RECENTLY, I WANDERED the aisles of a Big Box retailer searching for Pokemon cards. I needed a birthday gift for my granddaughter, who collects these popular trading and game cards. After walking aisle after aisle without success, I was about to give up. But then I spotted and flagged down a store employee who directed me toward the book section to the Pokemon and other cards.
I stood in front of the display scanning the packets, my eyes never landing on the word Pokemon. My frustration level was growing. I just wanted to be done with this seemingly fruitless search. I even asked a middle schooler to help me as he, too, perused the card merch. He directed me back to the toy aisles. Long story short, I eventually found the location of those coveted Pokemon cards on an end cap. The shelf was empty. There would be no new Pokemon cards for Izzy to add to her collection.
Kids have been collecting forever. Maybe not Pokemon cards, but something. Rocks. Beanie Babies. Stickers. Back in the 1960s, I collected “Lost in Space” trading cards featuring the popular sci-fi TV show. I have a few of them tucked away somewhere.
My brothers, though, collected baseball trading cards, which were once packaged with bubblegum. They valued the cards more than the gum. I have a baseball card, too. A 1959 Ted Williams, card #80 of 80. He was a left fielder for the Boston Red Sox and 1966 Baseball Hall of Fame inductee. I checked its value with a top end price of $89. But with creased corners, my Williams card is nowhere near that valuable.
Some cards are, though. And if you’re a collector, you know. This weekend, there’s an opportunity to source sports cards and memorabilia locally at the 2nd annual Sports Card Show from 9 a.m.-4 p.m. Saturday, April 12, at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour, 515 Second Ave. N.W., Faribault. The towering historic Cathedral is easy to find near downtown and across from Central Park.
Vendors will be setting up shop for the public to browse, trade and/or buy sports collectibles and memorabilia, according to show organizers. That’s from vintage to modern and includes autographed collectibles. I expect there to be a good turnout at the event as interest in sports and in sports merchandise remains as high as ever.
How well I remember my older brother, Doug, listening to Minnesota Twins games on his transistor radio back in the sixties. How well I remember playing softball in the farmyard on summer evenings after the chores were done, used disc blades serving as bases. Doug always insisted on being Harmon Killebrew or Tony Oliva. There was no arguing with him. How well I remember the play-by-play action my brothers gave of our games. How well I remember the mini wooden souvenir baseball bat that lay atop Doug’s dresser. There was no touching that collectible.
All these decades later, I have minimal interest in baseball (except when my husband’s hometown ball team, the Buckman Billygoats, played in the state amateur baseball tournament). Many people, though, enjoy America’s favorite past-time and all that comes with it—like card collecting. Now, if you had a “Lost in Space” trading card, I’d be interested.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Voices rise, past & present in Minnesota April 7, 2025
Tags: commentary, Congressman Brad Finstad, democracy, family legacy, farming, memories, Minnesota, opinion, Owatonna Town Hall, Rabbit Tracks, student newspaper, Town Hall, voices, Wabasso High School
I COME FROM A LONG LINE of engaged citizenry rooted in the rich dark soil of the southwestern Minnesota prairie. On that land, generations of my family used their voices and skills to create change, to make the place they called home a better place. My paternal great grandfather, Rudolph, started that engagement by helping found a Lutheran church in my hometown. Pre-building, congregants met in his farmhouse.
From that church to school boards to county boards, from elementary schools to high schools to college campuses and more, countless family members have served and continue to serve others by representing them, crafting policies, improving lives. I am proud of that legacy.
Now you might ask, what about you, Audrey? I, too, have served, but in a different capacity. I’ve never held a desire to lead, to run for elected office or even sit on a board. Rather, I’ve observed, used the written word to inform others. During my years working as a newspaper reporter, I covered endless county board, city council, planning and zoning board, school board, caucuses and other meetings. I learned a lot about how government does and doesn’t work during those many hours of scribbling notes, gathering quotes, writing news stories. I learned, too, that individual voices matter and are heard. And I shared that in my unbiased, balanced reporting.
Today I craft writing that is not straight news reporting, because I am no longer a newspaper reporter. Rather, my writing is personal and sometimes opinionated. My voice matters…as much as anyone’s.
While coming of age near the end of the Vietnam war, I began writing angsty poetry about the war. I purchased and wore a POW bracelet, a thick silver band that wrapped around my wrist. It was engraved with the name of an American soldier held as a prisoner of war. I also wrote the occasional opinion piece for my high school paper. Not about the war, but on other topics.
It was my dad, a dairy and crop farmer, who inspired me to voice my thoughts in the May 24, 1974, issue of my school paper, Rabbit Tracks. In an opinion piece titled “Farmers Develop Backbone of America,” teenage me wrote about low farm prices and how farmers were struggling to survive. I had witnessed my dad dumping milk down the drain during a nationwide protest by the National Farmers Organization. All these decades later, I more fully understand how difficult that must have been for Dad. He depended on income from milk sales to provide for our family. But he sacrificed and let his voice be heard in that NFO protest.
Sunday evening I listened to another farmer voice his thoughts, this time in the open mic part of a Town Hall meeting attended by hundreds in nearby Owatonna. He drove from Janesville to share concerns about how tariffs will negatively affect his farming operation via market loss, dropping crop prices and rising costs for everything from tractor parts to fertilizer and fuel. This farmer of 60-plus years pleaded with his Congressman, Representative Brad Finstad (a fourth-generation farmer who was invited but did not attend), to listen and to do something. It was a powerful and particularly emotional delivery.
Emotions are running high right now across this country. I cannot imagine anyone who would disagree with that. We may disagree on policies, decisions and leaders. But we still—as of this writing—have a voice, even as efforts to suppress our voices continue. We can protest, like my 82-year-old uncle did on Saturday at the Minnesota State Capitol. We can attend town halls to learn, to speak, to let our voices be heard. We can contact our elected officials via phone and/or email and tell them what we think. We can engage. We can vote.
A long line of speakers and attendees of all ages addressed numerous topics from veterans’ issues to education to housing to healthcare to democracy and more at the Sunday Town Hall in respectful conversation. The common threads weaving through the event were a deep concern for what is happening in our country and to assure our voices are heard.
I leave you with this opinion piece published in the October 15, 1974, issue of my high school newspaper. An 11th grader wrote about posters she created and which students were defacing. Here’s Mary’s closing sentence in a letter to the editor titled “Keep Hands, Pens Off”: A lot of time and effort has been put into these signs and the least you can do is keep your hands off of them. If everyone is so anxious to write something on the wall, make your own posters. How applicable those words are to today.
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NOTE: I welcome respectful conversation here. That said, I moderate all comments on this, my personal blog, and make the final decision on publishing comments.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling