Budding branches on the maple tree in my backyard during a recent sunset of pink sky. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
HERE IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA, the greening of the land indicates the beginning of spring’s full-on arrival.
April showers, more like recent deluges of rain, and warmer temperatures have reawakened the earth. Once dormant brown grass now colors lawns greens.
Buds begin to open on lilac bushes at North Alexander Park, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
Buds tip tree branches and bushes, promising canopies of leaves and masses of flowers. I’m waiting for the lilacs to bloom in early May, their heady scent a gift to all of us upon winter’s departure.
A crocus blooms at the Rice County Master Gardeners’ Teaching Garden on the Rice County Fairgrounds, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
Crocuses, daffodils and other spring flowers burst through the soil, opening to the sun in a visual splash of color. A jubilant and celebratory scene that shouts happiness.
A Canadian goose swims in the Cannon River at North Alexander Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
Down by the river, geese and ducks share company, prepare for nesting and the arrival of little ones. I wait each spring for the goslings and ducklings. They fill my spirit with the promise of new beginnings. Hope in a world desperately in need of hope.
In the Cannon River, a Canadian goose spreads its wings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
Along water’s edge, I simply stand and observe. Waves rippling, wings rising, water flowing under a gray April sky.
Branches on a riverside tree twist and turn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
The day feels unsettled in its unseasonable warmth and humidity as I follow a paved path in Faribault’s North Alexander Park. Past the Cannon River, through the trees, then back to the river, I walk with my husband.
Tagged and planted at North Alexander Park, the True North Kentucky Coffeetree. A flag in the park reads “Tree City USA.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
We pause to look at several newly-planted trees, including a True North Kentucky Coffeetree, developed, I later learn, through the University of Minnesota woody landscape breeding program. We both wondered about the viability of a coffee tree growing in this northern climate.
Measured and compared to a quarter, some of the larger hail that fell at our home on Monday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
Hours later, the rain comes. And then the hail. First small, then some larger hailstones, pelt the lawn, the patio, the driveway, the street, the old rusty van. The house. Stones hit the aluminum awning over the back door with an unnerving shot-like bang. Randy and I stand and watch, moving from window to window, hoping the hail doesn’t damage our roof.
Afterwards I head outside to gather a few hailstones in baggies for freezing and measuring. We have yet to inspect for damage. The day after, out-of-town roofing companies are descending on Faribault like birds returning in the spring. There is no birdsong, though, only a circling around.
These Canadian geese stand guard on the bank of the Cannon River in North Alexander Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
With spring comes the greening of grass, the blooming of flowers, the budding of trees, the gathering of waterfowl and the occasional severe storm that moves across the land. Unwelcome, but not unexpected in this season of change.
Crocuses bloom in my flowerbed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
EACH SPRING THEY EMERGE, poking through a layer of dried leaves mulching my front flowerbed.
When I spot the tender green shoots of crocuses, I feel a surge of optimism that winter is winding down. However, as a life-long Minnesotan, I also tamp my excitement. Snow falls in April here and sometimes in May. And these crocuses were bursting already in late March.
Days after I removed the leaves, exposing the crocuses to sunshine and air, they grew quickly. Soon purple blossoms spread wide, revealing golden centers like spots of sunshine.
I delight in the shades of purple, notice the lines tracing the petals, the way the flowers hug the ground as if also tentative about the season.
This first flower of spring seems to me courageous. Braving the cold of Minnesota, determined to reach the sunshine, to make a strong statement of hope that the cold and dark of winter will give way to warmth and light.
TELL ME: I’d like to hear your first flower of spring story.
My husband, Randy, follows a paved trail through the woods at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
A WALK INTO THE WOODS of River Bend Nature Center on a near 70-degree late March Sunday afternoon in Faribault yielded glimpses of spring unfolding, ever so slowly.
Patches of greenery emerged among dried and decaying leaves layering the earth. Tightly-clenched red buds tipped some branches. Subtle signs of early spring existed, if I looked closely. And listened.
A cardinal whistled. A woodpecker hammered. Both deep in the woods, unseen, but heard.
A mallard duck swims in the Turtle Pond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
At the Turtle Pond, I expected turtles lining logs, basking in the afternoon sunshine. But I spotted only one, slipping into the slimy water before I could even lift my camera to focus a shot. Yet, the pond did not disappoint as a lone mallard duck glided across the shallow water, stopped and stood before swimming again, on toward the floating pedestrian bridge.
A geocache, found without geocaching. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Randy and I paused in the brush near pond’s edge to examine a canister seemingly tossed on the ground. A geocache, perhaps in its proper place, perhaps not. We looked inside, then left it where found.
Lovely aspens cluster in the woods. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
I kept scanning the woods for wildflowers (too early), anything that would visually cue me to this season of spring. Finding little, I concentrated on the trees. The texture of bark, which I always find artistically fascinating. A cluster of aspens, a splash of white in the gray woods. Piles and slices of wood from trees cut down.
Signage on the interpretative center door. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
I observed a scattering of plastic bags attached to trees, collection vessels for sap that will be cooked into maple syrup. The bags proved a conversation starter with a young family who moved here from Iowa a year ago and was on their first hike at River Bend. I love meeting new people. I explained the sap collecting, welcomed them to Faribault. And then the attention quickly turned to the four-year-old, who showed me the gray stone she found, then the faded temporary tattoos laddering her left leg and then her sparkly shoes. She bubbled with joy, only frowning when her mom mentioned her cousins back in Iowa. Cousins she misses and will see at Easter.
I found the bark on the base of this tree visually interesting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Other families and couples and singles hiked here, too, on this loveliest of March days in Minnesota. Others biked. My friend Lisa and her husband, Tom, avid bird watchers who tend bluebird houses at the nature center, warned us about deer ticks after we exchanged personal updates.
The Straight River winds through River Bend, drawing people to its banks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Down by the Straight River, a family played along the shoreline, sunshine sparkling on water. It was so good to see all these families outside, connecting with each other and with nature, away from technology and other distractions of life.
Occasionally a train roars along the tracks that run through River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
A short train roared by across the river, a flash of yellow in the monotone woods.
Lots of people, including this family, were hiking on Sunday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Randy and I passed another young family, two little girls clutching stuffies, a child in a stroller. The eldest ran ahead, her long hair flying. And I remembered the times we came here with our preschool grandchildren who also ran like the wind. Free. Immersed in nature.
Prairie meets sky at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Exiting the woods, we crossed the prairie, its expanse stretching, meeting the sky.
Canadian geese on the prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
At prairie’s edge, a pair of geese strode across the dried grasses matted by winter’s snow and wind. Occasionally the two would stop, peck at the grass, searching for food.
I arrived at River Bend wanting to photograph signs of spring. Rather, I mostly heard spring—in a din of spring peepers, in the honk of geese, in other unidentified birds singing. And in the voice of a four-year-old, excited to be out with her parents in the woods. Playing. Searching for stones to take home.
A fitting plaque on a memorial bench. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Sometimes it takes a child to remind us of the smallest joys in life. To appreciate that which is before us rather than wishing for more.
Outside Miss Angie’s Place I found giving shelves, center (filled with books, food, a puzzle and more), free art supplies in a library by the steps and a memorial garden for baby Pearl, right. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Pulling out of the Kwik Trip convenience store in Pine Island recently, flashes of color caught my eye across the street. “What’s that?” I wondered aloud. I was about to discover Miss Angie’s Place.
A close-up of the colorful and inspiring retaining wall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
If not for the colorful painted rock and concrete wall bracing a hillside, I may not have paused to learn more about the nonprofit based in the town’s first church, Grace Episcopal, built in 1874. Good News Evangelical Free Church closed its doors here in 2023, opening the door for Angie Severson to relocate her nonprofit into the vacated building from several blocks away.
Angie Severson, photographed here with a resident rabbit, founded the nonprofit Miss Angie’s Place in 2021. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
This mother of four daughters and a life-long artist, who has worked as a high school art and business teacher and as a graphic designer, offers “a fun, nurturing and safe space to gather and grow for people of all ages through art, nature, education and well-being.” Those define the four pillars of Miss Angie’s Place.
The Giving Shelves outside Miss Angie’s Place. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
That’s exactly what I discovered once I finished exploring outside—looking over the brightly-painted retaining wall with uplifting words, checking out the giving shelves and Little Free Art Supplies Library, and a memorial garden for Angie’s infant daughter, Pearl.
Art posted inside Miss Angie’s Place confirms that all are welcome here. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
I headed up the steps past a kid’s bike and helmet, passing under signage telling me everyone is welcome and loved, before opening a red door to the vestibule.
A youth services librarian, right, led the literacy and playtime on the morning I visited. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
For a moment I simply stood there, still uncertain what I was walking into. I continued on, through an interior doorway into the former sanctuary. Two young mothers and their children were gathered around a table with paint, pipe cleaners and paper plates, clearly in the middle of creating. This, as it turns out, was a free early literacy and playtime with Angie and Heidi Breid, youth services librarian from the Van Horn Public Library.
These two preschoolers were fascinated with the aquarium, toy lobster and magnifying glass during playtime. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
One of the moms, mother to a preschooler and a newborn, later shared how she appreciates the opportunity to get out of the house with her kids and connect with others.
Measuring devices mingle with frogs for play on the aged wooden floor. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
This space, this place, still feels like a sanctuary in many ways as people gather in community. For nearly 150 years, people walked across the well-worn wooden floors, gathering to grieve, to celebrate, to seek sanctuary.
Exploring and playing on a recent Thursday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
It feels right that this former house of worship today offers a safe haven, a sanctuary, for all ages to create, learn, connect, meditate and more. Here young moms come with their littles, school-aged kids create art and explore nature, youth attend summer day camps focused on kindness, gardening, fishing, art and much more. Adults practice yoga and attend wellness retreats.
Among the many art supplies available for creating. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
A stash of books I spotted. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Cozy seating. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
In a short conversation with Angie, I learned of her passion for this place she’s created and filled with art supplies, books, nature finds, toys, aquariums, cozy seating and much more in a truly welcoming, creative and joyful learning environment.
Looking toward the front of the former church, now a spacious space for gathering, creating and more. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
An artsy backpack hangs just inside the front entry door. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Donation jars and boxes are scattered throughout Miss Angie’s Place to help support the nonprofit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
When someone does what they love, it shows. From her vibrant tie-dyed sweatshirt, to her engaging smile, to the way Angie cuddled the resident rabbit, she exuded a sense of purpose and joy. I watched her interact with preschoolers, bending to their level, encouraging, connecting.
A mom, her preschooler and infant leave the early literacy and playtime at Miss Angie’s Place. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2026)
Miss Angie’s Place is, indeed, “a fun, nurturing and safe space to gather and grow.” It is the type of place I delight in discovering in small town Minnesota. Unexpected. Connective. Creative. And centered in community.
Sunset at City View Park, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
RED WING HAS BARN BLUFF. Winona has Sugar Loaf Bluff. And Faribault has City View Park.
The color of the sky is ever changing during sunset. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Now a park may not sound as impressive as a bluff. But the view from City View Park on my community’s east side is pretty spectacular. Plus, driving or walking to the street level location is much easier than climbing a bluff, making the park easily accessible to all.
I zoomed in on the clock tower at Shumway Hall on the campus of Shattuck-St. Mary’s School. City View Park offers a great view of the historic building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2026)
I consider this park one of Faribault’s best kept secrets. It provides a sweeping view of the valley with local landmarks poking through the landscape. Like the clock tower on Shumway Hall at Shattuck-St. Mary’s School. Or buildings on the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf. Seeing those steepled and towering buildings conveys a sense of history in a community rich in historic structures.
Trees on the edge of the hill at City View Park frame the valley and the sunset. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
From this hilltop location, the land unfolds, touches the sky, connects to a beautiful city below. Any season of the year, this park offers a lovely vista. I’ve picnicked at City View Park in three seasons. Watched fireworks here on the Fourth of July. And in the winter photographed the most stunning sunsets. Orange. Pink. Red. Yellow.
A prairie sunset photographed from Minnesota State Highway 67 between Redwood Falls and Morgan in my home county. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I am, by birth, a flatlander, a daughter of the southwestern Minnesota prairie. There the horizon seemingly stretches into infinity across the wide open, mostly treeless landscape. That presents an ideal stage to spotlight the sun. Painterly sunrises and sunsets and the endless prairie wind are forever imprinted upon my spirit.
Sometimes I just sit on the bench and be still. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Since moving to Faribault some 40 years ago, I’ve lived in the valley, sunsets hidden by the hillside that rises next to my home. I miss seeing the setting sun on a daily basis as I did during my youth. Now I must intentionally seek out the blazing orange orb rather than simply looking across the farmyard.
A city water tower stands right next to the park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2026)
That sometimes takes me up St. Paul Avenue to City View Park, next to the water tower and across from Trump’s Apple Orchard.
The painterly sunset mesmerizes me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
As I walk toward the edge of the hill to look across the valley, I feel small in the immensity of place. Distant landmark buildings ground me. But the view always, always fills me up with a sense of wonder at the majesty of the land, the glory of the sun, the forever of the sky.
Walking along the Straight River Trail near Fleckenstein Bluffs Park on a recent winter day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
WITH WINTER OFFICIALLY LAUNCHED, it’s easy enough to stay home, settle in, curl up with a good book and avoid the ice, cold and snow that define Minnesota weather in January. When winter burrows in, I’m more inclined to hibernate. But I push myself to get out. It’s good for my physical, mental and emotional health.
An extensive city trail system runs throughout Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Faribault offers plenty of options for aging Baby Boomers like me and others who simply want to take a walk. On the worst of winter days, I can loop around the soccer field at Shattuck-St. Mary’s School, which opens its dome to the public most weekday mornings (except holidays) from November into early spring. Hours vary, but generally run from around six-ish to 9:30 am.
The Straight River Trail stretches before me in the area known as Frog Town. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
And when I want to be outdoors, the city’s paved recreational trails are usually cleared, allowing me to safely immerse myself in nature. There’s something about walking outdoors at a brisk pace on a cold winter day that invigorates.
Even in the drab winterscape, color can be found, such as in these dried berries. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Sometimes, though, I opt to carry my camera and focus on the environment rather than upping my heart rate. Photography improves my well-being, too, because I begin to notice nature’s details in a mostly monochrome landscape. Winter’s beauty emerges. And that is good for my spirit, my soul, my creativity.
The Straight River is anything but straight as it winds between woods and bluffs in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
I especially delight in following the Straight River Trail because water, whether frozen or flowing free, mesmerizes me. I think humans have always been drawn to water. Near Fleckenstein Bluffs Park, the Straight River curves, winding through the woods, under the railroad bridge, along the bluffs.
Barely discernible, a temporary riverside shelter in the woods near Fleckenstein Bluffs Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
On a recent afternoon along the trail, with Canon camera in hand, I spotted a flash of red across the river in the woods. From a distance and through the trees, I couldn’t clearly distinguish details. But I knew this was a temporary shelter for someone without a permanent home. I saw a person shoveling snow.
Tangled twigs along the Straight River Trail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
And I thought of my poem, “Misunderstood,” inspired by a previous walk along the Straight River Trail. That poem published in 2024 in Talking Stick 33, Earth Signs, a Minnesota literary anthology:
Misunderstood
Tents cluster along the Straight River,
home to the homeless on land
once held by the Wahpekute.
History and hardship merge here
in long-ago and present-day stories.
Bison skin tipis and nylon tents.
Different times. Different peoples.
Drawn to the water, the sheltering woods.
Misunderstood then. Misunderstood now.
This homemade trail sign, screwed to a tree along the Straight River Trail in Frog Town, leads to a path beaten through the snow. I did not follow the unofficial trail, not this time. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Getting outdoors feeds my creativity. If not for that walk and my knowledge of Faribault history, I would not have crafted that poem about the Dakota and those experiencing homelessness today in my community. I observe, photograph, write, creating photos and stories that need to be shared.
Barn Bluff in Red Wing as photographed from Sorin’s Bluff in Memorial Park. Zoom in and you will see people on a path atop the bluff. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
AT THE BASE of He Mni Caɳ, also known as “Barn Bluff,” I contemplated whether to climb the 340-foot cliff rising high above the Mississippi River in southern Minnesota. It seemed like a good idea when Randy and I were considering just that on our drive from Faribault to Red Wing recently. But reality set in once we found the bluff, started up a steep pathway and determined that this might be a little much for two people pushing seventy. My vision issues and fear of heights also factored into discontinuing our hike.
An historic photo in an informational plaza shows teepees at the bluff’s base, circa 1840s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
While disappointed, I was still thankful we were here because He Mni Caɳ holds historical, cultural and sacred significance for the Bdewakantunwan Dakota Oyate, the Indigenous Peoples who originally inhabited this land. They lived on land below and around the bluff on the site of current-day Red Wing. They held ceremonies and rituals atop the bluff, also used for burial, shelter from enemies and more. This was, and always has been, a sacred place to the Dakota.
This sign welcomes visitors to Barn Bluff. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
That message is shared in an Entrance Plaza to He Mni Caɳ. There storytelling markers and seven towering pillars reveal details about this place and its importance to Native Americans. Via images, words and art, I began to learn, to understand. By learning, I am also honoring National Native American Heritage Month celebrated in November.
An overview of the seven columns rimming a center plaza at the base of Barn Bluff. That’s an aged power plant in the background. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
I admittedly did not read every single word and somehow missed noticing the buttons to push on the storytelling markers that would allow me to hear the spoken Dakota language. But I still gathered enough information, enough story, to recognize the value of this land to the Dakota and the respect we should all hold for them, their history and the sacred He Mni Caɳ, which is on the National Register of Historic Places.
The Mississippi River Valley is a place of remarkable natural beauty, here photographed from atop Sorin’s Bluff in Memorial Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
The city of Red Wing and the nearby Prairie Island Indian Community have partnered to preserve and honor this place along the Mississippi following the guiding principles of heal, sustain, educate and honor. I saw that and read that in the plaza.
A message highlighted on a plaza column. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
The pillars feature traditional Dakota patterns. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Strong words on a storytelling marker. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
As I viewed the historic Dakota patterns on the seven plaza columns and walked around this history circle reading and photographing, words and phrases popped out at me: We are all related. Interconnectedness. Kinship and a shared landscape. If only, I thought, we would all hold those words close, remember them in our differences, remember them in our relationships with each other and with the earth, remember them in our struggles and disconnect.
A sculptured head tops a storytelling marker. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
The city of Red Wing is named after Tatanka Mani (“Walking Buffalo”), long ago leader of the Mdewakanton Dakota in the upper Mississippi River Valley. Early immigrants who settled in the area gave him that name. Tatanka Mani helped shape the history of this region through his decisions and leadership. He was clearly connected to his people, to the non-Natives who arrived here, and to the land.
A current-day view of Barn’s Bluff from high atop Sorin’s Bluff. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Today He Mni Caɳ/Barn Bluff remains a major attraction in Red Wing, just as it was years ago for those traveling the river, exploring the region. Henry David Thoreau, Henry Schoolcraft and Zebulon Pike are among the countless who viewed the river and river valley below from atop the bluff.
Two of the storytelling markers at the entrance plaza and steps leading to paths that take hikers onto and up the bluff. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
But not me. I was content to stand at its base, to take in the history shared there. And then later to view the bluff from Sorin’s Bluff in Memorial Park, a park with a road leading to the top. Even then I settled for a partial ascent, because I’d had enough of heights on this day when He Mni Caɳ challenged me and I learned the history of this sacred place.
Hiking toward Hidden Falls at Nerstrand Big Woods State Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
TO WALK INTO THE WOODS, any woods, but especially the Big Woods, calms the spirit in a measured way that feels poetically soothing.
Stunning fall colors draw visitors to the Nerstrand park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Surrounded by trees stretching high, the wind winging through the woods, Randy and I hiked at nearby Nerstrand Big Woods State Park on a recent autumn morning. We left behind work, worry and chores as we aimed northeast of Faribault to this popular fall color destination. We arrived early enough in the day to mostly avoid other leaf peepers. The park can get crowded this time of year.
The sun breaks through cloudy skies while we hiked deep in the woods along Hidden Falls Trail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Changing colors draw visitors to this remaining remnant of the Big Woods. Those woods once stretched from western Wisconsin into south central Minnesota, covering some two million acres of land in this part of Minnesota. Nearly all of that long ago hardwood forest is now farmland with a few exceptions like the Big Woods outside the community of Nerstand, population around 280.
A few wildflowers are still blooming even this late in October. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
That those before us had the foresight to preserve this forest with the establishment of Nerstrand Big Woods State Park by the Minnesota state legislature in 1945 is a testament to its value. This parcel of woods is truly a natural haven here in Rice County, drawing appreciative nature lovers from all over to see the rare Dwarf Trout Lily and other wildflowers in the spring and colorful trees in autumn.
The beautiful tree canopy along another trail we hiked. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
My first introduction to the Big Woods came as a child when an elementary school teacher read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books, including Little House in the Big Woods, to me and my classmates I listened with full attention to the stories of young Laura, born in the Big Woods of Pepin, Wisconsin. As a child of the prairie, the idea of “woods” was unfamiliar to me. But Wilder’s writing proved so descriptive that I could imagine myself there in the thick of all those trees.
As we returned from Hidden Falls, these hikers walked toward it. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Today I don’t have to imagine. I can walk among those trees in the state park outside Nerstrand only a 20-minute drive from my home. Upon our recent arrival at the park, Randy and I headed straight for the half-mile trail leading to Hidden Falls. Deep in the woods, Prairie Creek spills over a limestone and shale shelf forming the falls.
Steps twist along the Hidden Falls Trail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
It’s a bit of a challenge to get to and from the falls. I felt like I was always watching my feet, assuring I wouldn’t trip over a root or uneven ground or, on the many uneven wooden steps, misstep and fall. I realize my vision issues contribute to my cautionary approach. Randy sometimes lent a steady hand. I managed and made it all the way down the hill to the waterfall. Climbing back up the hill, as you would expect, was harder, but not difficult.
Hidden Falls. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Because of recent dry weather and resulting low creek water level, the falls wasn’t exactly gushing water. Still, it was worth seeing. And hearing. Even minimal water, when it cascades over rock, roars.
Be still and the birds are, too, at least long enough to photograph. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
But mostly, unless you choose to talk, the woods are quiet. Still. Calm. Cocooning. Sheltering.
Everywhere I turned on the second trail we followed, I saw colorful leaves. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Our pace was not keep-your-heart-rate-up fast. We were here to immerse ourselves in the woods. To notice the details that comprise the whole. I paused often to photograph orange, red and yellow leaves. I bent low to the ground at times, other times aimed my camera lens upward to the tree canopy.
I photographed this bird near the park entrance where food was placed for the birds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Masses of colored leaves drew my eyes upward. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
I appreciate the patterns of fungi, like outdoor art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
I noticed birds flitting among trees, the last of the season’s flowers, dried goldenrod, bright red wild rose hips, fungi on a fallen tree…
Welcome to Nerstrand Big Woods State Park, established in 1945. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
And I heard a young mother tell her children to listen for the wind in the woods. These woods—the Big Woods of south central Minnesota.
The bald eagle I saw nearby within hours of arriving at a central Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
LAST SUMMER, LOON sightings proved common at a family member’s lake cabin south of Crosslake in north central Minnesota. This summer, not so much. While Randy and I heard the haunting call of loons during a recent stay, we only saw them twice—once a threesome swimming near shore and then two flying westward before a thunderstorm rolled in.
But bald eagle sightings more than made up for the absence of loons. We’d been at the cabin only hours when one swooped onto the top of a towering pine near the patio where we were enjoying late afternoon drinks with my sister-in-law. Randy pulled out his cellphone to snap a few photos. I stayed put since my 35 mm camera was back at the cabin. I reasoned that, by the time I walked to the cabin and back, the eagle would have flown away. That’s my usual luck.
And so we continued to chat and catch up on family news, the eagle all the while perched atop the tree like some silent eavesdropper. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I headed to the cabin for my Canon, cautiously optimistic that the eagle would still be in the tree upon my return. It was.
Wings spread wide, the bald eagle lifts off from the treetop. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
I moved slowly away from the patio, pine tree and eagle in view, aimed my telephoto lens skyward and snapped a single frame before the eagle lifted off. I can only surmise that my camera lens appeared threatening to the observant bird with exceptional vision. An eagle can see an animal the size of a rabbit running from three miles away, according to the Wabasha-based National Eagle Center.
Nine minutes later, that same eagle was back, but in a different pine near the lake and on the other side of the patio. Once again, I managed one photo before the majestic bird took flight.
Two symbols of America: the flag and a bald eagle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
I never tire of seeing eagles, whether flying or statue still. They are truly majestic. Regal. Commanding respect. And they are our national bird, a designation officially signed into law on December 23, 2024.
Throughout our week-long cabin stay, I observed bald eagles flying above Horseshoe Lake multiple times. Sometimes high above the water. Other times descending toward the surface, fishing for fish. I hoped I would see a fish grasped in eagle talons. I didn’t. Nor did I see the eagles any closer than that first afternoon at the lake.
On the drive back to Faribault, Randy and I spotted many eagles soaring above the land, especially around Mille Lacs Lake. I couldn’t help but think of the eagle’s spiritual and cultural importance among Native Americans. Strength. Courage. Wisdom. All are equated with eagles.
A bald eagle flies over Horseshoe Lake in the Brainerd lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
This wondrous national bird is so common now that I’m no longer surprised when I see one flying in and around Faribault or elsewhere in Rice County or in Minnesota. Yet, despite frequent sightings, I never tire of seeing a bald eagle. There’s something about this bird with an average wingspan of 6-7 ½ feet, piercing eyes and curved beak that makes me pause, take notice and appreciate their fierce, unyielding strength and beauty.
A monarch butterfly feeds on a milkweed flower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ON A RECENT AFTERNOON, I looked up from washing dishes and out the kitchen window to see a solitary monarch butterfly flitting among milkweeds. Something as common as a butterfly remains, for me, one of summer’s simplest delights. Along with milkweeds and fireflies.
A monarch caterpillar on milkweed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
This year I have a bumper crop of milkweed plants growing in and along flowerbeds and retaining walls. I stopped counting at 24 plants. I have no idea why the surge in milkweeds. But I am happy about their abundance given monarchs need milkweed. It is the only plant upon which the monarch lays eggs and the sole source of food for monarch caterpillars.
A crop of milkweeds in a public garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My farmer dad, if he was still alive, would likely offer a different opinion about milkweeds. As children, my siblings and I walked rows of soybean fields eradicating milkweeds, thistles and the notorious cocklebur. This was called “walking beans,” a job that we hated, but was necessary to keep fields mostly weed-free without the use of chemicals.
I never considered then that I might some day appreciate milkweeds, the “weed” I pulled from the rich dark soil of southwestern Minnesota. On many a hot and humid afternoon, sweat rolled off my forehead and dirt filtered through the holes of my canvas tennis shoes while hoeing and yanking unwanted plants from Dad’s soybean fields and on my cousin John’s farm.
Today I instruct my husband not to pull or mow any milkweed plants in our Faribault yard. Randy understands their value, even if he didn’t walk beans on his childhood farm. He more than made up for that lack of field work by picking way more rocks than I ever did. Morrison County in central Minnesota sprouts a bumper crop of rocks compared to my native Redwood County, where I also picked rocks.
A milkweed about to open. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But back to milkweeds. I love the scent of the dusty rose-colored common milkweed. So if you drive by my Faribault home or walk through River Bend Nature Center or Central Park or past Buckham Memorial Library and see me dipping my nose into a cluster of milkweed flowers, that’s why.
As summer progresses, I’m curious to see how many monarchs soar among the milkweeds in the tangled messes of plants that define my untamed flowerbeds. Thankfully our next door neighbor appreciates milkweeds also and is OK if the wind carries seeds onto his property.
Fireflies glow in the garden art honoring my nephew Justin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’ve already seen fireflies aplenty in our backyard, which abuts a wooded hillside. And recently, while driving home in the early dark of a summer evening, Randy and I saw hundreds of fireflies lighting up grassy road ditches. It was truly magical, reminding me of childhood sightings and of Eric Carle’s children’s picture book, The Very Lonely Firefly. I had a copy for my kids, battery included to light up firefly illustrations. And, until it stopped working, I had a solar-powered firefly garden sculpture honoring my nephew Justin, who loved light and fireflies and died at age 19 in 2001 of Hodgkins disease.
Often what we love is about much more than simply whatever we love. I see, in writing this story, that my love of milkweeds, monarchs and fireflies connects to memories. Summer memories. Farm memories. Family memories. These are the stories we carry within us, that help define who we are, whether we consider a milkweed to be a weed, or a flower.
TELL ME: What simple summer things delight you and why?
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Courageous crocuses April 9, 2026
Tags: blossoms, cold, commentary, crocus, crocuses, flowers, Minnesota, nature, seasons, spring, spring flowers, winter
EACH SPRING THEY EMERGE, poking through a layer of dried leaves mulching my front flowerbed.
When I spot the tender green shoots of crocuses, I feel a surge of optimism that winter is winding down. However, as a life-long Minnesotan, I also tamp my excitement. Snow falls in April here and sometimes in May. And these crocuses were bursting already in late March.
Days after I removed the leaves, exposing the crocuses to sunshine and air, they grew quickly. Soon purple blossoms spread wide, revealing golden centers like spots of sunshine.
I delight in the shades of purple, notice the lines tracing the petals, the way the flowers hug the ground as if also tentative about the season.
This first flower of spring seems to me courageous. Braving the cold of Minnesota, determined to reach the sunshine, to make a strong statement of hope that the cold and dark of winter will give way to warmth and light.
TELL ME: I’d like to hear your first flower of spring story.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling