Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Law & order in Rothsay May 16, 2013

SMALL TOWNS, TIME AND AGAIN, draw me in to explore.

It is the unpretentious genuineness, the make-do, no-frills approach to life that appeals to me. Folks in small towns typically are not trying to impress. Rather, they are simply living their lives—being good neighbors, working hard, getting by on what they have.

I’m not saying big city residents don’t do likewise. I just think the evidence of simpler living is more visible in our rural communities.

Wilkin County Sheriff's Dept. 1

Take Rothsay, population around 500. Just look at the building which houses the Wilkin County Sheriff’s Department in Rothsay, which lies along Interstate 94 some 35 minutes southeast of Fargo.

Wilkin County Sheriff's Dept. 2

Nothing fancy about this vintage trailerhouse, apparently a satellite office for the sheriff’s department based in the county seat of Breckenridge 30 miles distant.

Wilkin County Sheriff's Dept. 3

My husband and I were, should I say, awestruck when we pulled into the downtown business district and spotted this law enforcement headquarters. We’d never seen a sheriff’s office quite like this one.

I knew I’d found a gem, another slice of small-town Minnesota worthy of preserving via a photo shoot.

FYI: Check back tomorrow for more photos from Rothsay.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Anniversary love May 15, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:24 AM
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My husband, Randy, and I exit St. John's Lutheran Church in Vesta following our May 15, 1982, wedding.

My husband, Randy, and I, pelted by rice, exit St. John’s Lutheran Church in Vesta following our May 15, 1982, wedding.

THIRTY-ONE. The number flits through my sleepy brain at 6:01 a.m. as my eyelids flicker and I begin to awaken on this May morning.

A cool breeze wafts through the open south window. Birds trill—the piercing voice of a cardinal, the methodical caw of a crow.

Traffic wheels by and a train rumbles blocks away.

I lie still, on my back, needing to get up and pee, but not wanting to disturb him. My husband. The man I married thirty-one years ago today.

I turn my head toward him, watch the gentle rise of his shoulders snugged beneath the polyester block quilt my Grandma Ida stitched for our wedding.

There is something comforting in lying here, watching him, knowing how much I love him. Still. After thirty-one years.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Thrice blessed on a Sunday May 5, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:08 PM
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DO YOU EVER EXPERIENCE one of those days when you feel blessed, just blessed?

This Sunday would be such a day.

One of those blessings came in a shoebox, carted to church this morning by my friend Joanne. She spotted two vintage drinking glasses at her son-in-law’s mother’s garage sale yesterday and mentioned my glassware collection. The mother told Joanne to take the two glasses and give them to her friend. That would be me.

And so this morning after the 8 a.m. church service, Joanne handed me that shoebox with two outrageously cheerful glasses, unlike any others in my collection.

Vintage glasses

While I absolutely adore the vintage 70s glasses, I value even more Joanne’s thoughtfulness in giving me something she knows I will use and appreciate. It’s not my birthday, not any special day for me…

The second blessing of the morning came when 2 ½-year-old Mia, who wasn’t feeling well, arrived at my house around 9:30. Her mom, my friend Tammy, had phoned earlier wondering if I could care for Mia while her family attended the confirmation of their eldest son. I didn’t hesitate. The rite of confirmation is too important for parents to miss.

Tammy thought I was doing her a favor. But she was also doing me a favor. Years have passed since I’ve “played dolls” and read picture books to a child. And let me tell you, such child’s play is good for the soul.

Finally, my third blessing of the day came from Cecilia, one of my favorite bloggers, who writes from her “little farm on the prairie” in Illinois. I can’t even tell you how long I’ve read “The Kitchens Garden,” but I cannot imagine my day without a trip to Cecilia’s “farmy.”

She takes me back to my childhood on the southwestern Minnesota prairie, reconnecting me to my roots via her insightful, creative and splendid writing and photography. But more than C’s ability to write well are her compassion and care for both people and animals.

Rather than try to explain, just read this comment posted by Cecilia on my “Hope Unfurls” post published Saturday:

I was out collecting trees the other day and Sandy (The Matriarch) said how she always enjoys your comments, she is so worried about you out there in this infernal snow.. a winter that will not let up is not good for a woman she said, it wears on her, but you have stood up to it with grace and fortitude, not long now I hope, and you will have some flowers. Love from all of us! So proud to be your friend, Audrey. c

Thrice blessed I am this Sunday, dear readers. Thrice blessed.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A photographic escape to Two Rivers, Wisconsin May 3, 2013

A sign inside the historic Washington Museum and Visitor Center in Two Rivers.

A sign inside the historic Washington Museum and Visitor Center in Two Rivers.

HAVE YOU EVER DRIVEN into a community you’ve never visited and fell totally, absolutely, head-over-heels in love with the place?

For me, that would be Two Rivers, along Lake Michigan in northeastern Wisconsin.

Nearly two years have passed since I toured this community which claims to be the birthplace of the ice cream sundae. I love ice cream as much as the next person and savored my sundae at Berners’ Ice Cream Parlor, established in 1881.

Signage on the exterior of the Hamilton Wood Type Museum.

Signage on the exterior of the Hamilton Wood Type Museum.

But even more so, I loved the Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum across the street, a magnet for artists and former newspaper types like me who view print as art and not just a means to publish news. I wrote about the museum shortly after my family’s visit there in August 2011. Click here to read that post.

A view of Two Rivers from the historic fishing village.

A view of Two Rivers from the historic fishing village.

Besides treats and type, Two Rivers wooed me with the Rogers Street Fishing Village. From there I photographed a dreamy, idyllic view of the town complete with a white steepled church in the background. Although I’ve never been to New England, I imagine the scene might be similar to a quaint fishing village there.

Cool signage.

Cool signage.

And then there’s the signage in Two Rivers—those details I notice because, well, I tend to notice details. I appreciate artful signage that beckons me.

Although I didn't stop at this fish market, the exterior charmed me.

The exterior of Susie-Q Fish Market charmed me.

Today I long to return to Two Rivers 356 miles to the east. But for this moment, viewing photo memories must suffice to lift my winter weary spirits, to erase the doom and the gloom and the visual of the snow which is falling here again this morning.

I will imagine for this day that I am among the good folks of Two Rivers, in a community where optimism, faith and good news prevail.

BONUS PHOTOS:

A snippet of small town life inside the Washington House.

A snippet of small town life inside the Washington House.

I was amused by the names of the docked boats.

I was amused by the names of the docked boats.

The Dutch Lady

Dutch Lady

Why would you name your boat Fishing Pox

Why would you name your boat Fishing Pox II? Is there a Fishing Pox I?

A simple fish shed sign in the fishing village.

A simple fish shed sign in the fishing village.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Unbelievable! Record snowfall on May 2 in Faribault, Minnesota May 2, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:28 AM
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Willow Street, shortly after 7 a.m. May 2. That's my house on the right.

Willow Street, shortly after 7 a.m. May 2. That’s my house on the right.

YOU WOULD GUESS, walking my neighborhood this morning, that this is March instead of May. I am living in a winter wonderland, if you want to put a positive spin on the fresh snow blanketing the landscape.

Our measurements showed seven inches. I expect we got closer to a a foot of snow since it began falling Wednesday afternoon.

Our measurements showed seven inches. I expect we got closer to a a foot of snow since it began falling Wednesday afternoon.

An unofficial seven inches of snow have fallen here by measurement of the yardstick my husband thrust into the snow this morning. I expect we got more like 12 inches as much melted upon hitting the ground. I believe the old record for this date in Minnesota was three inches in 1946.

Owatonna, 15 miles to the south got 13 inches in this storm. Falling snow limited the time I spent outdoors with my camera this morning.

Schools are closed.

My husband blowing out our driveway.

My husband blowing out our driveway.

It’s a mess out there.

A limb broke off my neighbor's tree around 6 a.m., striking her house and then smashing onto her car, breaking the windshield. In this photo my husband had already sawed a portion of the limb off. We then pulled this remaining limb from her car so she could move it, before another limb fell.

A limb broke off my neighbor’s tree around 6 a.m., striking her house and then smashing onto her car, breaking the windshield. In this photo my husband had already sawed a portion of the limb off. We then pulled this remaining limb from her car so she could move it, before another limb fell.

Branches are down all over, including at my new neighbor's house across the street.

Branches are down all over, including at my neighbor’s house across the street.

Look to the upper left in this photo and you'll see one particular limb broken off and looming over my neighbor's yard.

Look to the upper left in this photo and you’ll see one particular limb broken off and looming over my neighbor’s yard.

The intersection right by my house and my husband blowing snow. Note the sagging utility lines.

This shows the intersection right by my house and my husband blowing snow. Note the sagging utility lines.

Branches are broken and littering yards. Power lines are sagging from the weight of the heavy wet snow.

I opened the garage door this morning to this scene.

I opened the garage door this morning to this scene.

Cars are buried in driveways and residents are slogging through the snow with snowblowers.

Clearing our snow-covered driveway.

Clearing our snow-covered driveway.

Our snowy backyard.

Our snowy backyard.

Note, again, the sagging power lines in this shot taken from my backyard looking toward my neighbor's house across Willow Street.

Note, again, the sagging power lines in this shot taken from my backyard looking toward my neighbor’s house across Willow Street.

Need I say more.

I want out.

JUST AS I WAS WRAPPING up this post, the snowplow barreled past my house, throwing the snow with such force that it blasted the side of our house and the bedroom window. I checked the window and it doesn’t appear to be broken.

UPDATE 3:55 P.M.: Tree service removal trucks and the buzz of chain saws have frequented my neighborhood this afternoon as clean up begins after the storm.

A tree service company arrived at my neighbor's house across the street this afternoon to remove dangling limbs. That's her car with the smashed windshield to the left in this photo. See my earlier photo of the car above when parked in her driveway. The limb fell onto her car at 6 a.m.

A tree service company arrived at my neighbor’s house across the street this afternoon to remove dangling limbs. That’s her car with the smashed windshield to the left in this photo. See my earlier photo of the car (above) when parked in her driveway this morning. The limb crashed onto her car at about 6 a.m.

Directly across Willow Street from my home, another neighbor had to deal with fallen branches and limbs in his yard.

Directly across Willow Street from my home, another neighbor had to deal with fallen branches and limbs in his yard.

A City of Faribault snowplow driver and a Thompson Tree Service worker confer along Willow Street this morning.

A City of Faribault snowplow driver and a Thompson Tree Service worker confer along Willow Street this morning.

Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“I hated myself”: Journey to recovery through Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge April 30, 2013

A member of the Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge Choir sings a solo during a presentation on Sunday at Trinity Lutheran Church in Faribault.

A member of the Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge Choir rehearses his solo before a concert on Sunday at Trinity Lutheran Church in Faribault.

SHE’S FOUR MONTHS to graduation, this mother of four, this 13-year meth addict.

Jill speaks with passion, sharing her downward spiral into addiction and her remarkable recovery through Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge. Her voice raw with emotion, Jill reveals how, as a single mom trying to raise a son and a daughter, who had cystic fibrosis, she gave her girl up for adoption. That pushed her over the edge.

Later, she would marry, have two more children and, eventually, her husband would enter treatment at Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge, a faith-based recovery program for those with drug and alcohol addictions. “I watched him turn into a godly man,” Jill says. “Our lives are unbelievable. We love each other. It’s amazing what God can do when He’s in your life. He restores.”

Praise and personal testimonies highlighted the choirs performance.

Praise and personal testimonies highlighted the choir’s performance.

By age 13, James from my community of Faribault, was smoking crank out of a light bulb. The son of a teacher and social worker, he had no direction or purpose in life. He was using and selling drugs and breaking into places. By age 22, he’d been to prison twice, had a son. “You try to manage and have as much fun as you can before you get locked up again,” he says.

He also used heroin. Then his brother died. “They’re thinking they’re going to bury two kids in the same month,” James says of his parents.

In 2011 he graduated from the Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge treatment program. “I found God and feel God. I have the joy of the Lord.”

And then James shares more. He was once best friends with a 27-year-old Faribault man charged last week with first-degree attempted murder and first-degree and second-degree assault in an attack on his fiance, stabbed more than 30 times. She survived and is out of the hospital.

“Bad things happen…God sustains you,” this former addict says.

Heartbreaking and inspirational stories were shared.

A soloist performs with the choir.

Heidi, 22, the daughter of divorced parents and an alcoholic father, grew up in a small town. She started drinking, eventually wracked up two driving under the influence charges, was in and out of court-ordered treatment.

She turned to abusing prescription drugs, yet managed to go to college, even held a job in sales. She stole from her family, got into heroin.

By her admission, Heidi says, “I threw away opportunities in life…I hated myself…I was sitting in my apartment all day getting high.”

Then she overdosed, suffered a seizure.

Heidi is set to graduate in May from Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge. “I needed a relationship with God,” this young woman says.

IF YOU’VE NEVER attended a Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge presentation like the concert/personal testimonies I heard at my church, Trinity Lutheran in Faribault, on Sunday, I’d encourage you to do so. You will never forget the stories of these courageous individuals who have overcome so much to reclaim their lives and their families and forge new relationships with God.

Choir members line up and dish up at the potluck after the service and concert.

Choir members line up and dish up at the potluck after the service and concert.

At the potluck dinner after the concert, I sat with Tyler, a 20-year recovering heroin addict and father of two boys, 9 and 13. When his wife died two years ago, Tyler knew he needed to change. You’d never guess, just looking at and talking with this well-groomed and articulate young man, that he’d once been into drugs. He’s been in and out of treatment several times. But this time, in the longer one-year faith-based recovery program, Tyler’s succeeded.  He’s set to graduate soon, will start college and work, and get his boys back.

Tyler, Jill, James and Heidi and about 35 others, through primarily song and those few personal testimonials, brought their messages of hope, joy and recovery to my church through the center’s community outreach program.

Anthony Bass, who played for the Minnesota Vikings from 1998-2000 and is now the church relations manager for Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge and is planting a church in northeast Minneapolis, says the on-the-road programs are part of an effort to help fight heroin, meth and prescription drug addictions, showing “how God’s power has helped and restored.”

Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge has eight facilities in Minnesota—in Minneapolis, Brainerd and Duluth and one soon to open in Rochester. The name was changed last October from Minnesota Teen Challenge to Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge, more accurately reflecting the ages of program participants. Eighty percent are over age 18.

Bass also asked for prayers and financial support.

The Trinity Quilt Makers gifted the group with this stash of quilts.

The Trinity Quilt Makers gifted the group with this stash of quilts.

As I sang the hymn, “Who Are You Who Walk in Sorrow,” with the congregation and choir members, I considered how fitting these words:

Great companion on our journey,
Still surprise us with Your grace!
Make each day a new Emmaus;
On our hearts Your image trace!

FYI: Click here to learn more about Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

(Note that I may or may not have the correct spellings of names referenced in this story. I did not check the spellings. And, yes, I asked and was given permission, to photograph the Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge Choir.)

 

How I spent my first weekend of spring April 29, 2013

Perennials are finally popping through the earth.

Perennials are finally popping through the earth in my yard.

SPRING OFFICIALLY SPRANG in southern Minnesota this weekend.

Yes, readers. No snow. Temps in the 70s, maybe even 80s. I should know, but I was too busy to check.

Flip flop weather, for sure.

Sunshine and windows thrown wide open to vent the stale winter air from the house.

Most of my weekend I labored outside, trying to make up for lost time, for all those weekends when snow and cold prohibited any sort of outdoor work.

I raked these leaves from backyard flower beds. Look at that lawn and the hillside. No snow. Anywhere.

I raked these leaves from backyard flower beds. Look at that lawn and the hillside. No snow. Anywhere.

I raked leaves from perennial flower beds.

And when I wasn’t raking, I was sanding a table for our son who moves into a Rochester apartment a week after my husband and I retrieve him from college in Fargo. He’s interning with IBM. The oak table, purchased at a thrift store for a song, needed refinishing.

Compare the two table halves, the left side stripped and sanded, the right side top, not.

Compare the two table halves, the left side stripped and sanded, the right side top, not.

Smokers owned the table. Do not ever, I repeat, ever, purchase a table owned by anyone who smoked cigarettes. Do you know how difficult it is to remove cigarette smoke odor and tar and nicotine build-up from wood? Nearly impossible.

I sanded the skin right off tiny sections of two fingers from the hours, and I do mean hours, I sanded. Take that times two, because Randy worked side-by-side with me. All the while I was thinking, if this cigarette-exposed wood looks like this, imagine a smoker’s body inside and out.

Lecture finished for today.

The Frankoma teapot I purchased.

The Frankoma teapot I purchased. There’ s a slight chip in the lid handle.

On the way to the paint store to purchase supplies for that table refinishing project, I stopped at a garage sale and picked up a beautiful Frankoma teapot. I seldom drink tea, but I loved the artful shape and simple style of this collectible.

As a bonus, Mike, the guy having the garage sale, told me about all the old Mason and other fruit jars he buys and rents out for weddings and/or sells after I noticed an oversized blue jar for sale.. Since my eldest daughter is getting married this fall and mentioned perhaps using fruit jars for flowers, I was interested. So Mike took me inside his old stone house and showed me his boxes upon boxes of jars.

Although the jars initially drew me inside, they were not the find of the day. In the corner of Mike’s living room stood a deer. Yes, readers, a deer. Dead, of course, and mounted. An entire deer, not just the head, although several deer heads are suspended from walls, too.

Totally creeped me out and I told Mike that. He may have laughed. I so regret leaving my camera at home.

BONUS PHOTO:

Spring, grill

My husband grills year round, so there’s nothing unusual about him grilling this weekend. But focus on that landscape. No snow. Anywhere.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Tears on a Tuesday April 17, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:20 AM
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BETWEEN FORKSFUL of the ultimate comfort food, homemade mac and cheese, I am crying. Not just tears, but great sobs that heave my shoulders, force me to remove my eyeglasses, cause me to place my head between my hands, elbows resting upon the table.

Issues of the day—anger and disappointment, worry and concerns—have welled up within me to this bursting point of emotions.

My husband sits in silence, forking mac and cheese into his mouth while the torrent of words and tears releases. I wonder what he is thinking. Perhaps that his wife has momentarily lost it.

Sometimes, though, it is good to cry, to let it all out, to be true to yourself and how you are feeling.

I tell him, too, that I feel, in this moment, as grey as the day in this longest of Minnesota winters. I want to run away from the snow and the cold and the gloom, all of it. And I think then of my mother who occasionally uttered similar despair, her desire to just run away, away from the pressing responsibilities of raising six children. Her issues are not mine. And the concerns I feel on this day are not all that major, but too much for me on this Tuesday.

So, after supper, after the left-over comfort food has been scooped into a container and tucked into the refrigerator, after I’ve washed the dishes, I suggest a walk at the local nature center. I grab my camera, slip into my Sorels, pull a stocking cap onto my head, zip my sweatshirt.

Entering River Bend Nature Center, I eye the next-door prison with seemingly infinite scrolls of razor wire unfolding before me. The site is disconcerting. I am always troubled by the prison’s presence right next to the nature center.

But as our car follows the road that dips and curves past the pond and the woods and then zooms down the hill to the center’s parking lot, I can feel the easing of tension in my shoulders.

Deer cluster in the woods at Riverbend Nature Center, Faribault.

Deer cluster in the woods at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.

Then my husband spots the deer clustered in and on the edge of the woods and I slip from the car, leaving the door ajar so I can photograph them.

For the next hour there are no tears, no hurried worried words or thoughts, in this place of serenity.

These corn-fed deer show little fear.

These corn-fed deer show little fear.

Curious brown-eyed deer. Heads turned toward me, radar ears on alert.

Leaping across a path near the nature center parking lot.

Leaping across a path near the nature center parking lot.

Graceful leap of legs. The click of the shutter.

Last year's nest...

Last year’s nest…

Along the muddied trails, reflections of bare trees in puddles and promises of spring in green moss on dead logs. Last season’s nests bared by bare branches.

Geese on the prairie pond.

Geese on the prairie pond.

The trill of birds and the bark of geese in the swampland pond. Ripples in water. Golden sun setting. The swatch of red on a blackbird’s wings.

And in the prairie a weaving tunnel trail in the brown earth and the memories of this place waving in summer-time wildflowers and tall grass.

Day fades into evening at the nature center.

Day fades into evening at the nature center.

Here I find promise and hope in my evening of despair.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Shopping vintage in Minneapolis: I never thought my daughter would find her wedding dress in a (former) garage April 16, 2013

The unassuming exterior of Andrea's Vintage Bridal, housed in a former garage.

The unassuming exterior of Andrea’s Vintage Bridal, housed in a former garage.

IN THE UNLIKELIEST OF PLACES—an old auto garage—in the definitively hip and cool Lyn-Lake Neighborhood south of downtown Minneapolis, my first-born bride-to-be daughter set her heart on finding the perfect gown for her late September wedding.

On Saturday, Amber, her sister Miranda and I arrived for our 10 a.m appointment at Andrea’s Vintage Bridal, located in an unassuming block building angled into a corner of West 26th Street and Aldrich Avenue just off arterial Lyndale Avenue.

Inside Andrea's you'll find a wide selection of vintage dresses, shoes and accessories.

Inside Andrea’s you’ll find a wide selection of vintage dresses, shoes and accessories.

I was expecting a Victorian venue for this vintage attire. But, instead, I found the sweet surprise of this garage transformation from grease under your nails to manicured nails, from rags to lace. I expect if I’d peeked under one of the many scattered area rugs, I may have uncovered a faint oil stain.

The mismatch of expectations and reality seems fitting for a bridal shop that rates as anything but ordinary in the wedding fashion business.

Nikolina Erickson-Gunther consults with my eldest daughter.

Nikolina Erickson-Gunther consults with my eldest daughter.

“No one in the world is doing what we do—focusing on redesign (of vintage bridal gowns),” says Nikolina Erickson-Gunther, who runs the shop with her mother, Andrea Erickson.

Dresses from the 20s and 30s.

An example of Andrea’s bridal gown offerings, divided by vintage year.

From pre-1920s antique to 80s glam and everything in between—sleek 30s, lacy 50s, early 60s ballroom and those oh-so-cool hip flower child late 60s and early 70s—Andrea’s continually stocks around 350 gowns for those future brides, like my daughter, who appreciate vintage and a dress that is anything but the latest trendy style. You would be hard-pressed to find a strapless gown here.

Nikolina, her mom and associates specialize in customer service that focuses as much on individualized attention as the vision of how a bridal gown can be redesigned. Because these are one-of-kind finds, brides-to-be shopping Andrea’s need the ability to envision the transformation of a pulled-from-the-rack bridal dress into the perfect gown.

A sweet vintage dress, left, and Nikolina reflected in shop mirrors.

A sweet vintage dress, left, and Nikolina reflected in shop mirrors with racks of bridal gowns.

Working with vintage-attired and vintage-obsessed fashionable Nikolina, it’s easy to imagine any dress customized to fit a bride’s body and style. Nikolina, who holds a degree in film and 10 years experience as a make-up artist, possesses a commanding knowledge of fashion and style that exudes confidence.

Andrea's focuses on redesigning vintage wedding dresses.

Andrea’s focuses on redesigning vintage wedding dresses.

Under her tutelage, it was easy to envision sleeves and high necklines removed, lace tacked, straps added and more as Amber tried on about a half dozen dresses before finding hers, one that needs few adjustments. Because I am sworn to secrecy, I cannot share her pick. But suffice to say, she will look stunningly elegant on her wedding day.

That it should have been so easy for my girl to find “the dress” not only pleased, but surprised me. I was not expecting this.

And for someone like me, who really dislikes clothes shopping, Andrea’s offers a relaxing singular customer-focused experienced. Nikolina wasn’t darting between future brides trying to make the sale during our two-hour appointment. She settled Miranda and me onto a comfy cream-colored sofa outside a dressing room and dubbed us “the queen and princess” when I asked her to define our roles. Then she continued in her sole role of adviser and visionary to Amber.

Pierre

Pierre

Shopping for a bridal gown can become emotionally-charged, Nikolina says. And that perhaps is the reason her mother brings Pierre, a white poodle, to the shop. Pierre, Andrea’s unofficial therapy dog, accompanies her to her other job as a licensed counselor. Now I am not much of a dog person, but even I was drawn to the charming Pierre who mostly lounges on the floor. Nikolina advised us, if we had food in our bags, to keep them close or Pierre would rummage for the treats. I kept my purse close, having stashed several granola bars inside.

Poodle decor in the shop.

Canine art, in lamp and painting.

A kitschy poodle clock in a window display.

A kitschy poodle clock in a window display.

While a dog in a shop can ease tensions, so can the loving rapport between Andrea and Nikolina, evident when Andrea several times calls her daughter Pickles, a sweet childhood nickname. They work well together with Nikolina leading the gown fittings and Andrea occasionally offering input.

Andrea Erickson, bridal boutique owner and therapist.

Andrea Erickson, bridal boutique owner and therapist.

Nikolina returned from Boston to Minneapolis to help her mom run this organically-grown vintage bridal boutique, opened some half-dozen years ago. Andrea’s desire to offer brides an alternative wedding dress shopping venue and experience stems from her own frustrations in 2004 as a middle-aged bride-to-be seeking a gown different from what other brides were wearing. She eventually settled on a custom-made dress.

A view looking toward the front door.

A view looking toward the front door.

Soon thereafter, Andrea began collecting vintage wedding dresses, eventually opening Andrea’s Vintage Bridal and creating, as her daughter says, “a space that was different.”

Andrea's sells an assortment of vintage merchandise that includes jewelry, displayed here.

Andrea’s sells an assortment of vintage merchandise that includes jewelry, displayed here.

On this Saturday morning the old auto garage at 723 West 26th Street proves the ideal venue for my bride-to-be eldest who often shops thrift stores and appreciates vintage.

It is not lost on me either that her father, my husband, works as an automotive machinist, an unexpected historical link that brings this entire vintage wedding dress shopping experience full circle for our family.

Shopping Andrea’s Vintage Bridal was simply meant to be.

My daughters leave Andrea's Vintage Bridal after Amber, right, finds her "perfect" wedding dress.

My daughters leave Andrea’s Vintage Bridal after Amber, right, finds her “perfect” wedding dress.

FYI: Regular store hours at Andrea’s Vintage Bridal are from 2 p.m. – 8 p.m. Tuesday and Thursday and from 11 a.m. – 5 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Gowns are shown by appointment. Click here to reach Andrea’s website.

BONUS PHOTOS:

Need shoes? Andrea's sells those, too.

Need shoes? Andrea’s sells those, too.

Plenty of shoes from which to choose.

Plenty of shoes, and gloves, from which to choose.

Vintage dresses, vintage signage.

Vintage dresses, vintage signage.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Considering the tragedy in Boston April 15, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:49 PM
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UP UNTIL SEVERAL HOURS AGO, I’d never heard of Patriot’s Day.

Now you can bet that I, like all Americans, will not forget the date two explosions rocked the Boston Marathon, killing two as of this writing.

As I watched news coverage this afternoon, fixated by the unfolding developments, the number of injured, or “wounded” as some newscasters labeled them, climbed. Twenty-three. Then fifty. Then one hundred.

This day, this event, this attack will forever sear itself into my memory, filed into that unforgettable dark corner of my mind next to the files of 9/11 and the 35W Bridge Collapse and Newtown and way too many other American tragedies.

On days like this, I simply want to weep. And I did.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling