ON A SULTRY SUMMER SOLSTICE EVENING, hundreds converged on Faribault’s Central Avenue for the monthly Car Cruise Night. Our downtown offers an ideal backdrop of historic buildings for the many vintage and antique vehicles and sports cars showcased in a four-block area.
But this event is about much more than cars and trucks. It’s also about community. About coming together. About connecting with hugs and one-on-one conversations. Young and old alike come here, infusing energy into the downtown during a season when everyone wants to be outdoors, heat and humidity aside.
Some bring their dogs. Others bring their babies and toddlers and kids of all ages for an evening out. Something to do. The excitement of some—especially two pre-teens who thought they spotted a Lamborghini—felt palpable. It was not a Lamborghini. But for the boys, in a singular moment, they held high hopes.
I got excited when I spotted, from a distance, a car outside Boxer’s Bar that looked remarkably like a Mercury Comet. My husband confirmed that the red four-door was, indeed, a Comet. My first car was a 1976 two-door canary yellow Comet, which I nicknamed, well, let’s just say a word that rhymes with Comet. I spent way too much money repairing that vehicle. Plus, the driver’s door wouldn’t close in the winter. I digress. Perhaps the owner of the red Comet has had much better than lemon luck.
Car Cruise participants will share stories about their vehicles if you ask. Most settle onto lawn chairs on the sidewalk and watch as people circle their treasures on wheels. A retired Minnesota State Patrol cruiser, a 2015 Ford Taurus Interceptor, attracted plenty of attention with so many flashing, pulsating lights that I had to look away. It gave me pause, especially in light of recent events in Minnesota. But signage and license plates made it clear this Taurus is no longer an active duty patrol car. I appreciated that clarity.
And then there’s pride in ownership showcased in shiny, spotless vehicles waxed to perfection. Flawless. Brian Boelke of Mazeppa polished his 1948 Chrysler to mirror image shine. I was fascinated by the reflection of historic buildings curving across the hood and sides of his black car. Abstract art. Beautiful. I wonder if others noticed.
I view Car Cruise Night through an artistic lens, Central Avenue like a gallery of auto art.
The performing arts are also part of this monthly summertime event. On the longest day of the year, the Jason Paulson Band beat a rhythm of Americana music from an intersection outside the beloved hometown Signature Bar & Grill. People walked by. Some danced. Others relaxed on history-themed benches or settled onto a vintage Tilt-a-Whirl car anchored outside third-generation family-owned Burkhartzmeyer Shoes. Friends paused mid-street to talk.
For the hungry and thirsty, there were plenty of options from downtown businesses and food trucks and stands. I spotted a boy eating his last mini donut, a favorite fair food of mine. I didn’t cave to temptation, until back home when I scooped up chocolate chip ice cream.
As cars and trucks began pulling away from their parking spots along Central Avenue with the Car Cruise winding down, Randy and I listened briefly to the band before heading home. I was feeling overheated, in need of a cool place and a long cold drink of water after taking 108 photos on this summer solstice evening in southern Minnesota.
FYI: Upcoming Car Cruises are set for 6-9 p.m. Friday, July 18, and Friday, August 15, in downtown Faribault. The final cruise will be held Saturday, September 19, at Faribault Harley Davidson.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
In which I protest, grieve & reflect June 19, 2025
Tags: America, assassination, commentary, government, grief, June 14, Minnesota, mural, news, NO KINGS protest, Northfield, protest, protest signs, reflections, Rep. Melissa Hortman, Sen. John Hoffman, thoughts, United States
I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling