THE FIRST PART of a three-pronged project honoring Farmer Seed & Nursery in Faribault has been completed. Recently a 20 by 24-foot mural, designed by local historian and creative Jeff Jarvis of West Cedar Studio and painted by Minneapolis artist Melodee Strong, was installed at Midwest Indoor Storage, site of the former nursery.
The artwork hangs on a corner of the building’s west side, visible to eastbound passersby along Minnesota State Highway 60/Fourth Street.
The iconic Farmer Seed and Nursery multi-level complex once rose here, an identifiable community landmark business rooted in agriculture. With nearly a 130-year history in Faribault and company roots in Chicago dating to 1888, Farmer Seed was once noted for its local seed farms, seeds, mail order seed catalog, retail store and Christmas trees. I remember paging through the company’s catalogs while growing up on a southwestern Minnesota dairy and crop farm. From vegetables to flowers to shrubs and trees, Farmer Seed offered endless options for the everyday gardener, farmer and other growers.
Today the mural and a forthcoming kiosk and memory book will continue to celebrate this long-time Faribault business. In designing the mural, Jarvis kept it simple, focusing on the signature exterior signage that graced the historic building. He added a splash of color in a clutch of sunflowers, highly recognizable, he said, and a popular agricultural symbol.
Jarvis also created conceptual sketches for the planned corner kiosk and is developing an interior graphic panel display featuring company history, little-known products and personnel information.
Additionally, this keeper of local history is compiling a Farmer Seed memory book of stories, historical information and photos. Jarvis has included his own childhood story about a coveted Ant Farm purchased at the retail store by his mother and gifted to him at Christmas. He’s looking for more stories and encourages submission of those via a form on his website at https://westcedarstudio.com/farmer-seed-nursery-memory-book/. Once the stories are compiled they will be available to read for free on Jarvis’ studio website or as a printed copy for a fee.
I expect this trio of projects will be well-received in Faribault, where the 2018 closure, then sale and eventual complete demolition of the iconic Farmer Seed complex in 2023 raised public concern. I was among those who hoped the building, on the National Register of Historic Places, could be saved, a new use found for this long-time landmark. It was not to be. But the city, including the Heritage Preservation Commission, recognized the importance of preserving memories by requiring historical remembrance projects as part of the property sale, according to Jarvis. I’m grateful for that and for parts of the building that were salvaged for historical purposes.
Today when I view the newly-installed mural, I think of my own Farmer Seed memories. Like so many others, those trace to Christmas. I loved to wander through the retail store to see all the trees decorated with ornaments. Sometimes my husband and I would buy our short needle short Christmas tree there. Not a flocked tree, which was a Farmer Seed specialty. One year we waited too long and, days before Christmas, got what I think may have been the last tree in town at a bargain price.
For many area residents, Farmer Seed holds a life-time of memories. Of seed catalogs. Of seed potatoes. Of seed packets. Of lilac bushes and Christmas trees. Of wood plank floors and a building rising high along highway 60, where an indoor storage unit and an under-construction apartment building now stand on land once rooted in agriculture.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
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