THIS STORY IS DEDICATED to my dad and to all veterans who have served this country whether by choice or by draft.
Thank you for serving. Those words seem insufficient on November 11, a day which honors our nation’s veterans. But they are what I have—words.
War is hell. My dad as much as stated that in letters sent from the mountains of Korea where he fought as a frontline infantryman during the Korean War. He called that country a “hell hole,” bringing home a patch with this message: “Returned from Hell, Korea 1952-1953.” I’ve never doubted Dad’s assessment of his war-time military service.
To see your best buddy blown up before you, to suffer shrapnel wounds at the hands of an enemy sniper, to endure cold and hunger, and to see Korean orphans begging for food scraps across barbed wire fencing forever changed my father.
How could he not be changed? Nothing could have prepared this young Minnesota farmer for war, for shoot or be shot. This was not war from afar. This was a seeing the whites of the enemies’ eyes up close and personal war.
There is no glory in war. No joy in the taking of lives. No victory other than that of one nation (or several nations) claiming victory in defense of freedom or land or for some other reason.
My dad suffered because of his war experiences. Just like many before him, after him and yet to come. Anxiety. Depression. Alcoholism. Post traumatic stress disorder. All came to be for him during a time when soldiers were not warmly welcomed home, but rather dismissal as having served in “The Forgotten War.”
He never forgot, though.
This Veterans Day as I remember Dad, gone 23 years already, I think of all the men and women who have served whether in war or not, but mostly in war. I think, too, of their loved ones back home who supported, and continue to support, them. I think of those wounded, those who died in battle, those held as war prisoners, those still missing in action. I think of those who returned home safely, only to take their own lives via suicide.
War is hell.
If only we could settle our differences with diplomacy, by discussion, by compromise (if possible), by understanding that killing seems to solve nothing long-term.
I often think that modern-day warfare—with targets on a screen, the click of a mouse, the push of a button—has distanced us from the truth of outcome. Maybe I’m wrong in that assessment, never having served in the military.
But I do understand, as the daughter of a Korean War veteran, the ravages of war upon the human psyche. The damage wrought may be acknowledged and treated. Or not. But trauma cannot be unseen, actions undone, death reversed.
To every single veteran who has struggled upon returning home from war, I am sorry. You deserve our respect, our help, our compassion and understanding well beyond just words of gratitude.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Destructive ice, the help of community & more August 27, 2026
Tags: commentary, community, construction, Faribault, hail, hail damage, hailstorm, Hispanics, immigration, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Minnesota, Operation Metro Surge, opinion, storm, United States of America
IN THE FOUR-PLUS MONTHS since destructive hailstones pummeled Faribault and the surrounding area, my community has been the site of ongoing exterior construction. Drive nearly anywhere in town and you will see roofing and siding crews or newly-repaired houses.
Seven hail-damaged houses within sight of mine, including ours, have been repaired, or have yet to be fixed. That’s a lot in a single neighborhood.
Business is booming for local and out-of-town roofers and other construction companies. Local contractors can’t possibly meet the immediate demand for work.
EMPATHETIC OBSERVATIONS
But blocks from my house, an underway construction project seems a community undertaking. I know because I talked with the owner. He bought the house with the intention of fixing and flipping it. Good for him if he can improve a dilapidated house and make money by selling it.
This particular renovation caught my eye because, when I passed by, I saw a house with rafters totally exposed, loose insulation inside and workers busy sheeting. Similar work was done on our house with new sheeting laid over the existing, mostly-solid roof boards. Rafters were not exposed. I appreciate that we now have a sturdier, straighter roof.
When I saw the condition of the flip house, my first thought was “that looks worse than ours (looked).” At least on the roof. I felt instant empathy for the homeowner. So, although I don’t usually stop at construction sites, I did at this one. I felt bad for the owner.
He just happens to be Hispanic. I learned from him that the Hispanic community is deeply connected. He tapped into the strength and skills of community for his house renovation. This did not totally surprise me. I’ve seen how Hispanic/Latino communities care for one another, how they work together, how they value family, culture and community.
If not for Hispanic roofing crews, hail-damaged houses in Faribault would go mostly unrepaired. These crews work hard and fast, putting in long days, often finishing roofs in a single day.
THE VALUE OF COMMUNITY
My conversation with the flip house owner got me thinking about other communities which come together to help one another on construction endeavors. In the past, and maybe even still today, the Amish raise barns in a day. Habitat for Humanity brings volunteers together to build homes alongside professionals. Decades ago, friends came over to help shingle our roof. During this past year, volunteers rehabbed a rental house owned by my church.
And in 1967, extended family arrived at my childhood family farm to help my dad and a local carpenter build our new home with a walk-out basement. If not for helpful family, I don’t think my parents could have built new. The cost would have been out of reach. We needed a new house to replace the cramped, drafty 1 1/2-story aged farmhouse with a partial dirt cellar, no bathroom, three small bedrooms, and an oil-burning stove centered in the living room.
WORSE THAN A HAILSTORM
All of this came to mind when talking with my new Hispanic acquaintance. I praised him for improving the neighborhood by buying and fixing up a run-down home. I also told him I’m sorry for the aggressive and often illegal detainment of Hispanics, Latinos and others by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) during Operation Metro Surge (and beyond) in Minnesota. That includes right here in my city.
A recent media report states that the 5,000th immigrant detainee (since November 2025) was recently flown out of the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. That’s documented by a Minnesotan with boots on the ground at the airport video-taping departures of shackled detainees.
ICE has targeted Hispanic roofers. In December 2025, ICE arrived at a construction site in Chanhassen, southwest of Minneapolis, stranding two workers on a roof for hours during sub-zero temperatures resulting in hypothermia. In Bemidji in far northern Minnesota, roofing companies lost nearly all of their crews during ICE raids this summer. Many other such detainments have happened across the state and country and are ongoing.
Soon a new ICE detention center will open in a former abandoned private prison in Appleton in far western Minnesota. CoreCivic, a name familiar to anyone who has followed ICE actions, sold the prison to the federal government and is now contracted to run the detention center.
Suddenly that April hailstorm in Faribault doesn’t seem all that bad in comparison with what’s unfolding in this country. And I’m not talking only immigration. I’m also talking about government surveillance, an unnecessary war, tariffs, efforts to suppress voting rights (especially those of Black voters and of women), high gas and food prices, a failing economy and on and on. So much damage has been done to our country that will take years, if not decades, to recover, to repair the destruction hailed upon this nation.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling