Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

And how did I like that classical music concert? December 30, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:24 PM
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A FEW WEEKS AGO, my husband phoned from work. He’d just won two tickets to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert at the Xcel Energy Center, compliments of Power 96, KQCL, a Faribault radio station. (Some of you may remember this from a previous post.)

Oh, my gosh, was I excited. I love classical music.

But as apparently everyone on this earth knows, except me, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra is a rock band. Who would have thought with a name like that?

So I figured I may as well confess my lack of musical knowledge, which I did in a December 12 post. For those of you who have not read that first amusing story, click here for a good laugh.

Secondly, you should know that I have not attended a rock concert in perhaps 30 years, the last one being a performance by The Moody Blues at the old St. Paul Civic Center.

Just sayin’ that I’m not exactly a music expert.

A view of the stage in the background and performers in the foreground elevated onto tiny platforms. I apologize for the horrible images, but DSLR cameras are not allowed into a concert venue and I don't own a compact camera. This image and the second were taken with my cell phone.

A view of the stage in the background and performers in the foreground elevated onto tiny platforms. I apologize for the horrible images, but DSLR cameras were not allowed into the concert venue and I don’t own a compact camera. This image and the second were taken with my cell phone. You can only imagine how many times I repeated, “I wish I had my camera.”

So what did I think of “The Lost Christmas Eve” concert by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra? In all honesty, I was more impressed by the light and pyrotechnics show than by the music or the storyline.

I know. I know. Those of you who really, really love the Trans-Siberian Orchestra will wonder, “What the heck? Did she attend the same concert as me?”

Apparently I prefer my music quiet, as in the outstanding “O Come, All Ye Faithful” solo by one of the band members versus the drum banging, steel guitar blazing mashed sound of a song I can’t even understand. I found it interesting that the reverent solo I most enjoyed received the loudest and longest audience applause of the concert.

Yes, there were a lot of gray hairs attending the show, along with a mix of other ages. Just sayin’, we may have favored Led Zepplin in our days (that would be you, Chuck, our concert neighbor), but now some of us wear ear plugs to rock concerts. My husband and I are raising our hands here. I bet the woman from Prior Lake sitting behind us wished she had brought hers, too.

Again, a bad photo, but at least it gives you some idea of the amazing light show and fabulous showmanship of this concert.

Again, a bad photo, but at least it gives you some idea of the amazing light show and fabulous showmanship of this concert.

For awhile there, until my eyes and brain adjusted, I also wondered if I should have brought sunglasses. Those strobe lights were pretty intense. But, once I settled in, I was enamored by the light show and the fire. The flames were so high and intense that the heat wafted to the back of the auditorium where we were seated.

About those seats…we were directly facing the stage; the location could not have been better. But who planned the width of these seats and the leg room? Honestly, I felt wedged into my chair and worried about knocking our large-sized $9.25 shared beer from the cup holder.

I worried, too, a bit about the performers who were elevated onto tiny towering platforms both on-stage and near our end of the concert venue. I bet they really felt the heat when fiery jets flamed near them. That was pretty cool even if it was hot. Got that?

All in all, my husband and I reached this conclusion: The Trans-Siberian Orchestra presented a good concert. Our tickets were free. We were happy.

But would we pay to see this group perform again? Probably not.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The educating & healing continue 150 years after The U.S.-Dakota War December 28, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:21 AM
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STUDYING MINNESOTA HISTORY decades ago, I learned about “The Sioux Uprising of 1862” and even wrote a term paper on the topic bearing that title.

This archway leads to the Wood Lake State Monument, on the site of the battle which ended the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.

This archway leads to the Wood Lake State Monument, on the site of the battle which ended the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.

I thought nothing negative of that word, Sioux, which translates to “snake.” The Ojibway, once enemies of the Dakota, gave the tribe that name. I did not know; it was the word I was taught.

That I even studied “The U.S.-Dakota War of 1862,” the proper terminology for the six-week war fought primarily in my native southwestern Minnesota 150 years ago, seems remarkable. So many in Minnesota never knew of this conflict in our state’s history.

I don’t pretend to know every detail of the war between the Dakota and the white settlers and soldiers. But I do remember that I grew up with a fear of “Indians,” reinforced by the television westerns especially popular during my formative years and by the history lessons delivered about The Sioux Uprising of 1862, as it was then called.

Those classroom lessons were decidedly one-sided: The whites were the good guys, the Indians the bad guys. That line of thinking was wrong, oh, so wrong. I realize that now, having reached that conclusion decades ago.

The maltreatment of the Dakota by greedy traders, broken treaty promises, starvation, efforts to convert and transform the Dakota people into Christian farmers, expulsion from their homeland and more contributed to the war.

Yet, even the Dakota disagreed about the need to wage this battle. Some helped settlers escape to safety while others plundered and killed. My own maternal forefathers fled the New Ulm area to St. Peter, making this war a part of my personal family history.

The Milford State Monument along Brown County Road 29 west of New Ulm commemorates the deaths of 52 settlers who were killed in the area. Located along the eastern edge of the Lower Sioux Reservation, Milford had the highest war death rate of any single township.

The Milford State Monument along Brown County Road 29 west of New Ulm commemorates the deaths of 52 settlers who were killed in the area. Located along the eastern edge of the Lower Sioux Reservation, Milford had the highest war death rate of any single township.

While I carry no ill will toward the Dakota, I will tell you, unequivocally, that feelings still run deep in southwestern Minnesota. I am also honest enough to admit that perhaps I would feel differently if my family members had been massacred or if I was of Dakota, instead of German, heritage.

Although time can heal, it doesn’t always. Misconceptions and misguided expectations, even after 150 years, exist on multiple sides of the issue. I won’t delve into that here, but I do think the healing is still ongoing, forgiveness (on both sides) still not attained.

Words on a marker in Reconciliation Park in Mankato where 38 Dakota were hung on Dec. 26, 1862.

Words on a marker in Reconciliation Park in Mankato where 38 Dakota were hung on Dec. 26, 1862. On Wednesday, a new Dakota 38 Memorial was dedicated listing the names of the 38 men who died here. This file photo was taken of an existing plaque in the park.

In a ceremony in Mankato on Wednesday marking the 150th anniversary of the hanging of 38 Dakota, Mayor Eric Anderson proclaimed this the year of “forgiveness and understanding.”

The Dakota also called upon all to “forgive everyone everything.” Those words will be engraved into Kasota stone benches to be installed next summer at the site of the new Dakota 38 Memorial dedicated in Reconciliation Park on Wednesday.

Strides toward understanding and forgiveness, and education, can perhaps finally heal the still festering wounds of this long ago war.

TO VIEW PHOTOS from the event in Mankato on Wednesday, click to link here to Minnesota Public Radio.

TELL ME, ESPECIALLY if you grew up in Minnesota, did you study The U.S.-Dakota War of 1862? Also, are Minnesota students today being taught about this war?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Not again, please, not again December 14, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 4:54 PM
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I SWITCHED ON THE TELEVISION this afternoon, mail in hand, to read a few Christmas cards before continuing on with my day of catch-up around the house and wrapping gifts.

“20 children, six adults dead at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Ct.” or some such words flashed across the bottom of the screen as a reporter detailed the latest mass execution in America.

My aunt’s holiday letter fell from my hands. I read not a single cheery greeting, but instead dumped the pile of remaining unopened mail onto the dining room table and sobbed.

How can this be?

Again.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Happiness equals family and friendship December 3, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:58 AM
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SINCE I’VE TOUCHED on two hot button topics—defective shingles and dogs in grocery carts—the past two posts, I’m focusing this morning on the positive.

Good Monday morning to you. It’s 50 degrees here in southeastern Minnesota at 7 a.m. On December 3. Love it.

Didn’t love the thick fog so much Sunday morning traveling back from north of the Twin Cities metro after spending the night with my husband’s oldest sister and her husband. But we sure did enjoy the “alone” time with them for a post Thanksgiving dinner.

Thanksgiving Day dinner 2011 at my house with a small part of my family and extended family.

Thanksgiving Day dinner 2011 with my family and a small part of my extended family. File photo.

Typically when we gather with Randy’s family, it’s a whole mass of people with minimal time for one-on-one visiting. And as nieces and nephews marry and start families, the visits with extended family have become less frequent and we’ve now moved from an annual Christmas get together to a summer-time reunion. That’s fine by me as it’s one less place to be during the holiday season.

Anyway, our eldest daughter and her boyfriend also joined the four of us for Saturday evening’s meal of turkey and the trimmings. It’s the first time we’ve seen them since Marc moved in October from California to St. Paul. My mom asks me all the time, “How does Marc like Minnesota?”

I can now report that he seems to like it just fine. (Of course, he has not experienced a “real” Minnesota winter yet.) He commutes 12 minutes via the downtown St. Paul skyway system and one outdoor block to his place of employment.

Thanks to my friend, Mandy, we delivered an artificial Christmas tree to Marc for his St. Paul apartment. I sent a mass email to about a dozen friends last week asking if anyone had a tree they no longer needed and Mandy responded. Such great friends we have.

Speaking of friends, here’s one of the things I love about a town like Faribault, which, by my standards, is not a small town, but which by Twin Cities metro standards likely would be considered small-town. Yesterday while shopping at one of two local grocery stores, I encountered three friends. Yes, it takes awhile to get the cart filled when you “have to stop and visit.” But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A shipped-in, store-bought strawberry can never match the taste of a fresh Minnesota berry, like those pictured here in this file photo of Straight River Farm berries.

Not the strawberries from Roger’s farm, but elsewhere. File photo.

Finally, and this is not meant to make anyone feel sorrowful. But a 79-year-old friend died on Friday. He had a myriad of health issues and his wife died only in May. They were a great Christian couple. We were especially close to Roger. He was always so kind and good to our family, giving us strawberries, sweetcorn and other produce he grew on his rural Faribault acreage.

But more than that, Roger embraced our family with a genuine and caring warmth. Several times Roger invited Randy and me out on a Sunday evening to play pegs and, I can’t remember the name of the game. We would play, but mostly listen to Roger tell his jokes and stories. He loved to tell jokes and stories.

We would laugh, and then laugh some more.

And when the game ended, Roger’s wife, Delores, would dish up the homemade ice cream Roger had made.

It is the seemingly simple things in life—like dinner with extended family and friendship—which make me happy. Life is good on this Monday morning in December.

WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY on this Monday morning?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Forget shopping in North Dakota on a Sunday morning November 25, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:34 AM
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A sign along a city street welcomes us to Fargo, North Dakota, from Moorhead, Minnesota, just across the Red River.

LET’S PRETEND FOR A MOMENT that you are me. You’ve traveled nearly 300 miles from southeastern Minnesota to Fargo, North Dakota, with your husband to visit your son at North Dakota State University in mid-October.

Your son needs basic supplies like laundry detergent and deodorizing powder to sprinkle into his smelly athletic shoes. He also needs long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, socks and a warm scarf to wrap around his neck. Winter, after all, is waiting on flat and windy Fargo’s doorstep.

Being the nice parent that you are, you offer to take your boy shopping. And even though your son detests shopping, he agrees. He is no dummy. He would rather spend Mom and Dad’s money than his own.

So you plan a shopping trip to Target in West Fargo for 10 a.m. Sunday because that will allow the teen to sleep in. Afterward you’ll grab lunch around 11 a.m., then proceed to J.C. Penney (you checked online and Penneys does not open until noon) and leave town by 1 p.m. That is the plan. You have 300 miles to drive yet today.

But the entire plan is tossed out the window when you arrive at Target around 10:30 a.m. Sunday to find the doors locked. This big box retailer does not open until noon.

You suggest heading to Walmart. Your son gets on his smart phone, which he’s recently purchased quite successfully without your assistance or money, thank you. The three of you are soon winding your way around West Fargo, aiming for the discount retailer many love to hate.

Pulling into the parking lot, you notice that the place appears mostly deserted of cars and certainly of customers. As you draw nearer to the front doors, you spot signs stationed at the entrances:

The sign posted in front of the West Fargo Walmart on a Sunday morning.

OK, then.

Now what? Change of plans. Again.

Time to proceed with Plan C, which would be to check if Moorhead, Minnesota, just across the Red River, has a Target. It does. So you aim west for the border, driving five-plus miles, burning up gas because you don’t have time to wait for North Dakota’s stores to open.

You arrive at the Minnesota Target to find the parking lot packed with vehicles bearing mostly North Dakota license plates.

If only you had known about the Sunday morning shopping ban in NoDak, you would have planned differently and squeezed in a Saturday evening shopping outing. You would not be a now unhappy and grumpy Fargo visitor.

But you’ve heard/read nothing of this Blue Law (which you can read about in detail by clicking here)…

How are you supposed to know this stuff? You live in southeastern Minnesota.

And why is such a seemingly antiquated law still on the books?

FYI: I DID NOT REALIZE until I later spoke with a friend, a Minnesotan who grew up in North Dakota and whose son lives and works in Fargo, that the Blue Law not all that long ago prohibited retailers from any Sunday sales. So I suppose I should consider it progress that North Dakota retailers can now open their doors at noon on Sunday.

Secondly, this same friend told me that North Dakota has a five percent sales tax on clothing, of which I was unaware. The trip back across the river to the Target store in Moorhead thus saved us some tax dollars. However, according to information I found online, some North Dakota legislators want to repeal that tax. You can read about those efforts by some Fargo Democrats by clicking here.

Finally, can anyone explain the origin of the Blue Law in North Dakota? I expect it dates back to Sunday as a day of rest, as the Lord’s Day. I respect that and hope that most would choose worship over shopping. Yet, times have changed and church services are held on Saturdays too and, well, you know…

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Too much pink? October 27, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:49 AM
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ENOUGH PINK ALREADY.

Northeastern Minnesota writer Ada Igoe, who blogs at “Of Woods and Words,” writes this week about all the pink out there during this, Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

While I don’t agree with everything she says in her “Rage Against the Pink” post, I agree that this whole “pink” thing is being overdone and has become too commercialized. Just like the right amount of salt can flavor a dish, too much salt can ruin it.

In a row of green and yellow Olivers, I spotted this pink one at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show earlier this fall. I have no reason to doubt the genuineness of this tractor owner in calling attention to the fight against breast cancer.

How do we separate those who truly are genuine in their pinkness as opposed to those simply out to perhaps earn a buck or get some media attention for whatever they are selling or promoting?

Ada raises issues like that in her thoughtful piece. I’m not going to steal and repeat all this blogger wrote. Rather, I will point you directly to the source, so click here.

And just for the record:

  • My mother is a breast cancer survivor.
  • My uncle, Dr. Robert M. Bowman, created Femara, a hormone therapy drug used to treat breast cancer in post-menopausal women.
  • A dear friend is currently being treated for breast cancer.
  • Last evening I waited in line for one hour and 15 minutes to comfort friends and their daughter who lost their youngest daughter/sister to colon cancer after two courageous years of battling the disease. Stacey was only 39.

  • Sometimes it’s genuinely easy to separate those who mean well by emphasizing pink from those who have other than the best intentions. Absolutely, this pink tractor showcases one family’s personal story and does not seek to commercialize or gain anything financially from using the color pink.

    WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS on the use of pink to promote breast cancer awareness? Overkill? Just right? Let’s hear.

 

My opinion of Fargo, the film not the city, & a television series October 2, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:02 AM
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SO THEN, THERE, I watched that there Fargo movie just like I promised ya I would, albeit that promise was made, and this review written, months ago. Ya betcha.

But timing is everything. This past week the Academy Award winning writers of Fargo, native Minnesotans Joel and Ethan Coen, announced plans to executive produce an hour-long series for FX television loosely-based on Fargo. Perfect. Time to pull this review out of my draft box, update and publish it.

Since I don’t get FX, relying instead on a roof antenna to deliver several channels of programming to the single 1990s television in our house, I doubt I will ever view the new Fargo series. I have no idea what writer Noah Hawley, or the Coens, have planned for the small screen adaptation.

But, if the team can produce a show similar to the 1990s television series Northern Exposure, set in Alaska, I’d consider it a success. Honestly, I loved that geographic-centric show with strong local characters and could see the same premise working for Fargo.

That update given, let’s return to my opinion of the original Fargo film. To get you back on track, I’ll repeat the intro to this post:

So, then, there, I watched that there Fargo movie just like I promised ya I would, albeit that promise was made, and this review written, months ago. Ya betcha.

Honestly, people, I cannot write like I’m some northwoods hick. This is not how I talk either. Nor is this how Minnesotans or North Dakotans speak, although occasionally a “ja/ya” or “you bet” may slip into our conversations.

After watching the Coen brothers’ 1996 award-winning film for the second time, because I’ve visited the city of Fargo thrice already this year with the son now attending North Dakota State University, my negative opinion of the language in the movie has broadened. Now not only do I dislike the inaccurate accents and word usage, but I don’t like the bad language either. I apparently had forgotten about all the crude language written into the script.

Apparently I had also forgotten that seven—and I think I got that count right—characters are murdered. That’s a lot of bloodshed.

So what do I consider the film’s notable accuracies in depicting Minnesota?

The Coen brothers, who are native Minnesotans, got it right with the snowy highway scene, the scraping ice from the windshield, the buffet and the eggs for breakfast, the car needing a jump start and this weather phrase: “Gotta front comin’ in.”

But here’s what I really appreciate in Fargo: One of the main characters is a strong woman, Brainerd (Minnesota) Police Chief Marge Gunderson. She is gutsy and determined and she is married to an artist. That the Coens would write that key part for a woman impresses me, because, even in 2012, I am quite certain the number of women who head up police departments in Minnesota and North Dakota is relatively small.

I also like this line by Gunderson, spoken at the end of the movie as she ponders the loss of life, all because of money: “There’s more to life than a little money, you know. Don’tcha know that?”

That statement is enough to redeem the movie for me.

But I’m still wondering why this film was titled Fargo. Sure, the opening scene takes place in Fargo. But that’s it. From there on in, it’s set in Minnesota. I suppose Brainerd doesn’t have the same ringing appeal or instant identity as Fargo.

And then I’m a bit confused by the discrepancies between the opening—which states that the events depicted in the film took place in Minnesota in 1987—and the afterward, in which viewers are told the film is based on incidents but not a true story. Which is it?

IF YOU’VE SEEN the movie Fargo, what’s your opinion of it?  Do you think it accurately depicts Minnesota and/or Minnesotans? Would you have chosen a different name for the film?

What do you think of plans for a television spin-off of Fargo? What type of content would you like to see in that proposed series? Would you watch it?

CLICK HERE to read a previous post I wrote about a woodchipper and movie memorabilia from the Fargo film on exhibit at the Fargo-Moorhead Visitors Center.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Meet Bob, the opinionated farmer from Madelia September 10, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:46 AM
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I met Bob Michniewicz  and his wife, Judy, selling their woodcrafts at the recent Rice County Steam and Gas Engine Show. He wouldn’t allow me to photograph his art, except for a single sign and a single cow, not wanting others to steal his ideas. However, a few other crafts got into the photo when Bob obliged my request for a portrait.

OCCASIONALLY YOU MEET a character, and you know it just looking at the person, before lips even part to utter a single syllable.

I knew, just knew, Bob Michniewicz was a character when I saw him and his set-up at the Rice County Steam and Gas Engine Show in rural Dundas. With kitschy wooden lawn ornaments—you know the kind—and wind chimes and eye-catching messages defining his space, Bob was bound to be interesting.

Just look at the poster Bob leaned front and center against a support post for the tent under which he and his wife of 50 years, Judy, were peddling their wares.

Bob was gauging interest in this sign with plans to print it on vinyl and sell it should interest run high.

Naturally, I asked Bob about that message. Seems he’s a bit worked up about all the non-farm folks moving onto farms in his area and then complaining about noise or smell or dust and such from working farms.

“Farmers were here first,” he emphasizes. And that, in this retired farmer’s opinion, should settle any matters of dispute.

All around him, Bob views the ever-changing rural Minnesota landscape. Within a three-mile radius of his farm (the home place) 3 ½ miles from Madelia, only four farmers remain. The rest are people living on the building sites.

Therein, according to Bob, lies the problem. “People don’t know where farm stuff comes from.” I’m not sure I understand what he means, but I think I do and Bob doesn’t allow me to interrupt this rather one-sided conversation.

Bob just steamrolls forward, asking if I know that potatoes in stores are sprayed to keep them from sprouting. (I don’t know this and check later to see if Bob, who is a gardener, is right, and apparently he is, although I’m not saying all potato growers, all stores, follow this practice.)

He looks me directly in the eye and says: “Next time you eat mashed potatoes, you may as well take a shot glass of Round-up with a beer chaser.”

Like I said, Bob’s a character, and an outspoken one at that.

Bob certainly possesses a sense of humor, as seen in this bovine lawn art.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Yearning for respect & equality, “no matter what color you are” August 26, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:06 AM
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I HAVE PHOTOGRAPHED them from a distance, their long skirts swaying as they walk across Central Park toward me.

Now the young women are standing before me and I am confused for a moment until Nasteho Farah tells me she wants to look her best and asks me to photograph them again.

Friends, Nimo Abdi, a sophomore at Faribault High School, left, and Nasteho Farah, a senior.

I agree as I already envision the portrait possibilities—the expressive brown eyes, the warm skin tone, the way Nimo Abdi leans toward her friend, her hijab brushing Nasteho’s cheek. They are beautiful young women and I take only one shot, knowing I’ve captured a memorable portrait.

I love this image of  a fest performer and her single audience member for the message it portrays– the one on one connection that helps us understand one another, no matter our culture or skin color.

These Faribault High School students are among those participating in the International Festival Faribault on Saturday, an event designed to connect cultures through music, arts and crafts, kids’ activities, international cuisine, education and, on a personal level, conversation.

That same little boy who was so intently focused on the musician performing in the band shell.

After I photograph the friends, we talk about their experiences living in Faribault. And what Nasteho shares with me so upsets me that I apologize to her for the utter disrespect shown to her and her friend, who stands silently listening.

The native of Kenya, a Faribault resident for five years and prior to that a resident of Rochester, Owatonna and Waseca, says she is criticized for the scarf she wears, for her culture, for her…

“They assume I’m a terrorist.”

Her words temporarily stun me and I can feel my jaw drop.

She doesn’t define “they” specifically, but says the insults, the prejudice, happens randomly—in school, in the streets, even at work.

A group of young Somali dancers perform on the band shell stage during the festival.

When I ask for examples, Nasteho mentions the middle-aged man who comes through the drive-through at McDonalds in Faribault where she works. He tells her she should stop wearing her head scarf. She’s talked to her manager about it and he’s been supportive. For now, she mostly tries to ignore the customer’s spiteful comments.

When she walks into other businesses, like the grocery store, she feels the stares. When driving, she’s been flipped off.

“There is no respect for Somalis,” Nasteho assesses.

Yet, she doesn’t seem visibly angry, choosing instead to speak up or to take the position that those who choose to attack her or her culture do not know her or understand her.

I admire Nasteho’s positive attitude. She tells me she didn’t experience prejudice living in Rochester—a larger and more diverse community—but that it’s been much harder in a smaller town like Faribault. She was too young to remember what life was like in Owatonna or Waseca.

Faribault High School seniors Shukri Aden, left, and Khadra Muhumed.

Faribault High School students Shukri Aden and Khadra Muhumed, who are volunteering with STOPS, Students Together Offering Peer Support, at the International Festival, have also been subjected to hurtful comments from those who tell them to go back to their own country or that they smell.

“I try to talk to them,” says Shukri, who has lived in Faribault for seven years, since she came to the U.S. at age 12.

She wants everyone “to be equal no matter what color you are…to get to know each other.”

Lul Abdi shows off beautiful wood crafts from Kenya and Somalia for sale at the fest.

And this FHS senior has dreams—of going to college to become a nurse and then returning to Somali to help those in need.

On this Saturday, at this International Festival, the words of these young Somali women evoke mixed emotions within me. I am saddened by those in my community who fail to see beyond the scarves, the culture, the skin color, the language.

Mother and daughter check out the artwork from Kenya and Somalia.

These women are not terrorists. They are someone’s daughters. They are high school students. They live here, work here, shop here, worship here.

Despite the clear prejudice which angers me, I feel hope. These young women possess a maturity and poise beyond their teenage years. They yearn for understanding, for respect, for the personal connections that define them as individuals.

And on this Saturday afternoon they are trying, through their volunteerism at the International Festival Faribault, to, as Nasteho says, “bring everybody together.”

A mother’s love and care, the same in any language, any culture, any skin color.

CHECK BACK FOR A FUTURE post with photos from the seventh annual International Festival Faribault. Thank you to the organizers and participants in this festival who are trying to connect cultures, to make Faribault a better place to live, no matter your culture, skin color or country of origin.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Faribault Festival offers opportunity to bridge differences & connect August 23, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:15 AM
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TODAY I’D LIKE TO EXTEND an invitation to you. Pull out your calendars right now and add this event to your schedule: International Festival Faribault, 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. on Saturday, August 25, Central Park.

Several Latinos lead in singing of Mexico’s national anthem last September during the International Festival Faribault at Faribault’s Central Park. The flags strung across the band shell represent the countries featured at the fest. This weekend’s celebration marks the seventh such international fest in Faribault.

There. Done. Right?

The scramble for candy after the pinata is broken at last year’s festival. Kids of all races participated with no concern for skin color or cultural differences. So refreshing to see.

Served at the 2011 fest: Guatemalan chuchitos– chicken, corn and salsa wrapped in a corn husk. You’ll find vendors offering a variety of authentic international foods.

OK, why do I think it’s important for you to attend this festival which features multicultural entertainment, arts and crafts vendors, authentic international cuisine, kids’ activities, a silent auction and more?

Simple. We as a community need to meet each other, to connect on a personal level, to understand each other if we are ever to overcome the very obvious cultural differences which divide us.

I met then 16-year-old Riyaam, an Owatonna High School student, at last year’s festival. She spoke openly about the prejudice at OHS and a white student’s single comment, “Somalis don’t belong here,” which led to racial clashes and tension. OHS has since instituted a policy of “you fight, you’re out.” It broke my heart to listen to Riyaam.

You know what I’m talking about, the differences in skin color and language, in culture and in dress.

There’s way too much suspicion and mistrust, cautiousness and prejudice toward the minorities living and working in Faribault. I’ve heard the derogatory comments about the Somali men who hang out on downtown street corners, the Hispanics who commit all the crimes, the immigrants who take away our jobs, the people who don’t speak English.

Seriously, these Somali men live downtown and the sidewalk is their yard.

“Mexicans,” and I’ve heard that word spit out of too many mean mouths, do not commit all the crimes in our community. Do you know any Hispanics personally? I do. They are probably the most family-oriented individuals I’ve ever met and we could learn a lot from them about the importance they place on loving and caring for one another.

And about those Somalis and/or Sudanese who supposedly steal our jobs—I expect most of us would not want to work the factory jobs they work. I mean no offense to the places which employ them, like the local turkey plant. But if we are honest with ourselves, we’ll admit that we likely never would work at these physically-demanding and not always pleasant jobs.

As for speaking English, have you, as an adult, tried learning a new language? Now attempt learning a new language in a foreign country. Not so easy. Think back to a few generations before you. I bet your great grandparents didn’t speak English. Even my own mother’s first language was German, not English.

The other evening while shopping at a local Big Box retailer, I witnessed how difficult it was for a Hispanic woman to communicate due to her limited English. I almost got on my cell phone to call my second daughter who works as a Spanish medical interpreter in eastern Wisconsin to ask her to interpret.

Did you know that, according to the 2010 U.S. Census, 17.4 percent of Faribault’s 23,352 residents have a language other than English spoken at home? Stats show 9.4 percent of our city’s residents are foreign-born.

Vendors, like Riyaam, peddled their wares at the 2011 festival.

Instead of criticizing those who speak and dress and live differently than the majority of us, let’s begin to understand them. Mostly, I think, our misconceptions, our prejudices, are based on fear. We fear what we don’t understand.

A young girl’s henna stained foot, photographed at the 2011 fest.

International Festival Faribault offers a common, public ground—a city park—on which to meet the minority individuals who call our community home. They are here to stay. Let’s get to know them. Engage in conversation. Show them you care, that you’re genuinely interested in learning more about them and their cultures. Once you’ve connected on a personal level, you will begin to view them as individuals and not by the color of their skin, the clothing they wear, the language they speak…

Xafsa, age 5, photographed at the 2011 festival.

FYI: Click here to link to the International Festival Faribault website.

While this post is directed specifically at the residents of my community, its content can apply to many communities. You’re all invited to Faribault for International Festival Faribault, no matter your community or country of origin. And just to be clear, many Faribault residents and organizations embrace the minorities who call our southeastern Minnesota city home. I in no way intend to mislead you into thinking we are all a bunch of bigots living here. However, neither am I going to hide the fact that obvious prejudices exist and are very much a concern in Faribault.

Click here to link to the post I wrote about last year’s International Festival Faribault.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling