Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Scenic southeastern Minnesota on a Sunday afternoon in autumn September 30, 2012

West of Faribault on Sunday afternoon.

I NEVER TIRE OF IT. Never. Autumn in Minnesota is stunningly beautiful. Stunning.

A Sunday afternoon drive took my husband and me west of our Faribault home along Cedar Lake Boulevard and then on Old Dodd Road, all the way to Kilkenny.

Lake Francis, Elysian

From the Irish settlement, we continued west and then south and west and south and, well, I don’t navigate, until we entered Elysian from the north.

Tetonka Lake, Waterville

We then aimed back east and north along a dusty gravel road and then a tar road to Waterville.

Northeast of Waterville.

We traveled through the North Morristown area and, nearing Faribault, skirted Cannon Lake on the north and east.

It was, for us, a leisurely horseshoe drive to view lovely Autumn, dressed in her Sunday best.

North and east of Waterville somewhere, maybe closer to North Morristown.

A lovely treeline somewhere on the eastern end of our route.

Along Seventh Street in Faribault….my community has stunning autumn colors along many, many residential streets.

A block away up the hill from my house are some of the most blazing gorgeous trees in town lining Second Avenue Southwest by Bethlehem Academy.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Photo pops of pink & orange September 21, 2012

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Zinnias

PINK AND ORANGE. Not until recent years would I have mixed those colors or considered them an appropriate combination.

Cosmos

Are you kidding? Pink and orange. Together.

Zinnia

But now I revel in the unleashing of creativity in color pairings, a loosening of the choking tie of conservatism and matchy-match this and that.

Zinnia

It’s freeing, isn’t it, to realize everything—from our homes to our gardens, from our paintings to our photos—doesn’t need to be Martha Stewart-like perfect.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The winter whisperers September 8, 2012

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I CAN HEAR THEM. The whisperers.

They rustle through the cornfields, fingertips brushing brittle leaves.

They swish through the tall prairie grasses, hips not just swaying, but sashaying, in the bending breeze.

Their voices drone like a billion buzzing busy bees.

In the woods, I strain to hear them as my flip flops crunch leaves strewn upon the path. I know they are there, hiding among the trees.

When two bikers pedal past me, the whisperers think I cannot hear them whispering. But I can.

At 4:28 in the morning, when the owl’s hoot awakens me from sleep, I cannot hear the whisperers. But I feel their chilling presence slide through the open bedroom window, brushing my bare shoulders with icy fingers.

They cloak themselves in glorious golden robes…

hide among the grasses…

tempt me with wine.

Their distractions and disguises don’t fool me. I hear them whispering of winter in these early days of autumn.

FYI: All of these photos, except the vineyard and the cornfield, were taken at the River Bend Nature Center in Faribault on Monday, September 3. The other two were shot a day earlier east of Waterville.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Color my world with flowers May 24, 2012

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Tables packed with colorful flowers fill the Faribault Garden Center.

HOT PINK, royal purple, bold orange, golden yellow, pale peach…seemingly every imaginable hue blankets the greenhouse in a riotous patchwork quilt of blossoms.

I stand there. Blissful. Smiling. Taking it all in.

How can I possibly choose where to aim my camera first, which blossom to dip my nose into, which plant to admire?

Hot pink geraniums initially catch my eye.

It is impossible not to be happy in a place like this, to want to swoop up the old standby geraniums and petunias, to grab packets of dainty, sweet-smelling alyssum, to corral containers of impatiens onto a cart, to choose the crimson bloodroot plant, to want it all, to fill my yard with color and beauty.

A row of hanging baskets filled with begonias stretches across the greenhouse.

A Minnesota winter, albeit a mild one this year, does this to me. Not even the vibrant and bold polyester patchwork quilt that warms me from November to April is enough to satisfy my visual need for color. By May, my soul, my eyes, my very being yearns for nature to color my world.

A colorful King Kong coleus.

A snippet of the vibrant polyester patchwork quilt my paternal grandmother stitched for me so many seasons ago.

More vivid blooms…

The non-descript Faribault Garden Center, where I photographed all of these flowers.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Lovin’ Minnesota green May 18, 2012

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After a recent hail storm, maple leaves littered my patio. The contrast of green against gray, nature against man-made, struck me. I increased the hue saturation in the green to show the details in the leaf and to create a more artsy image. BTW, as a teen, my bedroom was painted lime green, like this leaf.

GIVE ME GREEN. Not money, although I would accept that. But color.

Vibrant, 1970s hippy lime green.

Dark green as deep as the shadowed forest.

The earthy green of unfurling corn leaves poking through soil.

Mixed shades of green massed in a hillside of trees set against the brooding skies of a moody May evening in rural Minnesota.

I couldn’t take my eyes off this scene northeast of Medford on a recent Monday evening. The lines of light and dark broken by that mass of trees appealed to me visually. And the lighting, oh, the lighting. Perfect. This was shot while my husband and I were traveling along a county road.

Grass green slicing across a field.

The soft sage of dried herbs.

Any green will do.

TELL ME, WHAT hue holds your heart?

Along the same county road near Medford, this near-barren field, sliced by that line of green grass, caught my eye as did the foreboding sky and the light, oh, the luscious light of early evening.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The uncooperative Sphinx moth May 14, 2012

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The wings of the white-lined Sphinx moth beat non-stop in a blur of motion as it feeds on the nectar of Superbells.

IF I DIDN’T KNOW BETTER, I would have thought it a hummingbird, this rapid wing-beating insect that swooped into my yard Sunday afternoon, drinking the sweet nectar of the pink-striped Calibrachoa.

Often confused with a hummingbird, this white-lined Sphinx moth whips its wings at up to 85 beats per second.

No wonder I found photographing this fascinating creature an incredible challenge. Perched on a step ladder at near eye level with a hanging flower basket I’d gotten for Mother’s Day just hours earlier, I tried to focus my lens on the energetic moth. I mean, honestly, could the moth simply just hover in one spot for maybe a minute?

It didn’t help either that the wind swayed the basket and that I’m a teeny bit afraid of anything with flapping wings. When the moth circled my head and seemed to take an interest in the floral-patterned shirt I was wearing, I grew a little nervous.

And then the husband, unbeknown to me, grabbed at my pant leg. I screamed. He laughed. The moth zoomed away.

Later, I would read online that the Sphinx moth, since it has no ears, could not possibly have been frightened by my screech. Rather the quick jerk of my camera and my rapid descent from the ladder likely temporarily caused the moth to exit from the patio premises.

Apparently, though, the lure of that sweet nectar was too much as the moth returned. I climbed onto the ladder again and then tried some under the basket shots until the moth, seemingly intoxicated by all that drinking, zig zagged towards the woods.

Aiming up from under the flower basket, I captured the Sphinx moth zoning in on a blossom.

Another down under, looking up shot showing the moth’s proboscis dipping into the flower for a sip of nectar.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN, or tried to photograph, a Sphinx moth?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

May flowers May 10, 2012

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An allium bud.

THE FIRST FLOWERS of spring always draw me close with my camera to bend and crouch and ponder how I might photograph buds and/or petals in a way that seems anything but ordinary.

I study buds clasped so tight I wonder how they will ever release. I marvel in delicate petals and the green of leaves and stems and in coiled fiddleheads.

Bleeding hearts

Every spring flower, from the first jolts of lemon-hued daffodils to the vibrant red and yellow tulips and now the pink of dainty bleeding hearts and the lavender of long-stemmed waving allium, pulls me close. Yes, even the dandelions.

A dandelion gone to seed.

As we transition into May in Minnesota, I consider the annuals I will pot, the seeds I will sow in flower beds and the perennials yet to bloom in the heat and humidity of long summer days.

This truly is the time of year when all seems brighter and greener and, oh, so full of promise.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Morel Madness in Minnesota May 9, 2012

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This morel measures about eight inches high.

MY SISTER, LANAE, and her husband, Dale, were giddy as two kids in a candy store when Dale walked in with the net bag plumped with a dozen morels.

Lanae grabbed her camera. I grabbed mine. And we photographed the largest morels I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen many of these tasty mushrooms…but the tallest, an eight-inch high chunky morel, certainly impressed me.

It’s been a bumper crop year for morels in Minnesota, according to my brother-in-law, who has been hunting for this savory spring treat since he was a kid growing up in southwestern Iowa. He remembers piling into the family car afer church on hot, humid mornings and heading to the wooded hills west of Defiance to search for morels.

Dale lives in southeastern Minnesota now and, through the years, has uncovered morel hotbeds. He revealed the location of his latest find—within a half hour of his Waseca home—and then instructed me, with a grin spreading across this face, that he’d have to kill me if I shared the specific location.

My lips are zipped.

However, Dale offered this publishable tip to finding morels: on the south side of wooded hillsides where there are dead elms or where elms once grew.

I didn’t realize just how serious my brother-in-law is about this morel business until he sat down at his laptop and clicked onto morels.com, an online community bulletin board/information center for “Morel Madness 2012.” Here you can see photos of the latest morel finds and, surprisingly, even find out where to find morels. Or you can inquire about buying and selling.

Dale tells me morels were selling recently for $20 – $35 a pound on Craig’s list and eBay.

While earlier this spring my sister and her husband bought morels, they have plenty of their own now. A week ago Saturday Dale harvested some 65 morels from one location. Morels are sprouting two weeks earlier and are more abundant than normal this year, probably due to the unseasonably warm April, he speculates. The season has nearly ended now.

But this morel-loving couple will still be eating mushrooms into the summer and beyond as Dale dehydrates them. For now, this pair savors fresh morels, sauteed in butter. Lanae even saves the butter and reuses it to fry eggs, to make grilled cheese sandwiches and to put on asparagus. The butter has a “nice nutty flavor,” she says.

All of this morel show-and-tell got me interested in morels, which I found once perhaps two decades ago in the woods behind my house. I’ll admit, though, to a bit of nervousness over identifying morels.

Dale showed me a photo of a poisonous false morel and then offered this advice: “If it ain’t hollow, don’t swallow.”

Translate that to mean that edible morels are hollow inside. If you click here to Mushroom-Appreciation.com, you’ll find even more useful identification tips. I wouldn’t want you heading into the woods uninformed.

Perhaps next year my brother-in-law will allow me to join him on a morel hunt, if I promise not to photograph anything specific to give away his secret location.

Dale’s latest stash of morels, harvested on Saturday morning near his Waseca home.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The gifts of the daffodil March 21, 2012

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The clutch of daffodils now blooming in my front yard flower bed.

NOTHING COMPARES to the daffodil. Bright. Cheery. A burst of brilliance in a dreary landscape of muted browns and grays.

Like an island in the vast sea or an oasis in the desolate desert, the daffodil provides a welcome respite for the winter weary sojourner’s eyes.

She holds the promise of spring unfurling in her petals, of sunshine-filled days ahead, of the earth erupting in new growth.

She causes me to smile and think of May baskets woven from construction paper and jumping rope and leg-kicking toward the sky upon a weathered board swing.

Simply put, the daffodil makes me happy.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Lessons in gathering sap & making maple syrup on a summery day March 19, 2012

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THE GATHERING OF MAPLE SAP at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault looked nothing like this on Sunday. Obviously, harvesting methods have changed since this vintage photo was taken. But so has the weather.

A copy of an historic photo displayed inside a teepee at River Bend Nature Center showed how sap was once harvested. Typically, there's still snow on the ground during the sap run.

Nature Center visitors (many clad in capris/shorts, t-shirts, flip flops and sandals) gathered to learn about making maple syrup on an unseasonably warm and snow-free afternoon more like June than March. This isn’t exactly sap-flowing weather with record day-time high temperatures near 80 and overnight temps well above freezing. Night-time temps need to dip below freezing for best sap yields.

Yet, the glum prospects for a bountiful sap harvest didn’t stop Nature Center volunteers and staff from leading visitors into the woods for a hands-on lesson in tapping trees.

I busied myself taking photos while volunteer Diane walked us through the steps of selecting and tapping a tree. My husband and I passed on the opportunity to participate, instead allowing brothers Alex and Aaron and their mom, Betsy, from south Minneapolis to step up and get the sap flowing.

Alex took his turn drilling a hole into the maple tree.

Almost immediately after the drill bit was pulled from the hole, the clear sap started running from the spile.

Volunteer Diane checks placement of the bag, usually three per tree, hung to collect sap. About 40 gallons of raw sap produce one gallon of syrup.

Besides the actual tapping process, we learned that sap runs up the tree, not down. I suppose that makes sense now that I think about it.

Later, after we’d tapped our tree and set the collection bag in place, we wandered over to the evaporator where staffer Elaine told us about boiling the water off the sap.

Nature Center staffer Elaine shows visitors four syrup samples and asks which would be sweeter. Typically the lighter-colored one. She also explained the process of boiling away the water in the wood-fired evaporator. Summer attire was the dress code of the day for most, with only a few exceptions.

For any would-be maple syrup makers, here’s the tip of the day from Elaine: “Do not do this in your kitchen. All the steam is sticky.” A good tip for those of us, too, who are photographers and like to get close to the action.

Before we headed over to the final station and a lesson in how Native Americans harvested and processed sap, we sampled homemade maple syrup. It was much thicker, darker and sweeter than the near colorless, runnier maple syrup I tasted last year at the farm of a Faribault area syrup maker. The sap’s sugar content and the cooking process can all affect the end product. I’d choose real maple syrup any day over imitation.

Samples of homemade maple syrup. Pure, delightful sweetness.

Inside the teepee, copies of vintage photos and books on maple syrup were available for visitors to peruse.

Over at the final station, near a teepee set up in the woods, we learned that Native Americans used hollowed-out elderberry sticks as spiles (spigots) and collected sap in waterproof birch baskets.

Much more information was shared. But since I was photographing scenes, I wasn’t taking notes. I figure if you really want to know the ins and outs of making maple syrup, you can research that yourself or attend a hands-on event.

If you want to sample River Bend’s homemade maple syrup, plan to attend the annual Pancake Brunch from 10:30 a.m. – 1 p.m. on Sunday, April 29. The event also includes an early morning Maple Syrup Fun Run (5K run and 1M walk). The top male and female adult and youth runners will each receive a bottle of River Bend maple syrup. Now how’s that for a sweet prize?

CLICK HERE for more information about the Maple Syrup Fun Run and Pancake Brunch.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling