Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

This is spring in southeastern Minnesota March 24, 2015

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My neighbor's flag pops color into the white landscape.

My neighbor’s flag, attached to his fence, pops color into the white landscape Monday morning.

SUNDAY INTO MONDAY brought significant snow to parts of Minnesota, about eight inches to my community of Faribault.

And many of us are acting like this shouldn’t have happened. After all, we basked in a recent streak of unseasonable 50 and 60-degree temps—shirt sleeve, bike riding, I want to uncover the perennials kind of weather.

But I didn’t.

As a life-long Minnesotan, I know better.

March often brings snow. The wet, heavy type that stresses muscles, that feels like shoveling rocks.

But typically the snow melts quickly under the March sun. That is the single solace I find in spring snowfalls. Their life-span is short.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The pick-up truck March 23, 2015

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The pick-up truck that inspired this most, photographed Saturday afternoon in West Concord.

The pick-up truck that inspired this post, photographed Saturday afternoon in West Concord, Minnesota.

IT’S ICONIC SMALL TOWN. The pick-up truck parked along Main Street within view of the grain elevator.

By my definition, a pick-up serves as a farmer’s all-purpose vehicle. Bags of seed corn piled in the back. Squealing pigs penned for market. Fence posts slid across the bed. Must-have auction purchases tossed in the back.

My image is based upon memory. Yesteryear. My Dad’s red-and-white 1960s vintage pick-up, replaced later by a newer one.

This is a late 1960s Chevy.

This is a late 1960s Chevy.

You can have your shiny new hulking pick-up trucks. I’ll take those aged by history—by the weight of a farmer sliding onto a cracked seat, springs groaning, his seed corn cap nearly brushing the cab interior.

Farmer or not, I don't know. But I told this guy I liked his truck. He bellowed out a big, "Thank you" before firing up the truck.

Farmer or not, I don’t know. But I told this guy I liked his truck. He bellowed out a big, “Thank you” before firing up his unmuffled truck. And just as I shot this frame, a much newer pick-up truck rounded the corner behind him.

I’ll take muddy Red Wings planted on floorboards, grease-stained fingers gripping the steering wheel, smell of cows lingering.

Roll down the windows to the wind. Crank the radio to ‘CCO. Bounce along the gravel road, dust rolling behind in a cloud.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Minnesota Faces: Our newest immigrant families March 20, 2015

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Portrait #13: A boy with an unforgettably sweet face

 

Portrait 13, International Festival Faribault 2012, Somali boy

 

He represents the present and the future, the changing face of my Minnesota community, of many Minnesota communities. More and more, Somali and other immigrants are settling in our state, starting life anew.

I photographed this young boy at Faribault’s 2012 International Festival.

Oh, the sweetness of his face and those big dark eyes. I just wanted to hug him.

He possesses a soulful look beyond his young years, a depth that defies definition. I can’t pinpoint precisely what I see, but there’s something in this portrait that mesmerizes me.

Perhaps it is his childhood innocence. Trust. A certain softness. The hint of a smile. Hope.

What do you see in this boy’s face?

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This is part of a series, Minnesota Faces, featured every Friday on Minnesota Prairie Roots.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Pride and Prejudice March 19, 2015

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Different cultures, all the faces of today's Faribault, mingled during the Fall Festival.

Different cultures mingled during the 2011 Fall Festival in downtown Faribault. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

8:45 a.m. on Saturday:

A Somali man sweeps the sidewalk in the 300 block of Central Avenue in historic downtown Faribault before shops open at 9 a.m.

Late Saturday afternoon:

A woman throws money at a Somali teen working as a check-out clerk at a downtown Faribault grocery store. Throws, not hands.

Why am I writing about these two events observed last Saturday in my southeastern Minnesota community of some 23,000 with a significant Somali population?

These young Somali women represent the changing face of Faribault. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

These young Somali women represent the changing face of Faribault. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

I am sharing this because an undercurrent, OK it’s not even an undercurrent, of prejudice exists in Faribault. If your skin is any color other than white, you are open to possible disdain and contempt.

Vendors, like Riyaam, peddled their wares at the 2011 festival.

A Somali woman peddles her wares at the 2011 International Festival in Faribault. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

I’ve heard it all:

They are taking our jobs, taking government hand-outs, hanging around where they don’t belong. They smell. They dress weird. They don’t know how to drive.

Two weeks ago a young man left his car running, unattended, while tending to business in a residential area of southwest Faribault. Afterward he commented that he shouldn’t have done that because of “the Somalis.” He’s from Northfield, a neighboring town.

Really?

Banadir, a Somali restaurant, is located in historic downtown Faribault.

Banadir, a Somali restaurant, is located in historic downtown Faribault. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

For awhile, complaints ran rampant about Somali men hanging out on Central Avenue street corners. People said they were afraid to go downtown. These men live downtown above businesses, some of which are Somali-owned. Sidewalks are their front porches, their place to gather and converse. This is part of their culture, to meet and talk.

I wish those who continually criticize our newest immigrants could have seen the Somali man sweeping a downtown sidewalk. His efforts show respect for and pride in community.

A 60-something white woman throwing money at a Somali teen simply doing her job shows lack of respect.

No matter our ethnicity/skin color, we really need to just respect each other as human beings.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A St. Patrick’s Day blessing March 17, 2015

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The scene in my yard this St. Patrick's Day.

The scene in my yard this St. Patrick’s Day.

I CAN’T STOP SMILING even now, hours after I flung open my living room curtains to discover a crop of shamrocks growing in my front yard.

 

Shamrock, close-up

 

What a magical surprise on this St. Patrick’s Day, to see that my husband and I had been Sham “Rocked”ed.

 

Shamrock, trio of

 

We’re not even Irish. But who cares? We’re all Irish today, right? Plus, my favorite color is green.

And I love surprises. Don’t we all? What joy they bring into your day.

One little leprechaun signed his name.

One little leprechaun signed his name.

Immediately I suspected one of two young families for creating a memorable St. Patrick’s Day. Little Jack made sleuthing unnecessary. He printed the message, ‘YOU ARE SMART,” and signed his name. Thanks. No detective work necessary.

The leprechaun even shamrocked our van.

The leprechaun even shamrocked our van.

And Mrs. Leprechaun, aka my dear friend Tammy, whom I phoned to thank, revealed that her husband, Jesse, came up with the idea to “shamrock” us. This morning, before leaving for work in the Twin Cities metro, he crept into our yard and planted those lucky clovers on our lawn and on our vehicles.

 

Shamrock, super close-up

 

If I wasn’t so happy about this act of kindness, I think I would be crying. Crying at having friends who are dear and thoughtful and loving and kind and, above all, an incredible blessing in my life.

To Jesse, Tammy, Noah, Hannah, Jack, Amelia and baby Benjamin:

A Wish for a Friend

Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!

An Irish blessing, author unknown

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The joys of hanging laundry outside March 12, 2015

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MELTING SNOW MUSHES the lawn. Rivers of water stream across the driveway from dwindling snow piles. Water puddles in a corner of the garage. At night, sections of the driveway ice over.

But, during the day when the sun beams bright upon the land, the temperature soars into the high fifties/low sixties hinting at summer. Unbelievable in March in Minnesota.

Snow edges my patio where my clothesline unwinds between garage and house.

Snow edges my patio where my clothesline unwinds between garage and house.

The welcome warm weather prompted me to hang out my laundry for the first time in four months on Monday. It was a nippy 28 degrees when I hoisted the laundry basket onto my right hip and stepped out the back door to clip damp clothes to clothesline.

Some would call me crazy. I don’t care.

The clothespins I use are weathered by years of exposure to the weather.

The clothespins I use are weathered by years of exposure to the weather.

There’s something about hanging laundry on the line that is therapeutic. Pick and pinch, pick and pinch, pick and pinch. I work in a methodical rhythm pulling garments from the laundry basket and clipping them in an orderly fashion to the clothesline. Heaviest items like socks and jeans are hung in the brightness of the morning sun. By afternoon, when the sun shifts, the entire wash basks in solar rays.

This unstaged image captures the four seasons: summer/spring (lawn), winter (snow pile) and fall (dried leaf).

This unstaged image captures the four seasons: summer/spring (lawn), winter (snow pile) and fall (dried leaf).

After months of dreary skies and frigid cold, I love the feel of the sun upon my face, the blue of the sky, the promise of spring.

In my opinion, nothing beats line-dried laundry.

In my opinion, nothing beats line-dried laundry.

I love the connection to those pioneer women who hung their family’s laundry under a wide prairie sky. I wonder if they viewed the task as labor, just another chore to be completed. Or did they view hanging laundry as I do, as a precious, peaceful time to savor in the morning of a delightful day?

How about you, do you hang laundry outdoors?

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An unsettling phone call involving a “situation” March 11, 2015

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MY LANDLINE RINGS. It’s a few minutes before 8 a.m. Monday. My heart lurches. Phone calls early in the morning scare me. Usually the caller bears bad news. I hesitate, then pick up the receiver.

A recorded voice from the Rice-Steele County Dispatch Center delivers this message after I am instructed to push one:

Faribault Police Department and SWAT team is currently involved in a situation in the southwest part of Faribault. Citizens are not at risk and are advised to stay out of the area.

Alright then. That’s pretty general and raises all sorts of questions.

First, what’s happening?

Second, where in southwest Faribault and how do I know what area to avoid if I’m not given the location of this “situation”?

Third, if there’s no risk, then why was I called?

Fourth, is it safe for me to go outdoors?

The wooded hillside in my backyard blocks the view of my entire neighborhood.

The wooded hillside in my backyard blocks my view of Wapacuta Park and the adjoining neighborhood.

Nothing appears unusual in my neighborhood. However, because I live in the valley with a wooded hillside abutting a city park in my backyard, I don’t have a full scope view.

I dial the radio to the local station for the morning news. Nothing. I check the police department’s Twitter account. The last update was three days prior.

I hung out the laundry.

I hung out the laundry shortly after receiving the call about a “situation” in southwest Faribault.

I determine it’s safe to hang my laundry in the backyard.

I do.

Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo used here for illustration purposes only.

Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo used here for illustration purposes only.

Later, I will learn from a Faribault Daily News staff member’s Twitter account, that the “situation” occurred about two blocks from my home by Wapacuta Park. The park up the hill borders my property. Had the wooded hillside not blocked my view, I would have seen the law enforcement presence resulting after a suicidal man reportedly barricaded himself in a home. With a two-month-old. And guns.

Thankfully, the situation was peacefully resolved. About 2 ½ hours after receiving that warning call, my phone rang again with a message that the “situation” had ended.

The presence of SWAT teams in my neighborhood is not new to me. Once, many years ago, when a young man was murdered two blocks away in a drug deal gone bad, a team swept through the area searching for the murder weapon, a knife.

A Rice County sheriff squad and two Faribault police cars follow the SWAT team and ERU vehicle up First Avenue Southwest.

A Rice County sheriff squad and two Faribault police cars follow the SWAT team and ERU vehicle up First Avenue Southwest. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo May 2010.

I once saw SWAT and ERU vehicles, followed by police and sheriff cars, proceeding up a side street past my house.

Each time, it was unnerving. Scary.

That brings us back to Monday morning. Should southwest Faribault residents like myself have been given more information? Personally, I would have appreciated a more precise location. But then, again, I understand the reluctance to provide that. Doing so likely would draw unwanted onlookers.

Was the phone call even necessary?

Should the police department have posted something on their Twitter account?

Please share your thoughts.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

That Lavender Inn billboard needs to go March 9, 2015

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AWHILE AGO, A READER tipped me off to an outdated billboard along Interstate 35 bypassing Faribault.

Finally, on purpose, I traveled that stretch of interstate specifically to see this billboard off the northbound lanes:

Not the best photo, but snapped at interstate speed passing by.

Not the best photo, but snapped at interstate speed passing by.

Now imagine you’re a traveler. You’re hungry. You see the sign for the Lavender Inn Restaurant. And bonus, there’s an art gallery. So you take Exit 59.

But then you can’t find the darned place. You see a bank and a liquor store, restaurants, hotels and other businesses in the area, even a housing development. But the Lavender Inn? Nope. Not even along Lavender Drive.

By this time you are frustrated, not to mention hungry and disappointed. You had your heart set on dining at the Lavender and perusing art.

I wonder how many times this scenario has happened. The Lavender Inn has been closed for a long time, although I can’t find the precise date of closure.

But in January 2003, long-time sole owners Gaylen and Bebe Jensen, who opened the eatery first as a drive-in in June 1960, sold the property to investors. Eventually, the restaurant, which was, indeed, painted a distinct lavender hue, was torn down, replaced by business and housing developments.

Why, then, does the billboard remain posted along Interstate 35? Its presence misleads travelers.

For those of us who remember the Lavender, though, the sign jars memories of Faribault’s finest dining establishment. I ate here perhaps less than a dozen times in a restaurant that evolved into a supper club. Remember supper clubs? Folks drove from all over to dine here on Saturday evenings and on Sundays after church.

The Lavender had its regulars, including Rotarians who met here monthly. For My husband and me, this marked a place to celebrate on the rarest of special occasions given the cost of a meal in this fancy setting.

I remember the gallery rich in gilded frames and fine art and big game trophy animals from Gaylen Jensen’s African safari hunts. It all seemed rather foreign to me. And perhaps therein was part of the appeal, along with cloth napkins.

In the digital archives of Northfield’s Carleton College I found a KYMN radio jingle for the Lavender Inn, advertised as “a portrait in fine dining…an original in dining.” It’s worth a listen (click here).

Perhaps the Lavender Inn roadside ad ought to be archived somewhere as an important part of Faribault’s restaurant history. And then replace the sign with an attention-grabbing billboard welcoming visitors to Faribault’s historic downtown.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Minnesota Faces: Rural community volunteers March 6, 2015

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Portrait #10: Helen Newman and Cindy Packard

Helen Newman, left, and Cindy Packard work on a Morristown sesquicentennial scrapbook in June 2013.

Helen Newman, left, and Cindy Packard work on a Morristown sesquicentennial scrapbook in June 2013.

When I photographed life-long Morristown resident Helen Newman nearly two years ago clipping newspaper stories and taping them into her community’s sesquicentennial scrapbook, I knew I’d met a cherished volunteer.

She was settled behind a teacher’s desk with Cindy Packard, visiting her hometown from Colorado Springs, on the June afternoon I walked into the District #54 Schoolhouse Museum with my notebook and camera. My presence didn’t stop Helen from focusing on the task at hand. She understood the importance of saving documents.

But there was more than dedicated volunteerism that drew me to the then 87-year-old. Her friendliness and gentleness of spirit reminded me of my mom. I think, had they lived in the same rural area, they would have been friends.

Helen died on Monday. She was all I assessed her to be, and more.

Her obituary is a beautiful tribute to a woman who led a joyful life. She clearly worked hard, loved deeply and lived out her faith in God.

Her four surviving children wrote an especially heartfelt obit that includes this descriptive paragraph:

Our Mom was a kind and generous person who believed the best in all people. She was a wonderful friend. She believed in us and was our biggest cheerleader. Some of our favorite memories of our Mom are: Her wonderful smile that would light up a room; her love of dancing; her awesome full-body hugs; her boundless energy; her green thumb; and her canned beef and pork chop dinners.

What a wonderful way to be remembered—for believing in others, for kindness, for dancing…and for canned beef and pork chop dinners.

FYI: To read Helen’s full obituary, click here.

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This is part of a series, Minnesota Faces, featured every Friday on Minnesota Prairie Roots.

 

One way to get around during a Minnesota winter March 4, 2015

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DO YOUNG PEOPLE still rollerblade? Or skateboard?

It had been a long time since I’d spotted anyone rollerblading or skateboarding. Not that this would be a likely mode of transportation in Minnesota from November through April, except for this young man spotted within two blocks of my home late Sunday afternoon:

Whew, he turns right instead of proceeding downhill.

Whew, he turns right instead of proceeding downhill.

I was hoping he had enough sense not to careen down the hilly streets.

Skating up hill.

Skating up hill.

He did.

Almost to the top of the hill.

Almost to the top of the hill. Many years ago a parked car careened down the other side of this steep hill and crashed into my neighbor’s house.

Have enough sense.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling