IN THE ETHEREAL LIGHT of the setting sun, Randy and I loop around the ponds at Faribault Energy Park, our shoes crunching on gravel.
If not for the steady roar of traffic on adjacent Interstate 35, this parcel of parkland would prove especially peaceful.
Despite the drone of vehicles, I still appreciate this 35-acre park that takes visitors past three ponds, a wind turbine and solar panels. Often we are alone here, which makes this park even more appealing. Occasionally, though, a dog runs free, despite rules requiring leashing.
On this visit, I focus on the wildflowers and grasses that flourish here as late spring transitions toward summer. Only steps into our walk, Randy discovers a wild rose bush along the trail. We both step off the path to dip our noses into a five-petaled pink rose, to smell the delicate scent of nature’s perfume. I recall youthful days of biking along country roads, the ditches populated with fragrant wild roses.
I’m no plant expert, thus can’t identify most of the other flowers I see here. But I do know enough to stay away from the invasive wild parsnip. The toxic yellow plant, if touched, burns the skin.
Brome, pond-side and other grasses draw my eye as they stretch toward the sky. Or, on this evening, bend in the wind as if dancing a farewell recital to daylight.
Clouds build to the west and north, sometimes blocking the sun.
An egret takes flight from a pond, its wings lifting, flapping, long black legs trailing in a straight line. The bird rises high out of camera range.
A chorus of birds, mostly unseen, sing as we walk along the trails, around the ponds. I can only distinguish the unique voice of a red-winged blackbird.
Randy weaves through the tall grass to check a bluebird house, finding only a few feathers and dried grass inside.
Sunlight glints on water, shadows through trees. This time of day—the golden hour before sunset—holds a light-beauty matched only by the hour after sunrise. This is the time I want to be out with my camera composing images, but also simply in the moment. As trite as the word may seem, “beautiful” defines the light.
To hike and take photos at Faribault Energy Park in this hour settles my spirit in a way that only nature can. Wildflowers. Tall grasses. Bird song. Sunlight on water. Clouds rising. The wind touching my face. The scent of a wild rose.
All of this I find here on this parcel of parkland, this place beside the busy interstate where motorists rush by while I walk, shoes crunching on gravel.
FYI: Minnesota Municipal Power Agency owns Faribault Energy Park, which includes parkland and a power plant. The park is located at 4100 Park Avenue North on Faribault’s north side and is open from sunrise to sunset. Here visitors can hike, enjoy a picnic and fish in the pond next to the power plant.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Westward bound deep into Minnesota farm country May 28, 2026
Tags: agriculture, barns, Brown County, commentary, farm fields, farm sites, farming, land, landscape, Mankato, memories, Morgan, New Ulm, Owatonna, photography, Redwood County, rural Minnesota, sky, southern Minnesota, travel, Vesta
THROUGH SEVEN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA counties we traveled—Rice, Steele, Waseca, Blue Earth, Nicollet, Brown and, then, home to Redwood. Westward bound.
Only occasionally now, mostly for the annual family reunion and on this day a beloved aunt’s funeral, do Randy and I follow this 125-mile route back to my native Redwood County.
Every trip, I see the immensity of sky and land as the landscape unfolds before me. The farther west we drive, the more rural the look, the feel, with the exception of Mankato and New Ulm.
We bypass the small towns along four-lane U.S. Highway 14 while passing endless farm sites and fields.
I have my eye on the view from the passenger side of our van, scanning the land, watching for photo ops. Photography can be a challenge while traveling at highway speeds. Still, I try, managing to capture images that document the ruralness of this place.
Barns, especially red ones, always grab my attention. They symbolize agriculture more than any other building. Yet, most no longer center a farming operation. Absent of animals, many barns have been repurposed or have fallen into heaps of rotting wood. I always appreciate a well-kept barn still standing strong against elements and the passage of time.
This trip I’m also cognizant of crops at the beginning of the growing season. Corn is popping up in rows across the land, green shoots reaching toward the sun, the sky. Green is good. When my next trip this direction comes in late July, that corn will stand towering and dense across acres of fields.
I may not be a farmer, but my connection to the land more than 50 decades removed from my childhood farm remains strong. I still look at the crops. I still hope to spot a herd of Holsteins. I still see a silo and mentally climb the interior ladder to throw down silage. I still eye a grove of trees with the playfulness of youth.
While nostalgia runs high on trips like this deep into Minnesota farm country, reality is that farming remains as challenging as ever with ever-rising expenses, low commodity prices and the uncertainties of weather. Will rain fall when needed? Will storms come with devastating wind and hail? Always, always, the risks exist from planting to growing to harvest.
But on this day, mile after mile after mile, I see the hope of a farmer. I see a way of life. I see dreams.
And I feel small in this place where land and sky dwarf farm sites, where fields stretch across endless acres, where the highway ribbons ahead of us across seven rural southern Minnesota counties, westward bound.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling