Flowers blooming a few weeks ago in the Rice County Master Gardeners Teaching Gardens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)
IN THIS FLEETING TIME before winter arrives, I find myself drawn to end-of-the-season blooms. And plenty remain, clinging to summer past, attaching to autumn present, but some already ceding to the inevitable cold and snow yet to come.
A mass of brown-eyed (I think) susans. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)
Even as days grow shorter and nightfall presses dark upon the land, these flowers remain. And I delight in them wherever they stand, bend into the wind, catch the light of the morning and evening sun.
The roses are still blooming. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Most surprising, perhaps, are the roses that linger. I dip my nose close, expecting the heady scent of perfume, only to be disappointed. They smell ever so faint, a scent barely noticeable.
When I took this photo in late September, Monarchs flitted among zinnias. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)
Zinnias flash color, a beacon for monarchs.
Stunning sedum, absolutely beautiful in the evening light. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Sedum and seed heads and sunny yellow flowers all cozy together, some spent, some still determined to survive as the season shifts toward winter.
Paver pathways weave through the gardens which include benches, a water feature, rock snakes and more. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
I feel this sense of urgency to focus my eyes on flowers, to imprint upon my memory their glorious beauty. And so I wander among the blooms and dying blooms in the Rice County Master Gardeners Teaching Gardens in Faribault.
Photographed up close or at a distance, these flowers are lovely in the evening light of autumn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)
I love this oasis on the Rice County Fairgrounds next to the historical society. It offers a peaceful respite just off heavily-trafficked Second Avenue where vehicles rush by, their drivers seemingly unaware of the nearby gardens.
The garden includes two rock snakes, this flower stone among the many forming the serpent. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
But I long ago discovered this spot. Perfect for a picnic. Perfect for wandering. Perfect for photographing flowers. Perfect for reflecting and learning and enjoying. I’m grateful for every volunteer who lovingly tends this garden so I can come here. Sit. Walk. Photograph. Snapshot the scene for future reference.
A grass stem glows in the light of sunset. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)
When winter comes with its wind and deep-freeze cold and snow, I will remember the pink roses, the bold brown-eyed susans, the grass glowing in the sunlight.
A coneflower seed head. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
And when winter drags on, I will remember this place and how, when spring arrives, the perennials will resurrect and pop through the earth. I will remember, too, how seeds sown in the soil will sprout and push green shoots through the earth to leaf and blossom and bring me summer joy.
A monarch butterfly feeds on a milkweed flower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ON A RECENT AFTERNOON, I looked up from washing dishes and out the kitchen window to see a solitary monarch butterfly flitting among milkweeds. Something as common as a butterfly remains, for me, one of summer’s simplest delights. Along with milkweeds and fireflies.
A monarch caterpillar on milkweed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
This year I have a bumper crop of milkweed plants growing in and along flowerbeds and retaining walls. I stopped counting at 24 plants. I have no idea why the surge in milkweeds. But I am happy about their abundance given monarchs need milkweed. It is the only plant upon which the monarch lays eggs and the sole source of food for monarch caterpillars.
A crop of milkweeds in a public garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My farmer dad, if he was still alive, would likely offer a different opinion about milkweeds. As children, my siblings and I walked rows of soybean fields eradicating milkweeds, thistles and the notorious cocklebur. This was called “walking beans,” a job that we hated, but was necessary to keep fields mostly weed-free without the use of chemicals.
I never considered then that I might some day appreciate milkweeds, the “weed” I pulled from the rich dark soil of southwestern Minnesota. On many a hot and humid afternoon, sweat rolled off my forehead and dirt filtered through the holes of my canvas tennis shoes while hoeing and yanking unwanted plants from Dad’s soybean fields and on my cousin John’s farm.
Today I instruct my husband not to pull or mow any milkweed plants in our Faribault yard. Randy understands their value, even if he didn’t walk beans on his childhood farm. He more than made up for that lack of field work by picking way more rocks than I ever did. Morrison County in central Minnesota sprouts a bumper crop of rocks compared to my native Redwood County, where I also picked rocks.
A milkweed about to open. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But back to milkweeds. I love the scent of the dusty rose-colored common milkweed. So if you drive by my Faribault home or walk through River Bend Nature Center or Central Park or past Buckham Memorial Library and see me dipping my nose into a cluster of milkweed flowers, that’s why.
As summer progresses, I’m curious to see how many monarchs soar among the milkweeds in the tangled messes of plants that define my untamed flowerbeds. Thankfully our next door neighbor appreciates milkweeds also and is OK if the wind carries seeds onto his property.
Fireflies glow in the garden art honoring my nephew Justin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’ve already seen fireflies aplenty in our backyard, which abuts a wooded hillside. And recently, while driving home in the early dark of a summer evening, Randy and I saw hundreds of fireflies lighting up grassy road ditches. It was truly magical, reminding me of childhood sightings and of Eric Carle’s children’s picture book, The Very Lonely Firefly. I had a copy for my kids, battery included to light up firefly illustrations. And, until it stopped working, I had a solar-powered firefly garden sculpture honoring my nephew Justin, who loved light and fireflies and died at age 19 in 2001 of Hodgkins disease.
Often what we love is about much more than simply whatever we love. I see, in writing this story, that my love of milkweeds, monarchs and fireflies connects to memories. Summer memories. Farm memories. Family memories. These are the stories we carry within us, that help define who we are, whether we consider a milkweed to be a weed, or a flower.
TELL ME: What simple summer things delight you and why?
A black-eyed Susan at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
SUMMER, EVEN WITH ITS SOMETIMES excessive heat, humidity and storms, is a glorious season. Especially in Minnesota, when many months of the year are cold and colorless.
A view of and from the prairie at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
This time of year brings a natural world teeming with life in a landscape flush with color. It takes a walk into the woods and onto the prairie—for me at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault—to fully immerse myself in the delights of these July days.
Ripe and ripening black raspberries. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
During a recent hike on River Bend’s north side, I paused early on to sample black raspberries plucked from trailside bushes. I spotted the first ripe ones as Randy and I were about to cross a walkway bridge leading to a trail edging the Minnesota Correctional Facility, Faribault. But before I could get there, two guys on fat tire bikes barreled over the bridge, scaring me. I didn’t see them, so focused was I on picking berries.
Fat tire bikers head for a trail on River Bend’s north side. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
On the other side of the bridge, a deer stood, trapped between the double fencing of the prison. While many deer at the nature center show no concern for hikers, this one was skittish, bounding away before I could even lift my camera to shoot a picture.
Dragonflies, all in the same hue, flitted about. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Instead, I focused on the brownish dragonfly flitting, then landing, upon a twig. Later I would spot numerous of these same-hued insects among blades of tall grasses. I find them fascinating with their gossamer wings hearkening of fairies and magic and a child’s imagination.
Sunlight plays on leaves in light and shadows. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Backtracking across the road and into the woods, I observed unidentifiable slimy white fungi lining fallen limbs and trees. I’m always hopeful I will find an intensely bright yellow or orange mushroom like the vivid ones I saw several years ago in the woods of north central Minnesota. But I don’t think those grow in southern Minnesota. I know little about mushrooms except that I like them and buy eight ounces of baby bellas every week at the grocery store. I also know that a fairly-new business, Forest to Fork, grows a variety of mushrooms inside a former Faribault Foods plant on the north side of town.
A textured tree trunk up close. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Also in the woods, I noticed the texture of tree trunks. Natural art. At least to me.
There, among the weave of grasses, a butterfly. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
As we looped back to a main trail, the woods began to open to swampland and then to prairie. Birds raised raucous sound, although I failed to see many. That was until I noticed and attempted to photograph a lone bird on a bush. And failed. The bird took flight. “It’s a bluebird,” Randy exclaimed. He was right given the flash of blue, the smallish size and the nearby bluebird houses. It was my first bluebird sighting. Ever. Rice County is a haven for bluebirds thanks to the efforts of Keith Radel, known as Mr. Bluebird. Keith hails from my hometown of Vesta on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. He’s placed and tended houses throughout the county for 40-plus years, tracking, counting and caring for bluebirds. On this afternoon, numerous bluebirds swooped and danced across the summer sky.
Coneflowers on the prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
Nowhere does summer appear more like summer to me than in the tall grasses of swampland or among prairie wildflowers. I love the messiness of flowers tangled among grasses. I love the wide sky.
A Monarch, with parts of its wings missing, flies among leaves. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
And I love, too, the flitting of butterflies and moths. A flash of orange. Antenna and spindly legs. And on this afternoon, a Monarch with wings partially-eaten by a predator.
A milkweed flower beginning to open. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)
All of this I discovered on a July afternoon at River Bend. Here I dipped my nose into deeply-scented, dusty pink milkweed flowers. Here I tasted sunshine and rain in berries. And here I honored summer in southern Minnesota. Glorious and beautiful.
This small memorial plaque honors parents and River Bend with joyful words. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
FOR YOU SHALL GO out in joy, and be led back in peace. Those words from Isaiah 55:12, printed on a memorial plaque by a tree near the River Bend Nature Center interpretative center, summarize well my feelings about this spacious public area of ponds and river, woodland and prairie in Faribault. Whenever I arrive here, I come with joyful anticipation. I always leave feeling refreshed, at peace. Nature has a way of infusing happiness while simultaneously calming the spirit.
I love the contrast of textured white bark against the bold blue sky of a sunny spring afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
After a long winter, which wasn’t particularly harsh by Minnesota standards, River Bend draws friends, families, couples, individuals and students to experience the unfolding of spring, me among them. This time of year, perhaps more than any other, I am cognizant of the natural world evolving, changing, teeming with life.
Buds unfurl as temps warm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
In the shelter of woods, buds tip trees, unfurling with each warm and sunny day until the barren gray branches of winter morph into a canopy of green. We’re not quite there yet. But I see the greenery. I doubt there’s a green more intense than that of early spring.
Pockets of green along the Straight River bottom. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
Sunlight slices shadows onto the path to the Turtle Pond and spotlights greenery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
Sunlight illuminates patches of grass growing among limestone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
On recent hikes at River Bend, I noticed vivid swaths of green by the Straight River, scattered patches of green on the forest floor, tufts of greenery clinging to a rocky hillside. Green. Green. Green.
Lazy turtles on a log cause me to stop and linger. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
And sometimes turtles choose to hang out alone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
At the Turtle Pond, I delighted in the emergence of painted turtles, a cluster of them sunning themselves on a weather-worn tree lying near pond’s edge. Others chose to sunbathe alone. I am always fascinated by these creatures. They impart a sense of serenity, perhaps giving us permission to pause and enjoy the simple things in life. Like watching lounging turtles, reminding us that life’s pace needn’t always be hurried.
A family walks along a trail near the river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
Natural entertainment…balancing on a tree branch. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
About to load up the bikes after biking at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
I especially appreciate seeing families outdoors. Walking. Balancing on a fallen branch. Biking. Being away from the distractions of busy schedules and technology and everything that intrudes on time together outside in nature.
River Bend proves a popular place for humans and dogs. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
In the woods, we are sheltered and embraced while walking side-by-side, close to one another along narrow pathways. Conversations happen. We notice things, like squirrels scampering across dried leaves that hide as yet unseen spring wildflowers. Birds flit. The woods are beginning to awaken within our vision and hearing.
From a hilltop overlook, I view a diverse landscape of prairie and woods. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
Outside the woods on the prairie, I feel exposed but innately comfortable for I am of prairie stock. I know this wind. I know this wide sky. I know these tall grasses. This landscape would please Willa Cather, American author who wrote of the Great Plains and life thereon. In her novels, she shared a deep love of the land, of place.
That blue of pond and sky…beautiful to behold. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
At the prairie-side pond, I stop to take in water and sky and land—below, above and beyond. The deep blue of the pond, a reflection of the blue sky, contrasts sharply with the muted brown of dried pond grasses and reeds. The scene is painterly beautiful.
River Bend covers hundreds of acres and is one of Faribault’s greatest treasures. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
My time at River Bend always leaves me feeling better as I forget about worries and responsibilities, deadlines and everyday distractions.
A sizable deer population lives at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2025)
Upon exiting the nature center, I am offered one final gift—three deer leisurely grazing alongside the road. They hold minimal fear of humans, so comfortable are they with the many visitors here. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the deer would rather we just move along rather than watch them with wonder, our eyes, our souls, seeking joy and peace.
This photo taken at 4 p.m. Friday, March 28, shows the unusually high March temperature in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2025)
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO, the temperature registered 81 degrees on the State Bank of Faribault sign in our historic downtown. At 4 p.m. Saturday, the temp read 38 degrees. That’s a 43-degree plunge. Such is the fickle nature of weather in southern Minnesota. One day summer. The next day winter.
Let’s talk that one day of summer. The two oldest of our three grandkids were here for a sleep-over Thursday into Friday afternoon. We took full advantage of the unseasonably warm temps with lots of time outdoors. Who wants to stay indoors when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing and it feels like summer? None of us.
So out we went Friday morning, first to hang laundry on the clothesline, which didn’t interest Izzy, almost nine, and Isaac, six, quite as much as I had hoped. “We have a dryer,” Izzy informed me as she handed me clothespins. So does Grandma. But Grandma prefers hanging laundry outdoors, under the sky, under the sun, in the wind.
This looks just like the caterpillar found in our backyard on Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A CATERPILLAR, SQUIRRELS, BRAMBLES & A ROCK
Time outdoors led to discoveries, like the woolly caterpillar Izzy found in the backyard and which she insisted was poisonous. I insisted it was not while using a dried maple leaf and a piece of bark to move the fuzzy ball to a safe place in a flowerbed. She worried and warned that I was not to touch the poisonous caterpillar. “Izzy, it’s not poisonous,” I repeated. I’m not sure she believed me.
We noted all the holes dotting the backyard, spots where squirrels dug for hidden walnuts. Empty shells littered the dormant lawn.
The previous evening, Grandpa led Izzy and Isaac up the hill through the woods behind our house. It’s a bit of a climb past fallen branches and brambles. But they were adventurous, determined to make it to the top, to Wapacuta Park. There they found the playground equipment rather scary—Grandpa concurred—but a gigantic rock a whole lot of fun as they scampered atop it. This is the same mammoth rock their mom, aunt and uncle climbed as kids. Life come full circle.
The Fleckenstein Bluffs Park playground. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
TIME TO PLAY & TIME TO ASK SERIOUS QUESTIONS
Late Friday morning we headed to Fleckenstein Bluffs Park near downtown to a playground the kids found much more to their liking. Another rock (albeit fake) to climb, a towering climbing apparatus, musical instruments, sand diggers, mini spinning seats and more, including fossils imprinted in the fake rocks.
We spent time, too, on an overlook above the Straight River. There the grandparents had to answer questions about homelessness given the blue tent pitched alongside the river. “Why do they live in a tent?” Sometimes adults don’t have all the answers. But we tried. Izzy worried that the police were coming to arrest those living in the tent when she saw a cruiser driving down the bike trail. No, Izzy, they’re not going to arrest them.
Beavers have given up chewing on this tree along the Straight River, we discovered during a walk on Friday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
BEAVERS, GEESE, A HERON & MEMORIES
And so we followed the Straight River Trail, noting trees chewed by beavers, a sandbar in the river, chimes on an apartment balcony clinking in the wind, a pair of geese moving from land to river, a magnificent blue heron flying low above the water…then those geese again, swimming.
Izzy stopped to pluck stones from alongside the trail, dropping them into an empty yogurt cup she’d brought with her. We walked sometimes hand-in-hand, Isaac and Grandpa well ahead of us, also clasping hands. This time together in the outdoors is the stuff of memories, of learning, of connecting with nature.
This used bookshop in Faribault is a must-stop when the grandkids visit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
DRAGONS, TORNADOES & THE BIG WIDE WORLD
On the drive home, we stopped at Books on Central, a used bookstore run by the Rice County Area United Way. We like to take the kids there whenever they are in town. Izzy found a fantasy book about dragons she’s read, but wanted to own. And a nonfiction book about tornadoes. Isaac was looking for atlases. Jeanne, who volunteers at the bookshop, found two, as yet unprocessed, atlases in the back room. Isaac was happy, promptly sitting down to page through the books. We also chose a book for their baby cousin, Everett, in Wisconsin.
And so that was our day together. A time of laundry hanging, backyard observing, playing, walking and enveloping ourselves in nature. But above all, it was time for us as grandparents to be with our beloved grandchildren, simply enjoying an unseasonably warm late March day in southern Minnesota, “poisonous caterpillar” and all.
The prairie at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
IN THE IN-BETWEEN SEASON of not exactly winter, but not quite spring here in Minnesota (although the calendar says otherwise), I feel like I’m waiting. Waiting for snowfalls to end. Waiting for the landscape to transition from drab browns and grays. Waiting for vibrant colors to appear.
My neighbor’s spring flowers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)
There’s a sense of anticipation and wonder when buds form, when the first tender shoots of spring bulbs emerge from the soil, then flower. Purple crocuses. Sunny yellow daffodils. Followed by tulips and other flowers in a rainbow of hues.
Spring wildflowers at Kaplan’s Woods Park, Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I love the beginning of spring—real spring, not the teasing warm days of early and mid-March or simply a date (March 20) on a calendar.
Spring erupts in Minnesota at Falls Creek Park, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)
I love when the landscape is flush in green, a green so vibrant that it’s almost indescribable.
Oak leaves at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
The starkness of this time of year in Minnesota focuses the eye on details, like the rough bark of a tree in the woods at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
Dried seedheads at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
While I await the greening of the landscape, I remind myself to appreciate the natural world around me as it is now. The stubborn dried oak leaves that clung to branches through the fierce winds of winter. The rough textured bark of a tree. The dried seed heads and leaning swamp and prairie grasses. All hold the seasoned beauty of days, of weeks, of months, of time.
Animal prints in the snow in my backyard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
Seasons are not timed by a calendar date, but by the natural world. Authentic spring arrives in Minnesota on her own timetable. Often unhurried. But sometimes abrupt.
The woods at River Bend await the budding of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
As I await spring’s bloom and budding, I realize that the seasons of life also should not be hurried. The years pass too quickly, although we are mostly ignorant of that in our younger years. I understand that now in this advancing season of my life.
For several minutes, I watched and photographed this bald eagle soaring high above the Straight River at River Bend Nature Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2025)
I value the moments more, recognizing that seasons end. And seasons begin.
One of my favorite winter photos, of a farm site along Interstate 35 north of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)
WE MINNESOTANS PRIDE ourselves on our winter hardiness. But this week is testing even the hardiest among us as temps drop into the double digit subzero range. Add the wind and it feels like -30 to -40 degrees outdoors. No wonder extreme cold warnings have been issued for our state. Exposed skin can freeze in minutes. No wonder schools are closing and shifting to e-learning.
A flowering tree, photographed in Faribault in spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2024)
The bright sunshine fools no one. It’s an illusion of warmth. But the sunshine also reminds me that much warmer days are only months away, that winter isn’t forever, that we will get through this cold spell. We always do.
Photographed at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour garden in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
But as I wait and (mostly) shelter indoors, I find myself drawn to floral photos I took during the spring and summer. Images which visually remind me that the snow will melt, the earth will thaw and warm, seeds will grow, flowers will flourish and these frigid days of winter will be only a memory.
Coneflowers, Rice County Master Gardeners’ Teaching Gardens, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
It’s a bit of a psychological endeavor, this convincing myself that spring will be here “before we know it.” Some days, especially during a cold snap, that seems almost laughable. I admit, my appreciation of winter has diminished as I’ve aged. I’m not alone in feeling that way among my Baby Boomer friends, which is likely the reason many flee to warmer climates for a week, or even months, during winter. I say good for them if that’s a feasible option. It’s not for me.
Dreaming of summer days at Horseshoe Lake in the central Minnesota lakes region. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2023)
So I find ways to cope. Read more. Write more. Walk indoors at the mall instead of outside. And when I do go out, bundle up, clamp a stocking cap on my head without care that it flattens my hair. Eat dark chocolate. Drink tea. Cook soups and chili. Pull out my warmest sweater to layer over a tee and flannel shirt. Connect with friends more. Remember hot summer days Up North at the cabin.
Tulips, one of the first flowers of spring in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2020)
And never forget that the flowers will unfurl in the sunshine and warmth. Bold, beautiful, vibrant blooms. Lovely. Filling my soul and spirit in a poetically beautiful way that winter can’t.
Polls closed last Friday with 23,400 people voting for up to eight names on a list of 50. That was narrowed from some 7,300 submissions.
A snowplow in my native southwestern Minnesota will now bear the name spun off from a line in “The Wizard of Oz” starring native Minnesotan Frances Gumm, aka Judy Garland. Her hometown of Grand Rapids (Minnesota, not Michigan) is located in MnDOT’s District 1 on the northeastern side of our state. A plow in that region will be tagged SKOL Plow, a tribute to the Scandinavian cheer chant for the Minnesota Vikings. That name came in at number seven in the polls.
Here in southeastern Minnesota, Plowbunga! will now mark one of MnDOT’s big orange snowplow trucks. Does that reference Cowabunga! of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” fame? I think so. My girls loved those cartoon superheroes, turtles in a half shell. Plowabunga! was the third top vote-getter.
Coming in second was Snowtorious B.I.G., which totally baffled me. So I googled and found connections to snow, drugs and sweaters.
Anthony Sledwards also had me stumped. Turns out Anthony Edwards is a star basketball player for the Minnesota Timberwolves. That explains it. I don’t watch sports. Travel in the Twin Cities metro and you will soon see Anthony Sledwards plowing snow.
The original version of “How to Talk Minnesotan,” published in the 1980s, is a primer to Minnesota language. (Book cover sourced online)
The fifth and sixth place winners, You’re Welcome and Don’tcha Snow, honor Minnesota Speak, phrases (or versions of) spoken by Minnesotans. Don’tcha know?
Rounding out the top ten is I Came, I Thaw, I Conquered, which will go on a plow in District 7, South Central Minnesota.
So there you go. How did I do with my picks? Three of my eight choices—We’re Off to See the Blizzard, SKOL Plow and Catch My Drift (#9 and which I really really like)—finished in the top ten.
I’m not sayin’ take me to Jackpot Junction, Mystic Lake, Treasure Island or any other casino in Minnesota because I’m not that good at picking winners. But I am sayn’ this annual contest is a whole lot of fun and certainly breaks up a long Minnesota winter.
Blowing snow reduces visibility along Rice County Road 25/197th Street East near Faribault on January 18, 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2020)
WITH THE LONG WINTERS we have here in Minnesota, we find creative ways to get through this lengthy, lingering season. That includes naming our state-owned snowplows.
It’s that time of year again when voting opens in the Minnesota Department of Transportation’s Name That Snowplow Contest. Yup, we started naming our snowplows in 2020. Not all of them, of course, because MnDOT has a large fleet of big orange snowplows. Rather, eight names are selected for a snowplow in each of MnDOT’s eight districts.
The contest, and, yes, this is a contest, garnered more than 7,300 submissions for the 2024-2025 season. Guidelines called for witty, unique and Minnesota or winter-themed names. Rules banned profanity, political connections (thank you, MnDOT) and such. In other words, Minnesotans needed to exercise Minnesota Nice in suggesting snowplow names.
In a nod to Taylor Swift, a snowplow in MnDOT’s District 2 was named Taylor Drift in the 2024 contest. (Photo credit: Minnesota Department of Transportation)
MnDOT staff reviewed the submitted names and narrowed the choices to 50. How would you like that job? Now the public has until noon on Friday, February 7, to vote for up to eight names. Just like in any election, you can vote only once. But not at the ballot box. Vote online.
Scrolling through the list of names, I picked my favorites. Now, if my choices influence your picks, I offer no apologies. You can vote your conscience.
A City of Faribault truck plows snow in the winter of 2023. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)
I’m voting for these names, listed in alphabetical order and followed by my reasons for selecting them:
Bob Chillin’—A tribute to native son, singer, songwriter and poet Bob Dylan, who is not a complete unknown.
Catch My Drift—Just because it’s catchy and this is what snowplows do, especially on my native prairie.
Little Plow on the Prairie—A nod to author Laura Ingalls Wilder and the TV series, Little House on the Prairie, set in Walnut Grove, Minnesota (the show, not the book).
Make Snowbegone—A reference to writer Garrison Keillor’s fictional Lake Wobegon and also the way many Minnesotans feel in the deep of a snowy winter.
MinneSNOWta N’ice—Obviously referring to Minnesota weather and the “Minnesota Nice” moniker tagged to Minnesotans.
SKOL Plow—Even if the Minnesota Vikings did not get to the Super Bowl (again), we remain (mostly) loyal to our team and are fond of our Scandinavian cheer chant, SKOL!
Snow Place Like Home—A clever twist on the phrase, “There’s no place like home” from The Wizard of Oz. Judy Garland, Dorothy in the film, was born Frances Ethel Gumm in Grand Rapids, Minnesota.
We’re Off To See the Blizzard—And, yes, that would be a spin off “We’re off to see the wizard (of Oz).” Snowplows are, indeed, sometimes off to see the blizzard.
There you go. Exercise your right to vote in a nonpartisan election. Just for fun. To vote, click here.
Bring out the cold weather gear like this photographed at a vintage snowmobile show during a past Winterfest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WITH AIR TEMPS DIPPING into the single digit subzero range and windchills at around minus 25 degrees on recent mornings in Minnesota, we’ve been in a bit of a cold snap. We’ll get a several-day respite of 30 degrees before temps plunge again, dipping to even colder early next week when an arctic front moves in.
All this cold got me thinking about ways to define a cold snap. It’s not only about the way it feels, but also how it sounds and looks, yes, looks.
Here’s how a cold snap feels: Like a slap on the cheeks. Biting, bitter, unbelievably cold. Exposed skin can freeze in 10-15 minutes.
The cold of a cold snap also feels like ice on bare feet during a night-time trip to the bathroom. But even before that, cold feels like I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed-from-under-these-warm-covers-because-the-house-is-cold. Our thermostat is set at 62 degrees at night. Comfortable, except during a cold snap when outdoor air seems to infiltrate the indoors.
Legendary lumberjack Paul Bunyan has made wearing buffalo plaid flannel fashionable in Minnesota. Here he’s depicted on an ice machine outside Thurlow Hardware and Rental, Pequot Lakes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
These are the days of layering, of pulling out the warmest flannel or fleece. I wear a tee, topped by a flannel shirt, topped by a sweatshirt or sweater. Randy has pulled out his heavy duty quilt-lined flannel shirt that visually widens his girth. Who cares about fashion? Not me. The goal is to stay warm.
In the evenings, with the thermostat set at 68 degrees, we find additional warmth under fleece throws or, whoever grabs it first, under an especially warm fleece-lined denim quilt. We opt not to crank up the heat in an effort to keep our energy bill down. Even with that, heating an old house with natural gas gets costly.
Chicken Wild Rice Soup, one of my favorite soups, served at a fundraiser in St. Peter years ago. I made a batch of this soup earlier this week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A cold snap feels like dry, itchy skin; aching joints; a parched throat. I’m drinking more water and tea. Water flowing from the tap first thing in the morning is ice cold. I’m cooking more soups and comfort foods like Chicken Wild Rice Soup and lasagna.
These deeply cold mornings, Randy warms the van before leaving for work. The sound of tires on the street past our house carries a sharpness and, if snow layers the pavement, tires crunch. Bitter cold holds a distinct, almost indescribable, sound.
Frost art on an upstairs window during a past winter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Inside and outside, a cold snap is visible. I see it in the line of frost edging the bottoms of exterior doors. I pull a rag rug snug against the lower edge of the front door to block the draft. I see cold in the intricate frost patterns painted on bedroom windows upstairs.
These cold winter days have me dreaming of summer days at a central Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
And when I look outside from my relatively warm house, it simply looks cold, the sky clear, the bright sunshine only an illusion of warmth. For many Minnesotans, though, warmth is a reality as residents escape to warmer places like Arizona, Texas and Florida. Whether for a week, a month or the entire winter, these vacationers and snowbirds seek a break from the bitter cold and snow of a Minnesota winter.
I can’t help but think about those experiencing homelessness, including right here in Faribault. Where are these individuals living, sleeping? Surely not in the tents I’ve seen pitched along the river bottom. In the metro area, facilities are opening as warming centers. So, yeah, even though I’m not fond of this cold snap, at least I have a home.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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