PARADES. GET TOGETHERS. FIREWORKS. All define the Fourth of July as we gather over the long holiday weekend to mark America’s 249th birthday. I hope, in the all of this, that we never lose focus of why we are celebrating. It is, in one word, “freedom.”
In light of that, I reread The Declaration of Independence, signed on July 4, 1776, declaring our independence from British rule. It’s worthy of annual review to remind us of the past and to warn us lest we stray back to that which oppressed and suppressed us.
This document is also about our rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In fact, those are the words we most often recall when thinking about The Declaration of Independence. As an American, I value my freedoms as an individual and as a writer and photographer.
When I walk or drive through my community, I see a diversity of peoples. Those who grew up here and have deep roots in Faribault. Those who, like me, moved here from other parts of Minnesota (or the United States). And those who flew across an ocean or crossed a border for new opportunities and/or to escape war, violence, oppression and more in their homeland. I’ve talked to immigrants who have fled violence to settle in America, in my community. Their stories are heartbreaking. They just want better, safer lives for themselves and their families. What we all want.
Decades ago while attending grade school during the Cold War, each day began with The Pledge of Allegiance. My classmates and I turned to the American flag hanging in the corner of our rural southwestern Minnesota classroom, placed our hands upon our hearts and recited, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” I always wanted to end with “Amen.” The pledge felt like a prayer to me as we spoke in a unified, reverent voice.
But now, in adulthood, I recognize that the wording of the Pledge no longer truly fits America.
Still, I feel pride in the American flag, which flies on street corners in downtown Faribault, in parks, outside government buildings, outside the Legion, in residential yards and elsewhere throughout the city. It is a visual representation of our country. Fifty stars for 50 states. Thirteen red and white stripes representing the original 13 colonies. Even the colors stand for something—red for valor and bravery, white for purity and innocence, and blue for vigilance, perseverance and justice.
On the Fourth and throughout July and summer, an abundance of flags will fly “o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.” On Independence Day and in the days thereafter, we’ll don red-white-and-blue attire before stepping out the door for a backyard picnic of grilled burgers and watermelon or heading to an out-of-town celebration or gathering with friends and family.
Among all the food, conversations, music and activities on and around the Fourth, we need to pause and reflect on the word “freedom.” We need to study the long ago words of The Declaration of Independence. Words worth rereading each July in honor of our independence, our freedom.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Voices rise, past & present in Minnesota April 7, 2025
Tags: commentary, Congressman Brad Finstad, democracy, family legacy, farming, memories, Minnesota, opinion, Owatonna Town Hall, Rabbit Tracks, student newspaper, Town Hall, voices, Wabasso High School
I COME FROM A LONG LINE of engaged citizenry rooted in the rich dark soil of the southwestern Minnesota prairie. On that land, generations of my family used their voices and skills to create change, to make the place they called home a better place. My paternal great grandfather, Rudolph, started that engagement by helping found a Lutheran church in my hometown. Pre-building, congregants met in his farmhouse.
From that church to school boards to county boards, from elementary schools to high schools to college campuses and more, countless family members have served and continue to serve others by representing them, crafting policies, improving lives. I am proud of that legacy.
Now you might ask, what about you, Audrey? I, too, have served, but in a different capacity. I’ve never held a desire to lead, to run for elected office or even sit on a board. Rather, I’ve observed, used the written word to inform others. During my years working as a newspaper reporter, I covered endless county board, city council, planning and zoning board, school board, caucuses and other meetings. I learned a lot about how government does and doesn’t work during those many hours of scribbling notes, gathering quotes, writing news stories. I learned, too, that individual voices matter and are heard. And I shared that in my unbiased, balanced reporting.
Today I craft writing that is not straight news reporting, because I am no longer a newspaper reporter. Rather, my writing is personal and sometimes opinionated. My voice matters…as much as anyone’s.
While coming of age near the end of the Vietnam war, I began writing angsty poetry about the war. I purchased and wore a POW bracelet, a thick silver band that wrapped around my wrist. It was engraved with the name of an American soldier held as a prisoner of war. I also wrote the occasional opinion piece for my high school paper. Not about the war, but on other topics.
It was my dad, a dairy and crop farmer, who inspired me to voice my thoughts in the May 24, 1974, issue of my school paper, Rabbit Tracks. In an opinion piece titled “Farmers Develop Backbone of America,” teenage me wrote about low farm prices and how farmers were struggling to survive. I had witnessed my dad dumping milk down the drain during a nationwide protest by the National Farmers Organization. All these decades later, I more fully understand how difficult that must have been for Dad. He depended on income from milk sales to provide for our family. But he sacrificed and let his voice be heard in that NFO protest.
Sunday evening I listened to another farmer voice his thoughts, this time in the open mic part of a Town Hall meeting attended by hundreds in nearby Owatonna. He drove from Janesville to share concerns about how tariffs will negatively affect his farming operation via market loss, dropping crop prices and rising costs for everything from tractor parts to fertilizer and fuel. This farmer of 60-plus years pleaded with his Congressman, Representative Brad Finstad (a fourth-generation farmer who was invited but did not attend), to listen and to do something. It was a powerful and particularly emotional delivery.
Emotions are running high right now across this country. I cannot imagine anyone who would disagree with that. We may disagree on policies, decisions and leaders. But we still—as of this writing—have a voice, even as efforts to suppress our voices continue. We can protest, like my 82-year-old uncle did on Saturday at the Minnesota State Capitol. We can attend town halls to learn, to speak, to let our voices be heard. We can contact our elected officials via phone and/or email and tell them what we think. We can engage. We can vote.
A long line of speakers and attendees of all ages addressed numerous topics from veterans’ issues to education to housing to healthcare to democracy and more at the Sunday Town Hall in respectful conversation. The common threads weaving through the event were a deep concern for what is happening in our country and to assure our voices are heard.
I leave you with this opinion piece published in the October 15, 1974, issue of my high school newspaper. An 11th grader wrote about posters she created and which students were defacing. Here’s Mary’s closing sentence in a letter to the editor titled “Keep Hands, Pens Off”: A lot of time and effort has been put into these signs and the least you can do is keep your hands off of them. If everyone is so anxious to write something on the wall, make your own posters. How applicable those words are to today.
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NOTE: I welcome respectful conversation here. That said, I moderate all comments on this, my personal blog, and make the final decision on publishing comments.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling