Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by 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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 2:53 PM
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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

 

Another beautiful day dawns in Minnesota March 17, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:18 AM
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I raked leaves from flower beds on Friday.

SATURDAY MORNING, 7:15, and already the day holds the promise of record temperatures and of sunshine interlaced with rain showers.

I can smell spring in the undeniable, distinct scent of cold earth turned to the sun, of leaves air drying.

The morning air snaps with a briskness sweeping through the open kitchen door to curl around my bare feet.

I can hear the incessant, piercing whistle of a cardinal calling for a mate too early on a weekend.

My neighbors’ windows are still shuttered to the day, their eyes closed in sleep to this beautiful morning that unfolds.

But I’ve been awake for several hours as seems my habit these days. As I ponder the hours that stretch before me, I glance out the window, see the flashing lights of an ambulance, the golden globe of the sun, a red pick-up pulling a boat.

Turning back to my computer, I wonder what my day will hold. Yesterday drew me outdoors to rake deep layers of leaf mulch from flower beds, to clip back hydrangea. I worry that I may be pushing the season, exposing the new growth of perennials to the frost that is certain to come. Yet, I could not leave these plants buried, struggling to push through the leaves, emerging weak-stemmed and yellow.

The leaves are bagged now and shoved into garbage cans lining the limestone path my husband laid years ago from the backyard patio to the side yard gate.

Last evening we dined on the patio, at a card table topped with a vintage floral tablecloth. My husband carried out the homemade pizza and the mugs of beer, our usual Friday night fare.

As we savored the chicken barbecue ranch pizza, I considered that this must be a first for us—dining on our patio in mid March. In Minnesota.

Friday night alfresco dining in Minnesota, in March.

Around 5 p.m. Friday, I photographed the sun slipping behind the wooded hillside that abuts my backyard. I positioned myself to shoot the sun through a gap in branches on a single tree.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Take this weather, California March 16, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:10 AM
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Daffodils, the first flowers of spring in Minnesota, are springing up during this unseasonably warm March weather.

OH, HOW I TRIED, resisted, told myself not to write on this topic. But I have finally given in to an indisputable Minnesotan urge to discuss the weather.

I will not, cannot, apologize for this geographical predisposition. Weather is always a topic of conversation in Minnesota. Too hot. Too humid. Too cold. Too dry. Too wet. Just like Goldilocks, we are never quite satisfied until…we get weather like this…

…recent string of sunshine-filled mid-March days with temperatures soaring into the 60s and 70s. Typically the weather this time of year is cold, snowy and gloomy, the landscape bleak and depressing.

I suppose we would all feel more grateful if this had been a long cold winter with mountains of snow and sub-zero temperatures. Remember last winter? This season my husband has used our snowblower only once. And this week, as I survey my neighborhood, I spot not a speck of snow, not even under trees or in the north side shade of buildings.

Rather, I see joggers and mothers pushing babies in strollers and a gym class of students running past my house.

I spy tulips and daffodils poking their folded leaves several inches through the soil. I’ve tossed the decaying mulch leaves of autumn from crocuses teasing me with peeks of purple. And Tuesday evening, on a whim, I picked up a packet of spinach seeds. Tell me, is it too soon to sow spinach?

If this weather holds, I expect my crocuses will soon be in bloom, like these I photographed last spring.

I’ve thrown open the windows, allowing the fresh air to sweep indoors, pushing out the closed-up stale air of winter.

Laundry goes out on the line nearly every day now, although I must qualify that even when temps are in the 30s, I hang freshly-washed clothes outside, if the sun is shining. Nature’s dryer will dry clothes in the strong afternoon sunshine of a frigid winter day.

My son has asked me to replace the flannel sheets on his bed with light-weight cotton ones. I’m keeping the cozy flannel on my bed. He is 18; I am 37 ½ years wiser.

My eldest daughter flew out to southwestern California this morning, right into a winter storm predicted to bring significant rain and cold to the West Coast this weekend. So much for warm and sunny California.

How about warm and sunny Minnesota? Eighty degrees predicted today here in Faribault.

A pussy willow snipped on Wednesday from a neighbor's yard.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Moody March in Minnesota March 8, 2012

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An abandoned farmhouse along Minnesota State Highway 19 east of Vesta on the southwestern Minnesota prairie.

WINTER IN MINNESOTA this time of year and in November often seems stripped of color, a drab world of black-and-white mimicking the melancholy mood of those who wish only for spring.

So it takes some effort to appreciate this month of March which can’t quite decide whether to pursue spring or linger awhile yet in winter.

One day she’s dark and brooding, the next bright and cheery. Understanding her mood swings can be a challenge.

Sometimes you just have to accept who she is and realize that even in her colorless world, a certain sense of beauty prevails.

An aging windmill and a cluster of old buildings define this picturesque farm site along Minnesota State Highway 60 just west of Waterville in southeastern Minnesota.

The sweeping curves in the field drew my eye to photograph this scene west of Waterville along State Highway 60.

A lone tree along Minnesota State Highway 60 between Faribault and Waterville on a brooding March morning.

Farm sites mark the landscape along a back county road between New Ulm and Morgan.

All of these images were taken last Saturday morning from a moving vehicle while traveling through southern Minnesota. Each has been edited to create a more artsy, earthy feel.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

On the road to Fargo, where sky meets land February 20, 2012

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Only 192 miles to Fargo, North Dakota. We've already driven 93.

SKY. That single word defines a road trip from Faribault to Fargo.

Don’t talk miles and time to me. Talk sky.

Once past the St. Cloud exit along Interstate 94, you start noticing the sky, how, the farther west you travel, the larger it becomes until the sheer immensity of that above overwhelms that below.

Sky meets land somewhere westbound along Interstate 94 toward Fargo.

For those who live in the confines of the city, where buildings and masses of streets and highways pull the sky downward and ground it, the vastness of the skies can unsettle the spirit and create a sense of vulnerability. You can’t help but feel exposed under brooding clouds and a sky that stretches into a distance without end.

Interstate 94 sometimes seems to run right into the sky as you drive west.

Yet, for me, a prairie native, there’s a certain sense of calm that comes from traveling into the sky. Because that is what you do when driving west from Minnesota toward the Dakotas. You drive into the sky.

After an initial awareness that you really are incredibly small compared to that above, you begin to notice the details. Or at least I begin to appreciate the details—like the hard edge where sky meets land, the ever-changing skyscape as clouds shift and the day wanes, the nuances in colors and texture that define firmament and field.

Power lines set against the backdrop of the sky provide a visual vertical respite for the eyes.

It is as if you’ve brushed yourself right into a landscape painting.

And I can’t get enough of it, of the strong horizontal lines that sweep across my vision, reconnecting me to my prairie past.

The landscape: flat and into forever near Fargo/Moorhead.

The ever-changing clouds blend with the rural landscape.

As the sun sets, the sky broods.

The sharp contrast of black and white against blue pleases my eyes.

Fence lines and farms slice through the land.

A church spire in the distance draws my eye in this place where my soul reconnects to the prairie.

ALL OF THESE IMAGES were taken with my DSLR camera, set at a fast shutter speed, while traveling along Interstate 94. Check back for more posts from this trip to Fargo.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Three bald eagles on a Sunday February 19, 2012

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AS OBSERVANT AS I AM, and I’m quite detail-oriented, I don’t profess to have an eagle eye. That would be my husband. Randy possesses an uncanny ability to notice birds of prey in the wild.

A few weeks ago he pointed out an owl perched on a fence post as we traveled along a state highway around dusk. He’s always spotting hawks circling overhead, riding the wind.

See the two eagles in the distant trees here on the west side of State Highway 13 near Waseca?

But this time, this past Sunday afternoon, he saw two bald eagles in a stand of trees several miles north of Waseca along Minnesota State Highway 13. Now typically nothing much raises Randy’s demeanor to a level of excitement. However, he was excited enough to swing our van into a U-turn, backtrack to the grove of trees and pause so he could gawk.

Although we’d seen eagles in the wild before, we’d never seen them this close—about 60 feet away horizontally and another 30 feet away vertically.

Parked along the wide shoulder of the highway, I shot this image of the eagles.

Stopping within feet of a deer carcass, the road kill that we figure drew the eagles to this grove of trees, Randy watched the birds while I photographed, wishing all the time for a telephoto lens.

After our brief eagle-watching, we continued on to Morristown, missed our turn and spotted another bald eagle. This time I requested we backtrack because I was, by then, already formulating this blog post in my mind.

We had just passed Veterans Memorial Park, a new memorial to veterans in this Rice County town of 1,000 residents. It features a bald eagle as the focal point.

This time, without highway traffic passing dangerously close, I exited the van and captured close up our nation’s majestic symbol of freedom.

The bald eagle, flanked by flags, at the vets park in Morristown.

A broad view of the new memorial, which includes pavers honoring veterans.

Shooting into the sun, I took this shot of the memorial eagle.

HAVE YOU EVER seen a bald eagle in the wild? Tell me about your experience.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A Minnesota prairie native discovers a ship docked in the Wisconsin woods January 26, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:48 AM
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I GREW UP on the southwestern Minnesota prairie, a mostly flat land vertically-interrupted only by small-town grain elevators and water towers, by silos and groves of trees hugging farm sites.

I never felt hemmed in. How could I feel confined under an endless sky in a land that stretches into forever, nearly unbroken before your eyes?

Perhaps that will help you understand why I sometimes struggle with trees. I’m not talking a tree here, a tree there, but trees packed so tight that they become a forest. Dense. Black. Blocking views. I need to, have to, see the land spreading wide before me if I’m exposed for too long to miles of thick woods.

Likewise, I prefer my land flat.

All of that said, time and age and exposure to geography beyond the prairie have resolved some of those space and landscape issues for me. I can, within limits, appreciate terrain that rolls and rises, trees that clump into more than a shelter belt around a farmhouse.

I can appreciate, too, geological anomalies like Ship Rock, a natural formation jutting out of seemingly nowhere from the trees that crowd State Highway 21 in Adams County near Coloma in central Wisconsin.

Ship Rock is located next to Wisconsin Highway 21 in the central part of the state.

Whenever I pass by Ship Rock, which has been numerous times since my second daughter moved to Appleton, Wisconsin, in December 2010, I am awestruck by this isolated pinnacle of Cambrian sandstone. Finally, this past summer, my husband, teenaged son and I stopped to climb around the base of the rock cropping and to photograph it (me mostly photographing rather than climbing).

Ship Rock rises from the flat landscape, a surprise in the Wisconsin woods.

My husband walks across the rocks below the looming Ship Rock.

If you can ignore the distracting graffiti, then you can appreciate the nuances of the mottled stone, the ferns that tuck into crevices, the surprise of this Ship Rock docked in the most unexpected of places. The rock formation truly does resemble a ship.

I am surprised by the ferns that grow in the tight spaces between rocks.

Grass sweeps between rocks in this August 2011 image taken at Ship Rock.

A month ago while traveling past Ship Rock, I snapped a photo. The ship seemed forlorn and exposed among the deciduous trees stripped of their summer greenery. Yet she also appeared threatening, a looming presence rising dark and foreboding above the land awash in snow.

I could appreciate her, even if she wasn’t a grain elevator or a water tower, a silo or a cluster of trees breaking a prairie vista.

Ship Rock, photographed from the passenger window of our van at highway speeds in December.

CLICK HERE for more information about Adams County, Wisconsin.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling