Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The day after a mass shooting…thoughts from Minnesota August 28, 2025

An inspirational word in an art installation honoring Barb Larson, shot and killed in 2016 inside her workplace, the Faribault Area Chamber of Commerce & Tourism. Used here for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

IN MY BIBLE, I highlight verses that resonate with me, that inspire, that uplift and offer hope. Those include Jeremiah 29:11. It reads: For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. In faith communities, this specific scripture is often directed to youth, who are our future.

On Wednesday morning those words written by the prophet Jeremiah were shared by Matt DeBoer, principal of Annunciation Catholic School in south Minneapolis, following a mass shooting at the adjacent church. The shooter fired from outside through stained glass windows into the church, killing two students and wounding 18 others, including three parishioners in their eighties. All were attending a back-to-school morning Mass.

The churning Straight River, visually reflective of what we’re feeling now in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

NEVER AGAIN”

This act of gun violence is nothing short of horrific. No one can deny that. Fletcher, 8, and Harper, 10, are dead. Seven others were critically injured, taken to a level 1 trauma center. All are expected to survive. The level of pain and grief and anger, yes, anger, we are feeling collectively in Minnesota right now is palpable.

In all the media coverage I’ve watched and read, I keep circling back to Principal DeBoer and his message at a late Wednesday morning press conference hours after the shooting. He shared the school’s Jeremiah 29 based theme for 2025-2026 of “a future filled with hope.” Hope happens to be one of my favorite words, but not one I personally relate to a mass shooting. Yet on Wednesday morning, the principal called for all of us to look to the future with hope, because we can’t change the past. I listened. I heard. I heard him say, “Never again.” I heard DeBoer ask us to commit those two words to our speech pattern. “Never again.”

And I heard, too, his call for action as he referenced this African proverb: When you pray, move your feet.

As the day progressed into evening vigils, I continued to watch television coverage. Clergy led a prayer service at the Academy of Holy Angels, a nearby private Catholic high school that Annunciation students often attend beginning in ninth grade. In a message also themed to hope, Archbishop Bernard Hebda mentioned the broad support received from those of all faiths—Protestants, Jews, Muslims… And from Pope Leo XIV. I would expect nothing less. We are all hurting.

Another vigil followed at Lynnhurst Park. As I watched television coverage begin, I focused on the diverse crowd. A young girl seated on the ground clutching a teddy bear. A priest in a wheelchair. Attendees sheltering flickering candles with their hands. People in bright orange t-shirts emblazoned with “Protect Minnesota.” Photographers working. A woman in a black tee with the simple word, “Enough,” and a slash drawn through a circled gun. Instrumental music played—”Bridge Over Troubled Water”—setting an introspective mood.

“Doing something” must be about our kids. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WE NEED TO…”

And then the line up of speakers stepped up, addressing the crowd. The mood at this vigil was decidedly different. This gathering focused on a call to action in oftentimes fiery and emotional speeches by politicians and local leaders calling for stronger gun laws. In all the thoughts shared, Minnesota Lieutenant Governor Peggy Flanagan’s message rose to the top for me. While she spoke the usual “You are not alone” and “Enough is enough,” here’s the one soundbite that sticks with me: “We need to love our babies and our children more than our guns.” That bears repeating. “We need to love our babies and our children more than our guns.”

On this, the morning after the murder of two children and wounding of 17 others at Annunciation Catholic Church less than an hour from my Faribault home, I reflect on Flanagan’s words. And I think of my own two elementary-aged grandchildren starting the new school year on Tuesday. I want them to feel, to be, safe. I want this gun violence to end. As the mayor of Minneapolis said, his is “a city united in grief,” which must now become “a city united in action.”

I hold hope that perhaps this time something will change. I understand that gun violence is complicated, that it involves addressing the root causes of such violence. Yet, if not for the guns—three used in the Minneapolis shooting—two children would still be alive.

#

This story has been updated to include the first names of the two children killed in the shooting. Their names were released late Thursday afternoon. The number of injured has also been updated to 18.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

My heart breaks after another mass shooting, this time at a Minneapolis church/school August 27, 2025

I’ve photographed many stained glass windows in churches. I looked through my archives and found this image of a window at Mother of Good Counsel Votive Chapel, LaCrosse, Wisconsin and it struck me as fitting for this post. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)

I HAD MY MORNING PLANNED. Wash sheets and towels and hang them on the line. Pay bills. Write a blog post. I finished the laundry. But then all activity stopped and my attention focused to breaking news—a mass shooting in south Minneapolis.

For hours I’ve watched media coverage of events unfolding at Annunciation Catholic Church and School in south Minneapolis. Early today two school children were shot and killed during morning Mass. Seventeen others were injured, among them two adults. Four required surgery. Seven were in critical condition at Hennepin County Medical Center, a level one trauma center. Several went to other hospitals.

My heart breaks for the families, friends and classmates of the eight and 10-year-olds who were killed. My heart breaks for all who were part of and witness to this violence. Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey and Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara, who spoke at a press conference, echoed the same. Their pain and anguish were evident in their words, their voices breaking with emotion.

I was especially touched by Mayor Frey’s message that we must go beyond simply saying “thoughts and prayers” because, as he stated, these kids were literally in church praying. He’s right. I believe in prayer. But I also believe that caring and compassionate action must accompany prayer. Frey called upon all of us to wrap our arms around the affected families, to love and support them. These are not only Minneapolis families affected, but American families, he said, adding that these shootings happen far too often.

According to officials, the gunman, dressed in black and armed with a rifle, shotgun and pistol, fired from the outside through church stained glass windows, hitting victims sitting in the pews. The man, in his early 20s and with no known criminal record, is dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, according to the police chief.

Both the mayor and police chief used the word “evil” when describing this morning’s shooting. They also used words like “deliberate act of violence,” “unspeakable act,” and “unthinkable tragedy.” We’ve heard those words way too often following mass shootings that have occurred way too often. Once is too often.

My day goes on, not as I planned, but tinged now with deep sadness. I can’t shake the images of children emerging from Annunciation School with their parents, hands clasped, faces showing the deep pain they are feeling. They are forever changed.

This is tough. All of it. Something must change.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A boy by the lake with a shovel

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Isaac on the beach at Horseshoe Lake, rural Merrifield, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

SOMETIMES A PHOTO isn’t perfect. And this one certainly isn’t, at least not technically. The image of my 6-year-old grandson is not sharp. And that’s because I was sitting a beach away, zooming in with my cellphone camera.

My 35 mm Canon was inside the cabin. I knew I would either have to shoot with my phone or miss the moment. I opted to click the white circle on my Android.

Why do I love this photo, despite its technical flaws? I love the moment in time I’ve captured of my young grandson. Isaac was busy digging in the sand at lake’s edge when he paused. I don’t recall the reason he stopped shoveling. And that in itself holds appeal as those who view the image can imagine what Isaac is seeing to his left.

I remember the set up of this scene, though. Randy and I were on lakeside grandparent watch while Isaac’s parents headed into Nisswa for coffee. We were all vacationing together at a family member’s Horseshoe Lake cabin in north central Minnesota. Isaac’s older sister was inside the cabin reading.

The day was cold with a strong wind churning the water. Not a day for swimming or for sunbathing. But, for Isaac, it was still a good day for digging in the sand. He kept venturing closer and closer to the lake, water lapping at his pant legs. I asked Randy to roll up Isaac’s pants.

There’s something about a boy by the water, pants legs rolled up, shovel in hand that speaks to carefree days of summer, to youthfulness and to simple child’s play in the great outdoors. I love seeing kids playing outside, away from video games and electronics. I’m all for handing a child a stick (or a shovel) to encourage creative play.

I love this photo also because it tells a story in a simple and uncomplicated scene of water, sand, shovel and boy. Photography, for me, is often about storytelling.

I like the composition of this photo, too, with Isaac off-center, the sand pile on the right side of the frame. And then the wavy lake seemingly takes on a personality of its own like a threatening intruder. But Isaac didn’t let the moody lake, the cold day or the strong wind deter him from his work.

As with any photo, lighting ranks high. I like the lighting in this image. I like the simplicity of the photo.

Even though not technically perfect, this photo holds what’s most important to me—love. Do you see it?

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Vacation memories & southern Minnesota connections August 26, 2025

An angler fishes in Horseshoe Lake, rural Merrifield, on an August evening. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

IN MID AUGUST, Randy and I headed nearly 200 miles north of Faribault for our second stay of the summer at a family member’s cabin in the Brainerd lakes area. This trip our eldest daughter and her family joined us for several days. There’s nothing quite like time with the grandkids at the lake. Time to play, to relax, to make memories. And that we did. I cherish our days together Up North.

We mostly hung out on the beach or in the cabin. Weather conditions were not ideal with cool temps and strong winds prevailing when all six of us were there together. Yet, we got outdoors—the kids running along the sandy beach, digging a hole along water’s edge, enjoying the placid water on a warm and sunny day before the weather changed.

Looking upward toward the pines from a lakeside hammock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

MAKING MEMORIES

I led the 6 and 9-year-olds on a scavenger hunt. We searched for a feather, a mushroom, a nest…that which nature offers like a gift if only we pause to see and appreciate. Randy taught Isaac to play Marbles on a homemade wooden board. It’s a long-time favorite of the extended Helbling family. We played Yahtzee and Connect 4, on an over-sized outdoor board. The puzzlers among us (not me) pieced together a lemonade stand. We headed into town for massive scoops of ice cream, a cabin tradition. And one day we picked peas from our sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s plot in a community garden. Later I taught Isaac how to shell them. The kids delighted in a timed Ninja course at a Crosslake playground and posed for photos behind Paul Bunyan family cut-outs at another park. We devoured s’mores around the campfire.

A campfire is the place to share stories, create memories. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

This is the stuff of memories. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mostly unplanned. Moments that connect us, deepen bonds.

Moody clouds at sunset over Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

Being outdoors, away from home and work and schedules and the demands of everyday life, opens us to the joys of vacationing. The haunting call of a loon and the sighting of a bald eagle perched atop a pine proved exhilarating. A bank of moody, pink-tinged clouds slung low in the evening sky drew all of us to focus on and admire the scene.

A mural in Crosby. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

MORE CHERISHED MOMENTS

When the grandkids and their parents left several days before us, our world seemed too quiet. No more kids scampering up and down the loft ladder. No more requests to go to the beach. No more…

But, sans kids, there were still moments to be cherished. Lakeside dining with friends at Breezy Point. Popping in to chat with a Faribault friend who lives in Nisswa now and works for the Chamber of Commerce. And then a chance encounter with adults with disabilities on an outing at Mission Park, rural Merrifield. I learned that visually-impaired Shannon, who uses a white cane and carries over-sized yellow sunglasses, likes to sing. I asked her to sing for me. And she did—to a movie soundtrack of ”My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Deon. I thought my heart would burst with joy as this young woman first mouthed the words, then sang them quietly and then louder as I encouraged her. It’s one of those moments I will forever treasure. Me nearly in tears and everyone inside that picnic shelter smiling during this impromptu weekday morning concert.

A mural by Adam Turman in downtown Crosby highlights recreational activities in the Cuyuna Lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

SOUTHERN MINNESOTA CONNECTIONS ON THE RANGE

On the way home, there were more delights during a stop in Crosby, an Iron Range community that is evolving into a destination with its many outdoor activities, shops and murals. I spotted a mural by Minneapolis artist Adam Turman, whose work can be found on murals in Northfield and on Faribault Mill products. He’s a favorite muralist of mine. I saw also, much to my delight, Faribault Mill blankets and Caves of Faribault cheeses in separate shops. I felt Faribault-proud seeing those wool blankets and exceptional cheeses for sale in Crosby.

ICE CREAM, GREEK STYLE

But it was the homemade ice cream—Rave Creamworks’ Super Premium—at Victual in Crosby that got rave reviews from me. Randy and I shared a large scoop of Baklava ice cream laced with flaky phyllo dough, chopped walnuts and honey. It is the shop’s bestseller among 24 choices, so said the teen behind the counter. I loved this creamy ice cream, which I expect my friend, Father Jim Zotalis at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour in Faribault, would appreciate given his Greek heritage. Baklava is a Greek pastry. Even in that ice cream I felt a connection to southern Minnesota. We can leave home, but we never really do.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The power of words spotted in southern Minnesota August 19, 2025

I looked to a second floor window of the Arts Center of Saint Peter to see this word. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2024)

AS A WRITER, I’m drawn to words. Perhaps that’s why I appreciate signs, slogans, even interesting messages on t-shirts such as “I put ketchup on my ketchup.” I spotted a guy in Faribault recently wearing a ketchup tee and told him I liked his shirt. I appreciated the humor. It was his second compliment of the day, he said. I’m not surprised given an American obsession with the condiment. I mean, my older brother squirted ketchup on his potatoes when we were kids. And most people can’t eat fries without ketchup. I can.

A t-shirt sold by a vendor at Montgomery, Minnesota’s Czech May Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

Then there’s the t-shirt I saw for sale earlier this year at a Czech celebration in Montgomery. In white letters on black fabric, the noun, Czech girl, was defined “like a normal girl but cooler.” I guess I will never be Czech cool since my heritage is German.

Bohemian pride in Montgomery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

Nor will I hold Bohemian power or pride as printed on two buttons worn by a man in traditional Czech attire at the same Montgomery event. He was in the right place, Minnesota’s Czech triangle, to be sporting those ethnic-proud buttons.

Powerful words in Montgomery, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

But I saw one identifier in Montgomery that proved relatable. And that was “Hope Dealer” displayed on a downtown storefront window. Hope happens to be one of my favorite words, one I’ve leaned into often during challenging times in my life. There’s nothing quite like hope to focus thoughts on difficult days. In Montgomery, “Hope Dealer” marks a substance abuse treatment center, which offers hope to those who walk through the door. The noun applies to me when I offer hope to someone who needs to be uplifted, encouraged and supported, maybe even inspired.

Identifying license plate on a Captain Marvel-themed car. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)

Sometimes superheroes inspire as seen on a flashy purple car parked at a downtown Faribault Car Cruise Night this summer. Captain Marvel themed the car. The Minnesota license plate, CPTMRVL, did not escape my notice. This car owner clearly identifies with the positive superhuman powers of Captain Marvel.

Identifying art at Makeshift Accessories. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)

Over in Northfield at Makeshift Accessories, a home-grown shop featuring art crafted from primarily recycled materials, I found a sign that fits me—MN G1RL. It’s made from Minnesota license plate letters and a single number cobbled together. The rustic look appeals to me. But mostly, it’s the words I appreciate. I am a life-long Minnesota girl. If I were to define MN G1RL, I’d write “like a normal girl but stronger.” You’ve got to be strong to survive our long, harsh winters (although they are not as long and harsh as they once were).

Whether you’re from Minnesota or elsewhere matters not. Whether you’re into superheroes or not doesn’t matter to me. Whether you’re Bohemian or German or some other ethnicity matters not either. Whether you douse everything in ketchup or not, I don’t care.

But it does matter to me that you hold hope. It matters to me that you can read that singular word and feel the optimism it carries. You can carry hope in your heart. And you can dispense hope within your community through your words and actions. While you do that, notice the signs, slogans and interesting messages that surround you, that are part of everyday life wherever you live. Words matter. So says this southern Minnesota writer.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reunions galore & why they’re important to me August 12, 2025

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
At a previous Helbling reunion, I pulled stories from a family history book to display. Some of the stories were part of a family history trivia contest I planned. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID about the importance of family reunions. They allow us to reconnect, to celebrate, to reminisce, to build new memories, to support, encourage and appreciate one another and our shared histories.

A snippet of a photo from the July 1938 family reunion in Courtland attended by 511 Bodes. My grandparents, Lawrence and Josephine Bode, are in the center of the picture, between the adults holding the babies. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THE BODE FAMILY

My first reunion of the summer was a small gathering with a maternal aunt, uncle, cousins and my youngest brother and his wife in south Minneapolis. Aunt Rae, my godmother, was in town from Missouri. Over a table laden with breakfast foods, we talked and laughed and then afterwards moved to the screened in porch for more catching up and a discussion about the current state of affairs in this country. Mostly, though, we talked family. Since my mom’s death in 2022, I’ve felt even more the need to stay connected to her siblings and their families.

The annual Kletscher reunion always starts at noon with a potluck. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THE KLETSCHER FAMILY

The next reunion happened on the last Sunday of July. The extended Kletscher family met in Echo, a small southwestern Minnesota town some seven miles north of my hometown. There, in a community center, we filled tables with homemade foods for a noon potluck. Afterwards, I circulated in an attempt to talk to nearly everyone in attendance. This reunion has been going on annually for probably seventy years or more. I don’t always make it. But I try to because I’d rather see my cousins and my remaining aunts and uncle at a happy event rather than at a funeral.

A photo board displayed at a Helbling reunion several years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THE HELBLING FAMILY

And then there is the Helbling reunion, held last weekend at a nephew’s rural Faribault acreage. This gathering brings my husband Randy’s family together from all across Minnesota and the country. Our son flew in from Boston. Our second daughter and her family arrived from Madison, Wisconsin. Others came from Michigan, Missouri and North Dakota. This event happens annually. And each year family members travel from all over to see each other, which says a lot about just how important family connections are to all of us.

Jams and jelly won in the family raffle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

This year organizers changed things up a bit by replacing BINGO with a raffle of homemade/home-grown foods and goods. There were cookies, banana bread, multiple jams, wine, honey, engraved stones, crocheted animals, garden fresh potatoes, salsa and more, including canned rabbit meat. I brought an anthology that included five pieces of my writing. Randy brought a bottle of Cry Baby Craig’s hot sauce, an allowed raffle item given it’s made in Faribault.

Everyone went home with something. But perhaps the best part of the raffle was the money raised for the Community Action Center in Faribault via the sale of $5 raffle tickets. With $300 in raffle ticket sales and a company match by an employer, the CAC will be gifted with $600 from the Helbling family. This family cares.

Tom and Betty Helbling, circa early 1950s.

I love my husband’s family. They are a genuinely loving, kind, caring, compassionate, generous and supportive group. During the reunion, we shared family updates while the kids bounced in a cow-shaped bouncy house. During a corn hole tournament, Tristan and his teammate once again walked away with the “trophy,” a mini corn hole board. My six-year-old grandson showed me how to pound nails into a round of wood in a game of hammerschlagen. My granddaughter and I watched baby ducks swim in a pond next to a menagerie of poultry, goats and two black sheep. Kids shot rockets high into the air. Adults gathered in lawnchair clusters to chat. Slowly, as the sun set, family members began to leave. I left feeling so loved.

The evening prior, the siblings and their spouses met at the Craft Beverage Curve in Faribault for food, drinks and conversation. The new addition to the reunion proved popular. Family raved about the setting. I felt a deep sense of pride in my community. But mostly, I felt the love of the Helbling family which I have been part of for 43 years. Tom and Betty Helbling would be proud of the family they started. And they would be happy that, on the second Saturday in August each year, their family reconnects at a reunion.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Clearly I needed to write about homelessness & housing insecurity in Faribault…read on August 6, 2025

This poster inside Trinity Lutheran Church shows an architectural drawing of Ridgeview Heights and a Vacation Bible School mission fundraising goal for the housing project. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2025)

ON MY WAY TO SUNDAY MORNING church services, I missed an opportunity to live my faith. Reflecting on that moment, I’m still uncertain what I could have done. But the guilt I feel about doing nothing at the time remains.

Let me set the scene. While driving to church, Randy and I dropped off some mail downtown. Up the hill from the post office, I noticed a parked car crammed with stuff. Someone clearly lived out of the vehicle, one I’ve previously seen. Then my eyes shifted to the adjacent street corner and an individual, cocooned in a bright gold blanket, sleeping atop a bench. And then we turned the corner.

“I should take a picture,” I told Randy, my mind already creating a story that would enlighten others about homelessness in Faribault. But then I quickly realized that taking a photo wouldn’t be particularly kind. And so we continued on to church.

Still, I couldn’t shake the image of that person stretched atop a bench along Central Avenue. I wondered about his story, why and how he found himself without a home. And I considered how vulnerable and exposed I would feel sleeping like that in a public place. Those thoughts followed me into church.

HOUSING FOR THE HOMELESS”

When I stepped inside the sanctuary, I immediately noticed a “Housing for the Homeless” poster near the organ. There are coincidences and then there are what I term “God moments.” And this, in my mind, was clearly divine. I’ve seen enough of these occurrences in my life to distinguish the two. God was assuredly nudging me to write on the topic of homelessness and housing insecurity in my community.

That sign in church was a promotional for the chosen mission of this year’s Vacation Bible School, which started that very evening at Trinity. Participants are donating their monetary gifts to Ridgeview Heights, an accessible, sustainable housing community to be built in downtown Faribault just blocks from the slumbering man on the bench. The VBS fundraising goal is $500.

That $500 may seem inconsequential considering the $2.5 million project cost. But every dollar helps in constructing the two buildings aimed at housing families with children, including those experiencing homelessness. Two of the eight units will serve as free emergency shelters and the other six will be market rate workforce units.

A COMMUNITY ACTS

The Community Action Center, which works collaboratively to alleviate hunger, homelessness and poverty among individuals and families in the community, is the lead on Ridgeview Heights. With an in-kind land donation from the city of Faribault, two grants, gifts, community donations and financing, the CAC is able to break ground at 4 p.m. today, August 6, for the much-needed two and three-bedroom units.

So first I saw the sleeping man, then the poster. And then came the sermon…with a directive that congregations ought to think, plan and act in ways that bless people. The guest pastor encouraged us not to think less of ourselves, but to think of ourselves less (a loose quote from C.S. Lewis). In other words, turn the focus outward on the community rather than inward to the church’s needs. The VBS kids will be doing exactly that this week with their “Housing for the Homeless” mission focus.

A FAMILY THAT CARES

Now you may think my story ends here. But it doesn’t. On July 28, I received a mass email about an upcoming Helbling family reunion. Organizers are changing things up this year by raffling items made by family members. One of several ways to qualify for a raffle entry is via a $5 charitable donation. All donations will go to the Community Action Center in Faribault with a dollar-for-dollar match from my eldest niece’s employer.

Truly, I was meant to write this story. I may have bypassed the man sleeping on the bench. But I got the message, loud and clear, that I needed to write about homelessness and housing insecurity in Faribault. I’ve seen the tents pitched along the river, beside train tracks, behind evergreen trees, next to a park. I’ve seen the homeless in the library, sleeping in the Central Park bandshell, biking and walking about town, including past my house. I am aware of the long waiting list for emergency shelter. Even if I failed to “do” something, I can raise awareness through my writing. And by doing that, perhaps I am helping in some small way to bless my community, including the man sleeping on a bench in the heart of downtown Faribault on a Sunday morning.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Shining kindness, beginning in Minnesota July 29, 2025

Visit makekind.org to learn the story behind this kindness button and how to order assorted buttons. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

WHEN MY FRIEND SUE rummaged in her purse for something she wanted to give me, she pulled out a button with the message “Make America KIND.” Perfect. I am all for kindness. Sue’s simple act of gifting me with that button, which I pinned to the faded 1970s vintage denim jacket I was wearing, was an act of kindness in itself.

That got me thinking about kindness, not only because of the button, but because Sue and I, along with our husbands, had just finished lunch at the Damsite Supper Club in Pine River. Every Wednesday from 11 a.m.-2 p.m., veterans eat for free. So Sue’s spouse, Charley, enjoyed a complimentary meal as did other vets. The restaurant honors the veterans for their service with the kindness of a meal and then by inviting them to sign a dining room wall.

Signage at the Kindness Rocks Garden explains how the garden works. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2024)

Right across the road, my friend reminded me, sits the Kindness Rocks Inspiration Garden. The memorial garden honors Bryce Mink, 11, who died in 2023 of undiagnosed lymphoma. Painted stones decorated with inspiring words and art fill the rock garden. The garden is a visual of kindness.

Before we went on our way, Sue had another gift for me. A bag of books. Fiction, nonfiction and poetry books she felt a “Prairie Lady” would appreciate. She’s downsizing and set aside Visibility: Ten Miles—A Prairie Memoir in Photography and Poetry, Light on the Prairie, Pioneer Girl—The Annotated Autobiography of Laura Ingalls Wilder and several other books. Sue knows me well and I’m grateful for her kindness.

An encouraging message in the Kindness Garden.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2024)

KINDNESS DEFINED

What does it really mean to be kind? By my definition, the word means “being nice.” In actions and/or in words. Being generous, caring, compassionate. Being thoughtful. Giving without expecting anything in return. Doing what is right and good. Listening. Encouraging. Supporting. Many words define kindness.

My sister-in-law Rosie showed kindness to Randy and me when she surprised us with a homemade caramel roll upon our recent arrival at her lake cabin. She knows how much we love these rolls from Valeri Ann’s Family Foods, an eatery just down the highway in Merrifield. What a thoughtful gesture given these sweet treats sell out quickly. Rosie got the last two, saving one for us.

In the Pine River kindness garden, one simple message written on a stone by Finley. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2024)

KINDNESS IN A HUG

Then there’s the kindness Randy and I recently extended to a stranger via a vintage desk we carried to the curb. When a passerby stopped a while later, I stepped outside to greet her. She wanted the free desk. I also invited her into my living room to look at a table we no longer need. Because the woman spoke limited English, we struggled to communicate, finally resorting to pen and paper until her friend arrived to interpret.

Eventually, the woman decided she wanted the desk only. So Randy helped load it into her friend’s car. And then I spontaneously hugged this Somali immigrant who graciously and gratefully thanked me. It felt like the right thing to do. We held each other for a moment, our embrace warm, genuine.

Kindness came full circle. It didn’t take much effort for me, Randy, Sue, Rosie and the Damsite Supper Club to “Make America KIND” in our own unique ways. Just imagine if every single person extended kindness to family, friends and strangers. This would be a much gentler, compassionate and caring country.

TELL ME: I’d like to hear about a recent act of kindness you either gave or received.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An eye for eagles July 22, 2025

The bald eagle I saw nearby within hours of arriving at a central Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

LAST SUMMER, LOON sightings proved common at a family member’s lake cabin south of Crosslake in north central Minnesota. This summer, not so much. While Randy and I heard the haunting call of loons during a recent stay, we only saw them twice—once a threesome swimming near shore and then two flying westward before a thunderstorm rolled in.

But bald eagle sightings more than made up for the absence of loons. We’d been at the cabin only hours when one swooped onto the top of a towering pine near the patio where we were enjoying late afternoon drinks with my sister-in-law. Randy pulled out his cellphone to snap a few photos. I stayed put since my 35 mm camera was back at the cabin. I reasoned that, by the time I walked to the cabin and back, the eagle would have flown away. That’s my usual luck.

And so we continued to chat and catch up on family news, the eagle all the while perched atop the tree like some silent eavesdropper. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I headed to the cabin for my Canon, cautiously optimistic that the eagle would still be in the tree upon my return. It was.

Wings spread wide, the bald eagle lifts off from the treetop. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

I moved slowly away from the patio, pine tree and eagle in view, aimed my telephoto lens skyward and snapped a single frame before the eagle lifted off. I can only surmise that my camera lens appeared threatening to the observant bird with exceptional vision. An eagle can see an animal the size of a rabbit running from three miles away, according to the Wabasha-based National Eagle Center.

Nine minutes later, that same eagle was back, but in a different pine near the lake and on the other side of the patio. Once again, I managed one photo before the majestic bird took flight.

Two symbols of America: the flag and a bald eagle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

I never tire of seeing eagles, whether flying or statue still. They are truly majestic. Regal. Commanding respect. And they are our national bird, a designation officially signed into law on December 23, 2024.

Throughout our week-long cabin stay, I observed bald eagles flying above Horseshoe Lake multiple times. Sometimes high above the water. Other times descending toward the surface, fishing for fish. I hoped I would see a fish grasped in eagle talons. I didn’t. Nor did I see the eagles any closer than that first afternoon at the lake.

On the drive back to Faribault, Randy and I spotted many eagles soaring above the land, especially around Mille Lacs Lake. I couldn’t help but think of the eagle’s spiritual and cultural importance among Native Americans. Strength. Courage. Wisdom. All are equated with eagles.

A bald eagle flies over Horseshoe Lake in the Brainerd lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

This wondrous national bird is so common now that I’m no longer surprised when I see one flying in and around Faribault or elsewhere in Rice County or in Minnesota. Yet, despite frequent sightings, I never tire of seeing a bald eagle. There’s something about this bird with an average wingspan of 6-7 ½ feet, piercing eyes and curved beak that makes me pause, take notice and appreciate their fierce, unyielding strength and beauty.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In praise of monarchs, milkweeds & fireflies July 16, 2025

A monarch butterfly feeds on a milkweed flower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

ON A RECENT AFTERNOON, I looked up from washing dishes and out the kitchen window to see a solitary monarch butterfly flitting among milkweeds. Something as common as a butterfly remains, for me, one of summer’s simplest delights. Along with milkweeds and fireflies.

A monarch caterpillar on milkweed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

This year I have a bumper crop of milkweed plants growing in and along flowerbeds and retaining walls. I stopped counting at 24 plants. I have no idea why the surge in milkweeds. But I am happy about their abundance given monarchs need milkweed. It is the only plant upon which the monarch lays eggs and the sole source of food for monarch caterpillars.

A crop of milkweeds in a public garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

My farmer dad, if he was still alive, would likely offer a different opinion about milkweeds. As children, my siblings and I walked rows of soybean fields eradicating milkweeds, thistles and the notorious cocklebur. This was called “walking beans,” a job that we hated, but was necessary to keep fields mostly weed-free without the use of chemicals.

I never considered then that I might some day appreciate milkweeds, the “weed” I pulled from the rich dark soil of southwestern Minnesota. On many a hot and humid afternoon, sweat rolled off my forehead and dirt filtered through the holes of my canvas tennis shoes while hoeing and yanking unwanted plants from Dad’s soybean fields and on my cousin John’s farm.

Today I instruct my husband not to pull or mow any milkweed plants in our Faribault yard. Randy understands their value, even if he didn’t walk beans on his childhood farm. He more than made up for that lack of field work by picking way more rocks than I ever did. Morrison County in central Minnesota sprouts a bumper crop of rocks compared to my native Redwood County, where I also picked rocks.

A milkweed about to open. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But back to milkweeds. I love the scent of the dusty rose-colored common milkweed. So if you drive by my Faribault home or walk through River Bend Nature Center or Central Park or past Buckham Memorial Library and see me dipping my nose into a cluster of milkweed flowers, that’s why.

As summer progresses, I’m curious to see how many monarchs soar among the milkweeds in the tangled messes of plants that define my untamed flowerbeds. Thankfully our next door neighbor appreciates milkweeds also and is OK if the wind carries seeds onto his property.

Fireflies glow in the garden art honoring my nephew Justin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’ve already seen fireflies aplenty in our backyard, which abuts a wooded hillside. And recently, while driving home in the early dark of a summer evening, Randy and I saw hundreds of fireflies lighting up grassy road ditches. It was truly magical, reminding me of childhood sightings and of Eric Carle’s children’s picture book, The Very Lonely Firefly. I had a copy for my kids, battery included to light up firefly illustrations. And, until it stopped working, I had a solar-powered firefly garden sculpture honoring my nephew Justin, who loved light and fireflies and died at age 19 in 2001 of Hodgkins disease.

Often what we love is about much more than simply whatever we love. I see, in writing this story, that my love of milkweeds, monarchs and fireflies connects to memories. Summer memories. Farm memories. Family memories. These are the stories we carry within us, that help define who we are, whether we consider a milkweed to be a weed, or a flower.

TELL ME: What simple summer things delight you and why?

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling