Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Observations about Minnesota from a life-long resident January 31, 2024

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Minnesota wood art with Minnesota shape by Spanky’s Woodshed of Faribault, metal roots by my friend Steve and assembled by my husband, Randy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)

AS A LIFE-LONG MINNESOTAN, I speak Minnesotan. It’s hotdish, not casserole. Pop, not soda. Bars may be a sweet treat baked in a cake pan and cut into squares or a place to imbibe. And when someone is going Up North, it’s not to Canada, but typically to the cabin in the Brainerd lakes area or thereabouts.

A serene country scene just north of Lamberton in southern Redwood County, my home county. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’m proud to be rooted in this state many consider fly-over land. On a road trip to the East Coast a few years back, folks, upon learning I was from Minnesota, reacted, “Oh, it’s cold and snowy there.” I’m just fine with non-residents thinking that. It is cold for much of the year. And it is snowy, too, most winters. But we have four distinct seasons to be appreciated in a state that is geographically diverse. Prairie. Woods. Bluffs. Rolling land. Farm fields. Cliffs that rise above the Mississippi River and Lake Superior. Wilderness. Lakes numbering 10,000-plus. All inside our spacious borders.

Downtown Minneapolis skyline. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

And outside “The Cities,” as we term the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, away from metro lights, the night sky is dark, expansive and filled with more stars than you can imagine. Sky and land defined my childhood home on the vast prairie of southwestern Minnesota. But even here in southeastern Minnesota, the sky is big as noted by a Boston visitor. She saw the Minnesota night sky for the first time as we drove her to Faribault from the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. The infinite number of stars impressed her. Northern lights (the aurora borealis), which I have yet to see, are also an attraction.

Paul Bunyan is primarily a central and northern Minnesota legend. But he can also be found in southern Minnesota, like on this sign in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2023)

If I sound like I work for the Minnesota Department of Tourism, I don’t. That job falls to legendary lumberjack Paul Bunyan, unofficial tourism CEO. Clad in his signature buffalo plaid flannel, he is easily recognizable, much-loved and a trendsetter in fashion in the North Star State. I would venture to guess that nearly every Minnesotan owns a collection of flannel shirts. They are my go-to winter attire.

An updated version of “How to Talk Minnesota” is a good guidebook to Minnesota speak.

Did I mention that we don’t speak Fargo, even if that North Dakota city sits across the Red River from Moorhead, Minnesota? I’ve been told we drag out the “o” sound in a distinctly Minnesoooootan sound. Could be. I don’t necessarily hear it. I don’t deny, though, that we are obsessed about the weather. Conversations within our borders usually include one weather reference whether it be wind chill or humidity or “hot enough for you?”.

This sandwich board in small town Belview promotes one of Minnesota’s signature dishes, Tater Tot Hotdish, as a noon special. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2019)

Minnesotans are known for a thing called “Minnesota Nice,” which I like to believe is true most of the time. We are a bit reserved, use phrases like “that’s different” or “that’s interesting” when we really don’t like something or disagree, but want to be nice by holding back our honest thoughts.

The Minnesota sweet treat known as bars, often served with “a little lunch.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Our goodbyes are prolonged. Often, as visiting family is leaving my home, I find myself either standing in the driveway or window waving, waving, waving. That follows the hugs I’ve given only minutes earlier. You can’t get in too many goodbye waves.

The Woodtick Inn in Cuyuna hosts Woodtick Races each summer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2021)

Meat raffles, potlucks, ice fishing, lutefisk dinners (or suppers, depending on time of day), fish fries, snowmobile races, hockey, naming our snowplows, all are part of Minnesota culture. Even wood tick races (at the Woodtick Inn in Cuyuna).

Pines border the driveway leading to a central Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I love this state where I’ve lived my entire life, even when I complain about the long winters and abundance of mosquitoes. This is home. Always has been. Always will be.

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IF YOU HAVE any questions about Minnesota, any observations, anything you want to share, please do. Just follow the rules of “Minnesota Nice.”

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Lutefisk, bars, kolacky, horseradish & more October 3, 2023

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Across the cornfield stands Vang Lutheran Church north of Kenyon and home to an annual lutefisk supper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2011)

IN THIS SEASON of church dinners, I am reminded of an event I covered decades ago as a young reporter fresh out of Minnesota State University, Mankato, with a journalism degree. My editor assigned me to write about and photograph the annual Lutefisk Dinner (or maybe it was supper) at Bernadotte Lutheran in Bernadotte, an unincorporated community northeast of New Ulm.

Having heard a few things about lutefisk—cod soaked in lye—I was in no hurry to undertake this assignment. But work is work and I eventually headed to this rural church to get the story. I don’t recall all the details from that late 1970s introduction to lutefisk. But I do remember a hardworking crew of volunteers, enthusiastic diners packing the church basement and my first taste of this Scandinavian seafood. A generous dose of melted butter made lutefisk, which reminded me of warm Jell-O, palatable. Sorry, Norwegians.

A sign promoting Vang’s 2014 Lutefisk & Meatball Supper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)

Lutefisk dinners remain popular in Minnesota’s Scandinavian enclaves. Like Vang Lutheran, rural Dennison, hosting a Lutefisk and Meatball Dinner on Wednesday, October 11, starring lutefisk and Norwegian meatballs with gravy plus fruit soup, lefse and Norwegian pastries. On Saturday, October 14, First Lutheran in Blooming Prairie is also serving a Lutefisk and Meatball Dinner. Except their meatballs are Swedish (what’s the difference?). Sorry, folks, all three dine-in seatings at First Lutheran are sold out, proving just how popular lutefisk dinners are in these parts. The Blooming Prairie lutefisk dinners have been around since 1934.

Bars. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

BARS & BARS, NOT TO BE CONFUSED

This got me thinking about ethnic and unusual foods some of us love and others of us don’t. For example, this past July while vacationing in the central Minnesota lakes area, I came across turkey gizzards and pickled eggs prominently displayed on an end cap at a Crosslake grocery store. You couldn’t pay me to try the gizzards, priced at $12.49 for 16 ounces. But I’d give pickled eggs a try. Apparently there’s a market in Paul Bunyan country for these delicacies. And in some Minnesota bars, not to be confused with the bars we Minnesotans eat.

Ah, bars. They hold two definitions. I recall my native-born California son-in-law’s confusion about bars. It took a bit of explaining for him to understand that bars, besides a place to imbibe, are also, in Minnesota, a sweet treat that is not a cookie, cake or brownie. But similar, made in a cake pan and cut into squares.

Prune kolacky ready to bake at Franke’s Bakery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2013)

KOLACKY OR SAUERKRAUT

Then there are kolacky, a Czech pastry unknown to me until I moved to this region. It was at Franke’s Bakery in nearby Montgomery, self-proclaimed “Kolacky Capital of the World,” that I first tasted this dough into which prunes, apples, raspberries, blueberries and other fruit or a poppy seed filling are folded. Kolacky are so popular in this Czech stronghold that Franke’s baked nearly 1,800 dozen of the treats for the annual town celebration, Kolacky Days, in July. That’s a whole lot of kolacky, like nearly 22,000.

Me? I prefer a Bismarck oozing with custard. And, yes, I am German, which might also explain my love of sauerkraut. Henderson, where my paternal great grandparents settled upon arriving in America, celebrates Sauerkraut Days annually. And, yes, there’s a sauerkraut eating contest. I grew up eating homemade sauerkraut fermented from cabbage grown in our large garden. My grandma made kraut and my dad thereafter.

Homemade horseradish in jars. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2012)

HOW ABOUT HORSERADISH OR COTTAGE CHEESE PIE?

Dad also made horseradish, a tradition which continues in my extended family today, 20 years after his death. Horseradish seems an acquired taste. Not everyone likes a condiment that burns nostrils, clears sinuses, waters eyes, nips the tongue. But I do.

And once upon a time I also ate SPAM, a canned meat made in Austin, Minnesota, and wildly popular in Hawaii. I liked it in Pizza Burgers—SPAM, onion and American cheese ground in a hand-cranked meat grinder and then canned chili (without beans) stirred in. I haven’t quite figured out the “without beans” in chili. Mom made and spread the mix on homemade bun halves, broiled until the cheese bubbled. Yum. I no longer eat SPAM. Or Jell-O. Make that red Jell-O with bananas, a staple of extended family gatherings many decades ago.

On the shelves at Reed’s Market in Crosslake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)

Food, in many ways, connects to memories, traditions, heritage. You won’t find me eating peanut butter on pancakes or Cottage Cheese Pie, food oddities my husband brought into our marriage. I don’t much like pancakes and I’ve never made the Helbling signature pie. Nor have I made my mom’s favorite pie, Sour Cream Raisin. But I love cottage cheese and I eat Raisin Bran cereal. Just don’t ask me to eat turkey gizzards. Or lutefisk. Once was enough for this writer.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Food stories from Minnesota as I celebrate my birthday September 26, 2019

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Assorted hot dishes, salads, desserts and more fill several tables at the annual Kletscher family reunion held each July at the city park in my hometown of Vesta, Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

WHAT FOODS AND FOOD TRADITIONS do you consider unique to the place you live?

 

Assorted bars. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

Ask any Minnesotan and it’s surely not grape salad. Rather, the typical Minnesotan might respond with hot dish, walleye, chicken wild rice soup… Or bars. And we’re not talking the local watering hole here. We’re talking a sweet treat pressed or poured into a 9 x 13-inch cake pan. My favorite are peanut butter oatmeal bars.

 

Chicken Wild Rice Hot Dish with salad and bread served at an eatery in Park Rapids, Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

Whatever your answer, food in many ways defines us. And food is the subject of a research project underway by a young Minnesota woman working on her Master of Fine Arts nonfiction writing degree from the University of New Hampshire. Lindsey phoned last week to ask about my food history, one rooted in my rural upbringing. We talked for an hour. I don’t envy Lindsey’s eventual task of condensing months of research into a succinct paper. But I do look forward to some day reading her findings.

 

My mother-in-law, who passed away in October 1993, often made Seven Layer Jell-O Salad. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

I expect she will include Jell-O, once the queen of Minnesota salads. Make that red Jell-O laced with sliced bananas. It is a signature food of many an extended family gathering from my childhood. Many Baby Boomers from rural Minnesota could probably say the same.

 

A friend gifted me with a copy of the book my mom used to craft birthday cakes.

 

But there’s one story likely unique to me and my five siblings. We grew up on a crop and dairy farm in southwestern Minnesota. With little money, our parents could not afford to give us gifts on our birthdays. The thing is, we didn’t know to expect presents. We were that poor. But Mom found another way to make our birthdays special. Days before our birthday, she would pull out her Animal Cut-Up Cake booklet and allow us to thumb through the pages and choose an animal-shaped birthday cake. Simple two-page spreads showed, for example, how to create a lion from a 9-inch square cake. Mom would follow the instructions in the publication by General Foods Corporation and create the chosen animal cake.

 

The clown cake my mom made for me in one of the few photos I have of myself from my childhood.

 

I cherish those birthday memories. I’m convinced that, had I gotten childhood birthday gifts, I would have forgotten those long ago. But my mom’s homemade birthday cakes, no. Whether a turtle, terrier or teddy bear, those cakes equated love.

 

I can’t take credit for this cake. But my daughters crafted this PEEF cake for their brother the year he turned eight. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

When I became a mother, I followed the tradition of creating homemade birthday cakes—like Garfield the cat, a horse, a snowman—for my three kids. But they, unlike me and my siblings, also received birthday gifts.

 

Me with my mom. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo December 2017.

 

Today I celebrate my birthday. I don’t expect a cake, because who will bake one for me? I’m the mom. Rather I’ll remember and honor my mom, who is on hospice in a care center 2 ½ hours away. I doubt she remembers today is my birthday. I’m simply thankful if she recognizes me. But maybe, if I prompted her, she would recall all those special birthday cakes she baked for me and my siblings. The tradition was a gift of love from the mom I love. And miss.

© Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling