Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

“Winter’s Song,” memories, reflections & writing from Minnesota March 21, 2024

This abandoned farmhouse once stood along Minnesota State Highway 19 east of my hometown of Vesta on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. It’s no longer there. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2013)

A TIME EXISTED when I loved winter. The snow more than the cold. During my growing up years on a southwestern Minnesota farm, I could not wait for the first snowfall, which then piled snow upon snow upon snow for months.

This huge, hard-as-rock towering snowdrift blocked my childhood farm driveway in March 1965. (Photo credit: Elvern Kletscher)

Fierce prairie winds swept snow around outbuildings, sculpting rock-hard drifts, an ideal landscape for Canadian Mounties. Snow pushed into piles by the loader of Dad’s John Deere tractor became mountains, rugged terrain to conquer. And pristine snow presented the perfect canvas for a game of Fox and Goose.

Our southwestern Minnesota farmyard is buried in snowdrifts in this March 1965 image. (Photo credit: Elvern Kletscher)

I remember, too, the crisp winter evenings of walking from barn to house after finishing chores. Packed snow crunched beneath my buckle overshoes. Frigid air bit at my nose, my mouth streaming billows of vapor. Overhead a billion stars pricked light into the immense black sky. Ahead of me, windows glowed in our tiny wood-frame farmhouse.

Those are the good memories I choose to remember. Not the near-frozen fingers. Not the pot on the porch because we had no bathroom. Not the house foundation wrapped in brown paper to seal out the cold. Not the central oil-burning stove that never kept the house warm enough.

Today I have it so much better. A warm house with a bathroom. No cows or calves to feed or straw bales to shake or manure to scoop. No dealing with cracked, chapped, bleeding hands. I have every reason today to embrace winter minus many of the hardships of yesteryear. But I find I don’t.

I’m working, though, on shifting my attitude back to that of appreciating a season which is often harsh here in Minnesota, although not in this unseasonably mild and nearly snow-less winter of 2023-2024. Last winter, now that was a record snowfall winter which tested many a life-long Minnesotan. Except perhaps my friend Jackie of Rochester, who loves winter.

The vintage winter photo gracing the cover of Mischke’s book is from the archives of the Minnesota Historical Society. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo)

Writer, musician, podcaster and former radio talk show host TD Mischke also loves winter (most of the time) as evidenced in his book Winter’s Song—A Hymn to the North, published in 2023 by Skywater Publishing Cooperative. I happened upon his collection of winter writing at my brother-in-law and sister-in-law’s house north of the metro. Jon is about as avid an outdoorsman as they come. Hunting. Fishing. And in the dead of winter, spearfishing on the frozen lake. This seemed a book written just for him.

Recognizing the Mischke name, I immediately inquired whether the writer, TD Mischke, was any relation to Sy Mischke, friend of my late father-in-law. Sy, a “character” by my definition, was TD’s uncle. TD Mischke certainly writes about characters in Winter’s Song.

Clearing snow is a sometimes endless task during a Minnesota winter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

His collection of short stories, essays and three poems honors Midwest winters. Not in a fully nostalgic way, but with a mix of reality. Winters are, admittedly, brutal. But also brimming blessings. The word “hymn” in the book title fits.

A lovely winter scene photographed in 2019 north of Faribault. It portrays the beauty of winter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

As I read through the short chapters, I found myself liking winter more and more. And that’s thanks to Mischke’s storytelling skills, his attention to detail, his introspective writing, his humor, his honest portrayal of winter in Minnesota. Not everyone is meant to live here. That Mischke acknowledges. But he also acknowledges the toughness, stamina, strength and endurance of those who call the North home. I agree that it takes a bit of fortitude to manage some six months of winter. I felt in that moment a sense of pride as a life-long Minnesotan.

Spring erupts in budding trees at Falls Creek Park, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2019)

That brings me to the second to last chapter of Winter’s Song—“Lessons of March.” It seemed only fitting that I was reading this chapter near the end of March on a day of predicted snow. I’ve never liked March much. But Mischke reminded me that this often grey month, which can throw in surprise snowstorms, should be appreciated for the simple reason that it makes us appreciate April even more. The arrival of spring. He’s right. Winter is often about perspective. After finishing Winter’s Song, I feel my thoughts shifting toward a renewed appreciation for this longest of seasons here in Minnesota.

FYI: Winter’s Song—A Hymn to the North is a finalist for the 2024 Emilie Buchwald Award for Minnesota Nonfiction. Minnesota Book Award winners will be announced May 7. To listen to TD Mischke’s podcast, The Mischke Roadshow, click here.

 

“In every walk with nature…” March 20, 2024

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Leaping across a path near the parking lot at River Bend Nature Center in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2013)

THEY LEAPT LIKE BALLERINAS across the dirt trail, white tutu tails flashing.

They were a herd of 11 deer sighted recently at Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center. I stood on Raccoon Trail aside Randy simply watching. One after the other they leapt with such grace, such practiced precision.

I photographed these deer at River Bend in April 2022, not far from where we sighted 16 deer on March 13. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)

Only moments earlier, as we hiked down Arbor Trail on the nature center’s northeast side, Randy touched my arm, motioning me to stop. There, ahead of us, across the intersecting dirt path, several deer lingered in lowland grasses. I didn’t initially see them, my distance vision not all that acute. But eventually I spotted the camouflaged deer.

Rustic signs mark trails at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)

And then we saw more in the distance, nearer the Prairie Loop. There, barely visible behind trees.

A sense of wonderment, of awe, of just wanting to take in the scene before me overtook my spirit. Such moments in nature deserve full attention. We watched while two men walked right past us, unaware of the nearby deer so engaged were they in conversation.

We waited, whisper-quiet. Watching. Then the deer moved, ambling along the edge of tall dried grasses, staying parallel to the trail. Soon more deer emerged from a stand of trees and trailed the first traveling troupe. It was a sight, the endless stream of deer moving east.

Our attention turned that direction, toward the deer, one by one, long-leaping over Raccoon Trail, into the woods, up the hill, toward the prairie. We started counting. One, two, three…all the way to eleven. Only when the last deer exited the stage did we dare move, so mesmerized were we by the performance.

Inspirational quotes like this are spread throughout River Bend. I especially love this one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2019)

Randy and I resumed our hike, following Raccoon Trail until the biting wind of the March evening prompted us to turn back. By that time we were talking again or walking in comfortable silence. I wished aloud that I had my 35 mm camera with me. I’ve never been this near so many deer at River Bend. Eleven. But perhaps it was better I was without my camera so I could focus on the moment rather than on focusing and framing images.

Camouflaged deer among the prairie grasses of River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)

Then, back at the intersection of Raccoon and Arbor Trails, Randy alerted me to more deer. Five this time. Standing statute still, without stage fright. Watching us. Us watching them in a stare-down. I wondered which of us would move first. Wildlife or human.

This sign posted in a kiosk along Raccoon Trail reminds visitors that deer and other wildlife, are just that, wildlife. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

I ooohed over the cute babies, last year’s fawns. Even if deer are dreadful when darting onto roadways and unwanted when dining on garden flowers and vegetables, I appreciate them in their natural habitat. This is their home, their stage, this land of tall grasses and woods. Here they walk with elegance. Here they leap with the grace of seasoned ballet dancers. Here they give me pause to stop, to listen to the trill of red-winged blackbirds as we watch each other—deer and human—in the fading light of a March evening at River Bend.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Leprechaun magic on St. Patrick’s Day March 17, 2024

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UNTIL RECENTLY, I didn’t realize trapping mischievous leprechauns on St. Patrick’s Day was a thing. But apparently it has been and this grandma needs to catch up with that trend.

The grandkids’ leprechaun trap. (Edited photo by Amber Schmidt)

On Saturday, my eldest daughter texted a photo of the leprechaun trap my grandchildren, Izzy and Isaac, created from Magna-Tiles, an empty tissue box, a plastic pot and something else I may have missed. They drew fake coins on paper to decorate the tiles, put fake coins in the pot and were good to go. Isaac is expecting the leprechaun to give them gold. Good luck with that one, grandson.

Lucky Charms cereal, complete with leprechaun trap. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo March 2024)

All of this leprechaun talk got me thinking about Lucky Charms cereal. So I hit the cereal aisle of a local grocery store. There it was. On sale. Lucky me. Buy three 26.1-ounce General Mills Lucky Charms Giant Size boxes for $14.97, a savings of $2. All I could think was, “I’m sure glad I don’t have to buy cereal for kids.”

Marshmallow magic explained on the back of a Lucky Charms cereal box. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo March 2024)

I looked at the boxes and, to my surprise, found all the trappings of constructing a leprechaun trap on the back of the large size box. I also found information about the magic held within each mini marshmallow shape. I noted that the shapes have changed since I was a kid. No unicorns back in the 1960s. Shapes have been updated, too. I wonder if the marshmallows taste the same. Chalky. Not all that good in my opinion, but none-the-less magical.

A snippet of the Leprechauns book cover.

Leprechauns are, after all, magical, sans the name “Lucky” for the Lucky Charms cereal rep. I learned more about these two-foot tall men from the book, Leprechauns in the “Curious About” series by Mankato, Minnesota-based publisher Amicus Publishing. It was a quick read with charming illustrations and photos.

In the storefront window of Under Haaland’s Hat Salon in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

The book confirmed that leprechauns are, indeed, shoemakers, mischief makers and introverts who prefer to avoid human contact. And, yes, they are wealthy, preferring gold to 401Ks; wear green, including their signature hats; and hail from Ireland.

So my suggestion to any would-be leprechaun trappers: Book a flight to the Emerald Isle. Or buy some Lucky Charms cereal to bait your traps.

Only in Minnesota…a Vikings St. Patrick’s Day hat inside the display window of Under Haaland’s Hat Salon in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, everyone!

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Supporting the arts at St. Patrick’s Day Souper Bowl in St. Peter March 15, 2024

Chicken wild rice soup in a hand-thrown pottery bowl at the 2013 Souper Bowl. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2013)

AS AN ART LOVER who also loves soup, the opportunity to buy a handcrafted bowl filled with soup proved a win-win in 2013. Today the annual Souper Bowl is still going strong at the Arts Center of Saint Peter.

Lots of handcrafted bowls to choose from in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2013)

This Sunday from 3-6 pm, the Arts Center fundraiser takes place at The Capitol Room, an event venue at 419 South Minnesota Avenue in the heart of downtown St. Peter. Here attendees can choose from an array of artisan bowls hand-thrown by local potters and then filled with a serving of soup from local vendors. Cost for the soup and bowl, yours to keep, is $20.

My chosen bowl and soup. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2013)

When I attended 11 years ago, I chose a simple green-with-traces-of-brown bowl for no other reason than I favor simplicity and green, nature’s hue. And I selected chicken wild rice soup because it, too, is a favorite.

Joel Moline and Thalia Taylor kneading clay during my visit to the arts center’s Clay Studio in March 2012. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2012)

In the years that have passed since that pottery purchase, I have used my Saint Peter soup bowl hundreds of times. I love the shape, the feel, the heft of this original piece of usable art. This isn’t just any soup bowl, but rather one made and shaped by the hands of an artist. And that means something to me. I appreciate the work of creatives.

Diners line up for soup or chili at the 2013 Souper Bowl. The event is first-come, first-serve. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2013)

And I value events like the Souper Bowl, which expose people to the arts, bring people together, build community. Sunday will be a busy day in St. Peter as this southern Minnesota city celebrates St. Patrick’s Day in a big way with a parade at 3 pm.

The Arts Center of Saint Peter, 315 South Minnesota Avenue, St. Peter, Minnesota.
The Arts Center of Saint Peter, 315 South Minnesota Avenue, photographed on a visit there in March 2012. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2012)

With a cooldown expected on Sunday along with gusty winds, afternoon temps in the 30s will feel like the 20s, according to local forecasters. Seems an ideal day to warm up with a bowl of soup served in an artisan bowl.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Clutch of crocuses March 14, 2024

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Crocuses blooming on March 12. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

DAYS AFTER I BRUSHED aside leaf mulch, my crocuses are in full bloom under the bold sunlight of March here in southern Minnesota.

Veins run through the cupped purple petals popping with golden centers. They are beautiful to behold. Vibrant in a landscape of brown.

Due to the unseasonably mild Minnesota winter, these crocuses are blooming weeks earlier than usual. Had I not uncovered the perennials several days ago to find a lone blossom leaning, I would have missed this explosion of color in my front yard flowerbed.

I admire crocuses, daffodils and tulips, the first brave flowers of spring. That they even survive in this harsh climate seems a miracle in itself. Crocuses store food in corms, their underground stem system.

And so I want to take a moment to celebrate this clutch of crocuses, to recognize the importance of noticing that which is right before our eyes. All too often we hurry through our days without pausing to appreciate the little things. The flush of blossoms. The bright flash of a cardinal. The scurrying of a squirrel. Today may you stop, look and see, really see, the beauty within this day.

TELL ME: What little thing are you seeing today that bring you joy?

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Uncovering spring in this non-winter in Minnesota March 12, 2024

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Under a layer of leaves, I found this blooming crocus. Already, in early March. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

IN TRULY UN-MINNESOTAN fashion, I have penned very little this winter about the weather. That is atypical of a life-long resident. We are, if anything, obsessed about weather in Minnesota. We take pride in our cold weather, our snow, in managing to persevere in an often harsh climate. Weather affects our lives on a daily basis.

But this winter season, our image as the Bold Cold North has significantly changed. These past four months have been primarily snow-less and unseasonably warm. Sure, we’ve had a bit of snow and some cold snaps with sub-zero temperatures. Yet nothing like we’ve come to expect.

As I write, I look out my office window to a scene devoid of snow. The temperature is 46 degrees. At 9:51 a.m. on an early March morning. Laundry is drying on the clothesline. And the sun blazes bright upon the monotone landscape.

Daffodils, too, are emerging early. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

If I look closely, I see signs of spring come too soon. I need only examine my perennial flowerbeds to find spring flowers emerging from the soil. Under a layer of dried leaf mulch, I uncover a single crocus tipped on its side. I push more leaves aside revealing tender shoots of crocuses and daffodils. They need sunlight to thrive.

Tulips on the south-facing side of my house started popping weeks ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)

Tulips and irises are up, too. Too soon. Not yet blooming. I noticed tulip bulbs popping greenery already in February.

All of this is an anomaly. We should be experiencing snowstorms and school closures, hearing the scrape of snowplows, the roar of snowblowers. Kids should be skating and sledding. As much as I appreciate the lack of icy roads and sidewalks, no snow to clear and no worry about winter weather, it just doesn’t feel right.

I’ve realized that I really do like the diversity of distinct seasons in Minnesota. There’s something to be said about anticipating spring after a long hard winter, like we experienced last year with record snowfall…

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The unwanted birthday gift has its day March 6, 2024

An amaryllis begins to bloom. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

THE BOXED BULBS on an end cap at a big box store caught my eye, as intended. I worked briefly as a grocery store clerk back in the day when cashiers read and punched prices onto cash register keys. I learned then all about moving products by strategically placing them on the end of a shelf row.

So here I was, falling for the age-old marketing gimmick of pushing impulse purchases. But on this day, I was thankful for that end cap display of boxed amaryllis bulbs. This would make the perfect birthday gift for my soon-to-be 5-year-old grandson. Or so I thought.

On Isaac’s birthday in early January, we gathered to celebrate. As Isaac opened his gift stash, it was obvious he liked some presents more than others. That’s the thing about kids his age. They can’t hide their honest reaction, their true feelings. He loved the LEGO sets, the sticker book, the… But when he pulled the boxed bulb from the gift bag, Isaac promptly tossed it aside. Not set the box on the carpet, but threw it. Not even an explanation from Grandma about planting the bulb which would flower in big, beautiful red blooms changed his mind. He didn’t care.

I should back up a minute and explain why I thought this would be a good gift for my grandson. Last spring I gave several packets of seeds to the grandkids. Spinach, carrot and flower seeds, which my eldest daughter planted with her son. He took an interest once the seeds sprouted and the plants grew. Amber called him “Farmer Isaac.”

The farm girl in me felt encouraged. My grandchildren, who live in a sprawling new housing development in the south metro, are far-removed from their rural heritage. It’s important to me that they understand their agrarian roots. Randy and I grew up on crop and dairy farms—farms with large gardens from whence came most of our food. Youth like Isaac and his sister, Isabelle, need to know that food originates on farms, not grocery store shelves. As preschoolers, they loved to dig in the dirt at our house. I would hand them shovels and the dirt would fly. Kids need to touch the earth, splash in mud puddles, gather sticks and pine cones and leaves and do all those activities that connect them to the land. And make their hands dirty.

Emerging amaryllis. (Edited photo; Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

But now here was this dormant amaryllis bulb all ugly and brown and not looking at all like anything that would ever grow. But, once potted, grow it did. When the first green leaves emerged from the massive bulb at the end of January, Isaac suddenly took an interest. “You better take a picture to show Grandma,” he instructed his mom.

Isaac loves space, puzzles, art and now amaryllis. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

A few weeks later, the first of several flowers bloomed. And there was Isaac again in a photo, right elbow learning on the kitchen island by sheets of paper for his next art project, left hand on his world atlas, jigsaw puzzles and that once dormant amaryllis bulb now blooming in the foreground. His smile was wide, his happiness evident. The amaryllis had its moment. Big. Bold. Beautiful red. No longer tossed aside. Finally and fully appreciated by the birthday boy.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Crafting an obituary: Emmett “breathed John Deere” March 5, 2024

A row of John Deere tractors at the 2022 Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show, rural Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

AS A WRITER, a storyteller, I read obituaries. Doesn’t matter if the deceased is known to me or not. I find obits interesting for the stories therein.

Stories weren’t always part of obituary writing. Obit style has evolved since I graduated in 1978 with a journalism degree from Minnesota State University, Mankato. And that is a good thing. Today’s death notices are not just summaries of facts, but rather personalized in a way that helps the reader understand the person as a person. That holds value to those who are grieving and to those of us who hold no connection to the individual.

I need to backtrack for a moment and share that writing an obituary was my first writing assignment in Reporting 101. Although I’ve forgotten details about that long ago college course, I remember the professor stressing the importance of spelling names correctly. That carried through to all types of newspaper reporting. First reporting job out of college, I learned a source was Dayle, not Dale.

Emmett Haala (Photo source: Sturm Funeral Home)

That MSU instructor also imprinted upon me the importance of obituaries. As I age, I find myself drawn more and more to reading obits. Too often now, I know the deceased. Recently, I found a gem in the obituary of Emmett Haala, 87, of Springfield (that would be Springfield, Minnesota), who died on February 28. His funeral is today.

Hanging out by a John Deere tractor at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

It wasn’t the basic facts about Emmett that captivated me, but rather his interest in John Deere tractors. He, according to his obit, “lived and breathed John Deere.” Now to anyone with a rural connection, the idea of fierce tractor brand loyalty is familiar. This retired mechanic began his career at age 14 at Runck Hardware and Implement in Springfield, eventually opening Emmett’s Shop in 1970. He was a trusted mechanic who serviced all machinery brands, but favored John Deere.

“Nothing runs like a Deere” is the John Deere slogan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

That tidbit got me reminiscing and also contemplating the importance of open houses in rural Minnesota. Events that continue today. Emmett, his death notice read, shared many memories of John Deere Days at Runck Hardware and Implement. He “…enjoyed making hot dogs and coffee for the throngs of people attending and showing the newest John Deere movie.”

To this day, I remain a fan of John Deere. Here Randy and I pose aside a vintage John Deere at Bridgewater Farm, rural Northfield in October 2023. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

That was it. I was hooked. I attended John Deere Day at a farm implement dealership while growing up in southwestern Minnesota. While the event was a way for machinery dealers to get farmers inside their shops, the open houses were also a social gathering for rural folks. My siblings and I piled into the Chevy aside Dad and Mom for the 20-mile drive to Redwood Falls and John Deere Day.

Free food—usually BBQs, baked beans, chips and vanilla ice cream packaged in little plastic cups and eaten with a wooden spoon—comprised dinner (not lunch to us farm types). Maybe there were hot dogs, too, like at Emmett’s place of employment. Memories fade over the decades.

A worn vintage John Deere emblem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

But I do recall the John Deere movies shown post meal at the theater in Redwood Falls. Sure, they were nothing but advertisements for “the long green line” of farm machinery. But to a kid who seldom set foot in a theater, the promotional films held all the appeal of a box office hit. Plus, there were door prizes like bags of seed corn and silver dollars. I never won anything. A cousin did.

At the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

And so all those John Deere memories and more—including the distinct pop of my dad’s 1950s John Deere tractor—rushed back. Putt, putt, putt. Emmett belonged to the Prairieland Two Cylinder Club. Nostalgia is powerful. So is the art of crafting an obituary. Many of today’s obituaries feature detailed personal stories, not simply superlatives. Stories that reveal something about the individual who lived and breathed and loved. Stories well beyond life-line basics. Stories of life. Stories that resonate, that connect us to each other. Stories like those of Emmett, who “lived and breathed John Deere.”

(Book cover image sourced online)

FYI: I recommend reading this guidebook to obituary writing by retired The Wall Street Journal obit writer James R. Hagerty: Yours Truly: An Obituary Writer’s Guide to Telling Your Story. Hagerty is the son of Marilyn Hagerty, columnist for The Grand Forks Herald. In a March 2012 “Eatbeat” column, Marilyn reviewed her local Olive Garden and gained instant internet fame.

 

Craving favorite comfort foods during a Minnesota winter February 28, 2024

A grilled cheese sandwich oozes processed cheese. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THIS TIME OF YEAR, throughout the long stretch of winter months in Minnesota, I crave comfort foods. Food that warms me from the inside out. Food that fuels me with energy. Food that makes me feel better simply because it tastes so darn good. Basic, often carb-packed, foods that are staples of generations of Minnesotans.

Topping the list of comfort foods for me is tomato soup served with a grilled cheese sandwich. Both are easy to prepare. Nearly every Saturday from November to March, Randy opens and mixes a can of condensed tomato soup with milk before preparing accompanying sandwiches. He smears butter onto slices of bread, layers processed cheese between and toasts the bread to golden perfection in a frying pan. There’s nothing better for lunch on a cold Minnesota winter day than a bowl of steaming tomato soup with a sandwich oozing melting cheese.

A perfect comfort food lunch: homemade chicken wild rice soup with homemade bread. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Soup and chili are the ultimate comfort foods. There’s comfort in the scent of soup simmering on the stove, in the taste, in the act of wrapping hands around a bowl warmed by hot soup or chili. And then that first spoonful of chicken noodle soup or chicken white chili or tomato-based beef chili loaded with beans or chicken wild rice soup, all homemade. Ah. Every bite tastes of comfort. With the exception of tomato soup, all soups served in my house are homemade by me.

The same goes for macaroni and cheese, another ultimate comfort food. Years ago as a busy mom of three, I occasionally resorted to boxed mac and cheese in my hurry to get a meal on the table. But the unnatural yellow powdered cheese stirred into the cooked pasta was visually unappealing and didn’t taste any better than it looked. Today I make mac and cheese from scratch using evaporated milk, butter and shredded cheddar cheese. I love mac and cheese as much as any kid, unless, of course, theirs comes from a box.

A sandwich board outside the Belview Bar & Grill in southwestern Minnesota advertises some comfort food lunch offerings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I also love tator tots. We joke about Tator Tot Hotdish here in Minnesota. I haven’t made it in years. But I still like tots. Plain or, even better, topped with shredded cheddar cheese, a dollop of sour cream and bacon bits. Yes, it’s calorie-laden and likely not at all good for me. But, gosh, that combo pleases my palate like no casserole ever could except homemade Chicken Wild Rice Hotdish (not casserole), which I absolutely love.

A plate filled with comfort foods, including mashed potatoes and gravy, served at the annual harvest dinner at Trinity Lutheran Church, North Morristown. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Potatoes are a comfort food. Whether shaped into a tot, mashed, baked or scalloped, potatoes are, for me, a comforting link to my childhood. I grew up eating meat, boiled potatoes with gravy and a side vegetable every night for supper, with rare exceptions. Our food came from our land, from our animals. It was good and wholesome, filling our stomachs, fueling our bodies to labor on the farm.

I recently tried a new banana bread recipe with a whole banana split length-wise and laid across the top of the batter. Delicious. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I also find myself craving sweets during the winter. Banana bread and chocolate chip cookies fall into the comfort food category by my definition. A just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookie with melty chocolate or a slice of day-old banana bread satisfy my craving for something sugary. I try not to bake often, though, unless I’m shipping a care package to my son in Boston, the grandkids are coming or there’s a birthday to celebrate. Or the bananas on the counter are getting overripe.

Soon I will crave salads like this raspberry chicken salad from the Amboy Cottage Cafe in Amboy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In a few months, comfort food will hold less appeal as winter transitions into spring. Then my food focus will turn to fresh asparagus, rhubarb and spinach salad topped with sliced cucumbers, portabella mushrooms, tomatoes and blue cheese made and aged in sandstone caves blocks from my house. I’ll eat healthier, feel less laden by heavy food. But when the seasons shift again to shorter and colder days, I’ll once again crave grilled cheese and tomato soup, mac and cheese, tator tots…all the foods that comfort during a long Minnesota winter.

Chocolate chip cookies baked by a friend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TELL ME: What are your favorite comfort foods?

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Stories of kindness, compassion & humor following eye surgery February 27, 2024

A lens on my new prism-free prescription eyeglasses circles the surgery location in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I’M SO HAPPY IT’S OVER.” That, Kat told me, was my first statement post January 22 bilateral strabismus eye surgery at M Health Fairview Clinics and Surgery Center in Minneapolis. I don’t remember saying those words. But I don’t doubt my recovery room nurse.

After a 1 ½-hour surgery to realign my misaligned eyes, I was still groggy. Yet, Kat noted, I was coming out of general anesthesia quickly and well. For that I felt thankful. Not everyone handles anesthesia without side effects.

Given my emerging level of alertness, I don’t recall timelines or all conversations. But I do remember the kindness of Kat. And kindness is key when you’re coming out of surgery.

There was no vodka in the recovery room (nor did I want any; I seldom drink hard liquor). (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

HERE, HAVE A DRINK

In addition to compassion and care, Kat gave me food and drink. It was well after lunch and I hadn’t consumed anything (except a few sips of water with Tylenol right before surgery) for many hours. Typically I get hangry when I don’t eat on time. Ask my family. Kat brought cranberry juice along with soda crackers and graham crackers and then ginger ale which she suggested I mix with a second cup of cranberry juice, a cocktail without the vodka. (I think Kat mentioned vodka, but maybe I did.) I shared that my Bible study group has a signature cranberry drink, sans the alcohol. Kat kept a watchful eye on me. I hope she didn’t notice that I didn’t particularly like cranberry juice and ginger ale mixed. Too sweet for me.

But I appreciated the sweetness of my caring nurse, who moved to Minnesota from Missouri, who was named Katherine, called Kathy by her mom and then called Kat in college. Kat suits her, even if she owns three dogs, not cats. More on that later.

At some point, before my surgeon came to see me in recovery, Kat suggested I change from my lavender paper gown into my street clothes. I was all for that. She removed my hospital slipper socks and then helped slip my socks and shoes onto my feet. Can’t have a just-out-of-surgery patient getting all lighted-headed by bending down. I managed the rest of dressing myself, proving I was becoming more alert, alert for the next step in surgery completion.

In the recovery room after eye muscle alignment surgery. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling, January 22, 2024)

LOOK AT THAT “E”

Enter my neuro ophthalmologist surgeon, Dr. Collin McClelland, and a second doctor who had been in the operating room. I dreaded this moment when Dr. McClelland planned to tweak his work by pulling an adjustable suture stitched into my left eye.

Alright then. Look at that E across the room. Do you see one or two? Two. (He did some other vision checks, not just with the E, during the alignment process.) After my surgeon dropped a topical anesthetic into my left eye, he removed the steri strips adhering the suture onto my cheek. He hovered over me, his tools and face a blur. Don’t move. Look up to the left. You’re going to feel a tug. Yup. I did. OK, let’s check that E again. One or two? Two. OK, we need to do this again. Tug. Pain. You’re doing great. Check the E for the third time. Mostly one. OK, I’m going to leave it. And then my doctor worked to tie and cut that suture, simultaneously encouraging me with his gentle voice. You’re doing great. The adjustment process took 20 minutes and was made easier by my kind surgeon.

A section of a 1974 album cover from my collection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

WE’RE OFF TO PROM

Kindness. I felt that in the care I received at M Health Fairview Surgery Center. Skilled care that came with humor and compassion and distractions that enabled me to manage eye muscle surgery. Kind Kat remained after Randy left to get the van from a nearby parking ramp. She escorted me to the restroom, our arms linking as if we were going to prom, Kat said. We needed a song, perhaps John Denver’s “Sunshine on My Shoulders,” theme for my 1970s era prom, I suggested. We laughed, Kat and I.

But I wasn’t laughing when we returned to my recovery room and I noticed Randy’s cellphone and charger lying on a chair, hidden beneath a tote bag. He was supposed to call when he reached the patient pick-up spot. But Randy was long gone, so I grabbed his phone and charger. Then Kat wheeled me onto the elevator that carried us downstairs to await Randy’s arrival, “old people” wrap-around sunglasses protecting my eyes. Thanks, Kat, for the (un)fashionable eyewear.

I’m becoming familiar with these two locations on the campus of the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

THE LONG MINNESOTA GOODBYE, SORT OF

I expected Randy to simply drive up. He didn’t. Rather, he retraced his steps in an attempt to find his phone. Kat called someone to clarify I had his phone. As we waited, I grew restless. I just wanted to go home. Kat sensed that, pulling out her phone to show me a picture of her three dogs. Not cats. I appreciated the momentary distraction.

Eventually, Randy arrived and Kat steered me to our van, guiding me into the passenger seat. Then she hugged me. That loving gesture filled me with happiness, as if I was Kat’s sister rather than simply another patient. Happy despite the eye pain. Happy despite the long, exhausting day.

That happiness soon vanished as Randy took a wrong entrance ramp and we found ourselves aiming east toward St. Paul rather than west toward Minneapolis. I was in no mood for a longer trip, even if lengthened by only 15 minutes. But onward, back home to Faribault to rest and begin healing. Five weeks out, I am doing just that, continuing to heal. And I am remembering, too, the many kindnesses and the skilled care given to me by my compassionate medical team.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling