. I didn’t. Nor did I see the eagles any closer than that first afternoon at the lake.
On the drive back to Faribault, Randy and I spotted many eagles soaring above the land, especially around Mille Lacs Lake. I couldn’t help but think of the eagle’s spiritual and cultural importance among Native Americans. Strength. Courage. Wisdom. All are equated with eagles.
A bald eagle flies over Horseshoe Lake in the Brainerd lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
This wondrous national bird is so common now that I’m no longer surprised when I see one flying in and around Faribault or elsewhere in Rice County or in Minnesota. Yet, despite frequent sightings, I never tire of seeing a bald eagle. There’s something about this bird with an average wingspan of 6-7 ½ feet, piercing eyes and curved beak that makes me pause, take notice and appreciate their fierce, unyielding strength and beauty.
An iconic northwoods Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)
I RECENTLY FOUND LINDA NORLANDER’S fourth book—Death of a Fox—in the new fiction section of my local library. Labeled #4 in “A Cabin by the Lake Mystery,” the series name and cover art drew me to pull the book from the shelf and read the back cover summary. I do, indeed, judge a book by its cover and title. Take note, book editors and marketing teams.
The fourth book in Norlander’s cabin mystery series. (Sourced from Norlander’s website)
Given the series name, I expected this book might be by a Minnesotan or set in Minnesota. It’s both. Sort of. The author grew up in Minnesota as the daughter of a rural newspaper editor, raised her family on 10 acres of land in the central part of our state and then moved to Tacoma, Washington. I won’t hold that against her because, well, Minnesota winters are not for everyone forever. But Norlander’s cabin mysteries are for anyone who likes a good mystery set in the Minnesota northwoods.
I’m a long-time fan of mysteries, dating back to the Nancy Drew mystery series of my youth. I’ll admit that I’ve had to force myself to read outside that genre. I still don’t read romance novels, although Norlander’s writing does include a bit of romance for main character Jamie Forest, a freelance editor who recently moved from her native New York City to a family lake cabin in northern Minnesota.
The first book in the cabin mystery series. (Book cover image sourced online)
In that tranquil setting, Jamie attempts to reclaim her life, leaving behind a traumatizing event involving law enforcement in the Big Apple. This I learned in book #1, Death of an Editor. I’m reading the books in order and just finished the first. I couldn’t put it down. It was that good.
Loons are common on the lakes of central and northern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)
Good not only mystery-wise, but also because this is definitely a Minnesota-centric read. Norlander references reserved Minnesotans, hot dish (not casserole), Minnesota Nice, loons…even appropriately names a local eatery the Loonfeather Cafe.
The author doesn’t shy from hard topics either, like biases against Native Americans (many of her characters are partial or full-blooded Ojibwe, including Jamie), proposed copper and nickel mining, and school shootings, all integral parts of the plot in Death of an Editor and part of Minnesota’s past and present. And, yes, an editor is murdered in this fictional book.
Jamie quickly becomes a suspect in that murder. Without revealing too much of the story, I will share that she sets out to clear her name, then that of another accused, along the way finding herself in life-death situations. There are many heart-stopping moments, questions about who can be trusted and who can’t. Lots of mysteries within the mystery to unravel.
Land greed. A troubling family past. Corrupt and threatening law enforcement officers. Men in red caps. Efforts to save the pristine northwoods from development. Secrets. Even Minnesota weather, which is forever and always a topic of conversation in our state, shape this first of Norlander’s books. Death of an Editor is set in summer and Norlander’s three subsequent books happen in our other three distinct seasons.
The second book in Norlander’s series. (Book cover image sourced online)
I just started her autumn seasonal second book, Death of a Starling, and am already drawn into the thickening plot, a continuation of book #1 as Jamie, considered an outsider and big city tree hugger, continues her efforts to uncover the truth. Already I’m finding this book to be another enthralling mystery that I can’t put down, not even to watch the 10 o’clock news.
It’s still cold enough for winter gear here in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2018)
WINTER RETAINS ITS firm grip on Minnesota, even in this official season of spring. We are in a Winter Storm Warning for Friday evening through Saturday morning with some 4-6 inches of snow forecast for my area along with wind gusts to 45 mph. Other parts of Minnesota will see more snow and wind, resulting in blizzard conditions.
Temps have also been unseasonably cold. Think below zero in some areas of our state earlier in the week. We did not reach 50 degrees in March, unusual even by Minnesota averages.
What to do? Endure. Escape. Or embrace.
The definition of endure is obvious. Don warm clothes, crank up the heat and wait.
A loon family on Horseshore Lake south of Crosslake in central Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
Escape means traveling to some place warm, like Arizona or Florida or California or Texas. Plenty of Minnesotans do exactly that over spring break. Or, when that’s not an option, envision the summer ahead and a Minnesota northwoods lakeside cabin. I’m picturing that in my mind, in mid-July, warm sand between my toes, water lapping, blue skies, loons calling…
A beautiful summer day at Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
Or, if you’re a south metro first grade teacher, you can embrace, or rather defy, the cold with Beach Day. On a 10-degree morning, my almost 7-year-old granddaughter headed off to school in a tank top and shorts, prepared to celebrate a day at the beach. An oversized sun and waves graphic defined her defiant, colorful shirt. Per her mom’s care, Izzy layered her snowpants and winter coat over her summer attire and packed a sweatshirt.
On the beach at Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
The wise teacher advised students they could wear shorts, “if you want to be cold.” Apparently Izzy and a few others wanted to be cold. Ah, the optimism of youth who weren’t about to allow a low morning temp of 10 degrees to spoil their day at the beach.
A reason to feel grateful,hung on a Gratitude Tree outside the Northfield Public Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2019)
EVEN IN A DECIDEDLY DIFFICULT YEAR, as 2022 has been for me, many reasons exist to feel grateful. I fully realized that upon putting pen to paper to compile a gratitude list during this, Thanksgiving week.
Me with my mom. Oh, how I miss her. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020 by Randy Helbling)
The year started with the death of my mom on January 13, during the height of Omicron. It was, undeniably, a challenging time to lose her, not that any time is easy. But COVID compounded the situation, affecting my grief process. Memories from her funeral will always be really hard for me. Ten months later, my focus is one of thankfulness for my mom. She instilled in me care, compassion, kindness…and left a legacy of faith. What a gift. I will also forever feel grateful to the staff at Parkview, who so lovingly cared for Mom for many years like she was family. I am thankful, too, to the many friends who sent comforting sympathy cards and memorials and to my friend Kathleen, who created a memory book honoring my mom.
Wedding guests toss rice at Randy and me as we exit St. John’s Lutheran Church in Vesta following our May 15, 1982, wedding. (Photo credit: Williams Studio in Redwood Falls)
May brought a milestone wedding anniversary for Randy and me. Forty years. I don’t recall how we celebrated, but nothing splashy. I feel thankfulness every day for this man who loves me unconditionally, supports me and still makes me laugh.
Randy and our grandchildren, Isabelle and Isaac, follow the pine-edged driveway at the lake cabin in one of my all-time favorite family images. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
My immediate family means everything to me. That my two young grandchildren live only 35 minutes away is not something I ever take for granted. From celebrating birthdays and holidays to picking strawberries and apples together to overnights at our house to being there in a crisis, this grandma is grateful for the geographic nearness. There’s nothing like the joy I hold in being a grandmother. The hugs. The snuggles. Reading books. Baking together. Getting down on the floor to play. Scooping the almost four-year-old off the floor and into my arms, little lips pressing a moist kiss upon my cheek.
Twice this year I also embraced dear uncles and an aunt whom I haven’t seen in awhile. I hosted Aunt Rachel and Uncle Bob, visiting from Missouri, for lunch. And I met Uncle John and his son Justin and family for lunch in Northfield. Oh, goodness, the happiness I felt in those hugs from extended family I love dearly.
Flying into Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2015)
Soon my son, who lives in Indiana, will be back for a short Christmas stay. I cannot wait. I haven’t seen Caleb in a year and I miss him so much at times that it almost hurts. But before then, my second daughter and her husband arrive from Madison, Wisconsin, to celebrate Thanksgiving in Minnesota. You bet I feel grateful for the time we will have together. I miss my girl.
Randy and Isabelle on the dock at the lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)
As I write this thanksgiving list, I realize that most gratitude centers on family. That includes time together at a lake cabin owned by a sister-in-law and brother-in-law who open their guest cabin to extended family. Their sharing of this blessing shows such love and generosity of spirit and I feel forever grateful for this place to escape, to enjoy nature, to rest and relax, to rejuvenate, to make memories.
Following a gravel road in Rice County, near Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo autumn 2022)
I am thankful also for (in no particular order), country drives with Randy; gathering around a bonfire with friends; writers and journalists and poets and artists; vaccines; medical professionals who provided emergency and extended care this year for those dearest to me; democracy…
My two poems, far left, and center, in an exhibit at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)
Lastly, I am grateful for my creative abilities. To write and photograph bring me incredible joy, and some side income. I appreciate that my creative work is valued, published. My creativity came full circle this autumn when I traveled back to my native southwestern Minnesota to view an exhibit, “Making Lyon County Home,” at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum in Marshall. Two of my poems, “Ode to My Farm Wife Mother” and “Hope of a Farmer,” are posted in the exhibit along with a four-generation family photo and my mom’s high school graduation portrait. After touring that exhibit, I visited Mom’s grave site in my hometown. I stood there atop the hillside cemetery surrounded by corn and soybean fields under a spacious prairie sky feeling overwhelmed by sadness, yet grateful for the love we shared.
TELL ME: What are you especially grateful for this Thanksgiving? I welcome specifics, especially.
Homemade roadside signs identify lakeshore property owners along Horseshoe Lake. These signs are posted all over lake cabin country. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
FOR MANY MINNESOTANS, summer means going Up North. That escape to lake and cabin country has been, for me, elusive, not part of my personal history, until recently. Now, thanks to the generosity of a sister-in-law and brother-in-law, who own lake shore property in the central Minnesota lakes region, going Up North is part of my summertime, and sometimes autumn, experience.
Randy and our granddaughter, Isabelle, 6, head onto the dock in Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
Now I understand what I’ve missed—the peacefulness of simply getting away from it all, the beauty of immersing one’s self in nature, the quieting of the spirit beside the water, in the woods, on the beach.
A northwoods style cabin across the lake from wherewe stay. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
In this land of 10,000-plus lakes, I’ve discovered the draw of lake life. I grew up on a crop and dairy farm in southwestern Minnesota, where lakes are few. I can count on three fingers the number of vacations during my youth—one to Duluth at age four, one to the Black Hills of South Dakota as a pre-teen and then camping once with an aunt and uncle at Potato River Falls in Wisconsin. That’s it. Cows have a way of keeping farm families home. My kids will tell you that our family vacations were mostly to visit grandparents with a few camping trips and other close by trips tossed in. No going Up North to a cabin.
I love the kitschy roadside signs pointing to lake properties. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
But now, oh, now, several summers into going Up North to the lake cabin, I fully embrace what so many Minnesotans hold in their family histories.
Sailing on Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
Waterskiing is part of the lake experience for some. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
Sunset on Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
The appeal of a lake comes for me not in boats or jet skis or sailboats or kayaks or paddleboards, but rather in the natural aspect. The sun rising over the lake, painting pink across the sky. The sun lowering, bathing the far shore treeline in dusk’s light. The moon rising.
Loons glide across Horseshoe Lake near the dock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
And then in the water, the watching of loons as they glide, duck, emerge, their haunting voices breaking the silence of early morning. I never tire of seeing them, of hearing their call, of observing babies swim near their protective parents.
A loon family seemingly unbothered by a nearby pontoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
For a few summers, eagles lived in a nest on the family lake property. To see those massive birds on-site, flying into the treetop nest, perched there, proved fascinating. They’ve moved on to another location and eagle sightings are infrequent.
A bluegill caught from the dock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
The clarity of Horseshoe Lake continues to impress me. I can see fish swimming in schools and some singularly. That’s vastly different from southern Minnesota lakes, most murky and green. Unappealing. But here fish bite by the dock, exciting the grandchildren and Grandma, too.
Typically the adults make a brewery stop. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
Our eldest daughter and her family are part of this Up North experience and it is perhaps that which most pleases me. To have this time together—eating meals lakeside, swimming, fishing, taking nature walks, sitting around a campfire and making s’mores, going into Crosslake for ice cream or craft beer—all of these moments I treasure. We are connecting, making memories, delighting in one another in a beautiful and peaceful setting. If only our other daughter and her husband and our son could join us, then my joy would be complete. But given the distance they live from Minnesota and their job and school obligations, I don’t expect a full house at the cabin.
Randy fishes with both the grandchildren, here Isaac, age three. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)
So I celebrate the Up North time we have, whether just Randy and me at the cabin or six of us. I love walking the long drive buffeted by towering pines. I love the stillness of the lake in the early morning. I love the crackle of burning wood and the taste of gooey s’mores. I love the lack of obligations and schedule and plenty of time to read a book or lounge on the beach, the sun warming the sand and my skin. I love every minute with those I love. I love that going Up North is now part of my life story, even if it took well into my sixties to write that chapter.
TELL ME: If you’re from Minnesota, do you go Up North? If you’re from elsewhere, do you have a similar escape? Please share. I’d love to hear your stories.
Please check back for more posts about going Up North.
Horseshoe Lake in the central Minnesota lakes region in mid-September. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
I NEVEREXPECTED to be one of those Minnesotans who would, each summer, go Up North to the cabin. But, thanks to the generosity of in-laws with lake property including a guest cabin, that is now part of my experience.
Looking up into the towering pines which populate this region of Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
Thrice since May, Randy and I have headed Up North to the cabin, most recently in mid-September. Each visit leaves me feeling at peace. Relaxed. Content. Refreshed. Thankful for this place of solitude and natural northwoods beauty.
The view through the pines as the sun edges down. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
As soon as the van swings onto the jackpine-edged drive leading to the cabin, I feel like I’m entering another world. Those slim, tightly-packed evergreens set the scene, defining for me the essence of Up North. I especially delight in walking the lane at sunset, golden light filtering through the stand of pines.
Gently lapping water pushes aquatic plants onto the beach. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
And then there’s the lake. Horseshoe Lake. Water mesmerizes me. The stillness. Or the lap of gentle waves against shoreline.
The warm September days proved ideal for relaxing on the beach. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
While I don’t like being on water and will only enter to shoulder depth, I like being near water. Lounging on the beach, the sun heating the sand and warming my skin. Book in hand. Beverage nearby.
Sky and water merge… Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
It’s as if time ceases here. Here, where the sky and the water meet and loons cry and an eagle traces the shoreline.
I love collecting shells, although this trip I didn’t gather any. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
Here, where only months earlier I gathered shells with my 5-year-old granddaughter and waded into the lake and lay on a hammock with my two grandchildren cozied beside me.
The dock was already removed from the lake, but a child’s slide remained. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021.
This lake place holds memories now of half-moons and pink skies and star-filled darkness. Of campfires and s’mores. Of little feet pounding the dock and sandy toes. Of waking up to a sunrise that writes poetry across the water, into the day, into Up North at the cabin.
TELL ME: Do you have cabin memories? I’d like to hear.
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.
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.
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…
Isabelle by the beach. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2021.
SHE RACED BACK AND FORTH along the beach, arms outstretched.
“I’m flying,” she said. “To the moon and into the pink sky.”
My heart brimmed with infinite love as I watched, the moon a pale orb in a sunset sky tinged with streaks of pink. On the far earth below, my 5-year-old granddaughter ran, her imagination flying.
This singular scene defined a recent stay at a family member’s guest lake cabin in the central Minnesota lakes region. For Randy and me, it’s all about enjoying time with those we love most. Connecting. Building memories and bonds that we hope will last a life-time.
Shortly after that stay, Isabelle mailed a picture she’d drawn. It included a rainbow and characters from Frozen inside a pink shape. I thought it was the pink sky of Horseshoe Lake. She clarified that it was simply a pink path. But in my eyes, I see the pink sky.
Horseshoe Lake. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2021.
Memories of days at the lake with our eldest daughter, our son-in-law and our two grandchildren continue to bring me joy. This stay I recruited Izzy to dry dishes while I washed. I also taught her to make s’mores. She counted and cracked graham crackers, then broke Hershey bars to fit. I expect she will assist me again next time we’re at the cabin.
We all sat around the campfire, Randy and Amber roasting marshmallows for s’mores. Sticky faces and fingers added to the memories.
One evening we shared bear stories, starting with Marc’s experience from a childhood camping trip. I added mine. And then Amber brought humor into the mix with her version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Randy tossed in bits about Smokey the Bear and the Hamm’s beer bear. At least the bear tales didn’t scare the grandkids.
A trail winds through Mission Park near the cabin. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2021.
But masses of dragonflies bothered Izzy. Our cabin stay coincided with dragonflies and mayflies invading like a biblical plague. Isaac just walked right through them and didn’t notice when I plucked several dragonflies off him. Yellow jackpine pollen also clouded the air. Because of that, I kept my Canon 20-D mostly tucked inside my camera bag.
The lake temp at the time of our late May visit was still too cold for swimming. So we waded only. Randy fished, hooking a few fish too small to keep. Two warm and sunny days allowed for sunning on the beach for the adults and playing for the kids. Izzy opened Sand Pie Bakery on the afternoon her parents left for a brief jaunt into town. Oh, what fun to order an assortment of fruit pies crafted by Izzy and her brother.
Isaac and I grew closer as we interacted. He now clearly calls me Grandma in the strong voice of a 2 ½-year-old. He also learned to love sliding after we went to a playground in town. I felt exhausted just watching him run up steps, slide and repeat.
Izzy plays with figurines one morning at the cabin. Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2021.
All of these family moments I hold precious. Time on the beach. Time inside the cabin—dining together, doing dishes, playing “school” with the kids. Time outside the cabin on nature walks—gathering treasures of stones, shells, pine cones. Watching loons near the dock. There’s nothing quite like viewing the natural world through the eyes of a child. Time outside the local ice cream shop, eating our treats as the afternoon sun and strong wind dripped ice cream onto our hands and the ground.
I cherish these memories. Every. Single. One. Some day perhaps my grown grandchildren will sit around a campfire and reminisce about cabin stays with Grandma and Grandpa. Stories of mayflies and dragonflies, of ice cream and sand pies, and of pink streaking the sky over Horseshoe Lake.
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TOMY BROTHER-IN-LAW Jon and to my sister-in-law Rosie, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for opening your guest lake cabin to extended family. We feel incredibly blessed by your generosity, by our time at the lake and by the family moments we are sharing and the memories we are building.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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