Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Snap, & then snap again August 28, 2024

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:10 AM
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SNAP. SNAP. Two mice snapped in traps. Dead. In an upstairs bedroom closet. One caught yesterday during the day, the other overnight. And then a third caught in a live trap in the garage overnight, the second mouse snared in the garage in two days.

I am assuredly relieved, but also a tad freaked out by the presence of multiple mice, especially in our house. I won’t share details, but suffice to say Randy thinks more mice may have moved in. The trap has been set for a third time in the closet.

Meanwhile in the basement, the peanut butter baited trap remains untouched. There have been no additional live mice sightings since the first mouse we spotted running into our living room and then into the kitchen before vanishing Sunday evening. How did it find its way upstairs? Don’t even answer that question.

I just want them caught. All of them. I am not a welcoming landlord. I want them out, evicted. Gone for good.

The interesting thing here is that I suggested to Randy on Sunday evening that he set a trap in the upstairs closet because we have, on occasion, caught mice in that space. He didn’t listen. Not initially. But before he left for work Tuesday morning, I asked him to please remove the trap from the kitchen. My fear was that a mouse would be caught there while he was gone. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a mouse, dead or alive. I am terrified of mice.

And so the waiting continues with hopes that soon, very soon, all of the mice in this house will have been eradicated. Because I am truly sick of them.

P.S. Sorry, no photos with this post. No way will I photograph a mouse, dead or alive.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A mouse in the house August 26, 2024

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:51 AM
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Mouse art displayed in a show at the Owatonna Arts Center many years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I AWAKENED HOPEFUL this morning. Hoping the mouse that ran into the living room Sunday evening, scurrying into a corner behind a floor lamp when I screamed, was trapped. Dead. That did not happen.

We awakened Monday morning to two unsprung traps still baited with fresh peanut butter. One in the basement, the other between the stove and cupboard.

Have I mentioned that mice terrify me? Or maybe, more accurately, that I am terrified of mice. I detest, hate, abhor them. Always have. I recognize it’s rather ridiculous to be afraid of mice given my size compared to theirs. But they are quick and creepy and varmints I do not want inside my space.

(Book cover source: lindsaystarck.com)

So there I was Sunday evening, feet up in the recliner, semi-watching the 9 pm news between reading Minnesota author Lindsay Starck’s terrifying novel, Monsters We Have Made, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. A mouse. Eeeek! I screamed, grabbed my phone, shot to the bedroom, slammed the door and climbed onto the bed. Rats. I forgot my book.

But at least I could Google “why mice come into your house in the summer” while Randy tracked the mouse. Apparently when the temps are as hot as they are now, they, too, want to cool off. Just as in winter, they want to be warm. I can’t fault them for that thinking. Do mice even think?

Mouse and rat killer spotted in The Watkins Museum in Winona during a visit years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

As I hunkered atop the bed, I felt hopeful that Randy would find and kill the mouse. I didn’t think that through. How? With his bare hands? Randy observed the mouse hurry behind the fridge. So he moved the fridge. We haven’t seen it since. But he did catch a mouse in the garage overnight. Same mouse? Highly unlikely.

We live in an old house, next to a wooded hillside, with lots of entry points for mice. So I expect mice and we have caught many in our 40 years living here. Typically, though, they stay in the dark basement. I never invited them onto the main floor. The neighborhood mice apparently did not get the warning memo to stay out. They are risking their lives.

Now why do I detest mice? It started with the scritch-scratch of mice running inside the bedroom walls of my childhood farmhouse. Mice in the house. Mice in the barn. Mice in the hay and straw bales. Mice in the granary. Even with a passel of roaming cats.

In college, I opened a silverware drawer to see a mouse staring up at me.

When I was nearly third trimester pregnant with my youngest, I awakened to pee in the middle of the night at my in-law’s farmhouse. There, in that tiny closed bathroom, a mouse circled. Screaming drew no one to my rescue. Eventually, I climbed onto the edge of the bathtub, tossed a pile of wet towels on the mouse and fled upstairs to my sleeping husband. True story.

Years later, I reached into the sink one morning to empty water from a crockpot left soaking there overnight. Atop the water floated a dead mouse. Enough to scare anyone, especially me. At least it was dead, the sole consolation. I slammed the lid on the crockpot, carried it outside and Randy dealt with it after work. That crockpot never cooked another meal.

Yes, I have experienced mouse trauma. Too often. Traps are set. Should I see the mouse again this evening, I will be sure to grab Monsters We Have Made before sequestering myself in my bedroom to read before dreaming nightmares of monstrous, uncaught mice.

TELL ME: Are you afraid of mice? Any mouse stories to share? Or cats to share?

 

Blame it on the mice October 19, 2016

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:33 PM
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A close-up of art in the Hickory, dickory, dock rhyme.

A close-up of art in the Hickory, dickory, dock rhyme, part of a “The Story Books of Christmas” exhibit at the Owatonna Art Center in 2011. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

DEAR READERS:

I’ve been off the grid for a few days because I’ve been without a computer. Issues began Sunday evening with the computer not responding.

After a call to my in-house techie, who lives in the Boston area and is therefore truly not in-house, I was advised to shut off the computer manually. Monday morning the computer booted up just fine. But then the same thing happened; it wouldn’t respond.

Frustrated and not willing to wait until Christmas, when the son may or may not be back in Minnesota, I called a local expert, Geek Central. I am smart enough to realize that when a computer shows the symptoms that mine exhibited, I shouldn’t ignore the issues.

Monday afternoon apprentice Josh Sorenson was dispatched to pick up my computer, which then underwent extensive testing. No issues were found, a relief to me. But what was the deal? Why did I have problems? The computer worked fine for the Geek guys.

My husband planned to pick up the computer on his way home from work today when Geek Central owner John Rowan called to say Josh would drop it off. I was relieved as neither Randy or I knew which wires/cables went where on the computer tower. After Josh reconnected everything and turned on the computer and I tried it, same thing—the computer was not responding.

That’s when I asked, “Could it be the mouse?”

Turns out it was and now, thanks to Josh, I have a new mouse. He didn’t leave my house until he was certain everything worked. That’s what I call great customer service. This 23-year-old recent college grad, who is passionate about working with computers, also has two other jobs—at a local grocery store and a pizza place. He dreams of bringing more technology jobs and technological innovations to Faribault. In my brief time with Josh, I have no doubt he will do that. He seems a determined young man.

I am appreciative of Geek Central for doing such a thorough job in checking out my computer. And I am especially grateful for the outstanding customer service. That’s what I love about keeping my business local.

That the problem proved to be a mouse does not surprise me. You see, we’ve had a bit of a mouse problem in our house recently. About a month ago, a foul odor in the basement suggested a dead mouse. After much searching, Randy found a dead mouse in the furnace. It’s the second one that has managed to crawl into the furnace in recent years. That discovery necessitated a call to a local heating and cooling company to assure no wires had been chewed. The responding tech, ironically also named Josh, shared that, yes, he sees dead mice in furnaces this time of year.

Finally, just this past week, I discovered mouse droppings in an upstairs bedroom closet along with a chewed up Crayola crayon box. I dispatched Randy to check out the invasion. He discovered that a mouse had carried crayons from the top closet shelf to the other side of the closet and stashed them behind boxes. And…the mouse also chewed beads from a lamp shade.

I’ve had it with mice.

Yours truly,

Audrey

© Copyright 2016 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Mice in the fish bowl February 17, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:56 AM
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PEOPLE WERE STARTING to talk. So it was time, high time, we did something about the problem.

It wasn’t like we didn’t want to solve the problem, but we couldn’t, not until this past Saturday when the Rice County Landfill was open on a weekend we were free.

We needed to clear the debris—wood siding, old windows, an old door and more—from the side of our driveway. It had been there for weeks, underneath layers of snow. Because we live in a fish bowl, aka a busy street, people know exactly what we are doing and they feel free to comment.

 

Just a portion of the demolition debris piled under the snow along our driveway.

“When are you going to get rid of that junk along your driveway?” they would remark.

We would explain that we couldn’t until the second Saturday of the month, when the landfill was open for several hours. My husband couldn’t take time off work during the week to do this job.

So this past Saturday was the day, the day we would finally tidy up our property.

Friday evening my husband and son bundled up and loaded half of the demolition debris from our home improvement project into the back of a company pick-up truck. I would have helped, except for one minor situation. Only days earlier, while shoveling snow from the driveway, I heard the tell-tale scritch-scratch of feet, mice feet, in the debris pile.

That was my conclusion, based only on the memory of mice scritch-scratching in the walls of my childhood home. At that very moment I knew I could not, would not, disturb their temporary shelter. Deeply engrained in my memory is my dad’s story of a mouse skittering up his pant leg.

 

I heard scratching from within this debris pile. My family told me I likely just heard a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind. I told them I likely knew what I was hearing and it wasn't a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind.

So I stayed clear, tucked safely inside the house, as the guys hoisted old windows and wood into the back of the pick-up Friday evening. They claimed they did not see a mouse, not a single one, but I was uncertain whether to believe them. Sometimes, they have learned, it is better not to tell me the truth about topics like…mice.

Saturday morning, while the teenage son slept, his dad and I rose early to haul the first truck full of debris to the landfill.

When we arrived back home and I realized I would now have to dip into that snow-covered demo stash and possibly stir up a mouse, I stepped back. Literally. My brave, brave spouse forged ahead. When no mice, not even one, appeared, I pitched in, lifting and tossing.

So to those of you who’ve wondered when we were going to clean up that junk along the end of the driveway, look, it’s gone. Gone. All gone.

And so too are the mice. I wonder where they’ve gone. Could they possibly have…? Nah. Better to not even think that, let alone write it.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Six reasons to buy a real Christmas tree December 21, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:46 AM
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My very real Christmas tree.

REAL OR FAKE? I’m talking Christmas trees here, folks.

Ever since artificial Christmas trees debuted, and I have no idea when that was, debates have ensued within families about whether the annual holiday tree should be a natural one or a fake one. (I prefer the word “fake” as that seems more accurate than the word “artificial.”)

Yes, given my word preference, you would rightly guess that I prefer a real tree.

Now I have six reasons to support my argument for choosing a natural Christmas tree over an artificial one. Those reasons are revealed in a tale that comes from my Aunt Rachel, a native Minnesotan who retired to Arkansas. I’m quite certain my aunt won’t mind my sharing of this story since she is my godmother and a preserver of family history via her memoirs.

This paragraph is lifted from her holiday letter, which arrived just days ago. She writes:

“The yearly animal story is saved for last because it is recent history. While putting up our artificial Christmas tree (stored in the basement) we were greeted by six mice. The five babies still had closed eyes and could not run, so were easy to capture. The mother tried to hide one baby in our closet, but was frightened and dropped it. Our cat, Xanadu, finally captured the mother and proudly presented it to us.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but this frightening tale of six mice is enough to rid me of any desire to ever purchase an artificial Christmas tree.

Did I mention that I really dislike, detest, abhor, can’t stand and hate mice?

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The ghost of Annie Mary Twente continues to haunt me October 30, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 4:00 PM
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I LOVE MY EXTENDED family, even when they continue, for decades, to haunt and taunt me.

Now, they will never admit it, but I determined long ago that my Aunt Marilyn, and now her daughter Dawn, are the perpetrators, the instigators, the whatever-you-want-to-call-them, behind a Halloween tradition.

You see, for years I’ve received a Halloween card from the ghost of Annie Mary Twente, a 6-year-old who fell into a coma and was buried alive in Albin Township near Hanska in 1886. Legend goes that Annie’s father had his daughter’s body exhumed and found scratch marks inside the girl’s coffin where she tried to claw her way out.

That tale is enough to scare anyone. For some reason, I once told my aunt that I detested this macabre story. I think that was around the time I lived and worked as a newspaper reporter in St. James, near Hanska. She’s never forgotten.

I have no clue how long Marilyn searches for the perfect Halloween card. But she always manages to come up with an appropriate greeting befitting of Annie Mary. Because of copyright laws, I can’t quote card verses here. But the image on the front of this year’s card (the one from Marilyn) shows two glowing jack-o-lanterns atop a fence in the diminishing light of early evening. As I study the photo, I am reminded of the fence that surrounded Annie’s grave. (Her remains have since been moved to the Alexandria area.) Spooky.

As varied as the cards are each year, I can always be assured that Marilyn/Annie will pen the same message in her childish block print: “I MISS YOU! ANNIE MARY.” Clearly, at six, she never learned cursive.

As if one Halloween card from the little ghost girl isn’t enough, for the first time this year, I received a second greeting. That arrived this morning with a nice little message that Annie Mary is thinking of me. How thoughtful.

For years, I anticipated this unsettling Halloween greeting. But I never expected the haunting to extend beyond October. Last December, though, Annie Mary sent me a Christmas book about mice and a plastic mouse that pooped candy and wished me a “Merry Christmouse!”

 

 

Annie Mary sent me this mouse last Christmas.

 

For gosh sakes, I didn’t need Annie Mary knowing that I hate mice. But, somehow, she learned this invaluable information. Just last week an unexpected package arrived from AM (Annie Mary). Honestly, I was afraid to open the darned thing. So I pushed and prodded, suspected a mouse trap, peeked quickly inside and then threw the envelope at my second-born.

She pulled out two tiny sticky gray rubber mice, a flashing skeleton head pin and CHUCKLES candy. Ha. Ha. Very funny, cousin Dawn, uh, I mean Annie Mary.

 

 

I did not welcome this Halloween gift from Annie Mary.

 

I suppose you’re wondering why I dislike mice so much. Let’s see. Would a mouse cavorting in the silverware drawer or floating in a crockpot spook you? Or how about getting stuck in your in-laws’ bathroom with a mouse in the dead of night when you’re six months pregnant? Yes, all three horrible mouse encounters happened to me.

With enough living (and dead) mice in my life, I certainly don’t need Annie Mary mailing replicas to remind me of all that real-life mouse horror.

Oh, and I haven’t even told you that the ghost child blemished Valentine’s Day last year by sending me not one, but two, valentine cards.

 

 

Valentine greetings from Annie Mary. Which is authentic?

 

So…, I’m wondering if you had relatives like mine, who feign innocence about any and all communications from Annie Mary Twente, what would you do? Would you still claim them as your family members? Or…, would you try somehow to get even?

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling