Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Oh, sweet baby boy, how I love you March 26, 2025

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A banner in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, shows the state capitol. I love Madison with its lakes, green space, bike trails, etc. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FOR WEEKS, RANDY AND I wanted to drive the four hours to Madison, Wisconsin, to visit our second daughter and her family. But each time, one of us was sick with or recovering from a cold. We were not about to make the trip until we were both fully healthy. Last weekend we were.

Friday morning we packed, loaded the van, then hit the road, crossing the Mississippi River into Wisconsin at La Crosse. That marks about the half-way point from Faribault to Madison. By early afternoon we’d arrived at our daughter and son-in-law’s home in the capital city.

Holding Grandpa’s finger. This is not Everett’s hand, but that of our eldest grandson, now in kindergarten. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I couldn’t exit the van fast enough. I wanted to see my grandson. Everett was born in mid-January and I’ve only seen him once in person since then. Video chats and photos filled the gap. But they are not the same, as we all know.

That sweet baby boy, who was an even 10 pounds at birth, now weighs nearly 17 pounds. He’s filled out. He’s smiling, cooing, interacting. And this grandma couldn’t have been happier. I watched him, cuddled him, played with him, read to him, talked to him, kissed him, rocked him, fed him, burped him, rubbed his tummy… Randy and I sent the parents out on a dinner date so they could have time alone together and we could have time alone with our grandson.

There’s nothing quite like spending time with a baby, especially a dear one, to make you forget about all the craziness happening in the world. And we know there’s plenty of chaos and reasons to feel concerned on multiple levels right now. I needed to be with Everett…to calm my spirit, to distract me, to remind me of love, of peace, of hope for the future.

In the days I spent with Everett, we bonded, grew our love for one another, gazed into each other’s eyes. Precious precious moments that I hold now in my memory, in my heart. I miss him so much already.

I called him sweet baby, darling boy, my love, all terms of endearment that carried a heart full of love.

(Book cover sourced online)

When I read It’s Hard to Be a Baby, a picture book written by Cheryl B. Klein and illustrated by Juana Medina, to Everett, his mama and I laughed. Babies have no idea, none, how difficult it is to be an adult sometimes. I’m thankful they don’t. But I suppose babies do struggle occasionally when we adults can’t figure out why they’re crying. Are they hungry, cold, tired, in need of a diaper change, bored…? None of us have quite figured out why Everett is so enamored with the living room ceiling fan. It’s not even turning. Yet he smiles broadly and coos every time he sees that fixture. It makes him so happy.

I love watching my second daughter with her son. Miranda’s a natural. So loving and tender, deeply in love with this baby who nearly cost her her life. She experienced severe postpartum hemorrhaging after Everret’s difficult birth. He was big; she is not. Miranda needed blood transfusions. A team of doctors and other medical staff at UnityPoint Health-Meriter Hospital in Madison worked to stop the bleeding and save her. I shall be forever grateful to them. This was a reminder that, yes, there can be complications and women can still die during childbirth.

Located at the entry point to Minnesota near La Crosse, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Since Miranda became a mom, I feel, too, a strengthening of our relationship in this shared experience of motherhood. I’m the mother of three, the grandmother of three. Two of my grandkids live only 35 minutes away. But not Everett, and that’s hard. So I whispered in his ear, “Move closer to Minnesota.” Then I turned to ask my daughter, “Did you hear that?” She did.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Regarding the latest school shooting: “Enough is enough,” says Madison police chief December 16, 2024

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I’ve been to Madison, Wisconsin, many times, taken many photos there. This is one of my favorites, taken along a bike trail in the Atwood Neighborhood on Madison’s east side. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

SHORTLY BEFORE I SAT down to write a blog post earlier this afternoon about not mailing Christmas cards this year, I checked my local newspaper’s website and read this headline: “5 dead, others injured in a shooting at a private Christian school in Wisconsin.” Then I clicked on the story.

In the second paragraph, I read that the shooting happened in Madison, Wisconsin, where my second daughter, who is eight months pregnant, and her husband live. A moment of fear pulsed through me. Miranda delivers mail in Madison. In reality, the likelihood of her working a mail route near Abundant Life Christian School at the time of the shooting seemed slim. Yet, I didn’t know where the school is located or where her routes take her. And it is a lack of information that can lead the mind to places you don’t want to go.

So I googled and found that the school sits on Madison’s east side, an area familiar to me since my son lived and worked on the east side of the capitol city for awhile. Next, I texted Miranda on a family group thread. Yes, during her work day. She had just learned of the shooting. And, yes, she was OK, and delivers mail on the west, not the east, side of the city. But, she noted, a co-worker’s child attends Abundant Life.

My heart broke. Not only for that child and parent, but for all the children, families and staff connected to this K-12 school along East Buckeye Road. They have been forever traumatized.

The initial report of five dead, as shared by law enforcement, proved incorrect. As I write this, a teacher, a teenage student and the teen suspect are dead. Six other students were injured, two with life-threatening injuries. My heart hurts for those families, especially.

As I watched an afternoon news conference led by Madison Police Chief Shon F. Barnes, himself a former teacher, tears trickled down my face. Grief rose. And the words of the chief and other officials who stood before the media sounded all too familiar. Just different faces, different voices in a different city on a different date in time.

“Enough is enough,” said the police chief in three succinct words that likely summarize how many of us are collectively feeling. Gun violence in our schools, anywhere, is unacceptable.

On this day, answers to many questions about the shooting in Madison remain unknown as the investigation begins. But I think we can all agree that something needs to change. I don’t have answers on how to prevent this from happening again in some other school. And it seems no one else really does either as these shootings continue. But it’s not for a lack of trying—by controlling access to schools, by offering more resources to help troubled students, by pushing for gun reform…

On this Monday, only 10 days before Christmas, the people of Madison are experiencing the unthinkable tragedy of a school shooting. They are a community collectively reeling and grieving, searching for answers. I feel for my daughter’s co-worker, for her child and for every single student, teacher, staff and family connected to Abundant Life Christian School.

Suddenly the fact that I’m not sending out Christmas cards this year just doesn’t seem all that important.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Love in a bouquet of lilacs May 18, 2023

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Wisconsin lilacs from Randy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

IN 41 YEARS OF MARRIAGE, Randy and I have always been together on our wedding anniversary. But this May 15, he was 583 miles away in Lafayette, Indiana. Monday didn’t feel at all like a celebratory day with my husband gone. But I understood. He left southern Minnesota on Friday to attend our son’s graduation with a master’s of science degree from Purdue University. My vestibular neuronitis symptoms made travel and attending the Sunday evening commencement unmanageable. This was one of those moments in life when I experienced profound disappointment.

And so our anniversary passed on Monday with a phone call and loving text messages exchanged. I knew Randy would be home the next day, which was a gift in itself.

When he rolled into the driveway at 1:15 pm Tuesday after an overnight stay with our daughter and her husband in Madison, Wisconsin, my heart filled with gratitude for his safe return and overflowed with love in his presence. One long embrace later, and we were unpacking the van.

And then Randy said, “I have one more thing.” This dear dear husband of mine reached into the back of the van and pulled out a bouquet of lilacs. I stood there, overwhelmed with emotion at his thoughtfulness. I cried. We embraced again. Each May Randy cuts a bouquet of lilacs (usually at a city park) and brings them home to me. It’s part of our history, our story.

This May that story began in Madison, 271 miles to the southeast of Faribault, about a half-way point to Lafayette. When Randy stayed with Miranda and John en route to Indiana, he noticed lilacs blooming on the next-door neighbor’s bush. So on the return trip and his second overnight stay, he remembered those lilacs, asked for permission to take some and then cut two generous branches. John found a vase. Randy added water and then the lovely lilacs.

Some 4.5 hours later, Randy was pulling that clutch of lilacs from the van. I smashed the woody ends with a hammer for better water intake, added more water to the vase and then set the bouquet on a vintage chest of drawers. Soon the heady scent perfumed our living room.

Now each time I pass those lilacs, breathe in their intoxicating sweetness, I think of my dear dear husband. I think of his love for me and me for him. And I think of how something as seemingly simple as a bouquet of lilacs gathered in a Madison yard bring me such joy. Randy’s unexpected gift compensated for his absence on our 41st wedding anniversary. I feel so loved and cherished.

Thank you, Randy, for your thoughtfulness and love.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting on poet Robert Bly December 1, 2021

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Books by Minnesota poet Robert Bly. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo)

AS A PUBLISHED POET, you might expect me to read a lot of poetry. I confess that I don’t. I should, because through reading and studying others who practice our crafts, we learn.

So I determined, upon hearing of the death of renowned Minnesota poet Robert Bly on November 21, that I would read more of his poetry. I’ve checked out every Bly book available at my local library: What Have I Ever Lost By Dying?, Talking into the Ear of a Donkey and Stealing Sugar from the Castle.

Interesting titles reveal likewise interesting poems crafted by an especially gifted writer.

Robert Bly also translated poetry, here “The Voices” by Rainer Maria Rilke. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo)

As I began to read Bly’s poems, I noticed the brevity. As any poet understands, each word in a poem must count. Bly seems especially adept at that. Poetry is perhaps the most difficult of writing genres.

I also see the influence of his upbringing on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. His roots are in Madison, near the South Dakota border. This small farming community is the self-proclaimed Lutefisk Capital of the US and home to a 25-foot-long fiberglass cod fish statue. Lutefisk is cod soaked in lye and a food of Norwegian heritage.

My copy of “The Voices,” translated by Robert Bly. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo)

In Bly’s poetic voice, I hear rural reflected. From land to sky. Heritage strong. Faith interwoven. Solid work ethic. Agriculture defining small towns and occupations, threading through daily life. Bly writes with an awareness of his rural-ness, with a deep sense of place. I understand that given my roots on a southwestern Minnesota farm.

Yet, Bly’s writing isn’t defined solely by place. His world expanded when he joined the Navy after high school graduation, then attended St. Olaf College in Northfield for a year before transferring to Harvard. He pursued additional degrees. He was a prolific writer. A poet. An essayist. An activist.

While watching a public television documentary on Bly last week, I learned more about his activism. During the Vietnam War. In writing about men. He authored Iron John: A Book About Men, which remained on the New York Times Best Sellers List for 62 weeks. Sixty-two weeks. That’s saying something about Bly’s influence.

Robert Bly’s autograph in my first edition copy of “The Voices.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo)

He also translated the works of others, including Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Voices. It’s a slim volume of nine poems with a title poem. And I have a copy of that beautiful hardcover book, purchased several years back at a used book sale in Faribault. Mine is number 14 of 50 limited first edition copies published in 1977 by The Ally Press and autographed by Robert Bly. Now, upon the poet’s death, this collection holds even more significance. More value.

The final three lines in Bly’s poem, “Ravens Hiding in a Shoe,” summarize his passion for penning poetry. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo)

Though Bly has passed at the age of 94, his legacy as a writer will endure. He scored many awards and accolades throughout his writing career. But I sense, even with that success, it was the craft of writing, the ability to pursue his passion for the written word, which he valued the most. That, too, I understand. For to write is to breathe.

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FYI: To read another take on Bly, I direct you to gifted writer and poet Kathleen Cassen Mickelson, who blogs at One Minnesota Writer. She reflected on Bly in a post titled “Remembering Robert Bly.”

© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Observations in Atwood February 23, 2021

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Randy walks through the SILLY ZONE on his way to Garver Feed Mill. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

IT PROVED A FIRST. A walk through a SILLY WALK ZONE near the Garver Feed Mill in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Wisconsin. I still am uncertain whether the words painted on the sidewalk are intentional art or graffiti.

Leave your money here. Or maybe a stone. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

But when Randy and I spotted the directive to PUT ALL YOUR MONEY RIGHT HERE with an arrow pointing to a circle, we laughed. And then Randy pulled a quarter from his pocket and deposited it in the circle.

A view of the neighborhood from the son’s apartment balcony. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2020.
There’s still industry in this neighborhood, here Madison-Kipp Corporation. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.
Art photographed through the window of Wine & Design, a ground level business in an apartment complex. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

I documented the deposit with my camera as I did several other noteworthy scenes from that walk in the neighborhood near our son’s apartment building. Yes, I carry my camera most places when I’m out and about because, when I don’t, I regret leaving it behind.

Lots of pedestrian, bike and vehicle traffic in this neighborhood. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.
We paused to read this warning sign near the creek. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2020.
Into the woods… Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.
One of the aspects I most enjoy about Madison is a deep appreciation for the natural world. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

During this early September 2020 morning outing, Randy and I came upon a narrow dirt path leading into woods along a creek. A sign warned us of contaminated water, something our son has shared as an industry-related issue on Madison’s East Side. We followed the path for a distance before retracing our steps and crossing the street.

Humor in this sign, if you change the spelling. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

Randy noticed street signage of DEAD END, Daley Dr, which he found amusing if you change the spelling to Daily. We walked along the dead end street, noting sandbags, a clear indication that the contaminated creek sometimes floods this neighborhood.

You’ll notice many signs in the Atwood Neighborhood addressing current day issues. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

I noticed, too, the BLACK LIVES MATTER sign posted at a V in the sidewalk. Such signage is common in this area, a clear indication to me that the folks who live on the East Side care about issues and people.

The roadside sign marking the entrance to Garver Feed Mill. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

After I composed a few photos, we recrossed the busy street, aiming for Garver Feed Mill, a 114-year-old restored complex of buildings that now serves as a community hub for businesses and gatherings. It’s worthy of a solo post. So check back as I focus my camera on this gem in the Atwood Neighborhood of Wisconsin’s capital city.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In praise of the art, gardens & messages in an Atwood Neighborhood September 24, 2020

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BE KIND.

Two simple words painted, along with three red hearts, onto a block of wood. And then set on the front steps of a home in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Wisconsin.

 

A section of the Atwood Neighborhood I walked.

 

On a recent trip to Wisconsin’s state capital, I retraced a route I previously walked through this east side neighborhood near my son’s apartment. I found in that residential area many uplifting and positive messages that show those who live here care. Deeply. About others. About issues.

 

One of the many inspiring signs posted in the residential neighborhood where I walked a square block. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

And, in times like this with such chaos and turmoil and hatred in our country, I need to immerse myself in positive and hopeful words that uplift, rather than anger or sadden me.

 

An example of a front yard mixing plants and art.

 

Up close in a front yard I spotted this sprawling cactus which adds interest to the landscape.

 

Besides the messages, I appreciate the art placed in front yards overflowing with plants, including flowers. Not manicured lawns. I welcome that alternative to grass. It’s lovelier and better for the environment.

 

 

And in one yard, by a boulevard tree, I once again found a mini garden, a magical world of fairies and rabbits and gnomes. Making music. Dancing, Reading. Waiting.

 

 

I paused to photograph the scenes, inwardly praising the efforts of the homeowner who created this fantasy world for passersby to enjoy.

 

 

This offers, too, a momentary escape from reality. Something I need now, more than ever.

 

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Portraits honor laborers on Madison’s East Side September 22, 2020

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Portraits grace window spaces of Madison-Kipp Corporation, founded in 1898, and located in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Wisconsin. The company produces precision machined aluminum die castings and subassemblies for the transportation, lawn and garden, and industrial markets, according to its website.

 

WHEN I VIEWED PORTRAITS set into former window spaces in an aged industrial brick building on Madison’s East Side, I saw strength.

 

This portrait exudes strength.

 

Strength in the bulk of bodies. Strength in the machines depicted. Strength in the hands and arms and faces of those who labored inside. Strength of work ethic and determination and skill.

 

Portraits of industrial workers stretch along the building.

 

Pride surged, not because of a personal connection to those employed by Madison-Kipp Corporation, but because of the blue collar connection. Too often, society dismisses as secondary those who put hands to machines, hands to tools, hands to steering wheels…

 

That each mural focuses on one worker highlights their individual value to the company.

 

But I recognize their value, for my father and his father before him and the generation prior worked the land. Farming. To feed their families. To feed others. Dirt and grease and backbreaking hard work defined their days. So I honor these men in the history of my life, including my husband, Randy, an automotive machinist for 40-plus years. A customer recently called him “an institution.” That seems fitting given his career longevity and the rarity of his skill set. I have no idea what Randy’s customers will do when he retires because no apprentice waits in the wings.

 

It takes the hands and skills of many to run a company and produce product.

 

Even with a renewed interest in the need for hands-on skilled workers, I don’t expect young people to necessarily embrace these jobs. The four-year college degree mindset has been too long embedded in our psyche. Yet, the need for mechanics, carpenters, electricians, plumbers, factory workers, etc., will only grow as Baby Boomers retire.

 

I appreciate that women are among those featured in this public art.

 

I am grateful for those who work with their hands. They keep our vehicles running, our houses repaired, our grocery store shelves stocked, our factories running…

 

Strong, determined, skilled…

 

When I studied the portraits on the Kipp building along the Capital City State Trail, I noticed, too, the drab shades of brown, grey, blue, green, no single person standing out in flashy colors. Too often those employed by manufacturers, warehouses and more go unnoticed, blending into the landscape of our lives.

 

Credit goes to these groups.

 

So to see this art, this very public art, recognize the often unrecognized pleases me. I value these men and women and the work they do. And now this art which honors them.

 

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Up close in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Part II September 16, 2020

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PLACE REVEALS ITSELF in the details.

 

Sunflowers brighten the Atwood Community Gardens.

 

Put me in a location, like the Atwood Neighborhood on the east side of Madison, Wisconsin, and I will focus on the nuances. The seemingly little things that, when connected, define this as a neighborhood rooted in art, in the outdoors, in a genuine care for one another.

 

This is one busy bike path, frequented by all ages.

 

All of this I surmised simply by walking along Atwood area residential streets and past businesses and by following the Capital City State Trail for several blocks.

 

Flowers, oh, so many flowers…

 

My post today takes you back to the bike path, to those details that caused me to pause with my camera as bikers zipped past me. To photograph the flowers.

 

An artsy sign in the community garden.

 

Inspiring graffiti.

 

Madison’s capitol is depicted in this manhole cover art.

 

And the signs—always the signs, the aged brick buildings and, yes, even the manhole covers.

 

A little seasonal fun added to the Atwood Community Gardens.

 

And resident garden skeleton.

 

Cow art by the Goodman Community Center and right next to the bike trail.

 

What I observed pleases me as a creative, as an appreciator of aged architecture, as a nature lover and as a human being who values respect for others.

 

Colorful flowers thrive, including this zinnia.

 

The natural beauty of the Atwood Neighborhood appeals to me.

 

Spotted in a window of a residence along the bike trail.

 

The spirit of the Atwood Neighborhood appeals to me, too. With its earthiness. Its embracing of differences. Its sense of neighborhood pride. Its art. I feel comfortable here. Welcome. And that, my friends, is more important than ever in these times of upheaval, discontent, frustration and disconnect.

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Note: Like anywhere, no place is utopia, and that includes the East Side of Madison. While visiting my son, who lives in the Atwood Neighborhood, I learned of a recent daytime “shots fired” along his street. He didn’t tell me about this, of course, not wanting to worry his mom. There have been other similar incidents. Does this concern me? Yes. But then I think of my neighborhood in Faribault, considered small town to many, but not to me. In the 36 years I’ve lived here, my section of town has seen violence also. In 1999, a young man was stabbed to death within blocks of my home. We’ve also experienced drive-by shootings only blocks away. Not recently. No matter where you live, no place is fully safe. But, of one thing I am certain. We each have within us the capacity to shine lights of hope in our neighborhoods, to be decent and kind and caring.

Please check back soon for more posts from this section of Madison, Wisconsin.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Exploring Madison’s Atwood Neighborhood via the bike trail, minus the bike, Part I September 15, 2020

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A colorful cow sculpture stands next to the bike trail by the Goodman Community Center in the Atwood Neighbohood of Madison, Wisconsin.

 

BUTTERFLIES. BOOKS. BIKES. Even a bovine. And a sign for burgers and brats.

 

The bike path teems with bikers of all ages, and some walkers.

 

All defined a Labor Day weekend walk along the Capital City State Trail on Madison’s east side while visiting family. This Wisconsin state capital fully embraces biking via a city-wide system of connecting trails. Walk the paved pathways rather than wheel them and you best remain vigilant. And to the side. Most bikers zoom by.

 

By the community center, a Little Free Library sits right next to the bike trail.

 

With that awareness, I fully enjoyed this opportunity to see more of the thriving and vibrant Atwood Neighborhood.

 

Next to the trail, an electric bike rental station.

 

I almost wished I had a bike, though, and I suppose I could have rented an electric one from a rental station positioned along the trail, just another way to get those without bikes out, moving and exploring.

 

Flowers fill yards and sections of community garden plots.

 

But, given I had my DSLR camera, walking worked better. I could stop when I wanted—which was often—to document my surroundings. My walking companions—the husband and the son—often paced yards ahead and I finally told them to continue without me. They did. And later returned with an ice cream treat from a trail-side shop.

 

The community gardens are popular and filled with fruit, vegetables and flowers.

 

Even in the gardens, you’ll find art in signage.

 

This fence panel/art graces a corner of a garden plot. The gardens stretch along the bike path.

 

While they pursued ice cream, I snapped photos in the Atwood Community Gardens next to the trail. There I chatted briefly with a woman harvesting kale. I shared my appreciation for the lovely neighborhood and she told me of the long waiting list to get a garden plot.

 

Environmental concerns shared in art painted on a sidewalk by the trail.

 

She also tipped me off to concerns about groundwater and soil contamination from a resident industry (which I later verified online at the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources).

 

Murals stretch along the side of the historic Madison Kipp-Corporation building next to the bike trail. Sail East, Goodman Center Youth, Kipp employees and the Dane Arts Mural Arts worked together on the 2017 project. Please check back for a post focusing on this public art.

 

It was on that industrial building that I found art. Murals of laborers at work, a fitting discovery on Labor Day weekend. The portraits show the strength of those who work with their hands. I spent many minutes photographing those paintings of blue collar workers.

 

Wisconsin and brats are synonymous.

 

A colorful cow sculpture by the Goodman Community Center also drew my attention. It seems fitting given Wisconsin’s “Dairyland State” motto and affinity for cheese curds. In addition to brats and beer.

 

This is the first photo I took as we walked the bike trail. You’ll find reaffirming messages like this throughout the Atwood Neighborhood in Madison, Wisconsin.

 

In many ways, my walk along the bike trail offered a mini snapshot of Madison in the context of the Atwood Neighborhood. I saw an appreciation for the arts, for the land, for the outdoors. And I felt, too, a strong sense of community grounded in caring for one another. And that, more than anything, makes me feel…hopeful.

 

Please check back for more posts from my recent visit to Madison, including a second one of images from this same section of the Capitol City Bike Path.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

On the road to & from Wisconsin September 14, 2020

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Eastbound traffic along Interstate 90/94 was particularly heavy in eastern Wisconsin on Labor Day. We were driving westbound back home to Minnesota.

 

IF UNSCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS hold any value, then I assess that media reports about more people traveling via vehicle on Labor Day weekend held true.

 

Electronic road signs in Wisconsin are often creative and humorous. I consider humor an effective way to convey a message.

 

Randy and I were among the thousands hitting the road on the long weekend. Our destination: Madison, Wisconsin, some 260 miles/four-plus hours south and east of our Minnesota home. We drove there to see our second daughter and her husband and our son. We realize there’s some risk of COVID-19 exposure involved given their jobs. But we can’t not see them. Well, I suppose we could, but…

Typically, we explore Madison’s art and food scene. But that last happened during a mid-February visit, pre-virus spread here in the Midwest. Or at least knowledge of the spread. We limit our exploration now to whatever we can do outdoors, like walking the city bike trails and exploring other natural areas.

 

This farm site near St. Charles, Minnesota, in the heart of Amish country, is particularly lovely.

 

The drive to and from Madison is an easy one with four-lane highway or interstate all the way, except for a short stretch in Minnesota east of Owatonna. We left mid Saturday morning and expected uncrowded roadways. Instead, traffic proved plentiful as people embraced summer’s final weekend. Lots of pick-ups pulling campers. Westbound traffic was especially heavy on Saturday, eastbound on Monday. The opposite directions we were aiming.

 

I love this stretch of valley east of La Crosse for its scenic farm sites and landscape.

 

The scenery en route is particularly lovely, especially along the Mississippi River bluffs nearing La Crosse, Wisconsin. East of that river city, picturesque farms define the valley.

 

In Monroe County, rock formations rise from the land.

 

And later, rock formations rise alongside Interstate 90 like ships upon the sea.

 

I never tire of seeing these unusual rocks.

 

And then the Wisconsin Dells, with equally intriguing rock formations and tree buffeted gorges, offer another visual respite from the traffic. Even with all the detracting-from-nature waterparks.

 

Crops are ripening in Minnesota. This was the scene Labor Day afternoon as we returned home.

 

One of the aspects I most appreciate about Madison is its closeness to the rural landscape. This barn sits atop a hill just outside the city along I-90/94.

 

Rural Wisconsin as photographed from I-90/94.

 

I always appreciate the rural landscape of fields and barns.

 

Near Madison, this sign from a cattle breeder wishes travelers well. This makes me laugh.

 

And the humorous signage in Wisconsin. When you’re living in the middle of a pandemic, humor helps. To break up the drive and to break away for a moment from the seriousness of life.

 

On the drive home on Labor Day weekend, we were concerned about possible Interstate closure in La Crosse due to a visit by Vice President Mike Pence. Thankfully his visit did not affect us and we noticed nothing unusual except this flag on an overpass and a few strategically placed law enforcement vehicles.

 

TELL ME: Have you “gotten away” recently? Close to home? Or more distant?

Please check back for more posts from Wisconsin.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling