Selections from Jamaica included “Linstead Market” and “Stand Up For Your Rights” at a 2014 Songs of Hope concert in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
HOPE. IT’S A POWERFUL WORD. A universal word. A word that is both noun and verb. Likewise, music is universal in the power it holds.
On Tuesday, July 15, the power of those two words comes to Faribault in a 7 p.m. free performance (donations are encouraged) by Songs of Hope at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour. The high-energy international performing arts group, which is part of a six-week summer camp in St. Paul, presents songs with messages of peace, love and respect. Therein lies the hope. You’ll leave this show feeling hopeful, that perhaps we can all get along if we work at it, embrace one another and our differences, and follow the lead of these young people.
Song and dance from Vietnam.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
Youth performers from Italy, Vietnam, Guatemala, Jamaica, Turkey, Israel, China and the USA will sing and dance their way into your hearts. I know. I’ve seen this global group perform locally. They’ve been to Faribault multiple times on their out-state Minnesota tour. They uplifted me and gave me hope, along with joy.
The group’s mission is “to share musically the global cultures of its young singers in concerts that mix traditional and popular songs from many countries with English-language songs chosen sometimes to entertain and sometimes to provoke thought.”
Artistic Director Jeanne Junge says, “…when we’re choosing the songs in English, we are careful to include a rich mix of messages, because we feel strongly that audiences need to know that young people in every country see the violence and injustices around them, and they want a better world.”
Isn’t that what we all want? A better world. These select youth, some as young as ten, make this a better world via their concerts. Yet, that they even have to think about, witness and/or experience violence and injustices troubles me. But that is reality world-wide today.
From Italy…(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
I encourage you to take in the Songs of Hope show with its song, dance and cultural dress if you have the opportunity. Additional public performances in southeastern Minnesota are set for 11:45 a.m. Wednesday, July 16, at LARK Toys in Kellogg (a 20-minute show) and full shows at 7 p.m. Thursday, July 17, at the State Theatre in Zumbrota and Friday, July 18, at Potter Auditorium in Chatfield. To see a list of all upcoming Songs of Hope concerts, click here.
A black-eyed Susan at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
SUMMER, EVEN WITH ITS SOMETIMES excessive heat, humidity and storms, is a glorious season. Especially in Minnesota, when many months of the year are cold and colorless.
A view of and from the prairie at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
This time of year brings a natural world teeming with life in a landscape flush with color. It takes a walk into the woods and onto the prairie—for me at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault—to fully immerse myself in the delights of these July days.
Ripe and ripening black raspberries. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
During a recent hike on River Bend’s north side, I paused early on to sample black raspberries plucked from trailside bushes. I spotted the first ripe ones as Randy and I were about to cross a walkway bridge leading to a trail edging the Minnesota Correctional Facility, Faribault. But before I could get there, two guys on fat tire bikes barreled over the bridge, scaring me. I didn’t see them, so focused was I on picking berries.
Fat tire bikers head for a trail on River Bend’s north side. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
On the other side of the bridge, a deer stood, trapped between the double fencing of the prison. While many deer at the nature center show no concern for hikers, this one was skittish, bounding away before I could even lift my camera to shoot a picture.
Dragonflies, all in the same hue, flitted about. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Instead, I focused on the brownish dragonfly flitting, then landing, upon a twig. Later I would spot numerous of these same-hued insects among blades of tall grasses. I find them fascinating with their gossamer wings hearkening of fairies and magic and a child’s imagination.
Sunlight plays on leaves in light and shadows. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Backtracking across the road and into the woods, I observed unidentifiable slimy white fungi lining fallen limbs and trees. I’m always hopeful I will find an intensely bright yellow or orange mushroom like the vivid ones I saw several years ago in the woods of north central Minnesota. But I don’t think those grow in southern Minnesota. I know little about mushrooms except that I like them and buy eight ounces of baby bellas every week at the grocery store. I also know that a fairly-new business, Forest to Fork, grows a variety of mushrooms inside a former Faribault Foods plant on the north side of town.
A textured tree trunk up close. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Also in the woods, I noticed the texture of tree trunks. Natural art. At least to me.
There, among the weave of grasses, a butterfly. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
As we looped back to a main trail, the woods began to open to swampland and then to prairie. Birds raised raucous sound, although I failed to see many. That was until I noticed and attempted to photograph a lone bird on a bush. And failed. The bird took flight. “It’s a bluebird,” Randy exclaimed. He was right given the flash of blue, the smallish size and the nearby bluebird houses. It was my first bluebird sighting. Ever. Rice County is a haven for bluebirds thanks to the efforts of Keith Radel, known as Mr. Bluebird. Keith hails from my hometown of Vesta on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. He’s placed and tended houses throughout the county for 40-plus years, tracking, counting and caring for bluebirds. On this afternoon, numerous bluebirds swooped and danced across the summer sky.
Coneflowers on the prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Nowhere does summer appear more like summer to me than in the tall grasses of swampland or among prairie wildflowers. I love the messiness of flowers tangled among grasses. I love the wide sky.
A Monarch, with parts of its wings missing, flies among leaves. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
And I love, too, the flitting of butterflies and moths. A flash of orange. Antenna and spindly legs. And on this afternoon, a Monarch with wings partially-eaten by a predator.
A milkweed flower beginning to open. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
All of this I discovered on a July afternoon at River Bend. Here I dipped my nose into deeply-scented, dusty pink milkweed flowers. Here I tasted sunshine and rain in berries. And here I honored summer in southern Minnesota. Glorious and beautiful.
At a recent Faribault Car Cruise Night, I spotted several vehicles sporting American flags, including this Chevy pick-up truck. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
PARADES. GET TOGETHERS. FIREWORKS. All define the Fourth of July as we gather over the long holiday weekend to mark America’s 249th birthday. I hope, in the all of this, that we never lose focus of why we are celebrating. It is, in one word, “freedom.”
In light of that, I reread The Declaration of Independence, signed on July 4, 1776, declaring our independence from British rule. It’s worthy of annual review to remind us of the past and to warn us lest we stray back to that which oppressed and suppressed us.
This document is also about our rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In fact, those are the words we most often recall when thinking about The Declaration of Independence. As an American, I value my freedoms as an individual and as a writer and photographer.
When I walk or drive through my community, I see a diversity of peoples. Those who grew up here and have deep roots in Faribault. Those who, like me, moved here from other parts of Minnesota (or the United States). And those who flew across an ocean or crossed a border for new opportunities and/or to escape war, violence, oppression and more in their homeland. I’ve talked to immigrants who have fled violence to settle in America, in my community. Their stories are heartbreaking. They just want better, safer lives for themselves and their families. What we all want.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Decades ago while attending grade school during the Cold War, each day began with The Pledge of Allegiance. My classmates and I turned to the American flag hanging in the corner of our rural southwestern Minnesota classroom, placed our hands upon our hearts and recited, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” I always wanted to end with “Amen.” The pledge felt like a prayer to me as we spoke in a unified, reverent voice.
But now, in adulthood, I recognize that the wording of the Pledge no longer truly fits America.
Still, I feel pride in the American flag, which flies on street corners in downtown Faribault, in parks, outside government buildings, outside the Legion, in residential yards and elsewhere throughout the city. It is a visual representation of our country. Fifty stars for 50 states. Thirteen red and white stripes representing the original 13 colonies. Even the colors stand for something—red for valor and bravery, white for purity and innocence, and blue for vigilance, perseverance and justice.
On the Fourth and throughout July and summer, an abundance of flags will fly “o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.” On Independence Day and in the days thereafter, we’ll don red-white-and-blue attire before stepping out the door for a backyard picnic of grilled burgers and watermelon or heading to an out-of-town celebration or gathering with friends and family.
Among all the food, conversations, music and activities on and around the Fourth, we need to pause and reflect on the word “freedom.” We need to study the long ago words of The Declaration of Independence. Words worth rereading each July in honor of our independence, our freedom.
I RUSHED HOME from the grocery store late Saturday morning to watch the live broadcast of the funerals of Melissa and Mark Hortman, shot to death in their Minnesota home two weeks ago during an apparent politically-motivated assassination. Melissa was Minnesota’s Speaker of the House, a respected politician, but, more importantly, a beloved wife, mother, daughter, friend, neighbor and more. Much more.
The private service at the Basilica of Saint Mary in Minneapolis revealed the professional and personal sides of the Hortmans with stories shared during eulogies after the Catholic Mass. Laughter rang through the massive church, filling the spaces between grief.
I jotted down 3 ½ pages of notes, not only to share information with you, but also because I focus better, retain more, by doing that. It’s also the reporter in me emerging.
HERE FOR EACH OTHER IN OUR GRIEF
So what stood out? A lot.
First, it was a recognition that we are all grieving. Individually. Collectively, as a state. “Nothing conveys love and support more than presence,” presiding pastor, Father Daniel Griffith, told those packing the pews. That included former President Joe Biden and former Vice President Kamala Harris, sitting in the front row next to Minnesota Governor Tim Walz and Gwen Walz. The Hortmans’ adult children, Colin and Sophie, and other family sat just across the aisle.
LIGHT & HOPE IN DARKNESS
The remarkable strength of Colin and Sophie continues to stand out. Rev. Griffith noted the courage and grace of the two, saying they are “a source of light and hope in the darkness.” In a message earlier released to the public, the siblings called for each of us to make our communities better for someone else. Plant a tree. Pet a dog. Stand up for justice and peace. And more.
“GROUND ZERO” FOR CHANGE
Father Griffith, with permission of the Hortman family, spoke candidly. The nation, he said, is “in need of deep healing.” He referred to Minnesota as a past “ground zero” for racial injustice in the 2020 killing of George Floyd and now for political violence and extremism in the murders of the Hortmans and the shootings of Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette, on the same morning. The Hoffmans are recovering, John still hospitalized. Minnesota, Griffith said, can now be the “ground zero” for restoration, justice and healing. If we work together. And strongly decry injustice and violence.
“Peace & Love,” an acrylic painting by Angelina Dornquast exhibited at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2024)
LET THERE BE PEACE
Words like hope, goodness and kindness were repeated often during the lengthy service. Likewise justice and peace. The gospel reading of The Beatitudes from Matthew 5 seemed especially fitting: Blessed are those who mourn…blessed are the merciful…blessed are the peacemakers…
Peace. Father Griffith shared that Melissa’s mother found a worn copy of the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi in her daughter’s purse. I expect it’s familiar to most of you. Lord make me an instrument of your peace… Colin later read that prayer, a moment I found profoundly moving. In his grief, he had the composure to share those powerful words of where there is hatred, let me sow love… I can only imagine how proud his parents would have been.
DOING GOOD
Governor Walz said Melissa’s goal in life was “to get as much good done for as many people as possible.” He pointed to her legislative efforts that resulted in fewer kids living in poverty, safe and secure housing for Minnesotans and more trees. She loved trees and gardening. Earlier, the priest referenced much the same, calling service and community the Hortmans’ guiding lights.
LAUGHTER IN STORIES
But it was close family friend and former co-worker (at the Legal Aid Society of Minneapolis), Robin Ann Williams, who brought laughter to the Basilica with her personal stories. She shared about a call from Melissa to help choose a paint color for her kitchen. When Williams arrived, she found all the paint samples were shades of beige. The kitchen is still beige. The kitchen centered gatherings, like the “Gourmet Supper Club” dinners with law school friends. Mark Hortman’s sour dough bread was better than his home-brewed beer, she said. Laughter erupted often, especially when she held up a souvenir photo placard of vice presidential candidate, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, which Melissa brought home for her friend from the national DFL convention.
Photographed in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo August 2019)
JOY & MORE ARE POSSIBLE
On this Saturday, the funeral was not about politics, though. It was about coming together to celebrate the Hortmans, to honor their memories, to reflect on their public and private lives, to collectively grieve. The day prior, some 7,500 people converged on the Minnesota State Capitol to pay their respects as the couple and their dog, Gilbert, lay in state.
“We are buried in sorrow right now,” family friend Williams said, adding that joy will come.
I have to believe it will, if we begin to follow the advice of the Hortman children, the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, the teachings of The Beatitudes and the directive of Father Griffith to work together for restoration, justice and healing.
The Star of the North centers the floor of the Minnesota State Capitol rotunda,where Melissa and Mark Hortman will lie in state today.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2009)
MINNESOTA REMAINS A STATE in mourning over the assassinations of State Representative Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, nearly two weeks ago. Today the couple, and their golden retriever, Gilbert, also killed in the shootings, will lie in state inside the Capitol rotunda from noon to 5 p.m. The public can pay their respects in this building where Melissa served as speaker of the House and worked across the aisle to pass legislation in a divided legislature. Private funeral services are set for Saturday.
Minnesota State Representative Melissa Hortman (Photo source: Minnesota House of Representatives website)
In this moment, on this day, I hope politics and differences can be set aside to honor and remember Melissa and Mark as loving parents, neighbors, friends and colleagues. Human beings who were gunned down in their home during the early morning hours of Saturday, June 14, by a man impersonating a police officer.
The tragedy of their deaths and the shootings of Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette, also inside their home on the same morning by the same man, have left an indelible mark upon Minnesota, a place where we are known for our “Minnesota Nice.” I think we’ve lost some of that in the current divisiveness within our state and country.
But it is the Hortmans’ adult children, Sophie and Colin, who have circled us back to what really matters. In a statement released days after their parents’ murders, the siblings, among other things, called for this:
“Hope and resilience are the enemy of fear. Our parents lived their lives with immense dedication to their fellow humans. This tragedy must become a moment for us to come together. Hold your loved ones a little closer. Love your neighbors. Treat each other with respect and kindness. The best way to honor our parents’ memory is to do something, whether big or small, to make our community just a little better for someone else.”
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Let’s take a closer look at some of their words. First, hope. It’s one of my favorite words because it represents the promise that things will get better. It’s not only a noun, but a verb.
Next, resilience represents strength, bouncing back from something devastating, hard, tragic. It’s possible to be resilient, especially with the support of others. I hope Sophie and Colin Hortman feel the collective support of Minnesotans. We need to lean into and on each other in this moment.
I used magnetic words to craft this message for my fridge. This is something we should all practice. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
The two are asking us to come together. I’ve seen that happen after this tragedy with politicians jointly expressing their condolences and outrage over the assassinations. I hope that cohesiveness lasts. But I doubt it will. Yet, that doesn’t mean we can’t strive individually and collectively to listen, to compromise, to see each other as individuals with the same basic needs. People who laugh and cry and live and love. Separately and together.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In honor of their parents, Sophie and Colin ask us to love, to treat each other with respect and kindness. It’s really not that hard to practice all three. We are each capable of choosing love over hate. We are capable, too, of respecting others. Choose words that uplift rather than belittle. Choose words that are nice, not mean. Choose words carefully, thoughtfully. And treat others with compassion and care. Simply be kind.
Today, as we mourn the senseless deaths of Melissa and Mark Hortman, I am grateful to their children for reminding all of us how to live our lives. In their grief, Sophie and Colin show us what we can and should be. Loving, kind, respectful. And nice.
Dangling beads inside the doorway to “The 50’s and 60’s Room” at the West Concord Historical Society hearken to the era of Bobby Sherman.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
“JULIE, JULIE, DO YA love me?” Oh, how I wished it was, “Audrey, Audrey, do ya love me?” Such were my thoughts when Bobby Sherman sang that Billboard Hot 100 hit in 1970.
Sherman died this week at age 81, leaving behind a generation of Baby Boomers like me who were hopelessly, madly in love with the teen idol. He was charismatic, good-looking with his shaggy long hair, simply everything a smitten girl could want in a crush.
An Elvis display at a St. Charles antique shop, which I visited years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
And that’s exactly what our relationship was—puppy love. Like generations of teen girls before and after me, I fell in love with handsome heart throb singers. Others fell for Elvis, Donny Osmond, Justin Bieber… Ditto for boy bands.
But back in my day, in the 1960s and 1970s, the likes, looks and lyrics of Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy captured my heart. Sherman even made a guest appearance on Cassidy’s “The Partridge Family” TV show. Both were actors and musicians. And both often sang about unrequited love, as in Sherman’s performance of “Julie, Do Ya Love Me” by songwriter Tom Bahler.
Tiger Beat magazine,photographed many years ago in a St. Peter antique shop. The magazine was in print publication from 1965-2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
It’s interesting that, upon Sherman’s death, I could not think of a single song he sang. But when prompted with playbacks, I remembered. Mostly, though, I remember how my cousin Joyce and I paged through her copies of Tiger Beat magazine whenever my family visited hers. She would pull out her copies of this American teen fan publication and we would swoon over photos of our much-loved celebrities like Bobby Sherman. I don’t recall reading the stories, but we probably did. Photos, though, left a lasting impression. Sherman graced the cover of Tiger Beat and Sixteen magazines countless times. I can picture him still all feathered or shaggy hair, big smile and a choker around his neck.
Beyond Tiger Beat, my cousin also plastered her bedroom walls with teen idol posters. Joyce was much more tuned in to celebrity life than me. She had older sisters. I didn’t. Regardless, we shared a love of Bobby Sherman, who sang about Julie. Not about Audrey or Joyce, just two teenagers hanging out in a southwestern Minnesota farmhouse bedroom, dreaming of love while thumbing through Tiger Beat magazine.
TELL ME: Did you have a favorite heart throb singer or band? Maybe Bobby Sherman. Let’s hear. I also really like/liked Rod Stewart, Chicago, Bread, Lobo, The Carpenters, John Denver…
I took this photo outside the Paradise Center for the Arts during the Faribault Car Cruise Night, the evening before the Little Fish Improv Comedy Show. (Minnesota Prairie Root copyrighted photo June 2025)
GOOGLE “Laughter is good for the soul,” and you’ll find many a reference telling you laughter is, indeed, good for you. The Bible says so in Proverbs 17:21 and elsewhere. So does the Mayo Clinic. And so do a whole lot of other sources.
Laughter relieves stress, eases depression, produces happiness and just generally makes us feel better. I’m all for those positive results, especially with the really difficult, stressful stuff happening in our country and world right now. We could all use extra doses of laughter.
Thanks to Little Fish Comedy, I laughed until my belly hurt at a Saturday, June 21, Improv Comedy Show at the Paradise Center for the Arts. I’ve previously seen this team of local actors, actresses and comedians perform and knew I needed to attend this fundraising event for the Faribault arts center. The group has raised more than $1 million for local nonprofits. I left the Paradise feeling better than when I arrived thanks to this talented crew.
It takes skill, quick thinking, creativity and a love of acting to do improv. Because the show involves audience interaction via prompts shouted to the group’s artistic director, the performance is totally unpredictable with fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants acting. These performers definitely need to stay focused while coming up with scenes, dialogue and actions that prompt laughter. No daydreaming here.
Try working words like kangaroo, lion tamer, embalming, Paris, stale baguette and organ transplantation, for example, into various skits and you begin to understand the challenge. Those were among the words shouted from the Paradise audience to those on stage.
And to make this even more difficult, the director can mix things up, limit time, blow his whistle. He’s like a referee.
(Graphic source: Little Fish Comedy)
The goal was to make the audience laugh. And we did during the Paradise show. This is family-friendly improv performed by those who work day jobs in education, IT, insurance, manufacturing and more. I appreciate that this is good, clean comedy anyone can enjoy.
And I appreciate that I can find this entertainment right here in my community. Because this was a fundraising event for the Paradise, ticket prices were discounted with a bonus buy-one-get-one-free. Randy and I are members of the arts center, meaning our ticket prices were even lower. An evening of laughter cost us less than $15.
Upon returning home and later switching on the TV for the Saturday 10 p.m. news, I understood even more the value of laughter, of escaping reality for a short time. Laughter is good for the soul. Little Fish Comedy proved that, no googling necessary.
TELL ME: Have you seen Little Fish Improv Comedy or another improv show? I’d like to hear about your experience and what you like about improv.
Faribault’s Car Cruise Night features mostly vintage vehicles parked in our historic downtown. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
Among all the full-size vehicles was this kids’ mini car. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
These boys were definitely interested in wheels, including this go kart. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
A vintage Mercury Comet. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
This retired Minnesota State Patrol car drew a lot of interest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
Historic buildings reflected on a shiny 1948 Chrysler. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
The hood art of a 1973 Pontiac Firebird. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
I view Car Cruise Night through an artistic lens, Central Avenue like a gallery of auto art.
Two members of the Jason Paulson Band perform. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
Even The Oasis 55021 food stand was themed to the Car Cruise. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
Another crowd-pleaser, Craig and Kathy’s vintage ambulance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
This shows an edited section of the front page of the June 19, 2025, The Gaylord Hub. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo June 2025)
ALTHOUGH I AM DECADES removed from working as a full-time journalist, my innate curiosity remains unchanged. I still want to gather the facts, get answers, and uncover the who, what, when, where, why and how. That has never left me.
Last Saturday, June 14, memories of working as a newspaper reporter in Gaylord, the county seat of Sibley County, rushed back as the top news story in Minnesota, and the nation, unfolded. That breaking news was the politically-targeted assassinations of Minnesota State Representative Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, and the shootings of Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. The suspect now accused in the crimes, Vance Boelter, 57, lived near Green Isle. In rural Sibley County.
My first job fresh out of Minnesota State University, Mankato, in 1978 with a degree in mass communications, news/editorial emphasis, landed me in small town Gaylord, at The Gaylord Hub. I was affectionately dubbed “The Cub from the Hub,” or at least affectionately by those who appreciated my fair and balanced reporting. Some did not. Gaylord lies about 15 miles southwest of Green Isle, where Boelter was eventually apprehended near his home. Green Isle was mostly outside The Hub’s coverage area, although I recall writing a few stories from that part of Sibley County.
The bottom portion of the front page story written by Joseph Deis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo June 2025)
Today the June 19 edition of The Hub landed in my mailbox. I’d been waiting for this issue, curious to see how third-generation publisher and editor, Joseph Deis, would cover the largest news story in the paper’s history. The Hub front page headline reads: Shooting suspect lived in Gaylord a few years ago—Largest manhunt in state’s history ends in Sibley County.
I couldn’t help but think how hard Joe (he was just a kid when I worked for his dad, Jim, at The Hub) and other media have worked to cover this evolving story. It’s not easy to gather information from multiple sources and angles and keep everything straight. That said, law enforcement did an impressive job of informing the media and the public, at least from my at-a-distance perspective.
And Joe Deis did a good job of pulling everything together in a lengthy story that published in his weekly. His dad would be proud, as am I. His story included new-to-me information that Boelter and his family lived on the northwest side of Gaylord a few years ago. They mostly kept to themselves, the article states.
Now, as if the Gaylord/Sibley County connection to my past isn’t enough, there’s more. I left The Hub after several years to become a newspaper reporter at The Sleepy Eye Herald-Dispatch. The murder suspect grew up in Sleepy Eye, graduating from the public high school in 1985. (I was long gone.) Boelter returned to his rural southern Minnesota hometown, living with his family in Sleepy Eye from 2008-2011 and working at Del Monte. And he apparently preached occasionally at church services held in the high school gym, according to media reports. If I know one thing about Sleepy Eye, it’s that the community is deeply religious, with an especially strong Catholic base. I have no idea what Boelter’s childhood faith background may be. But he graduated from an interdenominational Bible college in Texas in 1990 and served as an evangelical missionary in the Democratic Republic of Congo in recent years.
These two connections to my past rattled me. But they also reminded me that, even in rural areas, a reporter’s job can be about more than covering government, sports, community events and the everyday happenings of small town life. Sometimes it can be about covering a really big, life-changing story. A story that grabs headlines locally, statewide, nationally and internationally as did the manhunt in Sibley County, in the readership area of a small town weekly newspaper where I once covered the news.
Protesters stand along Minnesota State Highway 19 by Ames Park in Northfield during the June 14 NO KINGS protest. This is one of my favorite signs among the many held by hundreds of protesters. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
A strong statement against a system of government by one person with absolute power. I suggest you look up these words, as I had to with some. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
This shows just a portion of the massive crowd gathered for Northfield’s NO KINGS protest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
While your eyes may focus on the protest sign in the middle, look to the right. and this sign: IF NOT ME, WHO? IF NOT NOW, WHEN? (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
So many positive messages promoting love, compassion, care, kindness… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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.
I saw this mural, “The Inheritance of Struggle,” inside the Memorial Student Union at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, Tuesday afternoon. It shows “the contributions made by people of various ethnicities and cultures in the form of tears, sweat, blood and life in the building of the United States.” It’s fitting for today, Juneteenth, and for NO KINGS day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2025)
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…
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