Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Reflecting on 9/11, then & now September 12, 2019

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In remembrance of 9/11, photographed last September 11 in Hastings, Minnesota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2018.

 

YESTERDAY BROUGHT TIME for reflection. Reflection upon the events of September 11, 2001, a day which forever changed us as Americans.

 

I reconstructed a tower using the same blocks my then young son and his friend used on September 11, 2001, to duplicate what they saw on television. These are also the same toy airplanes they flew into the tower. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2011.

 

The terrorist attacks on our country made us feel vulnerable, unsafe and realizing, perhaps for the first time that, just because we live in America, we don’t live in a bubble of protection from those who would harm us.

 

Photographed along Interstate 90 east of La Crosse, Wisconsin. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo May 2011.

 

Yet, in the midst of that tragedy, that sorrow, that new reality, there emerged a solidarity. We felt united as a country, a people.

 

On the campus of Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota, a plaque honors an alumnus who died in the World Trade Center attack. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo July 2019.

 

Eighteen years later I no longer see that unity. I see rather a fractured country. That saddens me. The discord. The political upheaval. Even the overt hatred toward certain peoples.

 

Faribault, Minnesota, firefighters pay special tribute to the fallen New York firefighters on this memorial sign. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2011.

 

Yet, when I look closely, I see the care and compassion extended by many Americans toward those who need our care and compassion. We have always been a giving nation. I hear the voices of those who speak for those whose voices have been mostly silenced by rhetoric and oppression and policies. We are still individuals with voices that matter.

 

My then 8-year-old son drew this picture of a plane aimed for the twin towers a year after 9/11 for a school religion assignment. He was a third grader in a Christian school at the time and needed to think of a time when it was hard to trust God. To this day, this drawing by my boy illustrates to me how deeply 9/11 impacted even the youngest among us. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

That ability to express ourselves—whether through the written or spoken word, in music, in art, in acts of kindness—remains. Strong. We have the power individually to make a difference in our communities, to start small, to rise above that which threatens to erode.

THOUGHTS?

© Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

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Urban photography April 18, 2019

 

CITYSCAPES INTRIGUE ME, for many reasons. But primarily visually.

 

 

Metro scenes differ vastly from the rural scenes I typically photograph. Rural equals a visual simplicity. Metro, overall, offers more chaos, more distractions, more color and variety. That’s a generalization. Chaos can be found, too, in rural, simplicity in urban.

 

 

Photographers always comes to photography with backgrounds, experiences, perspectives that influence images. We edit as we shoot. At least I do.

 

 

 

 

On a recent trip into the Twin Cities metro, I shot a series of images as Randy drove along Snelling Avenue. I’m unfamiliar with the area but noted banners identifying St. Paul’s Hamline Midway district. I observed, too, the cultural diversity of businesses.

 

 

 

 

And I thought about that, how I grew up in rural Minnesota among all Caucasians with the only differences whether you were a town kid or a farm kid, Catholic or Lutheran. I am thankful that has changed in some rural areas of Minnesota. Not all certainly.

 

 

 

I remembered that thought hours later when guests began arriving for my granddaughter’s third birthday party. Izzy’s little friends and their parents are a mix of ethnicities. And for that I am grateful. She views her world through a kaleidoscope. Not a single, focused lens.

 

THOUGHTS?

 

FYI: I invite you to click here and view the work of award-winning New York City photographer and blogger Keith Goldstein. He does incredible street photography, primarily portraits. Keith offers glimpses of humanity. I love to study his images, to see people and places that differ vastly from rural Minnesota.

© Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Taking my photos beyond this blog March 22, 2019

Me behind my camera. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

I NEVER IMAGINED upon starting this blog nearly 10 years ago that my photos posted here would be in demand.

But that proved to be true. I’ve sold photo rights to authors, businesses, tourism offices, marketing agencies, art curators, charities, media outlets and much more. That includes to museums.

 

I sold photo usage rights of this picturesque farm site just north of Lamberton in Redwood County, Minnesota, for inclusion in a museum video. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

I’ve yet to see my photos in any of the three museums which bought rights to specific images. Those include The National WW II Museum in New Orleans, which incorporated a southwestern Minnesota farm site photo into a video clip about a Minnesota soldier.

 

My Laura Look-A-Like Contest photo close-up. Photo courtesy of Laurel Engquist.

 

An overview of a section of the Laura Ingalls Wilder exhibit that included my photo, top right. Photo by Laurel Engquist.

 

At the American Writers Museum in Chicago, my photo of girls participating in a Laura-Look-A-Like Contest was included in a past exhibit on Laura Ingalls Wilder. My friend Laurel visited the museum and photographed my photo there.

 

Photo by Amber Schmidt.

 

A close-up of my photo posted at the Minnesota Children’s Museum. Photo by Amber Schmidt.

 

And in St. Paul, my eldest daughter photographed my photo of the Wabasha Hardware Hank posted next to the hardware store exhibit in the “Our World” portion of the Minnesota Children’s Museum. The Wabasha hardware store inspired the exhibit which invites kids to “don an apron, strap on a toolbelt, stock shelves and help customers.”

 

Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2011.

 

It’s an honor to have my work included in these museum exhibits. I appreciate when others find value in my photos. I’ve quickly found, though, that while some people want to use my photos, they don’t always value my images enough to pay for them. Too often I get inquiries to use my photos “for credit and a link.” Nearly every time, I decline the opportunity. “For credit and a link” doesn’t pay bills. “For credit and a link” doesn’t respect me as a professional. “For credit and a link” diminishes my value as an artist. If the individual inquiring about photo usage is being paid for work that will include my photo, then I too deserve to be paid. It’s as simple as that. And, yes, all of my photos are copyrighted. From the moment I create them.

THOUGHTS?

© Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The long Minnesota winter February 26, 2019

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I stood in our driveway to show you the height of the snow piled at the end of the drive, on both sides. The stop sign on the street corner is barely visible from this perspective. Backing out of the driveway and pulling onto the roadway require caution as snow piles block vision lines.

 

I’VE COMPLAINED A LOT about winter recently. Both here and in conversation. I’m not alone. Ask almost any Minnesotan (except my friend Jackie) if they are weary of winter and the answer will be a resounding yes.

 

Clearing snow is a seemingly endless task. Here Randy works to clear the sidewalk.

 

The record-breaking snow of February pushed us all to that brink of winter weariness. The endless snow removal, plans canceled by weather, difficult driving conditions, schools closed, brutal temps and winds, and much more combine to make this a challenging winter.

 

A view of Willow Street, an arterial street running past our Faribault home.

 

We need a break. Not everyone has the ability, financial or otherwise, to escape to a warmer place.

 

Another view of the snow piled at the end of our driveway.

 

If I was 50 years younger, my attitude likely would differ. As a child, I embraced winter on the southwestern Minnesota prairie, playing for endless hours atop mountainous, rock-hard snowdrifts and racing across towering snow piles. Sledding and skating. And in between, farm chores, which were finger-numbing cold in winter. Not fun, really, but necessary for our financial survival.

 

The narrow snow banked pathway to our front door.

 

Randy finally decided just to leave the ladder outside, leaning here against the garage. He’s been on the garage and house roofs twice to shovel off the snow.

 

Time warp to today, to adulthood. Snow no longer represents fun. It represents work. Randy has handled the bulk of snow removal using our ancient (I term it Noah’s ark) snowblower. But some shoveling still needs to be done in areas like the roof, front steps and walk.

 

You can barely see Randy’s head over the snow piled at the end of our sidewalk.

 

Shoveling the snow wall built by the city snowplow at the end of the sidewalk.

 

And when the snowplow pushes snow into the end of the sidewalk or driveway, the snow often needs to be sliced apart for the snowblower to chomp through the snow wall. Randy and I sometimes work in tandem on that task, me working the shovel.

 

Finally, through the snow wall and moving down the sidewalk.

 

The snow piles have reached such a height now that when Randy blows the snow, it won’t even go over the tops of some snow mounds.

 

The sidewalk past our house cleared of snow Sunday afternoon.

 

On Sunday afternoon I grabbed my Canon DSLR and shot some images of my neighborhood, including our home, to try and give you a perspective on the height of the snow. All the while I did this, I remained cognizant of ice. The last thing I need is to slip and break another bone.

 

Another look at my neighborhood Sunday afternoon, February 24, 2019.

 

I’d say enjoy the photos. But that seems a ridiculous statement. Rather, appreciate the documentation of what has been an especially notable and memorable winter in southern Minnesota.

 

FOR ANOTHER photo view of snow in southeastern Minnesota, click here to see images from my friend Greg at Almost Iowa. He’s an incredible writer with a great sense of humor. He lives in the country near the Minnesota-Iowa border.

Then click here to view photos by my friend Jackie from Rochester. She’s the Jackie referenced in my opening paragraph. Jackie loves winter. I mean really really loves winter. She’s a talented photographer and does a great job of documenting the blizzard in Rochester, one of the hardest hit areas.

© Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Autumn on a rural Minnesota acreage, a photo essay October 4, 2018

A restored windmill towers above a refurbished mini barn (soon to be art studio) on my brother and sister-in-law’s rural Redwood County acreage.

 

OF SIX FARM-RAISED SIBLINGS, only two live in the country. Neither farmers. But two work in the ag industry, one as the CEO of an ethanol company, the other as part owner in an implement dealership.

 

 

My middle brother remains in our home county of Redwood and welcomes us back for extended family gatherings, most recently our annual autumn tradition of making horseradish—157 jars this year. The tradition honors our deceased farmer father. He dug and processed horseradish roots for many years. Now we do the same but with easier methods than using an old meat grinder powered by a drill. Like Dad, we give away the condiment.

 

Sunflowers ripen and dry under the prairie sky.

 

Our annual gathering in rural Lamberton isn’t about the horseradish as much as it is about family.

 

I’ve always delighted in milkweed pods bursting with seeds.

 

 

 

While I enjoy our time together, I usually slip away to meander, to take in the rural setting, to photograph. I need that peacefulness amid all the chattering and joking and loudness of a group with some strong personalities.

 

How lovely the broom corn rising and swaying in the prairie wind.

 

My artsy sister-in-law creates vignettes like this that change with the seasons.

 

A sunflower, heavy with seed, bows to the earth.

 

I need quiet. And I need to take in the shifting of the seasons, the artful autumn displays, the aged buildings, all the visual reminders of a rural life I still miss decades removed from the country.

 

A gazing ball in a flower garden reflects sky, land and dried black-eyed susan seed heads.

 

I am grateful for the opportunity to escape to this acreage, to reclaim the serenity of rural Minnesota.

 

An old shed recently moved onto the acreage, to be rebuilt or salvaged for the wood.

 

I realize nostalgia tinges my view of country life. Much has changed since I left the farm nearly 45 years ago. But not the love I hold for the land, for the quiet and grace and muted tones of harvest time.

 

© Copyright 2018 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Watching the 2018 Winter Olympics from the perspective of a Minnesota soldier’s daughter February 13, 2018

My dad, Elvern Kletscher, at Camp McNair in Korea, photo dated February 14 (1953).

 

WATCHING THE WINTER OLYMPICS the past several days, I’ve felt a closeness to my deceased father. He walked this soil, this mountainous land so different from the flat, open farm land of his southwestern Minnesota home.

 

This photo from my dad’s collection is tagged as “Kim, Rowe, Allen & me, May 1953 Machine Gun Crew.” That’s my father on the right.

 

He landed here in 1952 with a ship full of other U.S. Army soldiers, gun in hand. A young man sent here by his government to fight on foreign land in a region that still is without solid peace. He fought on the front lines. Kill or be killed. Buddies dying. Explosions and hungry Korean orphans begging for food across barbed wire and him eating bark from trees and cold that felt even colder than the coldest of Minnesota winters.

 

This photo, pulled from the shoebox which holds my dad’s military photos, is simply labeled “front line.” That would be “front line” as in Korea, where my soldier father fought.

 

When I see the blowing snow and rugged mountain ranges during Olympics coverage, I think of my foot solider infantryman father, ranging through and over those Korean mountains. Scared. Yet doing what he must to survive. Kill or be killed.

 

My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea.

 

I think of him on Heartbreak Ridge, picking off a sniper who had taken many of his buddies. And I think of the fiery shrapnel piercing his skin and the Purple Heart he would claim decades later, when he was an old man. Because a fire had destroyed his military records. Because he had tucked most of his war memories away. Because no one cared about what happened on a Korean mountaintop in 1953.

 

On the back of this photo, my dad simply wrote “a letter from home.” I appreciate this photo of my dad taken by an unknown buddy in Korea.

 

I regret that I didn’t understand him and the inner turmoil he carried with him from Korea back home to Minnesota. I regret that I didn’t ask more about his war experiences, that I didn’t recognize the trauma he suffered as a result. I regret that healing never fully came, although he found understanding and solace in the company of other veterans with similar shared experiences late in life.

All of this I consider when I view the Olympic athletes in their designer clothing, medals around their necks, applause of crowds, praise of many.

All of this I consider when I see the sister of the North Korean dictator seated behind our Vice President.

All of this I consider when I view those Korean mountains flashing across my TV screen.

 

Dad penciled on the back of this 1953 photo from Korea: “Sgt Smith & me from the States to Korea.”

 

I think of my dad as I retrieve a shoebox full of his black-and-white Korean War era photos. I sit on the sofa filing through those curled images while Olympic athletes ski and skate and propel themselves down an icy tunnel. On the back of one photo, I read my dad’s cursive notation: me in Korea May, 53.

Sixty-five years have passed since he left Korea. I wish I could sit with him now, ask him about his time in Korea, about the stories behind those photos. Perhaps he would talk, perhaps not.

 

U.S. Army Cpl. Elvern Kletscher, my father, in the trenches in Korea.

 

I wonder, would he turn off the television or would he watch the Olympians perform? Could he handle seeing the backdrop of those rugged mountains where too many of his buddies died? Would he flash back to the horrors of war?

 

My dad carried home a July 31, 1953, memorial service bulletin from Sucham-dong, Korea. In the right column is listed the name of his fallen buddy, Raymond W. Scheibe.

 

The reality is that I can’t ask him. He died in 2003. But I can write. I can use my words to tell his story, to apologize for my lack of understanding, to honor him. And this I do as Olympians cross country ski, stop, sprawl stomach down, then fire their rifles in this land, this Korea. This land where my soldier father from Minnesota shot his weapon, too. Kill or be killed.

© Copyright 2018 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Random bits of autumn from southeastern Minnesota October 11, 2017

I love Hill’s Hardware Hank in Wabasha, especially in autumn decor. A photo similar to this hangs next to the hardware exhibit in the “Our World” play area at the Minnesota Children’s Museum in St. Paul. Hill’s inspired the exhibit. I am honored to have my photo hanging in the museum.

 

WITH OCTOBER NEARING mid-month and days until winter here in Minnesota dwindling, I feel a sense of urgency to observe and experience every nuance of autumn. That often means ignoring outdoor fall chores for a road trip or a walk in the woods or a stop at the apple orchard.

 

Among the many inviting autumn scenes staged in Wabasha.

 

This past Sunday took Randy and me east toward the Mississippi River town of Wabasha, one of my favorite southeastern Minnesota communities. This city knows how to welcome visitors via two months of celebration, coined SeptOberfest. I’ll share two aspects of Wabasha’s focus on fall in upcoming posts. But for today, here’s a photo peak at those nuances of autumn which so endear me to this season in Minnesota.

 

The beauty of rural Minnesota in autumn along a county road east of Bellechester and heading toward Wabasha.

 

I love the vistas of drying corn and soybean fields sweeping across the land.

 

A farm site viewed from Minnesota State Highway 60 in the Zumbro Falls area.

 

I love the flashes of red farm buildings in a muting landscape.

 

My sister Lanae, a floral designer in Waseca, created this autumn scene in her backyard.

 

I love the fall décor that infuses townscapes and gardens.

 

One of several seasonal boutiques in Wabasha. Barton’s Brickhouse Boutique is located across from the VFW.

 

I love the seasonal boutiques offering handcrafted gifts and the scent of pumpkin and apple crisp.

 

We didn’t find fall colors in Wabasha; we were too early. But we spotted beautiful colors in this treeline at Nerstrand Big Woods State Park on our drive back to Faribault.

 

In our many years of day trips in southeastern Minnesota, Randy and I have found some of the best fall colors in Rice County. This scene was shot from Rice County Road 84/Falk Avenue. The gravel road parallels Rice County Road 20, which is considered the “back road” between Faribault and Northfield. This scene is near the intersection of CR 84 with 154th street.

 

I swapped on my telephoto lens for a closer look at the distant treeline as seen from CR 84. Other places to view wonderful fall colors in Rice County are west of Faribault around the lakes and also in Faribault along residential streets in old neighborhoods, at River Bend Nature Center and from City View Park. I think we have some of the best autumn hues in southeastern Minnesota.

 

I love the hillsides of trees transitioning from green to yellow, orange and red.

 

I shot this image and the four following at River Bend Nature Center late Sunday afternoon.

 

 

I love, too, the individual leaves that wave color in the wind.

 

 

I love drying milkweed pods bursting with seeds.

 

 

There’s so much to love about October, except the prospect of winter edging closer.

 

TELL ME: What do you like most about autumn? Feel free to share details about favorite fall destinations.

© Copyright 2017 Audrey Kletscher Helbling