Acres and acres of corn grow in fields along this county road near Delhi in southwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
SEEMINGLY ENDLESS FIELDS of tasseling corn stretched before us. Row upon row upon row of corn flanking the roadways along with soybeans and the occasional sugar beets. All three crops define the southern Minnesota landscape in July. But corn is decidedly king.
A farm site along U.S. Highway 14 near Janesville. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
As Randy and I traveled from Faribault to the Kletscher family reunion in Echo in Yellow Medicine County on the last Sunday of July, we observed the crops. Most looked good. But the farther west we went, we began to notice signs of stress in the corn.
Driving along State Highway 68 by Morgan in eastern Redwood County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
A July 21 drought monitoring report from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources confirmed our observations with conditions listed as abnormally dry in my home county of Redwood and neighboring counties. Randy and I, even decades removed from the farm, can still accurately assess crops.
Spraying a cornfield just west of Redwood Falls. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
To the west of Redwood Falls along Minnesota State Highway 19, we watched a bright yellow crop duster swoop low over the road in front of us, barely clearing the power lines to drop chemicals onto a cornfield. It was thrilling to watch the pilot’s daring descent while simultaneously wondering what the plane was unleashing upon the land.
Earlier, outside New Ulm, I saw a woman walking beans, meaning she was walking through a soybean field eradicating weeds by hand, a memory-familiar task. I walked a lot of beans during my youth. No chemicals used, only my hands and/or a hoe.
Corn surrounds this barn along State Highway 19 west of Redwood Falls. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
From inside the cool, air conditioned van, Randy and I pressed onward, sheltered from the sweltering heat and humidity of the July day. We passed massive barns swallowed by cornfields. So much corn. Shortly before noon we reached our destination, the Echo Community Center.
This 1936 photo displayed at the reunion shows my grandparents, Henry and Ida Kletscher, with six of their children. My dad, Elvern, is smack dab in the middle, second row.Others include the oldest, Elaine, then Elvira, Mike, Harold and baby Clarence. (Photo studio unknown)
After several hours of food, conversation and sharing memories with extended family, we were on the road again heading the 130 miles back home to Faribault.
This farm site sits near Delhi. Those are sugar beets growing in the foreground. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
The temperature had only risen, grown more stifling, more oppressive. Temp rising. Corn rising. Farm sites rising like islands in an ocean of crops.
Grain bins west of New Ulm will soon hold the harvest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
This is rural southern Minnesota, in the thick of the growing season. The promise of a bountiful harvest measured in growth, rainfall, and hail and windstorms avoided.
Transporting Allis Chalmers tractors from a tractor show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
Just north of Sleepy Eye along State Highway 4, a semi truck hauled three Allis Chalmers tractors returning, said Randy, from the Orange Spectacular (Allis Chalmers Tractor Show) in Hutchinson. I picked up my camera, zoomed in and snapped two images, the second with the tractors appearing to drive atop a cornfield.
From this camera perspective, the tractors appear to be driving on the corn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
It was only an illusion, similar to the mirage of water slicing across the roadway on this hot summer day.
That’s not water on the road, only a mirage. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
Had we stuck around into the evening and paused beside a cornfield, we likely would have heard the corn growing. There’s scientific truth underlying that statement.
A tractor and baler wait along U.S. Highway 14 between Nicollet and Mankato. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
The adage of “make hay while the sun shines” also rings true. I noticed several farmers baling hay on this hot and humid July afternoon. Farming doesn’t wait for cooler weather. Just like corn continues to grow, stretching across the rural southern Minnesota landscape seemingly into forever.
Once the Vesta Municipal Liquor Store, the business is now privately-owned. This has always been my favorite building downtown because of the unique tile front. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
WHENEVER SOMEONE ASKS if I’m from Faribault, I respond, “Well, I’ve lived here for 44 years, but I’m new.” I say that half-jokingly, half-truthfully. I’ll never be “from” here. And I am “new” because I haven’t lived here my entire life, like many have. And I’m not related to half the town (semi-exaggerating), like many are.
The City of Vesta maintenance building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Then I attempt to explain from whence I came. I start with Mankato, the nearest large city to the west, then work my way westward to New Ulm and Redwood Falls, eventually landing on my hometown of Vesta in northwestern Redwood County. Most have never heard of this southwestern Minnesota small town, but a few have.
The old St. John’s Lutheran Church, where I was baptized and confirmed before a new church was built and the building sold and converted into apartments. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Looking north on Vesta’s main street, once filled with buildings and businesses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
A building seemingly no longer in use, left, the now painted brick bank with a drive-up, right, and a complex of grain bins in the background. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Recently I returned to this farming community of some 300 for an aunt’s funeral. After the church service, burial service and a luncheon at St. John’s Lutheran Church, and before the 120-mile return trip to Faribault, I stopped downtown. By downtown, I mean a single block, today defined primarily by vacant lots and abandoned buildings.
A former gas station and garage at the north end of Vesta’s main street. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Vesta, like so many small towns, once had a thriving core business community. That declined as society became more mobile, as young people graduated and left the area, as shopping habits changed. I could see that already when I left my hometown in 1974. My mom shopped for groceries once a month or so in neighboring Redwood Falls. That city and Marshall, 20 miles to the west, centered regional shopping then.
Looking south along Vesta’s main street, only a few businesses remain. The Vesta Cafe sits on the right. And in the distance, the liquor store and bank are at the end of the block. Parking is diagonal on the sides and parallel in the middle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
A Grain Belt beer sign hangs from the liquor store, which once also had a vintage Schells sign. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
This is a farming community as seen in these grain bins and the enclosed space where corn is often heaped after fall harvest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Back to Vesta today. The former municipal liquor store, now privately-owned, and the bank anchor the south corners of the downtown block, with the post office and grain elevator complex just across the street. Long gone is the towering grain elevator where farmers, including my dad, once delivered corn and soybeans. Clusters of grain bins now hold harvested crops.
The old Kletscher family farmhouse, left, with the “new house” in the background. I grew up in these two houses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots Kletscher family photo)
Also long gone is the feed mill and the lumberyard across the street. I remember going to the dusty feed mill with my dad. And I remember my mom gathering booklets of house floor plans from the lumberyard. After years of hoping and planning, my parents built a new house on our farm just south of town in 1967 to accommodate their growing family. We were all happy to move from our aged, cramped farmhouse into a spacious home with more bedrooms and a bathroom.
The city ice skating pond is apparently downtown now on this vacant lot as noted by the sign. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Downtown Vesta today bears little resemblance to the teeming town of my youth—the place where I was baptized, married, attended elementary school (long closed), ice skated in the shadow of the grain elevator, visited my grandparents… The place where I bought caps for my cap gun at Joe Engel’s Hardware Store, Bazooka bubblegum at Rasmussen’s grocery, a set of amber drinking glasses at Marquardt’s Hardware for my mom on Mother’s Day. The place where Dad occasionally treated me to a candy bar at Wiegers’ or the muni or to a bottle of pop at my Uncle Harold’s service station.
Grain bins dwarf the former Vesta Community Center, which centered community life. There we gathered for Memorial Day and Santa Day. There I celebrated my 1982 wedding with a reception and dance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
This is the place where I sold poppies on Poppy Day and read “In Flanders Fields” during the annual Memorial Day program. The place where I boarded a Greyhound bus as a kid and rode alone all the way to Minneapolis to visit an aunt and uncle. The memories go on and on.
This building may have been Don’s Cafe at one time, but I’m not sure. It’s changed too much for me to know that for certain. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
I knew I would eventually leave Vesta for good with no opportunities to keep me in my hometown. But that doesn’t diminish how much I still appreciate this prairie place which shaped me. I need to revisit Vesta occasionally to remind me of its importance in my life. I will be forever connected to this small town and its people.
The Vesta Cafe, built by the community. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
This bread truck had just left the cafe and was driving by the post office when I photographed it. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
The Vesta Post Office on the south end of the main street replaced an older one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
Toward the north end of the downtown block stands the Vesta Cafe, new since I left, although Don’s Cafe was open when I was a kid. Locals gather here for morning coffee and cards, catching up on the latest. And when the town whistle blows at noon, as I heard it recently while standing at my aunt’s graveside, customers arrive at the cafe for dinner. And, yes, the noon meal is “dinner,” the evening meal, “supper,” in this rural area. Menu items and specials like hamburger corn hotdish, liver and onions, and a beef commercial draw diners. My Dad, on the rare occasion he dined out, would always order a beef commercial—roast beef piled onto white bread, topped with gravy, then a scoop of mashed potatoes smothered with more gravy. That’s the ultimate in old school rural dining.
Vesta is decidedly rural as shown in this truck parked along the main street. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
The liquor store and a former leather works business. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
A snippet of the land my father farmed, my middle brother after him. The farm has since been sold. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Rural rooted and grew me. From the once-flourishing community of Vesta to the crop and dairy farm across the Redwood River a mile south of town on the county road to Lucan, this prairie place shaped me as a person, a writer and a photographer. I am still “from” here, even though gone for more than 50 years now.
Driving into Redwood County near Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2026)
WHILE ON THE ROAD from Faribault to my hometown of Vesta and back recently, I noticed interesting roadside details. These may not necessarily catch the attention of other motorists. But they caught my eye.
Unleaded gas was priced substantially lower than other places at Morgan Convenience on May 26. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
“BARGAIN” GAS
Let’s start with the price of unleaded gas at Morgan Convenience, Food & Fuel. It was priced at $4.18 (rounded up a tenth) on May 26. Elsewhere along the route, the cost was $4.49 (rounded up a tenth). I don’t understand how the gas price in Morgan, a small rural Minnesota town of some 900, can be so much lower than in neighboring New Ulm, population around 14,000, for example. Or in Faribault with about 25,000 residents. This makes no sense to me and is not the first time gas prices in more rural outstate Minnesota have been priced considerably lower.
Signage at a restaurant and bar in Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
MORE THAN JUST BURGERS
Also in Morgan, I spotted this sign: THE SPOTT. And, yes, the period is part of the abbreviated name. Clever. Upon returning home, I researched this business, full name The Spotted Bear Ale House. It’s a restaurant and full service bar.
The Facebook page features lots of food I’d enjoy: loaded pulled pork baked potato; pulled beef Gouda sliders with Parmesan fries; caramel, strawberry lemon, raspberry and/or banana rolls with peanut butter frosting; General Tso chicken and rice with crab salad; and more. Yum. The offerings impress me as vastly different from your typical small town burgers and other bar food. As a side note, this business is for sale.
An old threshing machine is the backdrop for Gilfillan Estate signage. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
AN ESTATE IN THE MIDDLE OF FARM FIELDS
Just down the highway, another sign grabbed my attention. That was signage on an old threshing machine marking the Redwood County Historical Society’s Gilfillan Estate. It’s not the sign so much as this property west of Morgan along Minnesota State Highway 67 that is noteworthy. Here you’ll find both the estate and the site of Minnesota Farmfest.
The estate, with its long, tree-lined driveway leading to a stately house, has been here for as long as I can remember. The original owner, Charles Duncan Gilfillan (1831-1902), bought 10,000 acres of Redwood County farmland. He built a house, offices, a grain elevator, stockyard and tenet homes here and raised purebred livestock exported to Great Britain. Eventually his son, Charles Oswin Gilfillan, took over the estate. The younger Gilfillan was an active philanthropist in Redwood County. I must make an effort sometime to tour the estate and learn more about the Gilfillans and their generosity.
An A.C.O. silo still stands between New Ulm and Courtland. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
A NOD TO FARMING OF YESTERYEAR
More history is written onto a silo that hugs U.S. Highway 14 east of New Ulm. The A.C.O. on the brick silo stands for AC Ochs of the AC Ochs Brick and Tile Company in Springfield, several towns down the road to the west 30 miles distant. These silos, made from curved bricks, were built across the Midwest between 1910-1945. I love their historic, signature look and their unique construction. They are landmarks of a bygone era of diversified small family farms.
The Colonial Inn, with a 73-year history in New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
AN OLD SCHOOL MOTEL
In New Ulm, the Colonial Inn along North Broadway/Highway 14 appears old school motel. And it is. Built in 1953, rooms in the U-shaped building open to the paved parking lot. While I’ve only seen the motel from the exterior and a few photos on the no-frills website, this motel seems exactly as I would expect. Basic. Simple. And a throwback to yesteryear with the exception of WiFi.
A billboard with an unusual question. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
FIRE & BRIMSTONE
Finally, in the Smiths Mill area along Highway 14 east of Mankato, a thought-provoking sign asks whether you will go to heaven or to hell when you die. I have no idea who paid for this billboard with the John 3:36 notation at the bottom. But it’s certainly an oddity in highway signage. Fire or no fire?
You never know what you’ll discover while on the road.
A red barn and red outbuildings define this farm site along U.S. Highway 14 west of Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
THROUGH SEVEN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA counties we traveled—Rice, Steele, Waseca, Blue Earth, Nicollet, Brown and, then, home to Redwood. Westward bound.
Another farm site west of Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
West of Owatonna, a cloudy morning sky dwarfs a distant farm site. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
A barn photographed along highway 14 west of Mankato. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
We bypass the small towns along four-lane U.S. Highway 14 while passing endless farm sites and fields.
This mammoth barn sits along Broun County Road 29 west of New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
A well-kept, sturdy barn along Brown County 29 west of New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
A greening field west of Morgan along Minnesota State Highway 67. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
Entering Redwood County on Minnesota State Highway 68 east of Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
Farmward Cooperative, left, with downtown Morgan to the right. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
Sky meets land and farm sites along Brown County Road 29 west of New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
Minnesota State Highway 19 stretches before us between Redwood Falls and my hometown of Vesta. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
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.
Some places are culturally-diverse, others not. This new mural at the Congregational Church of Faribault United Church of Christ reflects Faribault’s diversity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2025)
I GREW UP in southwestern Minnesota, in rural western Redwood County where diversity was absent unless you count religious affiliation or ancestry as diversity. You were either Lutheran or Catholic with a few Methodists, Presbyterians and Brethren thrown in the mix. And you were of German, Irish, Polish or Scandinavian descent, but mostly German. And your skin color was certainly white, unless you were among the Native Americans living on the eastern side of the county.
I left Redwood County for college in the early 1970s. Not much has changed in racial demographics in that rural area, population hovering around 15,000, with the exception of a sizable Hmong population resettling in small town Walnut Grove. Leaving the prairie, a place I loved and still love, broadened my perspectives.
Many Somalis live in downtown Faribault above businesses. They often meet on street corners to visit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2024)
Today I live on the eastern side of Minnesota in Faribault, a city of around 25,000 about an hour south of Minneapolis. Mine is a diverse community, home to many Hispanics, Latinos and Somalis. They work here, raise families here, open businesses here and add much color and culture to this city I’ve called home since 1984. Somalis are the newest of Faribault’s immigrants and the group which still struggles with animosity toward them. That makes getting to know them and their stories especially important.
Lul Abdi shows off beautiful wood crafts from Kenya and Somalia at a past International Festival in Faribault (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’ve attended Somali cultural events, diversity celebrations, talked with local Somalis, photographed them, drank their delicious hot tea, eaten their savory sambusas, walked into their shops, tried to learn about and embrace these residents of Faribault.
I love living in a community with such diversity. Not everyone here feels as I do and would prefer Faribault remain white and non-diverse, as it was when they were growing up. That saddens me. I often think, if only people would take the time to connect one-on-one, to listen, they would begin to see that we are all human, even if different.
Somali children watch Faribault’s 2025 Memorial Day parade. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2025)
Instead of fearing others who may not speak the same language, eat the same foods, wear the same clothes, practice the same religion, we can choose to embrace one another. In an ideal world, that would happen. But it takes time, effort and an open heart and mind to get there.
(Promo courtesy of Buckham Memorial Library)
At 6 pm this Thursday, January 29, Buckham Memorial Library is hosting a talk, “Building Bridges Across Cultures,” by Ibrahim Khalif, director of Faribault Youth Empowerment. He will present on the history and culture of Somalia in the library’s Great Hall. The event is part of the library’s adult programming efforts.
This talk is certain to be interesting and informative. The title alone, with the words “building bridges,” reflects my feelings on what needs to happen in my community. A bridge gets you from one side to the other, to a different destination. But to get from one side to the other, you need to first build a bridge together then willingly cross it, not remain firmly planted and divided on a riverbank, unwilling to move.
A farm site west of New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WOULD YOU PICK rock, walk beans, clean up pig or cow muck? Joe and his crew will.
I can, too, as I’m experienced. But I have no desire to return to those farm tasks that are now only long ago youthful memories.
The sign I spotted in a Redwood Falls convenience store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2024)
Recently, I saw a sign, more like a note, posted by Joe on a convenience store bulletin board in Redwood Falls, deep in the heart of southwestern Minnesota farm country. I grew up in that area, on a crop and dairy farm.
Rocks picked and piled at field’s edge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2014)
Like Joe, I worked the land and labored in the barn. I picked rock, which is exactly as it sounds—walking fields to pick rocks from the soil and toss them onto a wagon or loader. Rock removal is necessary so farm equipment isn’t damaged during crop prep, planting and harvesting. It’s hard, dirty work when done by hand.
Likewise, walking beans is hard, dirty, hot work. That job involves walking down rows of soybeans to remove weeds and stray corn plants, either by hand or by hoe. At least that’s how I walked beans back in the day. Today that may involve spot spraying herbicides.
A tasseling Rice County corn field. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
And when I worked corn fields, it was to detassel corn for the Dekalb seed company. I arose early, boarded a school bus with a bunch of other teens, arrived at a corn field and proceeded to walk the corn rows pulling tassels from corn plants. Dew ran down my arms, corn leaves sliced my skin, sweat poured off my body as the day progressed under a hot July sun. Of all the jobs I’ve had, detasseling corn rates as the most miserable, awful, horrible, labor intense work I’ve ever done.
Inside a Rice County dairy barn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’d rather shovel cow manure. And I did plenty of that along with other animal-related farm chores.
If Joe and his team are willing to take on tasks that are labor intensive, hot and smelly, then I applaud them. We need hands-on folks who are not afraid to get their hands dirty, to break a sweat, to do those jobs that place them close to the land. Jobs many other people would not do.
An abandoned barn and silo along a backroad in the Sogn Valley of southeastern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)
I don’t regret my farm work experiences. I learned the value of hard physical labor, of working together, of understanding that what I did was necessary. Certainly farming has changed, modernized in the 50 years since I left the land. Machines and computers make life easier.
But sometimes it still takes people like Joe and his crew to plant their soles on the earth, their feet in the barn, to make a farming operation work, even in 2024.
Jeff Jarvis shows an artifact while talking about the Dakota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
“WE’RE ALL CONNECTED. We’re all one.” Those closing words by local historian and artist Jeff Jarvis as he ended an hour-long presentation on “The Faribault Dakota” at Books on Central Thursday evening resonate. I’ve long been geographically-connected to Indigenous Peoples, first in my native Redwood County and now in Rice County. But Jarvis’ definition of connection stretches well beyond geography to the connection we all share simply via our humanity.
Jarvis, who is also an artist and graphic designer, handed out this mini guidebook at Thursday’s presentation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Jarvis spoke to a standing room only crowd packed into the Rice County Area United Way used bookstore on Faribault’s Central Avenue. The third speaker in the popular literary event series hosted by the bookshop since its fall opening, his talk was more history than literary. Interest ran high.
My interest in the Dakota traces back to the southwestern Minnesota prairie, where I grew up between the Upper and Lower Sioux Indian Reservations. Today the word “community,” references these homes of the Mdewakanton Dakota. When I moved to Rice County 42 years ago, I moved onto land once inhabited by the Wahpakute Dakota. But it wasn’t until I listened to Jarvis speak that I learned even more about the place I initially called home on the southeastern tip of Cannon Lake west of Faribault.
Long before fur traders and settlers moved to this region of southern Minnesota, the Dakota called this land home, typically living along the area’s lakes and rivers, including the Cannon. I knew this; I’ve attended many presentations on the Dakota by local historians. But I wasn’t aware that the former Ackman Store, the rental home where Randy and I lived for 2 ½ years after our 1982 marriage, was near the site of a trading post opened by fur trader and town founder Alexander Faribault.
Native American artifacts found in Rice County and displayed at the Rice County Historical Society. These are not the artifacts shown by Jarvis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)
Jarvis asked me after his presentation whether I saw ghosts while living there. I didn’t. And in a conversation with Lou Ackman, who grew up and lived along Cannon Lake and loaned Indian artifacts for Jarvis to show Thursday evening, I learned that people often searched the Ackmans’ farm fields for artifacts.
When Randy and I moved into Faribault, our geographic connection to Indigenous Peoples continued. We purchased a house below Wapacuta (sic) Park, where we still live today. It was upon this now park land that the Dakota placed their dead, (wrapped in buffalo robes or blankets) upon scaffolding until later burial. Jarvis also shared that the Dakota sometimes suspended wrapped bodies from trees to catch the spirits in the windy hilltop location prior to burial 1-2 years later. I’d never heard this prior to Thursday.
Peace Park, an unmarked Dakota cemetery near Buckham Memorial Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)
But I was aware that Peace Park, a triangle of land near Buckham Memorial Library, is an Indian burial grounds. Jarvis termed it an unfenced and unrecognized cemetery marked by a faith-based WW II monument and nothing indicating this is sacred ground of the Dakota. Several bodies were discovered buried there in 1874, he said, not wanting to delve deeper into that troubling topic at Thursday’s event.
Jarvis covered a lot more in his one-hour presentation. Most I knew. Some I didn’t. I always appreciate learning local history, especially about the 300-400 Dakota who relocated from Cannon Lake to live in elm bark huts and teepees in the area along the Straight River from Division Street to the wastewater treatment plant.
The community of Faribault, Jarvis said, had/has a lot of color and was/is “a beckoning place” to many peoples. He referenced the Indigenous Peoples of yesteryear and the immigrants of today. “We’re all connected. We’re all one,” Jarvis said. He’s right.
One of two rainbows arches over Faribault Thursday evening. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling April 2024)
As I stepped outside the bookshop after Jarvis’ talk, cloudy skies opened to reveal stunning double rainbows—a symbol of promise and of hope. A symbol that we all live under the same sky, that we’re all connected.
Promo for Saturday’s event, courtesy of Elizabeth Johanneck.
THEY ARE LONG-TIME FRIENDS. Friends who grew up together, who have a history of experiences and stories and of being there for one another. And they are both authors of books rooted in rural Redwood County, the land which shaped and grew them and their enduring friendship.
On Saturday, October 7, Twin Cities resident Elizabeth “Beth” Johanneck, author of If You Can’t Make it to Heaven, at Least Get to Seaforth—The Monica Stories and Then Some, and Granite Falls resident Cynthia “Cindy” Bernardy Lavin, author of the children’s book I Think I’ll Call You Annie: Based Upon a True Story (which Beth illustrated), return to Seaforth, population 77, for a 1-4 pm event sure to draw lots of interest.
The C4th Bar hosts the afternoon activities, which include a meet-and-greet (1-3 pm) with the authors and Monica Pistulka Fischer, prominently featured in Beth’s collection of short stories and art from the Seaforth and Wabasso areas. Books will be available for purchase.
Event promo courtesy of Elizabeth Johanneck.
But there’s much more planned than a book signing and time to chat with the long-time friends. The event also includes a hayride and self-guided tour of St. Mary’s Cemetery just northwest of Seaforth. Attendees can visit the gravesites of locals included in both books.
Image sourced online.
Back at the bar, Cindy, a retired elementary school teacher, will read her book about Seaforth’s most famous pig and offer a pig art project for kids.
The original painting of “Seaforth Main Street,” featured here on the cover of Beth’s book, will be on display at Saturday’s celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)
Art is an important part of this celebration as art is an integral part of Beth’s book. Her book includes the only printed collection of selected paintings by her grandfather, Arnold Kramer, dubbed “Minnesota’s Grandpa Moses.” He documented early to mid 1900s rural life and scenes, creating an historical agrarian treasure of some 400 paintings upon his retirement from farming. His original painting, “Seaforth Main Street,” which graces the cover of Beth’s book, will be displayed at Saturday’s celebration.
The C4th Bar is also honoring Kramer and several other Seaforth residents (and one pig) with special drinks: “The Grandpa Moses” for folk artist Arnold Kramer; “The Angie” for business owner Angie Bergen; “The Monica” for Monica Pistulka Fischer; and “The Annie” for Dana and Connie Dittbenner and Annie the Pig. “The Monica” and “The Annie” are non-alcoholic drinks. Hot chocolate and make your own s’mores will also be available.
No event is complete without music. The celebration features the live music of Cowboy Dave Gewerth.
It will be quite an afternoon in Seaforth. I can almost envision the scene of a packed bar, of Beth and Cindy mingling, of glasses raised, of stories shared, of memories made. That’s the thing about small towns, especially—you may leave, but you remain forever connected to the place, the events, the people. Like Beth and Cindy, long-time friends who on Saturday return to their roots to celebrate publication of their books, but, more importantly, Seaforth and its residents.
Disclaimer: I edited and proofed the manuscript for Beth’s book. My poem, “Her Treasure,” is printed in the book as a companion piece. Beth, Cindy and I attended Wabasso High School together, graduating with the class of 1974. Beth and I were also lockermates.
The cover of Elizabeth Johanneck’s new book features the art of her grandfather, Arnold Kramer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo July 2023)
DECADES REMOVED from southwestern Minnesota, Twin Cities writer Elizabeth Johanneck and I remain rooted to the prairie—the land and people and smalls towns which shaped us. We both grew up on Redwood County farms, were Wabasso High School classmates and today hold a deep respect and fondness for the place we once called home.
Beth, as she’s known to me, recently published a book,If You Can’t Make it to Heaven, at Least Get to Seaforth—The Monica Stories and Then Some. This book features short stories and snippet observations in Beth’s humorous storytelling style, plus paintings and photos. These could be my stories, my memories, just with different characters and settings. Any prairie farm kid likely will feel the same.
ABOUT SEAFORTH & MONICA
But where is Seaforth? And who is Monica? Seaforth, population 77, is a farming community located along County Road 7, south of Minnesota State Highway 19 in central Redwood County. It’s near my hometown of Vesta, seven miles to the northwest. Monica Fischer is Beth’s friend, former co-worker and a character. A baby shoe in a pot of egg coffee and pantyhose found clinging inside a pant leg during Catholic Mass are among the many entertaining Monica stories that left me laughing aloud. By the time I’d finished reading this section of the book, I felt like I knew Monica well. Everyone should have a friend like her.
GROWING UP ON THE MINNESOTA PRAIRIE IN THE 1960s
And everyone should be so fortunate to have experienced rural Minnesota life in the 1960s, as Beth and I did. It is Part 2, “Random Nonsense of a MN Country Mouse,” that I find most similar to my childhood. Both farmers’ daughters with many siblings, Beth and I share the commonalities of being raised on the land among aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and immediate family who loved us deeply.
As in “The Monica Stories,” Beth writes about her personal experiences in a casual conversational style. It’s as if she and I are chatting over cups of coffee, and Beth does like her coffee. I connect with her stories about “the grove,” jars of pocket gopher feet in the freezer, grab bags, bloodsuckers, The Weekly Reader, hearing corn grow and more.
Her humor-infused short stories stretch into adulthood, into becoming a parent and grandparent. These are not earth-shattering remembrances, but rather observations about everyday life and events that could be mine, could be yours, but are definitively Beth’s.
NIBBLES OF COUNTRY INSIGHTS
In a section titled “Country Mouse Nibbles,” Beth shares her thoughts on topics in a sentence or two, the first being “When You Are Raised Close to the Land.” I fully understand—the smell after autumn harvest, looking to the west for approaching storms, filled fruit jars crowding root cellar shelves… And “Holding onto Memories”—Distant cheers from a local ball game are souvenirs worth saving for winter. Truly poetic words.
FEATURING THE ART OF “MINNESOTA’S GRANDPA MOSES”
There is much to be cherished in this book beyond pages and pages of rural memories and insights. Beth also intersperses photos, most from Seaforth. But it is Part 3, “Paintings by Arnold Kramer, Minnesota’s ‘Grandpa Moses,’” which is an historic agrarian art treasure. Following his retirement, Seaforth farmer Arnold Kramer took up painting, visually documenting early to mid-1900s rural life and scenes. He became well-known for his folk art style paintings done in primary colors. Beth’s book holds the only printed collection of paintings by her grandfather. The self-taught artist created more than 400 works of art and was dubbed “Minnesota’s Grandpa Moses” by the University of Minnesota at the peak of his creativity in the 1960s.
Book signing promo courtesy of Elizabeth Johanneck.
Beth’s book is also available for purchase at Chapter Two Bookstore in Redwood Falls and online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Both her book and Cindy’s achieved bestseller status on Amazon following their release.
Julie Kramer, author of bestseller Stalking Susan, praises Beth’s book in her back cover endorsement, calling it “a delightful collection from a farm girl who grew up near the Minnesota home of Laura Ingalls Wilder.” I agree. Fully.
Downtown Vesta, Minnesota, photographed in 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2018)
WHEN I READ A RECENT POST on the City of Vesta Facebook page, I knew I needed to share this story with you. It is a heartwarming story of kindness and gratitude that renews my faith in the goodness of humanity. And it is, too, a moment in which I feel overwhelming pride in my hometown.
Before I get to the referenced post, I expect many of you are wondering, “Where is Vesta?” I’ve found in my 41 years of living in southeastern Minnesota that most people have no clue. Vesta is west of Mankato, west of New Ulm, west of Redwood Falls. The small Redwood County farming community of around 320 sits along Minnesota State Highway 19 half way between Redwood and Marshall. It is the only town directly aside that highway for the 40 miles between the two larger cities.
A lone tree along a fence line on the southwestern Minnesota Prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2012)
Vesta is in the middle of the prairie, the windswept prairie. If a winter storm sweeps in with strong winds, then conditions quickly deteriorate to blizzard status. You don’t want to be caught on the road if that happens. It’s dangerous.
I shot this on the Minnesota Highway 19 curve just north of Vesta in March 2012. The recently-stranded motorist was at about this point on the highway, but in far worse weather conditions. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2012)
Recently, a motorist found herself in such dire conditions while driving Highway 19 toward Watertown, South Dakota, to visit grandchildren. Forty mph winds, blowing snow and zero visibility—to the point where she had to stop to see if she was still on the road some two miles from Vesta—resulted in a life-saving decision. She got off the highway at Vesta.
And that’s where this story begins to unfold into a story of generosity and kindness in my hometown. The first person she encountered was Dave and his buddy, out on four-wheelers. I knew exactly who she meant. Dave owns an auto body and repair shop in Vesta. He also plows snow for locals. When my mom was alive and still living in Vesta, it was Dave who cleared her snow. It was Dave who answered Mom’s calls for help with car issues. I always felt reassured that he was, in some ways, looking after her and so many other seniors.
I digress. Dave directed the recently-diverted motorist two blocks east to the community center, a designated shelter for stranded travelers. Upon arrival at the former Vesta Elementary School, the grateful traveler found the doors locked. So off she went to find someone, anyone, to let her inside. She noticed two trucks parked outside the grain elevator, which led her inside and directly to Vesta’s emergency coordinator. Jeremy drove home and got the key to open the shelter.
A plate of spaghetti, photo used for illustration purposes only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2013)
Now if that was the end of the story, that would be a nice ending. But there’s more. The out-of-town guest got a tour of the community center and was also advised she could help herself to the spaghetti and chicken noodle soup in the fridge, watch TV in the work-out room and then sleep on a cot, pillows provided. She was also given the Wi-Fi password. Later the city clerk’s husband brought an extra blanket after the clerk stopped to ask if the shelter guest needed anything.
Now if that was the end of the story, that would be a nice ending. But there’s more. Soon town kids showed up, per a text sent by Jeremy that they could hang out in the community center during the blizzard. The way-laid motorist soon found herself in rousing games of dodge ball and kickball inside the gym where I played as a grade-schooler.
Road closed signs like this one near Springfield can be found along southwestern Minnesota highways, including highway 19. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2011)
Now if that was the end of the story, that would be a nice ending. But there’s more. Jeremy kept in touch, texting that the local bar was open if she wanted pizza. She was happy with the soup. The next morning the emergency coordinator texted again, notifying the overnight guest that roads had been plowed. He’d also reached out to the Marshall Police Department to assure that roads were open to motorists. Drive on a “closed” road and you risk a $750 fine. Jeremy went that extra mile to assure the woman could resume her journey to Watertown.
Her lengthy post to the City of Vesta Facebook page shows deep gratitude for all those who made her feel welcomed and safe in my hometown. She wrote: It was quite a night in the Vesta Community Center. Everyone’s kindness in this town was so timely and heartfelt that, rather than feeling like a stranded traveler, I felt like a VIP walking down a red carpet.
I am not surprised by the goodness of the folks in Vesta. This is small town southwestern Minnesota at its best. Caring, kind, compassionate, loving, welcoming. I’ve always felt embraced by the place of my roots, even decades after leaving. I understand this place. These will always be my people. My prairie people.
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