Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A sister’s love, more precious than jewels December 27, 2012

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ONCE UPON A TIME, in the land of Prairieville, an aging princess (in name only) arrived at the country estate of her middle brother just days before Christmas.

Unbeknownst to the princess, her middle sister, who is nothing like Cinderella’s wicked stepsisters and who also had journeyed from a yonder land, planned for the princess the most splendid surprise.

The princess had just shrugged off her pea coat and greeted her family when Sir Stephen stepped forward to present a present to the stunned princess. Thinking perhaps that her fun-loving nephew was about to play a prank upon her, as family members are sometimes wont to do, the princess accepted the gift with trepidation.

The first gift package, from Nixie, Fairy of Water.

The first gift package, from Nixie, Fairy of Water.

She pulled a dainty tissue-wrapped package from a gift envelope, allowing the tiny package to fall onto the floor for fear of what she may discover inside. With great care, she soon retrieved and unwrapped the gift. A lovely ring fell into her palm.

Before the princess could even slip the jewel onto her finger, another family member stepped forward with a present, followed by nine more packages into which child-size rings had been tucked.

By that time, the princess had determined that her kind-hearted sister, Lanae, had hatched the entire marvelous scheme to write a happily-ever-after ending to a story which began decades earlier on a Prairieville farm.

Many years ago, when the princess was much younger, she lost an emerald ring (not a “real” emerald, of course) gifted to her by her godmother. Despite a frantic search of the family farm, the precious jewel was never found. The princess was overcome with inconsolable sadness and never forgot that lost ring.

A sampling of the rings gifted to me by 11 fairies. These will be passed along to some sweet little girls I know.

A sampling of the rings gifted to me by 11 fairies. These will be passed along to some sweet little girls I know.

Because all fairy tales should end happily, the princess’s loving sister, Lanae, gathered, from various fairies of the world, a collection of fine jewels. Nixie, Fairy of Water; the White, Frost, Tooth, Sugar Plum, Woodland, Snowflake and Ice fairies; the Queen of the Fairies; The Little Fairy Fayette; and Tinkerbell all contributed gems to the cause.

The final ring, an "emerald," to replace the one I lost nearly 50 years ago.

The final ring, an “emerald,” to replace the one I lost nearly 50 years ago.

After the princess had unwrapped 11 packages of child-sized rings, a final box was presented to her from the Fairy Godmother. Inside, the princess found a sparkling imitation emerald, even more beautiful than the one she had lost on her childhood farm nearly 50 years earlier.

The aging princess was overcome with joy as she slipped the emerald ring onto her finger and raced to embrace her sister whose kind heart overflows with goodness and love.

THE END

THANK YOU, LANAE, for blessing me with this wonderful gift. I appreciate the thought, time and effort you put into pulling off this royal surprise. You made me feel like a real princess and I shall always cherish this gift of the heart from you to me.

TO READ my first posting about the lost ring of my youth, click here.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Loving Christmas with family December 26, 2012

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My husband Randy and me with our three adult children, from left to right, Miranda, Caleb and Amber.

My husband Randy and me with our three adult children, from left to right, Miranda, Caleb and Amber.

IF YOU WANT to make a mom happy, return home for Christmas.

My three, plus the eldest daughter's boyfriend, Marc, opened gifts Christmas Eve afternoon. Caleb is juggling on the left with his new juggling balls.

My three, plus the eldest daughter’s boyfriend, Marc, opened a few gifts Christmas Eve afternoon before Miranda had to leave. Caleb is juggling on the left with his new juggling balls.

All three of my children were able to get back to Faribault for the holidays, although my second daughter had to leave early Christmas Eve afternoon. She was on-call Christmas Day with her job as a Spanish medical interpreter in northeastern Wisconsin. But I had her here for awhile and that made me one joyful mother.

Ditto for my mom.

After taking numerous "good photos," we decided to imitate six-month-old Hank (the first great grandchild for my mother) by closing our eyes. Missing from the photo is Alex, the photographer.

After taking numerous “good photos,” we decided to imitate six-month-old Hank (the first great grandchild for my mother) by closing our eyes and pretending to sleep. Missing from the photo is Alex, the photographer.

For the first time in many years, all six of her children and their spouses and their children, plus the first great grandchild and significant others, gathered for a pre-Christmas family celebration at my middle brother’s rural Lamberton home.

One of my favorite candid shots, my son embracing his grandma, whom he had not seen since July Fourth.

One of my favorite candid shots, my son embracing his grandma, whom he had not seen since July Fourth.

My mom repeated many times, before and after the get together, how very happy she was that everyone could make it. All but four could stay for the entire day and into the evening.

Santa shows up every year at the family Christmas. Here he hugs my second daughter. He handed out cans of SPAM to me and my siblings apparently to celebrate all the SPAM we consumed as children.

Santa shows up every year at the family Christmas. Here he hugs my second daughter. He handed out cans of SPAM to me and my siblings apparently to celebrate all the SPAM we consumed as children.

We took lots and lots and lots of pictures, as my eldest daughter’s boyfriend noted. I believe, I mean I know, he was slightly overwhelmed by the entire event. Who wouldn’t you be when you’re not used to my loud and fun-loving family, most of whom bunk out on the basement floor after the day’s festivities end?

Last year my sister Lanae brought vintage hats for all the women to wear. Here most of the granddaughters pose with grandma.

Last year my sister Lanae brought vintage hats for the women. Here most of the granddaughters model their hats with grandma.

I love my family. And I love that my 80-year-old mom experienced the joy of having her closest loved ones with her for a single day to celebrate Christmas.

I decided the men needed hats, too, so I brought Santa hats for them to model in a serious pose.

I decided the boys needed hats, too, so I brought Santa hats for them to wear, here in a serious pose.

HOW ABOUT YOU? Are you able to gather with extended family to celebrate Christmas and what are some of your traditions?

Santa always poses for a photo with my mom.

Santa always poses for a photo with my mom.

Hank, the first baby in the family in 11 years, was the center of much attention.

Hank, the first baby in the family in 11 years, was the center of much attention.

My sister Lanae gifted our brothers, Brian and Brad, with Kitty Piddle and Dog Drool.

My sister Lanae gifted our brothers, Brian and Brad, with Kitty Piddle and Dog Drool. I also received red hot sauce from her and one fabulous gift I will tell you about in another post.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Rejoicing in the Sunday School Christmas Program December 16, 2012

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Sunday School students at Trinity Lutheran Church, Faribault, present the Christmas story Saturday evening.

Sunday School students at Trinity Lutheran Church, Faribault, present the Christmas story Saturday evening.

EMBEDDED DEEP in the memories of, I expect, many Midwestern Baby Boomers like me is the rich tradition of the Sunday School Christmas program.

There is simply nothing sweeter, nothing more meaningful to me, than viewing the Christmas story from the perspective of a child. Such telling, such re-enacting of the biblical account of Christ’s birth exorcises the frills, the stress, the hustle and bustle, the worldliness from my holiday experience. And that is a good thing.

Every little girl wants to portray an angel...

Every little girl wants to portray an angel…

For one evening, for one hour, I take it all in—this most basic sharing of the gospel by darling angels in glittery halos and restless wings, by usually rambunctious boys cinched in bath robes, by the honored two portraying Mary and Joseph, by the other children who sing and tell of Jesus’ birth.

Dressed in holiday finery, the little ones wait in the fellowship hall before the start of the worship service.

Dressed in holiday finery, the little ones wait in the fellowship hall before the start of the worship service.

It is a magical time, a butterflies-in-your-stomach worship service for the children, giddy with joy yet nervous about stepping before the congregation,.

I grew up with the Sunday School Christmas Program, lined up on the basement steps of the old wood-frame church in Vesta packed shoulder to shoulder with my classmates, awaiting that moment when the organist would begin playing “O Come, All Ye Faithful” and we would enter, pair-by-pair, into the sanctuary.

An angel proclaims the news of Christ's birth.

An angel proclaims the news of Christ’s birth.

Although costumed pageantry was not allowed in the conservative Lutheran church of my youth, I remember with fondness those traditional Christmas hymns—“Away in a Manger,” “Joy to the World,” “Behold, A Branch is Growing,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem”—which told of Christ’s birth as did the memorized sharing of the gospel when we each “spoke our piece.”

I always prayed I would never be assigned to recite the confusing verse: So Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David…

And so the years passed until I outgrew the Sunday School Christmas program.

The cast from the biblical account of the Savior's birth.

The cast from the biblical account of the Savior’s birth.

Decades later I would pass the tradition along to my own three children, this time in a Lutheran church which allowed the costumed pageantry of sharing the biblical account of the Savior’s birth. The halos and bathrobes, the reading of the gospel, the singing of Christmas hymns all wove into their memories.

Now I am at that place in my life when I sit side-by-side with my husband in a pew, our children grown and gone, not yet married, awaiting those Christmases when the tradition of the Sunday School Christmas Program will pass along to the next generation.

After the service, my friends' children, Nevaeh (Mary) and Braxton, pose for photos in the fellowship hall.

After the service, my friends’ children, Nevaeh (Mary) and Braxton, pose for photos in the fellowship hall.

TELL ME, is a Sunday School Christmas Program (or something similar) part of your Christmas experience? Do you have such fond memories from your youth?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Happiness equals family and friendship December 3, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:58 AM
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SINCE I’VE TOUCHED on two hot button topics—defective shingles and dogs in grocery carts—the past two posts, I’m focusing this morning on the positive.

Good Monday morning to you. It’s 50 degrees here in southeastern Minnesota at 7 a.m. On December 3. Love it.

Didn’t love the thick fog so much Sunday morning traveling back from north of the Twin Cities metro after spending the night with my husband’s oldest sister and her husband. But we sure did enjoy the “alone” time with them for a post Thanksgiving dinner.

Thanksgiving Day dinner 2011 at my house with a small part of my family and extended family.

Thanksgiving Day dinner 2011 with my family and a small part of my extended family. File photo.

Typically when we gather with Randy’s family, it’s a whole mass of people with minimal time for one-on-one visiting. And as nieces and nephews marry and start families, the visits with extended family have become less frequent and we’ve now moved from an annual Christmas get together to a summer-time reunion. That’s fine by me as it’s one less place to be during the holiday season.

Anyway, our eldest daughter and her boyfriend also joined the four of us for Saturday evening’s meal of turkey and the trimmings. It’s the first time we’ve seen them since Marc moved in October from California to St. Paul. My mom asks me all the time, “How does Marc like Minnesota?”

I can now report that he seems to like it just fine. (Of course, he has not experienced a “real” Minnesota winter yet.) He commutes 12 minutes via the downtown St. Paul skyway system and one outdoor block to his place of employment.

Thanks to my friend, Mandy, we delivered an artificial Christmas tree to Marc for his St. Paul apartment. I sent a mass email to about a dozen friends last week asking if anyone had a tree they no longer needed and Mandy responded. Such great friends we have.

Speaking of friends, here’s one of the things I love about a town like Faribault, which, by my standards, is not a small town, but which by Twin Cities metro standards likely would be considered small-town. Yesterday while shopping at one of two local grocery stores, I encountered three friends. Yes, it takes awhile to get the cart filled when you “have to stop and visit.” But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A shipped-in, store-bought strawberry can never match the taste of a fresh Minnesota berry, like those pictured here in this file photo of Straight River Farm berries.

Not the strawberries from Roger’s farm, but elsewhere. File photo.

Finally, and this is not meant to make anyone feel sorrowful. But a 79-year-old friend died on Friday. He had a myriad of health issues and his wife died only in May. They were a great Christian couple. We were especially close to Roger. He was always so kind and good to our family, giving us strawberries, sweetcorn and other produce he grew on his rural Faribault acreage.

But more than that, Roger embraced our family with a genuine and caring warmth. Several times Roger invited Randy and me out on a Sunday evening to play pegs and, I can’t remember the name of the game. We would play, but mostly listen to Roger tell his jokes and stories. He loved to tell jokes and stories.

We would laugh, and then laugh some more.

And when the game ended, Roger’s wife, Delores, would dish up the homemade ice cream Roger had made.

It is the seemingly simple things in life—like dinner with extended family and friendship—which make me happy. Life is good on this Monday morning in December.

WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY on this Monday morning?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Twenty-five years ago this beautiful daughter came into my life November 16, 2012

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Miranda, almost two, eating chocolate cake.

MY SECOND BORN of three, Miranda, turns 25 today.

What does a mother write about her girl that truly encompasses all her daughter has become as a young woman?

Miranda celebrates the Argentine World Cup soccer victory at Plaza de la Republica in Buenos Aires. The balloon is soccer legend Diego Maradona, at that time the coach of Argentina’s national team. She’s lived in Buenos Aires twice.

I will tell you that my dear daughter is kind and compassionate, adventuresome and fearless (except for spiders), a woman of faith, soft-spoken, yet there to speak for those whose voices need to be heard.

She works as a Spanish medical interpreter and has a heart for helping non-English speaking Hispanics in northeastern Wisconsin. It is an important job. Her ability to interpret under time and emotional pressures impresses me. She cares. Deeply.

Yet, it is that very profession which keeps my girl away from Minnesota. Because she is on call so often, including many nights, weekends and holidays, she is able to make the 5 ½-hour trip back home only several times a year. Likewise, those hours limit times my husband and I can visit our daughter.

Time with her is precious. Just like our daughter. Precious.

A photo of Miranda when she was back in Minnesota in June for her brother’s high school graduation.

Happy birthday, Miranda/Tib! We love you now and forever and miss you and if you were here, I would bake you a chocolate cake.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Musings of a Baby Boomer upon touring a museum exhibit in Moorhead November 15, 2012

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I’M WONDERING IF the rest of you baby boomers out there feel as I do, that youthful years have vanished, poof, just like that.

I need only look in the mirror to see the patches of ever spreading gray (time for a dye, again), the lines and creases and sagging skin to realize that Age has crept into my life to the point that I no longer can deny her presence.

Age has also shoved me into the corner of those who are overwhelmed by technology. It’s like the boxing gloves never come off as I resist, rather than embrace, technological changes. No Facebook or Twitter for me. No PayPal or paying bills online. And what is a smart phone and an iPad?

I am not joking, people. I need to enroll in a Technology 101 course or persuade the 18-year-old son, who is pursuing a degree in computer engineering, to tutor me.

Interestingly enough, this musing relates to a recent tour of  The Historical and Cultural Society of Clay County exhibit, “The BOOM 1945-1960 in Clay County,” at the Hjemkomst Center in Moorhead.

While I was only a few years old at the end of that boom period, much of what I saw in that exhibit, including the outhouse, looked pretty darned familiar:

These books are shelved in a mock boom era one-room schoolhouse display. I own that exact Dick and Jane book.  I love Dick, Jane, Sally, Tim, Spot and Puff. They taught me to read. Oh, I mean my teacher taught me to read via that book series.

Fun with Dick and Jane book. Check.

So familiar to me, desks just like I sat in through my years at Vesta Elementary School. The blackboard, though, is not correct. Ours was black, not green.

Rows of school desks. Check.

I remember the floral print plastic curtains which once hung in the tiny wood-frame house where I grew up on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. Today I collect vintage tablecloths like the one draping the table here. And, yes, I use them. Come to dinner at my house and you’ll find one gracing the table. I love retro.

A floral print curtain and floral print tablecloth. Check.

Tucked behind the close-up of the vintage plate, you’ll spy eyeglasses. I’ve worn prescription eyeglasses since age four, including the cat eye style and dark brown framed ones.

Dark-framed eyeglasses and vintage tableware. Check.

Popular Baby Boomer toys, ones my children, born between 1986 and 1994, also played with. Some toys truly are timeless, although I expect the View-Master isn’t. I played with Mr. Potato Head in the background, but he was not a favorite.

An Etch a Sketch, View-Master reels and Tinker Toys, all among my favorite childhood toys. Check, check and check.

There was not a piece of technology in sight save the old grainy black-and-white television.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Veterans’ Day: Grief in a shoebox November 11, 2012

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IT IS BUT A SINGLE SLIP of paper, creased and yellowing with age. Yet, it is so much more. The words typed thereon, 59 years ago, hold heartache and honor and memories of my soldier father and his buddy.

My father shipped home from Korea into the welcoming arms of family.

Cpl. Ray W. Scheibe shipped home from Korea in a box, to a grieving family.

The third section of the memorial service bulletin my soldier dad carried home from Korea.

It’s all there, on that piece of paper, a memorial service bulletin dated July 31, 1953, Sucham-dong, Korea. My father folded that paper into quarters, carried it across the ocean and across the country and back home to southwestern Minnesota and then tucked his grief inside a shoebox.

A story about Cpl. Ray W. Scheibe, published in the July 23, 1953, issue of  his hometown newspaper, The Wolbach Messenger, Wolbach, Nebraska.

Cpl. Ray William Scheibe lost his life in Korea June 2, 1953, when he was hit by a round of mortar fire, according to information received from a buddy. He was a member of an infantry unit and was on patrol duty at the time of his death.—from The Wolbach Messenger, Thursday, July 23, 1953.

Sgt. Elvern Kletscher, my father, witnessed the horrific death of Ray, who was due to ship out the next day. Back in tiny Wolbach, Nebraska, Ray’s wife, Marilyn, and their 3-month-old daughter, Terri Rae, waited.

The memorial service bulletin lists the names of those soldiers who died, including Ray Scheibe.

Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13—scripture quoted in the memorial service folder dated July 31, 1953, Sucham-dong, Korea.

An in-ground marker honors my father, Elvern Kletscher, a Korean War veteran and recipient of the Purple Heart for wounds he suffered at Heartbreak Ridge in Korea. My father did not receive his Purple Heart until 2000.

This Veterans’ Day let us remember, always, those who have served and are serving.

My father, Elvern Kletscher, left, with two of his soldier buddies in Korea.

The cover of the 1953 memorial service folder from Korea.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Photographing Webster, Minnesota, Part II October 8, 2012

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Main Street/Rice County Road 3 in Webster, Minnesota. One of the best known businesses in Webster is the Ranchero Supper Club, near middle in photo, to the left of the white car.

WHENEVER I SNOOP around a small town, I wonder when someone is going to step outside of their home or business and ask why I’m taking pictures. Only once has that happened in my many Main Street visits. That was in Otisco, south of Waseca. When I explained who I was, the local relaxed.

If I lived in one of these rural towns and saw a stranger wandering with a camera, I’d question him/her, too.  But that’s me.

My traveling companion, my husband, is used to my curious ways, my quest for interesting photos. He even tips me off occasionally to photo possibilities. Yes, he’s a quick study.

One of the more unusual finds in Webster was this graffiti etched into brick on a downtown building. Names covered several separate sections of wall. I photographed this particular section because of the name Randy (my husband’s name) and “FUZZY,” which was the nickname for one of his sisters. No, they did no etch their names here. Anyone know the story behind all of this downtown graffiti?

Sometimes he probably thinks my photo ideas are crazy. But if he does, my spouse has the good sense not to tell me.

Here are the remainder of the interesting (at least from my perspective) photos I shot in Webster in northern Rice County several weeks ago.

More brick at the Webster Town Hall, a former school, I presume. I love that the old playground equipment has not been removed due to safety concerns. That’s the edge of an old merry-go-round you’re seeing to the left in the frame.

And just how often do you see a pay phone anymore? Well, in Webster you’ll find this one.

Interesting signage atop what I think is a former bank building.

One of Webster’s most interesting businesses: Sight on Survival, “a defensive products and law enforcement gear retail store.”

A snowplow blade awaits winter’s arrival.

To the west of Webster lies one of the most beautiful multi-purpose parks I’ve seen, the Webster Township Park. the park includes this ball diamond, basketball court, horseshoe pits, playground, picnic shelter and grills, nature trail and more.

TO SEE ADDITIONAL images, click here to link to my previous post, “Webster, Minnesota, on a Sunday morning in September.”

Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Webster, Minnesota, on a Sunday morning in September October 3, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:39 AM
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Reflections in the window of the Webster Post Office.

IN WEBSTER, MINNESOTA, on a Sunday morning, the rooster crowed…

 the black cat prowled…

and the John Deere combine roared through town.

And we were an hour late for worship services at St. John’s Lutheran Church (due to an incorrect time published in an area newspaper).

Because we missed church and had an hour before serving of the annual fall harvest dinner at St. John’s, my husband and I had more than enough time to explore this unincorporated village in northern Rice County some 30 minutes south of the Twin Cities.

BRO Machine Company housed in an old creamery.

It takes all of about a few minutes to drive around Webster, unless you park, get out and search for photo ops to define the essence of this rural community. Only then do you notice the nuances that give Webster its character.

Like any small town, it’s worth your time to stop and appreciate, to notice the bikes dropped by kids on lawns, the toy trucks abandoned outside front doors, the aging buildings, the well-kept yards with beautiful flower gardens, and the rolling countryside around Webster. All of this makes you (or at least me) want to pull up roots and move to this peaceful place.

But since that’s not practical…I took photos a few weeks ago…in September.

A beautifully-landscaped yard in Webster.

A front yard in Webster.

I was particularly charmed by the friendly MN Valley Co-op Supply sign on the side of the building.

PLEASE CHECK BACK for one more post with images of Webster, which is only a few blocks long and wide.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Roses & poetry September 29, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:33 AM
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Birthday roses from my husband, Randy.

WHAT WOMAN DOESN’T love roses and poetry?

After work on Wednesday, my 56th birthday, my dear husband brought me a dozen wrapped long-stem roses. Then he disappeared, tools and parts in hand, down the basement stairs to the laundry room to repair my clothes dryer which no longer was producing heat. Roses from the repairman. Perfect.

Simultaneously, I was upstairs in my office checking my email while my birthday supper, homemade lasagna, finished baking.

Crossings at Carnegie, housed in a former Carnegie library, is a privately-owned cultural visual and performing arts center in Zumbrota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

Waiting in my in-box was this message from Crossings at Carnegie, a privately-owned arts center in Zumbrota:

Thank you for submitting poetry/prose to be considered for Crossings’ “It’s All One Water” exhibit. We received about 110 poems, from which jurors chose 28. It was exciting to receive such a fine outpouring of exceptional work from so many talented writers. Jurists told us they were a pleasure to read, and selecting those to be included was a difficult task.

We are pleased to inform you that your entry, “In which Autumn searches for Water,” was chosen to be part of this exhibit. Your poem will be on display, along with other written works and photographs, through the month of October.

How sweet is that? Another dozen roses, figuratively speaking.

I’ll admit that when I submitted “In which Autumn searches for Water,” I was confident my poem would be selected for Crossings’ joint collaboration with the Zumbro Watershed Partnership. I don’t mean that in an arrogant, haughty way. But I think those of us who write realize when we’ve written a piece that sings.

Not that I’m going to sing. You would not want to hear me sing. But I will read my water-themed poem during the Friday, October 19, “It’s All One Water” reception which begins at 7 p.m. A reading of written pieces, with screen projection of water-themed photos, will start at 7:30 p.m. next door to Crossings at the Zumbrota State Theatre.

A chapbook of selected photos and writing (maybe my poem?) also will be published.

There you have it, roses and poetry. Perfect.

#

ANOTHER FARIBAULT RESIDENT, Larry Gavin, a writer who teaches English at Faribault High School (he’s taught all three of my kids), is also among the “It’s All One Water” selected poets. Larry, however, is eons ahead of me in poetry. He’s already published three poetry collections. Like me, though, he also was published on Roadside Poetry project billboards (now ending after a run of 22 seasonal poems). You can learn more about this gifted Faribault poet in a post I published nearly a year ago by clicking here.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling