memories | Minnesota Prairie Roots

Decorating my home with holiday memories December 24, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: Christmas, holiday decorating, memories, Minnesota

VISIT MY HOME DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON, and you won’t find Martha Stewart perfect holiday decorations. Rather, you will discover an eclectic mix of Nativity scenes, Santas, angels and more. There’s no color scheme, no continuity, except in the memories.

This was crafted by my Grandpa Bode decades ago.

My Grandpa Bode crafted this Nativity set decades ago. He made them for family and also sold them.

Memories thread through each item I display. My maternal grandfather crafted the Nativity scene positioned atop the living room entertainment center. He built and painted the stable and then molded Baby Jesus and the rest of the Bethlehem crew from Plaster of Paris. Mary’s right hand is broken. The camel is missing. But I don’t care. This is my most treasured of scenes depicting Christ’s birth.

A beautiful cross-stitch of Baby Jesus.

Last year my mom, who collected Nativities, gave nearly all of them to her children and grandchildren after moving into an assisted living apartment. I chose a grouping of six Nativity cards cross-stitched by my cousin Traci and mailed each Christmas. My mom was also an avid cross-stitcher, thus these hold double significance.

This angel candle is more than 50 years old.

This dusty angel candle is more than 50 years old.

I also cherish three angel candles, which belonged to Mom. Fire has never, nor will it ever, touch the wicks. The angels are dusty and not all that beautiful. But I remember Mom setting them out every Christmas.

The largest of the candles in my vintage holiday collection, Santa stands about five inches tall.

Likewise, I set out Santa and snowman candles acquired in the early 1970s at a family holiday party. They are from my Aunt Ardyce. Like the candle angels, these will never see a flame.

Homemade cards, especially from my kids, are cherished.

Homemade cards, especially from my kids (now grown), are cherished.

And then there’s the Christmas card crafted by my kids. I expect Miranda magic markered the scene signed by all three. It’s a treasure from their childhoods. Such sweetness.

Charlie Brown would be proud of my Christmas tree choice. The tree is not yet fully decorated in this image.

Finally, the Christmas tree in our house is chosen not for its perfect shape, but rather for its resemblance to the tree of my childhood Christmases. (The husband, kindly and wisely, agrees with my choice.) Ours is a “Charlie Brown” tree. Uneven and with bare spaces, the short-needled tree plays on my nostalgic memories of the tiny tree that sat on the end of our Formica kitchen table. The tree seemed plenty big back when I was a kid living in a farmhouse much too small for a family of seven. Yet, the tinseled tree seemed magically perfect. Just like my $15 tree, hauled from Duluth and purchased in a Faribault tree lot.

Tell me about your holiday décor. How do you decorate for the Christmas season? Do you display any items that hold special significance?

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Part III: Feelin’ groovy in St. Charles November 20, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: 60s and 70s, antique shop, antiques, business, memories, Minnesota, small towns, St. Charles, travel, vintage, Vintage Treasures and Home Decor

Vintage Treasures and Decor along Whitewater Avenue in downtown St. Charles, Minnesota.

VINTAGE TREASURES AND HOME DECOR read the vivid yellow sign propped against a building in downtown St. Charles. That was enough to draw my husband and me into this newly-opened shop, relocated here from Byron.

Posted, but not for sale.

But before I show you some of the merchandise, let’s discuss that word vintage. What defines vintage? I turned to online dictionaries to find synonyms like outdated, old-fashioned and retro. I choose retro. That seems most applicable to the merchandise from my era that captivated me at Vintage Treasures. Groovy.

This merchandise display screams 60s and 70s.

You can say all you want about the 60s and 70s, about hippies and Woodstock and peace marches and tie-dyed and psychedelic fashion. But it really was a memorable period in our nation’s history, a time when young people began to question the establishment and the choices made. Not that previous generations didn’t speak up. But the volume seemed louder, the voices more distinct, the opinions shouted in music and fashion and protests.

I remember crocheted berets (or tams) similar to this from the 60s and 70s.

Personally, I was a shy teen coming of age in a rural area, far removed geographically from the unrest of the 60s and 70s. But I still cared. I kept up on current events, listened to rock-and-roll on KDWB, wore too-short skirts and flashed the peace sign.

One of two retro trays I purchased.

So when I discovered a section of retro merchandise inside Vintage Treasures, I flashbacked some 40 years. This was of my generation. I didn’t need the retro tin Peace and Love trays I purchased for $2 each. But I bought them anyway and would have liked a third, except shop owner Laurie Rucker had already sold the others.

Elvis was a little before my time.

I’m thinking it would be fun sometime to host a 60s and 70s party. Wear tie-dye. Burn incense. Dip cubed bread into a cheese-filled fondue pot. Or maybe fruit into chocolate. Play some Beatles or Chicago. Serve beverages on those trays. Rock it out.

Thoughts? On the definition of vintage? The 60s and 70s?

BONUS PHOTOS: Yes, Vintage Treasures and Home Decor includes more than hippie era merchandise and here’s a sampling.

I remember one of my siblings having a papoose doll. Although not politically-correct today, these dolls are part of our past.

I always appreciate handcrafted, like these embroidered pieces.

The toy section.

Humpty Dumpty, one of the toys in the toy area.

Aunt Jemima and Uncle Mose collectibles.

FYI: Click here and here to read two previous posts I published in this three-part series from an early September stop in St. Charles.

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My Minnesota family’s tradition: Harvesting & preserving horseradish November 5, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: family, food, harvest, horseradish, memories, preserving horseradish, rural Minnesota, tradition

Freshly-processed horseradish from southwestern Minnesota.

THE CREAMY SAUCE LINGERS on my tongue. Then, zip, my nostrils burn with the zing of stinging horseradish. My eyes water. And I wonder why I eat this stuff.

I like spicy. I like hot. Not jalapeno with too many seeds hot. But horseradish hot I can handle in small doses. It’s part of my DNA.

STEP ONE: Digging the horseradish, which grows like carrot roots underground.

STEP ONE: Digging the horseradish, which grows like carrots underground.

Just dug horseradish.

We arrive mid-morning on a cool and windy Saturday to process the horseradish.

We arrive mid-morning on a cool and windy Saturday in late October to process the horseradish.

For years, until his death in 2003, my dad made horseradish. You don’t really make horseradish. Rather you process the roots into a creamy white sauce. Horseradish preserved in vinegar.

STEP TWO: Scrubbing the dirt away with brushes.

STEP TWO: Scrubbing away the dirt.

STEP THREE: The horseradish if placed in laundry bags and washed in the washing machine. Here my brother carries the just-washed horseradish to the work area in his garage.

STEP THREE: The horseradish is placed in laundry bags and washed in the washing machine. Here my brother carries the just-washed horseradish to the work area in his garage.

The roots are now ready to be peeled with a knife and/or potato peeler. Every bit of brown must be removed to get a creamy white sauce.

My brother empties the second laundry bag.

It’s not an easy task. Creating a horseradish condiment requires a full day of digging, scrubbing, washing, peeling, washing, cutting, shredding, blending, pouring into jars and, finally, planting the peelings for new growth.

STEPS FOUR & FIVE: Family members peel horseradish before it’s washed for a second time.

STEP SIX: Using knives, we slice the horseradish into chunks.

My sister Lanae and her husband, Dale, whom Dad mentored in all things horseradish, pushed for continuing the family horseradish tradition. And so, on a Saturday each autumn, we gather at my middle brother and sister-in-law’s rural southwestern Minnesota acreage to honor our dad with this seasonal rite.

My niece cuts horseradish while her husband refines it in a food processor.

STEP SEVEN: My niece’s husband refines the horseradish in a food processor.

Sometimes the fumes are more than the workers can handle.

Sometimes the potent fumes are more than workers can handle.

STEP EIGHT: Blending horseradish and vinegar.

Peelings and conversation fly. Washing machine, food processor and blender whir. Eyes water. Heads turn. And the beer stays in the fridge until the last knife is stashed away. But not always.

An overview of most of the crew nearing the end of a long work day.

My nephew adds vinegar (it’s by guess, not measurement) to the horseradish before blending.

STEP NINE: Filling jars.

It’s a day that’s as much about horseradish as about family. A coming together. Building memories. Remembering Dad.

STEP TEN, OPTIONAL: Counting the filled jars.

This year a new supervisor—my sister-in-law’s mother from Iowa—replaced my mom, who is no longer able to watch over the crew and count the jars. Still, Mom asked how many jars we filled. No one counted. We told her 88.

The crew.

Life changes. We age. Loved ones die. But we can honor their legacy, their love—for my family via harvesting the horseradish.

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Part III From Albert Lea: Antiques & memories October 29, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: Albert Lea, antique shop, antiques, Antiques of the Midwest, Halloween, Halloween masks, memories, Minnesota, shopping, travel, vintage

A Halloween mask for sale at Antiques of the Midwest.

One of several Halloween masks I spotted at Antiques of the Midwest in Albert Lea, Minnesota.

DO YOU REMEMBER your favorite Halloween costume? I do. I dressed like a gypsy, pulling a black cotton skirt striped with vivid hues from my mom’s closet and safety pinning it around my waist. I topped whatever blouse I wore with a winter coat. A thin elastic band on a molded plastic gypsy face mask gripped my head as I peered through cut-out eye holes. Strands of plastic beads swayed from my neck. Bangles danced on my wrists. I felt every part the care-free gypsy.

Clown masks can be scary or fun, depending.

Memories of my brief gypsy life flitted through my thoughts as I perused Antiques of the Midwest in historic downtown Albert Lea. Among all of the merchandise in this sprawling shop, I spotted several Halloween masks. And that sparked the playback of childhood memories.

Three stacks of JC Penney catalogs dating back to the 1940s are available for purchase at Antiques of the Midwest.

An Archie mask for sale.

Vintage clothing proved fun to peruse.

And isn’t that what antique stores play into—cherished memories? Nostalgia sells. Otherwise why would I care about outdated merchandise like uncomfortable plastic Halloween masks that curbed clear vision and psychedelic clothing and stacks of old JC Penney catalogs?

Although I didn’t want this vintage 1960s make-up mirror, I never-the-less was drawn to it.

When you shop at an antique store, what do you find yourself drawn to?

I hold a fondness for old glass pitchers. They are works of art.

For me it’s vintage drinking glasses and tablecloths (yes, I already own too many), clocks and art. Oh, how I love a vintage print or an original. Most often, though, I buy these at garage sales or thrift stores. I have enough art that I can switch it out in my home. Often.

If only I still had that toy buggy in which I pushed dolls and cats dressed in doll clothes.

Filing through a rack of children’s clothing at Antiques of the Midwest, I discovered a red plaid wool skirt just like one I wore as a child. How many of you have clothes from your childhood or teenage years? While cleaning my mom’s basement several years ago, I found a pair of cuffed lime green pants worn when I was a stick thin teen. They are hanging now in the closet of a spare bedroom in my home. Someday, my children will ask, “Why did Mom keep these?” Perhaps the pants will end up in an antique store, but more likely will be trashed.

Antiques of the Midwest holds thousands of antiques and collectibles.

Opening the door into an antique shop compares to opening a book about life. Therein, in the collections of items from yesteryear, our stories unfold. Imagine the stories I could write if I sat in an antique store, unobserved, eavesdropping.

BONUS PHOTOS:

Just inside the front door, the canary yellow molded chairs caught my eye.

Mannequins always make merchandise seem more usable and personal. I also consider them artsy.

This creative display helps shoppers to visualize this merchandise in their homes.

This creative display helps shoppers visualize merchandise in their homes.

If you're already thinking Christmas, at least one vendor has a sizable Christmas display.

If you’re already thinking Christmas, at least one Antiques of the Midwest vendor has a sizable Christmas display.

Merchandise snugged into a cabinet makes for a museum like display.

This is the first puppet I can remember finding in an antique store.

FYI: Antiques of the Midwest is open from 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. Monday – Saturday and from noon to 4 p.m. on Sundays. It is closed on Mondays from December – March. The shop is located at 218 S. Washington Avenue in downtown Albert Lea.

This is the third in my “From Albert Lea” series. Check back for one final post. Click here to read my first and then my second story.

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Connecting to the past at a Minnesota barn dance, Part III September 30, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: agriculture, barn birthday, barn dance, Becker Farms, Dundas, farming, history, memories, Minnesota, rural life, thoughts

The sun sets behind John and Debbie Becker’s rural Dundas, Minnesota, barn on the evening of their September 26 barn dance.

THRICE NOW I’VE DOCUMENTED dances in the Becker Farms barn. And what an honor it has been to photograph these 2011, 2012 and now 2015 celebrations in such a bucolic rural setting in southeastern Minnesota. I delight in photos, which combined with words, write family and personal histories.

After guests ate, several tables would be removed for dancing.

After guests ate, several tables were removed for dancing.

I probably will never visit our nation’s capitol or see the Pacific Ocean or tour the Rockefeller Estate or attend a Broadway play or study a Van Gogh painting. But that’s OK. I have danced in a barn, something few Baby Boomers likely have done. I can write “Danced in a Barn” in my life’s story.

Peering out a hayloft door, I shot this scene of a neighboring farm place.

Peering out a hayloft door, I shot this scene of a pond and neighboring farm place.

Dining in the barn.

Playing with the rural version of Jenga blocks.

I appreciate the simple things in life. Sun setting. Great conversation and good music. Satisfying food that’s tasty and uncomplicated. Joy that comes from watching children at play, realizing too many years have passed since I was a kid free-ranging on the farm.

Visiting outside the barn.

To my friends John and Debbie Becker, I am grateful for the chances to dance in their 100-year-old barn, to witness the coming together of family and friends in a hayloft.

Guests gathered inside and out on a lovely September evening.

There’s something about a barn dance that roots to the rural past in a way that no museum can. As I danced, I could imagine the dances of yesteryear, hayloft empty of loose hay, eager young men and anxious young women eyeing each other from opposite sides of the loft. I could imagine food spread across planks, the scent of animals below mingling with the smell of fried chicken.

Parking vehicles was a major job considering the hundreds of invited guests.

And outside, horses tethered rather than vehicles parked.

Even this Dekalb sign inside the barn generated memories of Dekalb corn growing in my dad’s fields and me detasseling corn for this seed company.

Grandparents build memories with grandchildren at the barn dance.

I'm sure the four judges will always remember the difficulty of choosing winners in the homemade pie judging contest.

I’m sure the four judges will always remember the difficulty of choosing winners in the homemade pie baking contest.

Red wagons hold timeless universal appeal to kids.

This girl's cowgirl hat reminded me of the straw hats I wore while playing make-believe as a child.

This girl’s cowgirl hat reminds me of the straw hats I wore while playing make-believe as a child.

As this boy pulled a wagon up the incline toward the hayloft, I wondered if he would climb aboard for a wild ride down. Instead, he released the wagon. I would have careened down, gripping the handle.

Whether my imagination matches historic reality, I am unsure. But I am certain of one thing. A barn dance connects folks to the past in a profound way.

I am always comfortably at home on a farm like the Beckers’ farm site.

For me, a woman from the land, dancing in a hayloft fits me better than gliding across the smoothest of floors in an elegant ballroom. I am comfortably at home in a barn, in a way that’s sweetly familiar. Connected to my rural Minnesota prairie roots.

FYI: Click here and here to read my previous posts on the September 26 barn dance in rural Rice County, Minnesota.

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Facing the fowl September 22, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:01 AM
Tags: chickens, memories, rural Minnesota, thoughts

MY MOM PAUSED in our conversation. She wondered if she was hearing me right. I had just stated that I thought the chickens beautiful. Not all chickens. But these chickens.

She had reason to question my observation. Ever since I was tormented and pecked at and chased by a rooster while growing up on our Minnesota farm, I have disliked chickens. I am afraid of them, of their flapping wings and sharp beaks and talons.

But these chickens were different. They are not plain white. And the rooster did not chase me.

I was able to stand within feet of uncaged multi-colored fowl and appreciate their beauty. Sheen of blue in black feathers. Patterns of black and white. A beautiful buff. Chickens that were actually cute, if a chicken can be truly cute.

Even I surprised myself. I was not terrified. I did not scamper away. I drew the line, though, at cuddling the chickens belonging to friends Steve and Joy. Or at being inside a shed with a hen, gentle as she might appear. My trust is not quite that secure.

And when a chicken flew onto a fence top, I ended the photo session. She was flapping a little too close for my comfort. I have memories of unhappy hens in the chicken coop who did not like their eggs stolen.

I will never really like chickens. But I am at least beginning to tolerate them. The pretty ones.

HOW ABOUT YOU? What’s your experience with chickens?

FYI: I first observed my friends’ chickens when they were running around the yard. I did not have my camera with me. But when I visited again, I had my camera. These images were taken then.

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In Faribault: When music inspires art September 21, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: "Nature of Music", art, art exhibit, Concerts in the Park, en plein air, Faribault, memories, Minnesota, music, Paradise Center for the Arts, thoughts

“The Music Nut,” a ceramic sculpture by Tami Resler

I AM A PERSON WHO DELIGHTS in art, like the devoted sports fan loyal to a team.

“The Music Man,” oil on canvas by Dana Hanson

Perhaps it is the absence of access to the arts in my formative years that causes me to so appreciate art today. I can’t recall ever visiting an art gallery while growing up in rural southwestern Minnesota. If there were any galleries, I was unaware. Art, for me, was limited to school art projects. Life was about the basics, not the arts.

"Central Park Notes," an oil on canvas by Pat Johnson

“Central Park Notes,” oil on canvas by Pat Johnson

I especially celebrate occasions when the arts are brought to folks in an unpretentious way. For years, Faribault, my home of 33 years some 120 miles from my prairie hometown, has offered free weekly outdoor summer concerts in Central Park. This year, visual art was added, much to my delight. It’s important, I think, to expose people to art in a relaxed setting, where they feel comfortable approaching artists, watching them create and asking questions.

A snippet of Linda Van Lear’s “Girl & Violin” watercolor pencil

Local artists set up their easels, pulled out their supplies and created music-themed art as musicians performed. It was perfect, this melding of music and art in the park.

A poster posted at the initial exhibit.

And then, to honor the participating artists, a several-day “Nature of Music” exhibit was staged in a connecting space between the library and community center to showcase selected pieces. I missed that event. But the en plein air art will be exhibited again, this time from September 22 – November 10 in the Lois Vranesh Boardroom Gallery at the Paradise Center for the Arts in historic downtown Faribault. An artists’ reception is slated for 5 – 7 p.m. on Friday, September 25. Other gallery openings are also set for that evening.

This shows one of the many faces in Irina Mikhaylova’s “Faces in the Crowd,” done in soft pastels.

The Paradise is a wonderful center for the arts. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am to live in a community with an arts center and a library. You see, I also grew up in a town without a library…although today Vesta has a Little Free Library.

“At the Bandshell” in soft pastels by Barbara Bruns

Murphy’s face in “Murphy at Central Park,” acrylic on hardboard by Julie Fakler

A section of Nicole Volk’s “Camelot Calls,” inktense on watercolor paper

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Artwork was photographed with permission of Jeff Jarvis, Faribault Park & Rec Enrichment & Communications Coordinator, who organized the en plein air program.

Note that unavoidable glare on glass shows up on some of the photos. That is the reason I sometimes did not photograph an entire work of art. But sometimes I wanted only to show you a snippet peek at the entire piece.

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An essay inspired by a garage sale sign in Faribault September 16, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: 1970s, essay, Faribault, garage sale sign, memories, Minnesota, peace, peace symbol

I CAME OF AGE in the early 1970s, too young to be a Flower Child or hippie, yet old enough to remember all the anti-establishment and Vietnam War discontent.

I wore hip huggers, hot pants and bell bottoms. Fringed suede belts and go-go boots. A POW bracelet wrapped my wrist.

My bedroom was paneled and painted lime green, accented with a yellow smiley face bulletin board. A black-and-white movie poster of Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw hung above my bed. I loved the film Love Story, still do, even though it features a line—love means never having to say you’re sorry—that’s ridiculously stupid.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull quotes inspired me and Elton John’s Crocodile Rock rocked me.

Mixed in with the funky tie-dyed t-shirts and the too wide pant legs and the too short skirts and the everything parents likely abhorred about teen fashion of the seventies was the peace symbol. Sweet peace. Today, decades removed from my youth, I still value the peace symbol. Peace. It is my hope for this big wide crazy world of ours, a timeless wish that remains constant through the generations.

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For the love of flowers September 8, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: flowers, gardens, Lamberton, memories, Minnesota, photo essay, photography, thoughts

Phlox grow along a fence in my backyard. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

THE SWEET PERFUME of purple phlox drifts through the open window, scenting my office with summer. I glance outside, where the phlox sway in a wisp of an afternoon breeze above clusters of snowball hydrangea.

My flower gardens are a rangy mess of overgrown plants. Tangle of leaves and flowers and stems. Nothing neat about them. I like it that way.

Flower gardens have always been a part of who I am. Not that I am a master gardener. But I have always been an appreciator and grower of flowers, a love learned early on when every visit to my maternal great grandmother’s or paternal grandma’s houses started, in the summer, with a tour of the gardens. Flower and vegetable.

To this day, when I arrive at the home of a family member or a friend who gardens, I self-start a tour. I admire the blooms, dip my head toward scented petals, appreciate the sweeps of color, delight in the beauty that unfolds before me.

I shall always love flowers. They are memories, art which springs from the earth, bold bursts of color in a subdued landscape and the gift I give myself.

BONUS PHOTOS:

FYI: All of the flowers and plants, except the phlox, were photographed at my brother Brian and sister-in-law Vicki’s rural Lamberton, Minnesota, acreage in mid-summer.

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Rooted in the land, still August 4, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: agriculture, farming, Lamberton, life, memories, photo essay, rural Minnesota, southwestern Minnesota, thoughts

The elevator in Lamberton, Minnesota, just to the south of my brother's place.

Grain elevators, like this one in Lamberton to the south of my brother’s place, define rural small town Minnesota skylines.

THERE ARE DAYS, even now after forty years away from the farm, that I yearn to permanently return, to plant my feet upon the land, to follow a gravel road, to breathe in deeply the scent of freshly-mown alfalfa, to step into the blackness of a summer night under a sky pinpointed with an infinity of stars. On land that is mine. It will never happen.

Clover on the edge of a field.

But I am fortunate that my middle brother and his wife live on my native prairie on a rural acreage that they share. It has become the extended family gathering spot, the site that reconnects me to southwestern Minnesota, my childhood home.

Brian and Vicki recently added an outhouse (used for storage) to their property. This reminds me of the first 11 years of my life, living in a house without a bathroom and using a two-holer outhouse.

Each time I visit Brian and Vicki’s home 120 miles distant from Faribault, I wander their land with my camera, photographing rural scenes, capturing memories with my lens.

Monarch attracting milkweed grows next to a soybean field.

Monarch attracting milkweed grows along the fence line next to a soybean field.

Scents of clover and of milkweed.

The John Deere tractor roared by my brother’s place much of the afternoon as the farmer baled hay.

Roar of a tractor.

The gravel road that runs past my middle brother’s rural acreage just north of Lamberton.

Crunching of gravel beneath feet.

The sun begins to set.

The undeniable serenity that descends with daylight’s impending departure.

There’s something about a leaning fence post that is authentically rural.

Fence posts leaning, sun setting, crops growing. Absence of noise.

Wheat in the field just across the fence line.

This is enough to hold me, to remind me of my roots, to imprint the poetry of the land upon my soul.

BONUS PHOTOS:

A rural home for the birds.

There’s something poetic about an old wooden fence post at dusk.

Beautiful brohm grass. As a child, my siblings and I would play make-believe in the tall grass on our farm.

Beautiful brohm grass. As children, my siblings and I would play make-believe in the tall grass on our farm near Vesta.

Even the sight of this aged insulator sparks memories.

A birdhouse, perfect in its simplicity.

Growing up on our crop and dairy farm, my eldest brother, Doug, photographed the cows and recorded details about them. My middle brother treasures this compilation of information from our farm. And so do I. Memories… Brian showed this to us on our last visit and I considered it important enough to photograph. It is a piece of rural, and family, history.

FYI: All of these photos were taken on the July Fourth weekend.

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Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Decorating my home with holiday memories December 24, 2015

Part III: Feelin’ groovy in St. Charles November 20, 2015

My Minnesota family’s tradition: Harvesting & preserving horseradish November 5, 2015

Part III From Albert Lea: Antiques & memories October 29, 2015

Connecting to the past at a Minnesota barn dance, Part III September 30, 2015

Facing the fowl September 22, 2015

In Faribault: When music inspires art September 21, 2015

An essay inspired by a garage sale sign in Faribault September 16, 2015

For the love of flowers September 8, 2015

Rooted in the land, still August 4, 2015

Follow Minnesota Prairie Roots via Email

An essay of barn photos & memories; In praise of preserving country churches; & Testing the track during a Soap Box Derby trial run in Faribault

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