Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Reflections on a prairie sunset June 30, 2013

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Sunset on the prairie

WE STOOD ALONG THE EDGE of the gravel road Saturday evening, my 13-year-old nephew and I, mesmerized by the glorious golden sun pinking the sky above and below a layer of blue grey.

I raised my camera. He lifted his phone. We snapped several photos, compared, wished for better zooms to photograph the prairie sky north of Lamberton in southwestern Minnesota.

Sunset on the prairie 2

“It’s what I miss most about this place, the sunrise and the sunset,” I said.

“And the stars,” Stephen added.

Sun and stars.

He was right. The stars, too.

Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The Leaning Tree of Tower Place June 27, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:17 AM
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YOU HAVE NOT PLUMMETED down a rabbit hole, dear readers.

I turned my camera until the tree was "growing straight."

I turned my camera until the tree was “growing straight.”

But you are viewing an ash tree that, if growing straight and tall, would make your world appear off kilter.

This tree, a block from my house on Tower Place in Faribault, worries me. The laws of gravity and the forces of nature tell me this ash is destined to topple right onto the street.

The ash looms over Tower Place.

The ash looms over Tower Place.

I can only hope this does not occur when:

A) A motorist is passing under the ash.

B) A child is walking home from school.

C) Someone is walking/his her dog

D) A walker is out for a walk.

E) All of the above.

Arborist types out there, is there genuine reason for concern, especially given the recent heavy rainfall which has left the soil saturated?

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering the June 13, 1968, killer tornado in Tracy, Minnesota June 10, 2013

Eric Lantz, 16, of Walnut Grove, shot this award-winning photo of the Tracy tornado as it was leaving town. He often took photos for the Walnut Grove Tribune, owned by his uncle, Everett Lantz. This image by Eric was awarded third place in the 1968 National Newspaper Association contest for best news photo.

Eric Lantz, then 16, of Walnut Grove, shot this award-winning photo of the Tracy tornado as it was leaving town on June 13, 1968. He often took photos for the Walnut Grove Tribune, owned by his uncle, Everett Lantz. This image by Lantz was awarded third place in the 1968 National Newspaper Association contest for best news photo. Copyrighted photo is courtesy of Scott Thoma with original copyright retained by Lantz.

TORNADO WARNING. Those two weather words, more than any other, cause me to panic. For good reason.

I was not quite twelve when an F5 tornado, with wind speeds surpassing 300 mph, struck the nearby community of Tracy on June 13, 1968. The twister left nine dead, 125 injured and buildings demolished.

I remember, a day or two afterward, our family piling into our Chevy for the 25-mile drive through southwestern Minnesota farm country to view the devastation. Twisted trees. Flattened homes and businesses. Boxcars haphazardly tossed.

This photo by the Tracy Headlight Herald shows a damaged boat and overturned car sitting atop the rubble after the Tracy tornado.

This photo by the Tracy Headlight Herald shows a damaged boat and overturned car sitting atop the rubble after the Tracy tornado. Photo courtesy of Scott Thoma.

A catastrophic scene like that impresses upon a young mind a deep fear and respect for the power of a tornado.

Added to the visual impact was my father’s spotting of the tornado from our farm those many miles to the north and east as he did the evening milking. He thought the twister was much nearer. Decades later, a less severe tornado would hit the farm place, and the community, where I grew up. Two summers ago, severe winds also ravaged my hometown of Vesta.

This Thursday, the residents of Tracy and others will gather to commemorate the 45th anniversary of the Tracy tornado touchdown.

The photo by Eric Lantz illustrates the cover of Scott Thoma's just-published book.

The photo by Eric Lantz illustrates the cover of Scott Thoma’s book.

Tracy native Scott Thoma of Willmar, who wrote Out of the Blue, a book about the Tracy tornado, is among those on the Tracy Tornado Memorial Committee and the coordinator for Thursday’s program. The June 13 event will feature an evening of remembrance and fundraising and a coming together of community.

At 7:03 p.m., the moment the killer twister touched down in Tracy, attendees will honor the nine who died with a moment of silence in Central Park. Thoma will read their names and a bell will toll for each: Ella Haney, 84; Mildred Harnden, 75; Barbara Holbrook, 50; Ellen Morgan, 75; Fred Pilatus, 71; Paul Swanson, 60; Walter Swanson, 47; Nancy Viahos, 2; and Otelia Werner, 75.

Longtime resident, the Rev. Homer Dobson, will “say a few words,” Thoma says.

A photographer for the Tracy Headlight Herald captured this scene at the demolished Tracy Elementary School.

A photographer for the Tracy Headlight Herald captured this scene at the demolished Tracy Elementary School. Photo courtesy of Scott Thoma.

I expect the commemoration will be an emotional event, and rightly so. Even with the passage of nearly five decades, grief lingers. And each time a tornado devastates a community and lives are lost, such as in Moore, Oklahoma (struck, like Tracy, by an F5), memories resurface, fear rises.

Besides remembering the nine, the community will continue raising funds for a new tornado memorial to replace the one falling into disrepair. Over $10,000 have been raised with about $5,000 more needed for the six-foot high black granite monument that will sit along U.S. Highway 14 near the “Tornado Tree” sculpture. That steel tree, built in 1989, replicates the original tornado tree, a gnarled elm that withstood the forces of the twister.

An artist's rendering of the tornado monument. The words on the bench will read "Tracy Tornado Monument" and an engraving of Eric Lantz's tornado photo will be etched below the clock and above the story. Image courtesy of Scott Thoma.

An artist’s rendering of the tornado monument. The words on the bench will read “Tracy Tornado Monument” and an engraving of Eric Lantz’s tornado photo will be etched below the clock and above the story. Image courtesy of Scott Thoma.

The new three-sided marker will feature the story of the tornado and a well-known photo by Eric Lantz etched on the front, according to Thoma. Names and ages of the tornado victims will be listed on another side. And on the back side, visitors will find a stone bench.

On all three sides, a clock will be etched into the stone, stopped at 7:03 p.m., the time the tornado reached the Tracy city limits.

The memorial is expected to be done this summer and unveiled during Boxcar Days, an annual community celebration, on September 2.

In the meantime, there’s still memorial money to be raised and Thoma is doing his part, donating $3 to the monument fund for every book sold. He is selling Out of the Blue from 11 a.m. – 3 p.m. Thursday at the Tornado Tree Memorial along Highway 14. Root beer floats will also be available with all proceeds directed to the memorial.

Thoma will talk about the tornado and his book at 4 p.m. at the Tracy Library. I read and reviewed Out of the Blue a year ago and you can read that review by clicking here.

As is customary with most small town events, there’s a meal involved in the Tracy tornado anniversary. Folks will gather at the fire hall from 5 p.m. – 8 p.m. for a “freewill donation potluck supper,” Thoma says. The Tracy Community Band plays at 7 p.m. across the street in Central Park. And at 8 p.m., somewhere in town, the Tracy Library will show the movie Twister.

If you’re interested in buying a copy of Out of the Blue and/or donating to the Tracy Tornado Memorial fund, email Thoma at scott@thomabooks.com or call (320) 894-6007.

You can also order his book online by clicking here.

If you lived through the Tracy tornado or have any stories to share about the storm, please submit a comment. I’d like to hear from you. Other comments are also welcome.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

After the rain June 5, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:16 AM
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AFTER THE LONGEST WINTER I can ever remember in Minnesota, we’re now enduring an especially cool and rainy spring. Clouds hang heavy. Rain drips, sometimes pours. It is enough to dampen the spirits of even the most optimistic among us.

Raindrops on hosta.

Raindrops on hosta.

So, on a recent evening, after yet another rain shower, I grabbed my camera to photograph post-rain details. This self-made assignment gave me reason to pause, to appreciate the beauty of a single raindrop.

An American flag complements million bells and a geranium in a pot near my front door.

An American flag complements million bells and a geranium in a pot near my front door.

Sometimes you truly must stop, reassess, give thanks that you are dealing only with clouds and rain and cold.  Not a tornado or floods or wildfires.

Romaine lettuce.

Romaine lettuce in the beautiful evening light.

Lovely spheres of Allium.

Lovely spheres of Allium.

Backyard bird bath.

Backyard bird bath.

Rain-shined hosta leaves.

Rain-shined hosta leaves.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Lilacs May 28, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:59 AM
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EACH MAY HE GIFTS me with the intoxicating scent of spring. A bouquet of lilacs, gathered from a bush in the park up the hill.

Lilac, 1 - Copy

Typically my husband stops on his way home from work, pulls a jacknife from the pocket of his greasy work pants, sometimes stands on the tips of his Red Wing work shoes to saw tough, determined stems clinging to a gnarly bush.

Lilac, close-up

But this year, on the eve he drove down the gravel road into the park, he found the lilacs still tight-closed, not yet ready to unfurl in the chill of a late spring.

Lilac, close-up 2 - Copy

A few days later, en route home from dinner out, I noticed lilacs in full bloom. Instead of turning into our driveway, Randy aimed uphill toward the park, entering past a group of teens playing Frisbee golf.

Lilac, 5 - Copy

I can only imagine their chatter as they witnessed us, in our white mini van, parked beside the lilac bush, Randy cutting lilac stems, me shooting photos.

Lilac, on table 1 - Copy

They do not understand yet—what it means to see your hardworking husband walk through the door each May with an armful of  lilacs, the spring blooms filling your home with the heady scent of love.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A photographic journey through the prairie to Fargo May 24, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:52 AM
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Rural scene, I94

ON THE WAY WEST TO FARGO, the land is wide, the sky big.

Rural scene, Sauk Centre

Fields and farm sites—punctuated by occasional cities, like Sauk Centre, Alexandria and Fergus Falls, and exits to small towns—once west of St. Cloud, define the Interstate 94 corridor leading northwest to the North Dakota border.

Rural scene, Downer sign

It is a place that can be both unsettling and freeing, depending on your perspective, your mood, your experiences.

Rural scene, farmhouse

Raised on the southwestern Minnesota prairie, even I am sometimes overwhelmed by the infinite spaciousness of this prairie, this sky.

Rural scene, lone tree

I ground myself with my camera, locking on scenes that root me to the earth, give me the security of feeling tethered.

Rural scenes, barn and silo

And when I do that, I notice the details of lines and shapes—in fence posts and grain bins, a lone farmhouse or a single tree, the angle of a barn roof or the vertical rise of a silo.

Rural, bins

I still feel small in this expanse. But I, at least, feel less lost in the vastness.

Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hope unfurls May 4, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 4:08 PM
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LAST WEEKEND, MY DAFFODILS bloomed, bright and brilliant in the first blush of spring.

Photographed Saturday afternoon, the seven inches of snow have mostly melted off my daffodils.

My daffodils, photographed Saturday afternoon, emerging from seven inches of disappearing snow.

Today they lie in a pathetic heap, heads bowed, even buried, in a veil of snow.

A tulip bud, bent to the snow.

A tulip bud, bent to the snow.

Nearby, tulip buds droop, leaves splayed, vulnerable to the frigid air and the rough crystals of melting snow in this endless winter.

Determined day lilies.

Determined day lilies.

In my backyard, determined day lilies soldier up through the snow.

Bendy raspberry branches in bud.

Bendy raspberry branches in bud.

A stone’s throw away, wild raspberries defy the weather, arcing branches, buds unfurling into the promise of spring.

A raspberry bud unfurling.

A raspberry bud unfurling.

Hope. I saw hope today that this longest of all winters may finally exit Minnesota.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Yes, Minnesota, there really is a spring April 23, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:44 AM
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ALLOW ME TO WEAVE a magical photo essay today, to sprinkle fairy dust into your eyes, to transport you from the snowy Minnesota landscape into a place of wondrous beauty and warmth.

If you truly believe, just as Virginia believed in Santa Claus, you will see spring.

Ready? Let’s go.

Greenhouse, fairy

A little fairy dust in the eyes

Greenhouse, exterior

and we enter the magical world of spring inside Donahue’s Greenhouse in Faribault.

Greenhouse, flowers and ferns

Here a spell is cast upon winter weary Minnesotans, some of whom load their carts with plants, unable to resist the overpowering pull of flowers in bloom.

 Greenhouse, yellow bloom

Blossoms unfurl, fooled into spring by the warmth of the greenhouse, the rare sunshine which graces this April day.

Greenhouse, gazing ball and geraniums

Gazing into the future, gardeners envision spring

Greenhouse, birds

with nesting birds

Greenhouse, seed packets

and soil warm enough to embrace seeds.

Greenhouse, blue flowers

They imagine delicate buds unfurling into graceful blossoms,

Greenhouse, broad view

defying winter in bursts of vibrant hues.

Greenhouse, close-up flowers and ferns

Everywhere, in this magical place, the sweet promise of spring prevails,

Greenhouse, baby sleeping

except on a shelf where fantasy vanishes in the face of truth.

Spring, my dear Minnesotans, exists only in our dreams.

THIS MORNING WE AWOKE to “a bunch of snow” (my husband’s measurement) here in Faribault, snow which began falling around 4 p.m. Monday and was still coming down when I went to bed around 11 p.m.  Snowfall guesstimate would be around six inches. The landscape looks similar to this scene (click here) from last Thursday, except with even more snow. Power lines and trees are frosted with the heavy, wet snow. And for awhile last night, probably less than 15 minutes, the power was off in my neighborhood.

The scene outside my office this morning, dear readers, looks nothing like spring and exactly like winter.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Tears on a Tuesday April 17, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:20 AM
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BETWEEN FORKSFUL of the ultimate comfort food, homemade mac and cheese, I am crying. Not just tears, but great sobs that heave my shoulders, force me to remove my eyeglasses, cause me to place my head between my hands, elbows resting upon the table.

Issues of the day—anger and disappointment, worry and concerns—have welled up within me to this bursting point of emotions.

My husband sits in silence, forking mac and cheese into his mouth while the torrent of words and tears releases. I wonder what he is thinking. Perhaps that his wife has momentarily lost it.

Sometimes, though, it is good to cry, to let it all out, to be true to yourself and how you are feeling.

I tell him, too, that I feel, in this moment, as grey as the day in this longest of Minnesota winters. I want to run away from the snow and the cold and the gloom, all of it. And I think then of my mother who occasionally uttered similar despair, her desire to just run away, away from the pressing responsibilities of raising six children. Her issues are not mine. And the concerns I feel on this day are not all that major, but too much for me on this Tuesday.

So, after supper, after the left-over comfort food has been scooped into a container and tucked into the refrigerator, after I’ve washed the dishes, I suggest a walk at the local nature center. I grab my camera, slip into my Sorels, pull a stocking cap onto my head, zip my sweatshirt.

Entering River Bend Nature Center, I eye the next-door prison with seemingly infinite scrolls of razor wire unfolding before me. The site is disconcerting. I am always troubled by the prison’s presence right next to the nature center.

But as our car follows the road that dips and curves past the pond and the woods and then zooms down the hill to the center’s parking lot, I can feel the easing of tension in my shoulders.

Deer cluster in the woods at Riverbend Nature Center, Faribault.

Deer cluster in the woods at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.

Then my husband spots the deer clustered in and on the edge of the woods and I slip from the car, leaving the door ajar so I can photograph them.

For the next hour there are no tears, no hurried worried words or thoughts, in this place of serenity.

These corn-fed deer show little fear.

These corn-fed deer show little fear.

Curious brown-eyed deer. Heads turned toward me, radar ears on alert.

Leaping across a path near the nature center parking lot.

Leaping across a path near the nature center parking lot.

Graceful leap of legs. The click of the shutter.

Last year's nest...

Last year’s nest…

Along the muddied trails, reflections of bare trees in puddles and promises of spring in green moss on dead logs. Last season’s nests bared by bare branches.

Geese on the prairie pond.

Geese on the prairie pond.

The trill of birds and the bark of geese in the swampland pond. Ripples in water. Golden sun setting. The swatch of red on a blackbird’s wings.

And in the prairie a weaving tunnel trail in the brown earth and the memories of this place waving in summer-time wildflowers and tall grass.

Day fades into evening at the nature center.

Day fades into evening at the nature center.

Here I find promise and hope in my evening of despair.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Buried in snow March 26, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:55 AM
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I WANTED TO VISIT his grave, touch the cold stone with my gloved hands, allow my eyes to linger on his name, to remember my dad, dead 10 years now on April 3.

A trip back to my hometown to visit my mom had thrown me into a temporary melancholy mood as I lounged on her loveseat, head crooked into a pillow, legs angled up as we talked about aging and death and funerals (too many recently).

When I mentioned that I’d often thought about the safety layers of generations separating me from death, my husband glanced at me like I was crazy. My 80-year-old mom understood, though.

The road past the Vesta Cemetery, which sits just outside of this southwestern Minnesota town of some 330.

The road past the Vesta Cemetery, left, which sits just outside of this southwestern Minnesota town of some 330. You can see a portion of Vesta’s grain complex to the right.

Later, she stayed back at her house while Randy and I drove out to the cemetery, to honor my dad whose gravesite I do not visit often enough because busyness and blizzards have kept me from the prairie in recent months.

We headed north out of town along Cemetery Road, tires crunching on gravel, toward the cemetery edged by evergreen trees. At my feet, the short black snowboots I’d borrowed from my mom bumped against my legs.

Some of the gravestones are barely peeking out of the snow.

Some of the gravestones are barely peeking out of the snow.

I wondered aloud whether the cemetery roads would be plowed of snow swept in by prairie winds. A few blocks later I spotted waves of snow washing over tombstones and roadways. I could not reach my dad’s grave without snowshoes or a snowmobile.

The closest I would get to my dad's grave was viewing the cemetery through t

The closest I would get to my dad’s grave was viewing the cemetery through the van windows.

We eased past the cemetery, drove down to the first farm place to the north, turned around in the driveway and crept past the cemetery again, back into town.

I carried my mom’s boots inside, snugged them into a corner of her kitchen, before reclaiming my place on her loveseat.

I told her about the tombstones buried in snow. Then we talked about dad’s funeral—the bitter cold of that April day, the cutting wind.

And I remembered, although I did not speak this, how I’d perched on a hard folding chair in that hilltop cemetery 10 years ago, leaned toward my mother shivering in cold and in grief, and wrapped my arm around her.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling