Looking up toward flowering branches and the bold blue sky of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
SPRING IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA looks a lot like colors in a new box of crayons. Sharp. Bold. Vibrant. Vivid green grass. Bold blue sky. Hot pink tree blossoms. Spring flowers bursting bright reds and yellows. These are the hues of spring.
Color everywhere… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
The landscape is a page upon which nature colors over gray. The world explodes in color, a welcome visual delight to winter weary eyes.
Growing goslings explore the river bank. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I can’t get enough of this, even after more than sixty years of observing the seasonal transformation during April into May. It never gets old—this morphing of the seasons. How beautiful this world around us, teeming with new growth, new life.
Goose and goslings aside ducks along river’s edge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Every spring I await the goslings and ducklings. They are pure fluffy cuteness. I admire from afar, keenly aware of their protective parents. I dodge goose poop, not always successfully, to get within viewing range. But I respect their space.
Beautiful scene: a mallard drake swimming on the river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I find myself mesmerized by waterfowl as they forage for food along the shoreline or glide through the river, water rippling a trail. Reflections trace tranquility upon the water’s surface. All is quiet and good in that peaceful scene.
A squirrel, nearly camouflaged by a tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
But not all is still. On land, squirrels scamper up trees, root in the ground. I never tire of their antics, amazed by their acrobatic skills, their Olympian abilities to leap with precision, climb with speed. They are really quite amazing even if sometimes a nuisance when digging up lawns and in flower pots.
A squirrel peeks over a limb on a leafing tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
There’s so much to appreciate in this season not only visually, but in sound, too. Chirping birds, especially raucous this time of year. Trill of peepers in ponds and wetlands. Rustle of a rabbit across dried leaves. Call of a rooster pheasant in flight. Whisper of the wind through leafing treetops.
And then the scent, oh, the distinct, earthy smell of spring. Soil. Rain. Flowers. I dip my nose into apple blossoms, their fragrance a reminder of apples to come, of apple crisp pulled from the oven, of pies baked in Grandma’s kitchen.
Lilacs are budding and flowering. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
But it is lilacs which, for me, hold the strongest scent of spring. Perhaps because of the memories connected to this flowering bush. I remember bouquets of lilacs filling my childhood farmhouse, their heavy perfume masking the odor of cow manure. The lilacs came from my bachelor uncle’s nearby farm. Mike would bring bouquets to his sister-in-law. Or my mom would drive the washboard gravel roads to pick her own. Today, my husband brings me bouquets of lilacs each May, understanding the memories and love these blossoms represent.
Bleeding hearts, one of the first flowers of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
This is spring in Minnesota to me. All of it. Bold. Beautiful. Bright. Me, feeling like a kid giddy with joy over a box of new crayons.
Green is slowly tipping trees, coloring the ground as we bridge into spring. This hillside scene was photographed in Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
THIS TIME OF YEAR in Minnesota—this early spring—everything appears more vibrant. At least to my winter weary eyes. My eyes, which have viewed mostly muted shades of brown and gray for too many months, can’t get enough of this landscape edging with color.
Bold blue skies blanket River Bend’s prairie, which will soon be lush with new growth. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Intense green in buds and lush lawns, thriving with recent rains and then sunshine and warming day-time temps, layer the landscape. Sometimes the sky is such a bold blue that my eyes ache with the beauty of it all. Green against blue, the natural world a poem, a painting, a creative story.
Buds emerge against the backdrop of the creek at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Like most Minnesotans, I find myself emerging, getting outdoors more, immersing myself in nature. Not that I don’t spend time outside in winter. But now, in late April, I’m out more often.
The Straight River twists through River Bend Nature Center, winding through Faribault to connect with the Cannon River. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Parks and trails and the local nature center draw me into woods, along prairie, aside replenished wetlands and ponds, by rivers and creeks. Even a walk through a neighborhood to observe tulips flashing vivid red and yellow pleases me. There’s so much to take in, to delight in as this season unfolds.
Inspirational signs are scattered throughout River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,” reads a quote from William Shakespeare printed on a memorial plaque placed on a bench at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault. I’m no Shakespearean scholar, but I interpret that to mean nature connects us.
Turtles galore lined logs at River Bend’s Turtle Pond on a recent sunny afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
That happened recently at the Turtle Pond. I paused to photograph three turtles lining a log, still as statues in the afternoon sunshine. Then a passing friend noticed and asked what I saw. And then he pulled out his cellphone to photograph. And then the photographer who was shooting senior photos on the boardwalk bridge over the pond, noticed the turtles, too. We were, in that moment, kin in nature, touched by the countless turtles perched on logs in the water.
This bridge spans a creek in Falls Creek County Park, leading to hiking trails in the woods on one end and an open grassy area on the other. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Nature also connected me with others at Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault. A family picnicking by the park shelter prompted memories of long ago picnics there with my growing family. I walked over to tell the young parents how happy I was to see them outdoors, grilling, enjoying the beautiful spring day with Ezra in his Spider-Man costume and Millie in her stroller. Nature makes us kin.
Wildflowers are blooming, including these at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
People simply seem nicer, kinder, more open to conversation when they’re outdoors. It’s as if the wind whispers only good words into our thoughts. It’s as if clouds disperse to reveal only sunny skies. It’s as if sounds are only those of silence or of birds, not of anger and hostility. Nature calms with her voice, her presence.
Water mesmerizes as it flows over stones in a clear-running creek at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
I love to stand aside a burbling creek, to hear water rushing over rocks. In that moment, I hear only the soothing, steady rhythm of music and none of the noise of life. Peace, sweet peace, consumes me.
Trails at Falls Creek County Park are packed dirt, narrow, rugged, uneven and sometimes blocked by fallen trees. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
The same goes for walking within nature. Trees embrace me. Wildflowers show me beauty. Dirt beneath my soles connects me to the earth, filling my soul.
On a recent afternoon at River Bend, geese searched the prairie for food. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
And then there are the creatures. The Canadian geese wandering the prairie, searching for food, their long necks bending, pilfering the dried grass while I dodge the droppings they’ve left along the pathway. They are fearless, a lesson for me in standing strong.
Deer at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Deer gather, then high-tail away when they grow weary of me watching them. They’ve had enough, even if I haven’t.
A nesting mallard hen and drake, nearly camouflaged on a wetland pond at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
And at the pond, mallards nest. Unmoving. Determined. Heads folded into feathers. Settled there among dried stalks, water bold blue, reflecting the sky. Spring peepers sing a symphony of spring. It is a scene, a performance that holds me.
Rustic signage, which I love, marks landmarks and trails inside River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Shakespeare was right. “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”
In April 2018, this robin huddled in the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2018)
THIS TIME OF YEAR, birds sound louder, their voices amplified. Birds are marking territories, seeking mates. Or perhaps they are announcing their return to Minnesota or their survival of winter, even the mild one of 2023-2024.
A cardinal. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2019)
Cardinals trill. Red-winged blackbirds and robins sing in their distinguishable voices, which I can’t quite describe. But I know them when I hear them.
Red-winged blackbird among dried cattails in a pond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2017)
When I step out my backdoor to hang laundry on the clothesline, I hear the morning birdsong, even above the drone of traffic along my busy street. When I walk at the local nature center, I hear birdsong rising from the woods, the marshes, the prairie. To hear birds singing is to hear the refrain of spring.
From the pages of a children’s picture book… Birds announce spring’s arrival in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2019)
It’s lovely and uplifting and hopeful. And in many ways remarkable. Here are these small feathered creatures singing spring songs that captivate us with their boldness, their melody.
Soon the grass will be lush and long, like a carpet for robins and other birds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Each spring, without fail, I find myself listening intently to birdsong as if the song is a new release. In a way, it is. A release from winter’s grip. A release to days that are warmer and greener and teeming with life. Those are the signs, the hopes, of spring in Minnesota.
Leaping across a path near the parking lot at River Bend Nature Center in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2013)
THEY LEAPT LIKE BALLERINAS across the dirt trail, white tutu tails flashing.
They were a herd of 11 deer sighted recently at Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center. I stood on Raccoon Trail aside Randy simply watching. One after the other they leapt with such grace, such practiced precision.
I photographed these deer at River Bend in April 2022, not far from where we sighted 16 deer on March 13. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
Only moments earlier, as we hiked down Arbor Trail on the nature center’s northeast side, Randy touched my arm, motioning me to stop. There, ahead of us, across the intersecting dirt path, several deer lingered in lowland grasses. I didn’t initially see them, my distance vision not all that acute. But eventually I spotted the camouflaged deer.
Rustic signs mark trails at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)
And then we saw more in the distance, nearer the Prairie Loop. There, barely visible behind trees.
A sense of wonderment, of awe, of just wanting to take in the scene before me overtook my spirit. Such moments in nature deserve full attention. We watched while two men walked right past us, unaware of the nearby deer so engaged were they in conversation.
We waited, whisper-quiet. Watching. Then the deer moved, ambling along the edge of tall dried grasses, staying parallel to the trail. Soon more deer emerged from a stand of trees and trailed the first traveling troupe. It was a sight, the endless stream of deer moving east.
Our attention turned that direction, toward the deer, one by one, long-leaping over Raccoon Trail, into the woods, up the hill, toward the prairie. We started counting. One, two, three…all the way to eleven. Only when the last deer exited the stage did we dare move, so mesmerized were we by the performance.
Inspirational quotes like this are spread throughout River Bend. I especially love this one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2019)
Randy and I resumed our hike, following Raccoon Trail until the biting wind of the March evening prompted us to turn back. By that time we were talking again or walking in comfortable silence. I wished aloud that I had my 35 mm camera with me. I’ve never been this near so many deer at River Bend. Eleven. But perhaps it was better I was without my camera so I could focus on the moment rather than on focusing and framing images.
Camouflaged deer among the prairie grasses of River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
Then, back at the intersection of Raccoon and Arbor Trails, Randy alerted me to more deer. Five this time. Standing statute still, without stage fright. Watching us. Us watching them in a stare-down. I wondered which of us would move first. Wildlife or human.
This sign posted in a kiosk along Raccoon Trail reminds visitors that deer and other wildlife, are just that, wildlife. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
I ooohed over the cute babies, last year’s fawns. Even if deer are dreadful when darting onto roadways and unwanted when dining on garden flowers and vegetables, I appreciate them in their natural habitat. This is their home, their stage, this land of tall grasses and woods. Here they walk with elegance. Here they leap with the grace of seasoned ballet dancers. Here they give me pause to stop, to listen to the trill of red-winged blackbirds as we watch each other—deer and human—in the fading light of a March evening at River Bend.
Ice fishing themed neon art advertises Grain Belt beer, made by August Schell Brewing Co. in New Ulm, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)
IN THE UPSTAIRS ROOM of a small town southern Minnesota bar, I found myself drawn to the neon beer signs decorating the dark walls underscored by corrugated tin. The signs add an element of kitschy art to this space at The R Bar in Randolph where a group gathered for a holiday work party, Randy and I among them.
Ice anglers on Union Lake, rural Faribault, fish in the open on a sunny winter afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Next to the slim cooler holding an assortment of mass-produced beers and a few other drinks, I spotted neon signage that is about as Minnesotan as it gets—a bundled up ice fisherman pulling a fish through a hole in the ice, beer beside him.
Ice fishing on the Cannon River near the Faribault Mill. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2023)
Winter in Minnesota, if this would be a typical winter, finds anglers pulling fish houses onto lakes or sitting on overturned 5-gallon buckets to fish through holes drilled in the ice. But this has not been a usual winter here with temps (before this week) above normal and many lakes remaining open rather than frozen over. Several weeks ago, 122 anglers had to be rescued after ice broke away from the shore on Upper Red Lake in northern Minnesota. Following that, law enforcement officials restricted motorized vehicles from driving onto the lake until the ice consistently thickens to support motor vehicle traffic.
Ice fishing shacks are set up like a mini village on Lake Mazaska west of Faribault in Shieldsville. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I recognize this all sounds a bit odd to anyone unfamiliar with ice fishing. Vehicles, and we’re not talking just recreational vehicles, we’re talking mostly pick-up trucks, are driven onto the ice as anglers head for the hot fishing spots on our frozen lakes.
I myself engaged in the sport of ice fishing some 40 years ago, pre-children. Randy and I would sit inside his friend Jerry’s small ice shack warmed by a portable heater, play cards, drink beer and drop our lines into holes drilled through the ice. As the hours passed, we watched for our bobbers to tip in the frigid lake water, indicating a bite. I don’t remember catching many fish. But I recall the unsettling noise of cracking ice as Randy drove his Chevy pick-up truck across the icy lake and as we huddled inside the tight ice fishing hut.
The interior of an ice fishing house/camper, photographed several years ago at a sports show in Owatonna. Remove the lids and drop your line into the water on a frozen lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Much has changed through the decades. Fish houses have grown in size to almost mini cabins complete with kitchens and bunks to sleep overnight. This is a serious sport, big business in Minnesota. Of course, for those with more limited resources, tent-like pop-up portable fish houses remain an affordable option as does sitting on a cooler or a bucket under the winter sky.
A pop-up portable fish house at Pawn MN in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I doubt I will ever return to ice fishing. It doesn’t appeal to me like it did those winters, oh, so long ago. And I don’t trust the ice like I did back in the day when I was younger, less prone to considering ice thickness and safety. I’ve lived enough Minnesota winters to believe the warning, “No ice is ever completely safe.”
Drilling a hole in the frozen Cannon River to fish near the Faribault Mill. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
But I still celebrate ice fishing and its importance in Minnesota. It’s a favorite winter pastime/sport, especially for guys who seem intent on bonding over beers. It’s an important part of tradition and of our economy.
And, on this January evening, ice fishing is also an art form. I found it, here in The R Bar, the neon image of an ice fisherman glowing in this space of pool tables, tabletop shuffleboard, dart boards, high-top tables, a shiny wood-grain bar top, and a slim cooler holding Minnesota-made Grain Belt and other beer. This is winter in Minnesota, defined not by the light snow falling outside the bar, but by a neon symbol of fishing through a hole drilled in a frozen lake.
Raspberry chicken salad, one of the best salads I’ve eaten, at the Amboy Cottage Cafe, Amboy, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
FOR MANY OF US, these early January days prompt thoughts of embracing a healthier lifestyle. Eating better, exercising, losing weight, reducing stress and more top lists. But taking this from ideas to action requires determination and hard work.
If you live in a cold weather climate like me, getting motivated and active during the winter can prove challenging. Just the thought of bundling up to go outdoors makes me wish for warmer, sunnier days. This time of year, I’d rather snuggle under a fleece throw and read.
These as yet unused grippers will go over my snow boots to keep me safe on snowy and icy surfaces. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)
But I’m determined in 2024 to work harder at appreciating winter. I won’t be taking up downhill skiing or ice skating. But I am open to trying cross country skiing and snowshoeing decades out from my last attempt at either. I’ll leave ice fishing for the die-hard anglers. And I can certainly walk/hike, especially now that I have clamp-on Snow Trax with tungsten carbide spikes for gripping snowy and icy surfaces. I have not yet tested them to see if they actually work as promised. We’ve had only minimal snow and ice. Of one thing I’m certain. I can’t risk falling and breaking a bone. Not at my age, which is closing in on 70.
Inside the Shattuck-St. Mary’s soccer dome. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
If I really want to play it safe and simultaneously stay warm, I can walk indoors. Shattuck-St. Mary’s, a private college prep school on Faribault’s east side, opens its dome to the public from 6:10 – 9:30 am weekdays for running and walking. Five loops around the soccer field perimeter equal about a mile, the distance Randy and I typically walk. It’s truly amazing that I can go this far given six months ago I could barely manage to walk a block due to the affects of long haul COVID.
The curving Straight River as photographed from the Straight River Trail, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2023)
On days when temps are not horribly cold and the wind is calm, I much prefer walking outside. There’s something about being outdoors, in nature, that is more relaxing, calming than in an indoor environment. I like the feel of sunshine on my face, even the crisp air, and the sight of twisting river and bare trees and a sometimes bold, blue sky. Last time walking at the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf campus, 10 deer stood statue still watching Randy and me as we stood statue still watching them. I felt such joy in seeing this wildlife in the heart of my community.
Pre-long haul COVID, I was lifting 12-pound weights. I’ve resumed lifting weights, but not 12 pounds yet. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)
Walking and weight lifting, along with taking Vitamin D and getting sufficient calcium in my diet, are ways I am improving my health, too, specifically my bone health. Dairy has always been an important part of my daily food in-take given I grew up on a dairy farm. I like lifting hand weights. I feel empowered and stronger. With a family history of osteoporosis, my own diagnosis, two past broken bones and my tall, thin frame, I take bone health seriously.
Then there’s diet beyond dairy. If one good thing came from developing long haul COVID in 2023, it was losing 25 pounds. Granted, I wouldn’t recommend this weight loss plan. But I’m happy to have a current body mass index of 20.7, which is on the lower end of my “normal” weight range.
Oatmeal laced with fruit is my typical breakfast. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
I find I no longer crave sweets as much as I once did. With the kids long gone from home, I seldom bake. I eat a bowl of old-fashioned oatmeal with fresh fruit added nearly every morning and have done so for many years. It took several weeks of eating oatmeal for the grain to grow on me. In the back of my head, I remembered how much my father-in-law disliked oatmeal, so much so that he stuffed oatmeal into his pockets at Catholic boarding school. Not quite sure how he managed that as a young lad under the watchful eyes of the nuns.
Flamin’ Bleupizza from Pizzeria 201 in Montgomery, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I try to eat smaller portions, avoid junk food and bread, and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables (which I love). Admittedly, I also love pizza, a grilled cheese sandwich, cheesecake, ice cream, etc. and don’t deny myself foods that aren’t necessarily “good” for me. It’s about portion control. Have a small scoop of ice cream, not several. On occasion, I’ve been known to devour a handful of dark chocolate chips when I’m craving chocolate.
Seldom do I dine out, for two reasons—cost and my inability to tolerate noisy environments due to sensory issues from long haul COVID. I’ve only eaten out a handful of times in the past year. Twice I left because I couldn’t manage the noise. While I appreciate restaurants, I recognize that such dining can lead to overeating and consuming calorie-laden foods because, who isn’t tempted by French fries?
Walking is one way to reduce stress. Many communities have trails, perfect for walking even in the winter. This photo was taken along the Straight River Trail near Fleckenstein Bluffs Park in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2023)
Reducing stress is perhaps my biggest challenge. I tend to worry, to ruminate. And that is unhealthy. I’m getting better at letting go, at lessening demands on myself, on understanding that life never has been, and never will be, perfect.
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TELL ME: What do you do to stay healthy? What goals have you set for 2024?
Sheets and towels hang on my clothesline Thursday morning, patches of snow still showing on the lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
IN THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE of a frosty last day of November morning, I clipped towels and sheets onto the clothesline. It’s a task I love, for many reasons.
There’s something remarkably soothing about the rhythm of pulling laundry from a basket and then methodically clipping it onto a line. It’s a rather mindless task, although I do consider placement, hanging heavier items in the spotlight of the morning sun.
I love how this draws me outside, to appreciate the beginning of the day. To see the sky, the trees. To hear birdsong, mostly in warm weather. To feel the wind, the warmth of sunshine and the bite of the almost-winter air.
If the patio is clear of snow and the sun shining brightly, I will sometimes hang laundry outdoors in the winter, as seen in this file photo with snow piled in the background. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Admittedly, hanging laundry outdoors in below freezing temps requires some fortitude. As I hung laundry Thursday morning, I felt my fingers numbing against the cold of damp, wet laundry. I paused half way through to step inside my warm kitchen, to put on a pot of coffee, anticipating my chilled hands wrapping a warm mug.
Then I headed back outside, remnants of snow remaining on the lawn near the patio where my removable clothesline stretches. The towels were already stiff, frozen.
Pioneer women faced the added challenge of grasshoppers devouring their laundry. This info was included in a Minnesota Historical Society traveling exhibit at the Steele County History Center about disasters in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2016)
I continued hanging laundry, just like generations of women before me. Prairie women, pioneer women, hardy women who labored in the elements, who (unlike me) washed their clothing and bedding in rivers and on washboards. Yet, we each worked under the same sky, the same sun. We are linked in a sisterhood of women hanging laundry. I love that historic connection.
I love, too, the scent of laundry dried by the sun. Especially sheets. They smell of wind and sky and sun.
I seldom use my clothes dryer, relying on solar power and indoor drying racks to dry my laundry. My friends Jackie and Lisa do the same. They understand me, why I intentionally choose on a nippy November morning, to step outside, to methodically clip towels and sheets to the clothesline.
TELL ME: Do you hang laundry outdoors? If yes, why?
Deer photographed at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
MANY MINNESOTANS hold a love-hate relationship with deer. We love watching them in the wild. But when they devour our flowers and other plants, then deer are not quite so cute. Or, if they dash onto a roadway, slamming into our vehicles (or perhaps us into them), then the hate factor amps up considerably.
Leaping across a path near the nature center parking lot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2013)
And then there are the deer hunters, including many in my extended family. While I’ve never asked why they hunt, for some it’s a food source, others tradition, a challenge, a sport, camaraderie and the joy of time spent in the woods, fields and prairie.
Spotted on a back country road near Mazeppa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)
Right now is prime deer hunting season in Minnesota with the recent firearms deer hunting opener. It’s a big deal with even our governor donning his blaze orange attire. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources regulates hunting with detailed rules for firearms, muzzleloader and archery hunts plus a whole lot of other specifics for ages and regions. Way too complicated for me. But then I don’t need to understand given I don’t hunt.
A hunter in bright orange roamed fields during the opening weekend of deer hunting in Minnesota in 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)
But I do need to be aware. I prefer not to go on leisurely country drives during firearms hunting. Bullets can travel a long way. While I know most hunters are careful, not all are. Being sure of your target before firing is a basic rule of hunting. Even I, a non-hunter, understand that.
Spotted along a trail at River Bend while hiking on Sunday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
I also understand the need to heed warning signs like the one I spotted while hiking at River Bend Nature Center late Sunday morning. The nature center will be closed Thursday, November 9, through Sunday, November 12, for an archery management hunt. It’s a necessary event to manage the deer population. Coyotes do some of that, but clearly not enough.
The muted autumn landscape at River Bend, the path leading back to the woods or onto the prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
I appreciate River Bend for its diverse landscape of woods, prairie, wetlands and river. To walk the trails within is to connect with nature, to feel peace, to experience a sense of awe and wonder at the intricacies and beauties of the natural world.
One of my favorites at River Bend, grass that stretches 10 feet and bends poetically in the wind. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
Here sky meets prairie. Here woods shelter. Here river twists. Here milkweeds flourish and grasses stretch and snakes slither. And here deer roam, too, in this land that is more theirs than ours. Yet, we claim it also.
Deer nearly camouflaged in the dried grasses at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2022)
And even though I intellectually recognize the need for an archery management hunt, part of me wants to shout a warning: “Run, deer, run!”
Individual leaves, like this maple, are works of art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
TEMPS DIPPING INTO THE LOW 20s definitely feel more like winter than autumn here in southern Minnesota. I pulled on my parka, stocking cap and mittens earlier this week for my morning walk.
A still colorful treeline behind Pollard Hall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
But the weekend, oh, the weekend, even if only in the 30s, was a wonderful one for final fall walks. I wanted one last glimpse of the foliage. Leaves have dropped from many trees, but some remain, like stubborn, defiant kids refusing to leave the playground.
A solitary oak set against the backdrop of Noyes Hall is simply stunning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Per our usual weekend walking route, Randy and I headed to the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf on Faribault’s east side. I love walking here. It’s quiet, secluded and just plain achingly beautiful. From aged limestone buildings to green space to a wooded area behind the buildings, there’s much to appreciate. Nature and old architecture always appeal to me as does a safe, unimpeded place to walk.
The woods I was drawn to explore. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Typically we stick to following sidewalks or crossing parking lots. But this time we diverged into the wooded area behind Pollard Hall, a boarded up building and the HVAC and maintenance headquarters. I’d previously seen people with their dogs tracking across the grass near woods’ edge. But we’d never detoured to explore, mostly because in the summer and early autumn the woods appear a dense forest. Now with most leaves fallen, the space opened up, drawing me in.
We followed a leaf-strewn, narrow dirt path for a ways into the woods. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Since I’m directionally challenged in a town that is not prairie grid straight, I wondered what lay beyond the woods, below the bluff. After a bit of crunching over leaves, dodging branches and skirting trees, I saw the answer. Below lay the river and train tracks and Straight River Apartments next to Fleckenstein Bluffs Park. Finally, I understood my geographical placement.
Woods, hills, fallen leaves and creek bed meld behind MSAD. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Mostly I took in the topography of hills bumping into each other, a dry creekbed twisting between. Yellow leaves covered the hillsides as thick as shag carpeting, but much lovelier.
Oak leaves blanket the lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Once out of the woods, Randy alerted me to two deer near the HVAC building. A third had already run away upon spotting us. But the other two stood still as statues, fully aware of our presence. We mimicked them, opting to stand quietly and appreciate their unexpected appearance. As much as I dislike deer along roadways, I find them endearing in any other location. Finally the pair decided they’d had enough of this stare off. They white-tailed it across the grass, disappearing over a hill.
Sometimes you have to look up, directly up, to see the beauty, like this oak tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
And so we continued on, me pulling out my cellphone once again to snap photos of the remaining colorful trees. My mind understands that soon this landscape will be devoid of color, transformed to the black-and-white of winter. But on this weekend, I pushed those thoughts mostly aside, focusing instead on autumn’s lingering beauty.
The river bottom revealed, weeds and flowers growing where once water flowed in the Straight River at Faribault’s Teepee Tonka Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
CAUTIOUSLY I SIDLED down the silty river bank, hand clasping Randy’s to steady myself. “This isn’t one of the smartest things we’ve done recently,” I said. I held no desire to slip on the unstable ground, to tumble and break a bone. I’ve twice done that. The doctor who recently diagnosed me with osteopenia likely would remind me of my bone density scan results and of my age, which is much closer to 70 than sixty.
But risk outweighed fear. I wanted to reach the dry river bottom, to stand upon the rocky bed, soles touching a place where water once flowed strong and steady.
In this summer of abnormally high temps and little rainfall, the water level in the Straight River, like so many other waterways in Minnesota, is low. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, which monitors river depths, terms the level of the Straight near Faribault as “scrapable.” Defined, that’s “so low that paddlers may have to get out of their watercraft to avoid rocks.” At the Straight River West Bridge Street location in Owatonna, the river level measures only slightly better at “low.” The Cannon River, into which the Straight flows, rates as “scrapable” in Morristown, near Faribault, in Northfield and in Welch.
The effects of the ongoing statewide drought are evident. My county of Rice, like 39 percent of Minnesota, is in a severe drought. And much of southeastern Minnesota, including more than half of Steele County to the south through which the Straight River twists and turns, is in an extreme drought.
Stagnant water ponds near the bridge leading into Teepee Tonka Park with the viaduct in the distance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
It’s no wonder that on this afternoon in mid-September, I can walk upon a rocky river bottom where water once flowed, even flooded this spring into Teepee Tonka Park near Faribault’s historic viaduct. Earlier this summer, a Faribault teen discovered a cephalopod fossil in an area of a local river typically under water. He refused to identify the specific waterway, but I guessed, perhaps incorrectly, that it was the Straight.
A fossil along a trail near the Straight River overlook in Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center, which connects to Teepee Tonka Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
That fossil discovery was also part of my reason for descending the river bank near the east-side Faribault park entrance. I had great uncles who were rock hounds, inspiring in me a childhood fascination with agates and shells and interesting finds revealed only at ground level. That’s carried through into adulthood.
Wildflowers bend toward the narrowed river of exposed river bottom and rocks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
But on this day I found nothing of interest, only weeds and wildflowers sprouting between stones aside the drought-narrowed river. Correction: I spotted a bra atop a rock, just out of reach in the river, and wondered about the story behind that.
Outdoor enthusiasts intending to paddle the Straight or Cannon rivers now would assuredly have their own disappointing stories to tell about abandoned plans. I observed ankle deep water in parts of the Straight, making water recreation impossible, any recreational outings scrapable.
Around this bend in the river, to the right, the water deepens a bit and flows freely. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
Only a pair of hunting dogs let loose by their owner in Teepee Tonka Park enjoyed the low river level on the day I eased down the river bank. They scrambled down the bank, surefooted, racing along river’s edge, shallow water splashing. Then back up they dashed, sprinting along the grassy bank before returning to the river. I delighted in their antics while simultaneously concerned they might come near me. I never quite trust strange dogs not under the control of their owner. A large muddy-pawed dog once jumped on me while I walked at a city park.
Mud. We’ve seen little of that in most parts of Minnesota this summer. There are exceptions, of course, including flash floods in Duluth on Monday, not something any of us want. Light rain fell in Faribault early on this week, enough to dampen the pavement. But I yearn to hear the steady thrum of rain upon the earth. Rain that will ease this drought, replenish our rivers, revive our waterways, restore the land.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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