Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

“Standing at the Grave,” an immigration story November 21, 2025

My great grandparents, Rudolph and Mathilda Kletscher, married in 1891. (Photo source: Kletscher Family Tree 2008 produced by Merlin and Iylene Kletscher)

UNLESS WE ARE NATIVE AMERICANS, immigration is part of our family history. On my maternal side, Friedrich and Maria Bode arrived from Germany at the port of New Orleans in October 1852. They would settle in Illinois. Most of the family eventually moved to Minnesota. On my paternal side, my great grandfather, Rudolph Kletscher, landed in Baltimore from Germany in 1886, several years later journeying west to put down roots in southern Minnesota.

I pulled this information from pages of family history uncovered and compiled by family members who have researched our roots in Germany. I am grateful for their work, for the names, dates and places recorded for reference. Sometimes there are stories, or tidbits of stories. But mostly the research reveals documented facts only, not stories.

(Book cover sourced online)

It is the stories that interest me most, which explains my interest in reading Standing at the Grave—A Family’s Journey from the Grand Duchy of Posen to the Prairies of North Dakota by Minnesotan Gary Heyn. Books on Central in Faribault hosted Heyn on Thursday evening during a monthly literary event. I was among those in attendance, listening to Heyn read and then answer audience questions. I’d just finished reading his book about his ancestors who immigrated to America from Prussia (now Poland) beginning in 1867 shortly after the Civil War ended.

His ancestors could have been mine. Any of ours. Heyn took basic facts confirmed thorough research at the Minnesota History Center, church records, a Polish history website, old newspapers, even the National Weather Service and gleaned during several trips to Poland to form the foundation for his stories. The dialog and interactions are fictional slices of personal life in Prussia and then in America. Heyn’s characters really come alive when he reveals their fears, their worries, their hardships, griefs, challenges and more in intimate storytelling.

A tombstone in the Immanuel Lutheran Church Cemetery, Potsdam. The German word “LIEBE” means love in English. A Heyn family member is buried in this cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)

These are, at times, really hard stories. Of death by disease. Of death by accidents. Of death by suicide. Of death by botulism. I appreciate that the author doesn’t avoid tough topics. I understand the worries about weather and crop failure, vicariously stand at the graves of loved ones, recognize the depression a young mother experiences as she looks across the expansive North Dakota prairie, feeling isolated and alone.

But those difficult stories are balanced by the joys of births, of weddings, of the opportunity to claim land through the Homestead Act, to live and love and grow family in a new land rich in opportunity.

Main character, family matriarch Anna, follows her family to America many years after the first, eventually fulfilling her life-long dream of once again owning land, this time 160 acres in North Dakota. Most of the family found land in southern Minnesota, in the Rochester area where the author grew up and first heard the stories of his great grandmother. She lived with his childhood family. That sparked his interest in family history and genealogy, which, after his retirement as an accountant, led to writing Standing at the Grave.

Immanuel Lutheran Church, Potsdam. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)

Southern Minnesotans, especially, will feel at home in places like Elgin, Grand Meadow, Pleasant Valley, Owatonna and more. I’ve even visited and photographed Immanuel Lutheran Church in Potsdam, where Anna stood on the front steps and scanned the countryside below the hilltop church. I’ve walked the cemetery, where Heyn’s ancestor, Willie, lies buried in an unmarked grave.

As much as I appreciate the storytelling in this book, I also appreciate its relevancy to today. Heyn family members new to America in the late 1800s are told to speak English, not German. Sound familiar? (My own mother, who died at age 89 in 2023, spoke German as her first language.) These newcomers to America felt like foreigners, often choosing to live among others from their homeland. Among those who shared their language, culture and customs, who liked bier, sauerkraut, Weihnachtsstollen and Glühwein.

But in times of challenges, Heyn reveals in one story, “…the citizens of this neighborhood, born all across the globe, banded together to help another working man.” That coming together of many nationalities repeats in his book, even as conflicts arise.

A passenger ship list from the port of New Orleans. (Source: The Bode Family book by Melvin & Lois Bode, 1993)

Heyn, in his writing, reveals the challenges, the dreams, the hopes, the resilience and resolve of his immigrant ancestors. These were strong individuals who relied on each other, their faith and their inner strength to cross a vast ocean for a new life in America. This is their story, but also a universal story of immigration, as relatable today as then.

This book helped me better understand those who came before me from Germany to America from a personal perspective. This book also reminds me of the struggles immigrants still face today in America, especially today.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

On the road to Fargo through small town Minnesota December 6, 2024

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Only an hour from Faribault, we stopped in the Minnesota River town of Henderson so I could take photos. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

LATE NOVEMBER FOUND US on the road, first heading west 285 miles to Fargo, North Dakota, then back home to Faribault, and 1 ½ days later driving east 261 miles to Madison, Wisconsin. That’s a lot of windshield time for Randy and me in the span of one week.

But we did it and delighted in every aspect of our travel, except for the hour when I grew extremely hangry. More on that in a moment.

Henderson is an old river town with beautiful historic buildings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

We began our Fargo trip on back state highways and county roads, opting for a leisurely pace that would take us through small towns rather than zipping past everything on the interstate. We stopped whenever we wanted as we drove toward Morris, our day’s end destination and an overnight stay with Randy’s sister Vivian and husband, Jerry. The next day we would head to Fargo.

In the heart of small town Glencoe, Buffalo Creek Community Church rises. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Along the way to Morris, we did, indeed, stop. In Henderson, Glencoe, Cosmos, Willmar and Benson. The Willmar stop was solely to eat fast food. Not by choice, but out of necessity. Our plan to enjoy lunch at a small town cafe never materialized. I envisioned ordering a Beef Commercial (roast beef and mashed potatoes on white bread smothered with homemade gravy) while dining with locals in a cozy restaurant overlooking Main Street. That, it seems, is the stuff mostly of nostalgia. The small towns we drove through either did not have eateries or, if they did, were closed.

Abandoned vehicles outside what appears to be a former creamery in downtown Cosmos. Love the building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Most communities appear only shells of their former selves with abandoned buildings and few businesses. This is reality in many parts of rural Minnesota.

In Cosmos, the restaurant that was closed when we were in town. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Not even The Dive Bar & Grill in Cosmos was open over noon-time. It’s probably a fine place to eat, even given the unappealing name, but I’ll never know. I hopped out of our van to take numerous photos of space stuff in Cosmos, including the water tower, while Randy searched on his phone for places to eat. He knows I do not do well if I don’t eat on schedule. And I was not doing well, meaning I was irritable and grumpy. Extremely hangry.

Paintings on the underside of the Cosmos water tower celebrate the town name cosmic connection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

As we left Cosmos heading for Willmar, I realized we’d passed a gas station and convenience store. Why, oh, why didn’t we stop for a snack, a slice of pizza, something I could eat? Finally, in Willmar, I ate, wolfing down fries and a pot roast sandwich.

That evening, at my sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s Morris home, we enjoyed a delicious meal of ribs, cheesy potatoes, green beans and more with a grasshopper for dessert. Grasshopper being the minty green after dinner ice cream drink once served at supper clubs. What a treat. But even more so was the great conversation with much-loved family.

A view of the 300 block on North Broadway in Fargo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2012)

Saturday found us on the road to Fargo for the wedding of Hannah and Bryton. Hannah is the daughter of friends, a young woman I mentored in poetry as a teen. To attend her wedding, to see Hannah giddy in love, to watch her and her dad bustin’ dance moves in the father-daughter dance, to embrace Tammy and Jesse on their daughter’s wedding day filled me with absolute joy. Life on that day in Fargo, except for the cold and the snow already pushed into piles in parking lots, doesn’t get any better.

Sunday morning we arose early and hit the interstate, this time with the goal to simply get home. My brother-in-law had wisely handed me two granola bars, which I tucked inside my purse. Just in case I got hangry. I didn’t. But somewhere along I-94, either by Fergus Falls or Alexandria, I spotted a billboard for a restaurant with this singular message: “Hangry?” It was absolute validation for me that feeling irritable when hungry is a real thing. Next long road trip, I will be sure to pack snacks.

NOTE: I’ll share more about my travels in upcoming posts. If you have time, take the road less traveled. And always carry snacks.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Rural living history & threshing memories September 3, 2024

A wagonload of oats awaits threshing at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Fall Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

MEMORIES. A HISTORY LESSON. A step back in time. The Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Fall Show is that and more. It’s also entertainment, a coming together of friends and families and neighbors. A reason to focus on farming of yesteryear.

Oats drape over the edge of the wagon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

I was among the crowds gathered over the Labor Day weekend at the showgrounds south of Dundas. This show features demos, rows and rows and rows of vintage tractors and aged farm machinery, a tractor pull, flea market, music, petting zoo, mini train rides and a whole lot more.

The scene is set to resume threshing with thresher, tractor, baler and manpower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

For me, a highlight was watching a crew of men threshing oats. The work is hard, labor intensive, even dangerous with exposed belts and pullies. It’s no wonder farmers lost digits and limbs back in the day.

This part of the threshing crew pitches oats bundles into the threshing machine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

While my observations are not connected to memories, my husband’s are as he recalls threshing on his childhood farm in rural Buckman, Morrison County, Minnesota. After Randy moved with his family from rural St. Anthony, North Dakota (southwest of Mandan), his dad returned to threshing oats. In North Dakota, he used a combine. But his father before him, Randy’s grandfather Alfred, threshed small grains.

Hard at work forking bundles into the thresher. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)
Lots of exposed pullies and belts line the threshing machine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)
The workhorse of the operation, the threshing machine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

As I watched in Dundas, men forked bundles of oats into a McCormick-Deering thresher. The threshing machine separated the grain from the stalk, the oats shooting one direction into a wagon, the straw the other way into a growing pile. I stood mostly clear of the threshing operation with dust and chafe thick in the air.

Feeding the loose straw into the baler. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

From the straw pile, a volunteer stuffed the stalks into the shoot of an aged baler. An arm tamped the straw, feeding it into the baler. Another guy stood nearby, feeding wire into the baler to wrap the rectangular bales. A slow, tedious process that requires attentiveness and caution.

Watching and waiting for the straw to compact in the baler. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

The entire time I watched, I thought how easy it would be to lose focus, to look away for a moment, to get distracted and then, in an instant, to experience the unthinkable. Farming is, and always has been, a dangerous occupation.

Carefully guiding wire into the baler to wrap each bale. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

Randy understands that firsthand as he witnessed his father get his hand caught in a corn chopper. Tom lost his left hand and part of his forearm. But Randy saved his life, running across fields and pasture to summon help. It is a traumatic memory he still carries with him 57 years later.

Threshing at Sunnybrook Farm, St. Anthony, North Dakota, as painted by Tom Helbling. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But memories of threshing are good memories, preserved today in an oil painting from the farm in North Dakota, Sunnybrook Farm. My father-in-law took up painting later in life. Among the art he created was a circa 1920s threshing scene. We have that painting, currently displayed in our living room. I treasure it not only for the hands that painted it, but also for the history held in each brush stroke.

Threshing grain, living history in 2024. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2024)

The painted scene differs some from the threshing scene I saw in Dundas. In North Dakota, horses were part of the work team, the tractor steam powered. In Dundas, there were no horses, no steam engine at the threshing site. Still, the threshing machine is the star, performing the same work. And men are still there, laboring under the sun on a late summer afternoon.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections from Minnesota rooted in Ukraine February 25, 2022

I pulled stories from a family history book for a family history trivia contest at a 2017 Helbling reunion. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2017)

YESTERDAY I PULLED A SPIRAL-BOUND family genealogy book from an upstairs closet. Compiled in 1993 by my sister-in-law Vivian, the book details the families of Alfred Helbling and Rosa Schaner Knoll Helbling. For someone like me who married into the Helbling family, it takes effort to understand the information therein, especially with second marriages (due to deaths) and stepchildren.

A stone building in southern Wisconsin, used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo)

But I’m clear on one fact—the Helbling ancestors are considered “Germans from Russia.” As the family tree shows, the Helblings trace their roots back to Wingen, Alsace in the Rhine River Plain. Like many Germans, they left their homeland for Russia when Russian Czarina Catherine the Great (a former German princess) promised free farmland and more to immigrants. My husband Randy’s great great great great grandfather and his family were among the founding fathers of the Catholic colony of Speier in 1809. That’s in the southern area of current day Ukraine near the Black Sea port city of Odessa.

So now you understand why I pulled that family genealogy book from the closet. The unfolding invasion of Ukraine (including in Odessa) resonates with me in a way that is personal. This land, now under attack by the Russian military, was once home to the Helbling family. They arrived in this area with hopes and dreams.

As often happens in history, leadership and policies change. That prompted Randy’s great grandparents, Russian-born Valentine and Emina Helbling, to emigrate to the U.S. from Russia. They arrived in Mandan, North Dakota in May 1893. Accompanying them were their three sons, including 5-year-old Alfred, Randy’s grandpa.

“Threshing on the home place, rural St. Anthony, North Dakota,” a painting by my father-in-law. Thomas Helbling. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’m always amazed at the generational closeness of my husband to his family’s homeland. Mine is a generation farther removed (from Germany). In 1898, Valentine and Emina homesteaded a claim near St. Anthony south of Mandan. That young boy who traversed the ocean from Russia with his parents would also farm there as would Randy’s father, Tom. When Randy was seven, his family uprooted and moved to central Minnesota.

As I consider all of this family history, I wonder at the dreams and challenges. To leave your home country behind, understanding you would never return, takes fortitude. I can only imagine the fortitude Ukrainians must tap in to today as they face a Russian invasion.

Early in his marriage, Alfred Helbling faced an unspeakable loss—the tragic death of his first wife. Katherine, 27, apparently lost her balance, fell into a well and died while retrieving a container of milk stored inside.

Artwork created by Gracie for a 2018 student art show at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo March 2018)

Today people are dying in Ukraine, a country that suddenly doesn’t seem all that far away. An ocean and some 5,200 miles separate this land from Minnesota. But when I page through the spiral-bound genealogy of the Helbling family, I feel much closer. Closer in a way that causes me to feel emotional. Upset. Concerned. Worried about not only the future of Ukraine, but also of this world.

FYI: If you’re interested in learning more about “Germans from Russia,” click here to reach North Dakota State University’s “Germans from Russia Heritage Collection” website.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A strong message from a man who died of COVID-19 June 11, 2021

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Robert Tersteeg. Image from KLGR website.

HIS LAST NAME, Tersteeg, grabbed my attention as I scrolled through the local funeral announcements on the KLGR radio website. I occasionally check the site since I grew up near Redwood Falls.

Back when I lived in this region of southwestern Minnesota, I associated the surname Tersteeg with a grocery store in this Redwood County community. My mom shopped there and my siblings and I sometimes accompanied her.

But the obituary was for Robert Tersteeg, 46, of Minot, North Dakota, and a native of Bird Island. Not someone from my home county, but from neighboring Renville County. Still, I read the obituary given Robert’s young age and familiar name.

He died on June 3 at the University of Minnesota Hospital “after a fierce battle with COVID-19.”

Now that could be the end of the story. But Rob’s family—or more accurately Rob—wanted more to be shared about this “vicious virus.” The part that humanizes COVID-19, that reveals the regrets of a man who died from the virus:

Rob’s final wish was that his journey with COVID might save even just one more loving husband, son, father, uncle, friend. Rob regretted not being vaccinated and, immediately upon hospitalization, made Amy (his wife) promise to vaccinate the kids (Nikolai, Olivia, Kaylie).

Saturday morning those who loved Rob will gather for his funeral at St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Bird Island. He is not just another number in the statistics of COVID deaths. He was a family man who loved and was loved. And now he is gone, too soon, leaving one final wish—a desire to save lives with his message to “get vaccinated.”

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NOTE: If you are anti-vaccine, please do not comment on this post. I won’t publish your comment on this, my personal blog. I feel grateful to Rob’s family for publicly sharing his final wish/message in a desire to save lives.

© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In loving memory of my father-in-law February 9, 2021

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Tom and Betty Helbling, photographed in 1988.

HE DIED PEACEFULLY Friday morning, two of his daughters by his side.

He is my father-in-law, Tom. Age 90. His death came quickly after a short hospitalization, discharge, sudden change in health, admittance to hospice, then gone the next day.

Mass of Christian burial for my father-in-law will be celebrated in St. Michael’s Catholic Church, Buckman.

Now we are preparing to say goodbye in the deep of a brutally cold stretch of weather here in Minnesota in the midst of a global pandemic. Both add to the challenges.

Today, though, I want to focus on Tom and my memories of the man I’ve known for nearly 40 years. A man with a large and loving family, whom he loved, even if he didn’t often openly show it.

Tom and Betty Helbling, circa early 1950s.

Tom has always been surrounded by a large family, beginning with his birth into a blended family in rural St. Anthony, North Dakota, in December 1930. After farming on the Helbling homestead, Tom and his wife, Betty, moved in 1963 with their young children to a central Minnesota farm. Their family grew to nine children, 18 grandchildren and 20 great grandchildren.

As a young child, Tom briefly attended Catholic boarding school, which leads to one of my favorite stories about him. Apparently oatmeal was often served for breakfast. And Tom disliked oatmeal. One morning he stuffed the cooked grain in his pocket rather than eat it, so the story goes. I expect it wasn’t long before the nuns discovered the oatmeal mess and meted out punishment.

Yes, Tom could be particular about the foods he ate. He liked, in my opinion, the strangest foods—Braunschweiger, summer sausage, pickled beets, herring… And, yes, his son, my husband Randy, also likes herring. Shortly before his health declined, Tom enjoyed a few of those favorites delivered to his care center room by a daughter.

Ripened corn field. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

Visitor restrictions due to COVID-19 were hard on Tom, as they have been for most living in congregate care centers and their families. But my father-in-law has overcome much in his life, most notably the loss of his left hand and forearm following an October 1967 farming accident. The accident happened when Tom hopped off the tractor to hand-feed corn into a plugged corn chopper. The rollers sliced off his fingers and pulled in his hand, trapping it. As Tom screamed for help, Randy, only 11 years old, disengaged the power take-off, then raced across fields and swampland to a neighbor’s farm. It’s a harrowing story that could have easily turned tragic.

My father-in-law’s prosthetic hand. Tom put a band-aid on his hand after he burned a hole in it while frying potatoes in 2009. I laughed so hard. Prior to getting his hand, Tom wore a hook to replace his amputated limb. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

Despite a missing limb, Tom managed to continue milking cows and, in later years, to run a small engine repair business. He also grew and sold strawberries and pumpkins. I remember harvesting pumpkins with him one cold October evening, rain slicking the field with mud. We were drenched and miserable by the time we’d plucked those pumpkins.

One of my favorite photos of Tom giving an impromptu concert on his Lowrey organ. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2012.

It is the creative side of Tom which I especially appreciated. He was a multi-talented life-long musician who played the piano, organ and accordion (until he lost his hand). He could play music by ear and had a piano tuning business. At age 81, he took refresher organ lessons and in 2012 gave an impromptu concert for Randy and me in the small St. Cloud apartment he shared with his second wife, Janice. His first wife, Betty, died in 1993. He treated us to Hank Williams’ “Your Cheatin’ Heart” and “Somewhere My Love” from the movie Dr. Zhivago. What a gift to us.

Threshing on the home place in North Dakota, a painting by my father-in-law, Tom Helbling.

Tom also painted, a hobby he took up late in life. Randy and I have two of his original oil paintings and several prints. They are a reminder of my father-in-law, of his history, of his rural upbringing, of his creative side. I consider these a legacy gift. Valued now more than ever at his passing.


© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Minnesota or North Dakota? November 1, 2019

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TRAVELING ALONG INTERSTATE 90 in southeastern Minnesota about 10 miles from La Crosse, Wisconsin, I noticed this sign. And I laughed. I was nowhere near North Dakota. Yet this road sign appeared to indicate otherwise, seemingly directing motorists to North Dakota.

Dakota is a town of some 325 in Winona County, Minnesota just off I-90.

Signs can be simultaneously informative and confusing. I love when I spot such signage to break the monotony of a long road trip.

© Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting on my husband’s 60th birthday October 12, 2016

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helbling-siblings-in-n-d-1963

 

IN THE PHOTO, one of the few from his childhood, he is a slim blonde-haired almost 7-year-old standing in front of three of his four sisters.

 

Grandfather and granddaughter.

One of my favorite photos of Randy: holding his 10-day-old granddaughter, Isabelle. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo April 2016.

Fast forward 53 years and he is a 60-year-old father of three and a new grandfather. He is my husband, Randy. And today he turns sixty.

We’ve known each other for more than half our lives. I often wonder how those decades have passed, snap, just like that and we are each now sixty.

Birthdays for me today are more reflective and less celebratory. Not that I don’t appreciate another year of life. Rather, I find myself thinking about the past.

I have heard through the decades stories from Randy’s past. He was born in North Dakota and moved with his family to central Minnesota in his early elementary years. As he tells it, in the one-room country schoolhouse he attended in North Dakota, students were kept in from recess one day due to coyotes roaming the schoolyard. I love that story.

While attending a Catholic school in Minnesota, he apparently misbehaved and was punished by a nun drilling her thumb into his skull. I don’t love that story.

And then there’s the story about the day my husband saved his father’s life. On Saturday, October 21, 1967, my father-in-law’s left hand was pulled into the spring-loaded roller of a corn chopper. Blades sliced off his fingers. The roller trapped his arm. Randy was with him. As his father screamed, the 11-year-old disengaged the power take-off and then ran along cow pasture and across swampland to a neighbor’s farm for help. Randy saved his dad’s life. I love that example of courage and calm exhibited by a young boy, my husband.

That trait of quiet, reassuring strength has continued throughout Randy’s life. Not much rattles him. It’s an admirable quality, especially in times of stress and difficulty. And, as we all know, life brings many struggles and challenges.

He is strong. Strong in his work ethic, his faith and his love of family.

Today I celebrate and honor the man I’ve loved for some 35 years. Happy birthday, Randy! And many more!

© Copyright 2016 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

What a little cash & a little kindness are doing in North Dakota April 30, 2016

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My creative graphic illustrating Kindness Cash.

My creative graphic illustrating Kindness Cash.

HOW WOULD YOU like to find $20 cash?

In our neighboring state to the west, Starion Financial has dropped 650 Kindness Cash wallets containing $20 each in eight North Dakota communities. The project celebrates Pay It Forward Day on April 28.

Now, if you do your math, that’s $13,000 left lying around in places like grocery stores, parks, hotels…

The idea is to use that money to do something good. And the finders are, according to Starion’s website. Organizations like a cancer support group, a domestic violence center and a humane society have already benefited from this project.

Others are enjoying treats from appreciative co-workers. Those are all great choices.

But the story that touches me most is that of Olivia, who found a Kindness wallet under a rock in a South Fargo park. Little Olivia is giving the money to someone at her school.

Likewise in Bismarck, someone found a Kindness wallet, added $80, and left it for two lucky women to find at the Comfort Inn.

I love sharing stories like this that uplift and restore my faith in the goodness of others. (h/t Fargo Forum)

TELL ME, HAVE YOU ever been the recipient of such a random act of kindness? Or have you engaged in a Pay It Forward project like this?

I’d like to hear about creative projects that encourage people to Pay It Forward, to be kind to one another.

© Copyright 2016 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Blessings in a box from North Dakota November 24, 2015

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WHEN THE MAIL CARRIER arrived at my door on Friday bearing a package, I was surprised. “I didn’t order anything. Who’s it from?” I asked.

“Looks like it’s from a relative,” he said.

And then I remembered my sister-in-law’s quick phone call several days earlier requesting my address. She was running errands and had no time to chat. This box with her return address solved the mystery of that call.

Inside, I found several sweet surprises—a pillow, a book and a clutch of notecards.

My niece worked all last winter stitching these yo-yos for this pillow.

My niece worked all last winter stitching these yo-yos for this pillow.

My 10-year-old niece crafted a yo-yo pillow for me. Fifty-six yo-yos, tiny circles of fabric gathered at the edges and sewn into circles stitched to a pink flannel pillow. Yo-yos were, Beth wrote in an attached note, popular during the Depression. Women made them from scrap fabric (oftentimes from old clothing) and then stitched them into quilts.

The story and history behind the yo-yo pillow.

The story and history behind the yo-yo pillow.

As much as I appreciate the pillow, I treasure even more the words Beth typed when she entered the pillow in her county fair and then the North Dakota State Fair. She earned two blue ribbons for this 4-H project. Here’s the part that especially touched me:

I made it for my Aunt Audrey’s birthday. She loves funky stuff and vintage, so I think she’ll like this pillow.

Beth’s wrong. I don’t just like this pillow; I love it.

And I like that my dear niece and her mom, Rena, know me so well. I do, indeed, value funky and vintage.

"When I discovered this historical gem from under junk and odds and ends (in a rummage store), I knew it was meant for you. Enjoy!" my sister-in-law wrote.

“When I discovered this historical gem from under junk and odds and ends (in a rummage store), I knew it was meant for you. Enjoy!” my sister-in-law wrote. This chapter explains how Land O’Lakes came to be the name of the Minnesota Cooperative Creameries Association’s butter. The Co-op launched a contest in 1924 to name its sweet cream butter, offering $500 in gold as prizes. Mrs. E.B. Foss of Hopkins and George I. Swift of Minneapolis submitted the same winning name. Contest entries of about 7,000 daily overwhelmed the company office. The contest topped news in the Midwest, second only to the Teapot Dome oil scandal, according to the author.

That leads to the second gift, the book Men to Remember: How 100,000 Neighbors Made History by Kenneth D. Ruble. Land O’ Lakes Creameries, Inc. commissioned the volume published in 1947. Perfect for someone who grew up on a dairy farm.

The "Spatial Odysseys" collection of notecards by David Paukert.

The “Spatial Odysseys” collection of notecards by David Paukert.

The last item in the package—a collection of rural-themed notecards—is a fitting gift also. The cards feature the work of Michigan, North Dakota, photographer David Paukert. Titled “Spatial Odysseys,” the photo cards showcase fields, a church, a barn and more from Paukert’s “Visions of the Prairie” Collection. Prairie. That reflects me, rooted in the prairie.

These gifts from Rena and Beth arrived at the end of a difficult week. They didn’t know this, of course, because the presents were originally intended for my birthday two months ago. But the timing of the delivery couldn’t have been better. Rena and Beth blessed me not only with the items they made and chose for me, but also with their thoughtfulness, love and care.

My sister-in-law also included a quote from Mother Teresa: “…do small things with great love.”

This week, please consider ways you can bless someone. Call a friend or family member who needs your support and encouragement. Listen. Avoid “hearing without listening.” Send a card with a heartfelt handwritten note. Or a gift. Volunteer. Be kind. Show your love. In whatever way you can.

Check back tomorrow for another “blessings” post.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling