Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

My observations as autumn teases Minnesota September 14, 2016

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As I passed Kamp Dels near Waterville recently, I noticed how the campground is emptying.

As I passed Kamp Dels near Waterville recently, I noticed how the campground is emptying.

AS MUCH AS I DON’T WANT to admit it, summer is fading into autumn here in Minnesota. I like fall. I really do. But I don’t appreciate what follows. Winter.

Just down the tree-lined road from Kamp Dels, leaves are changing color on lakeside trees.

Just down the tree-lined road from Kamp Dels, leaves are changing color on lakeside trees.

The shift in seasons began already in August with a subtle hint of color tinging select trees. Now more leaves are changing color and dropping. A leaf here, a leaf there. And before we know it, the trees are bare.

Between Waterville and Elysian sits the Cannonville Community Church.

Between Waterville and Elysian sits the Cannonville Community Church.

But I am getting ahead of the days.

Fields line a back county road between Waterville and Elysian.

Crops are changing color along a back county road between Waterville and Elysian.

For now, corn fields are morphing from green to golden. Flowers that once bloomed in vivid hues are browning, dying. Gardens are ripe with produce.

Ripening crops unfold before me near the Cannonville church.

In the rolling landscape near the Cannonville church, corn fields ripen.

The sun fades earlier. A definitive sharpness in the evening air hints of colder months ahead.

Fields and roadway stretch between Morristown and Faribault.

Fields and roadway stretch between Morristown and Faribault in rural Rice County.

I feel a certain sense of melancholy mixed with anticipation as autumn evolves, as harvest approaches. The sights, sounds, smells and tastes of September delight me. I welcome cobalt skies, splashes of red in tree lines, piles of pumpkins, candles flickering warmth and light, the comfort of a well-worn sweatshirt.

Hints of autumn are visible everywhere along this rural roadway between Morristown and Faribault.

Hints of autumn are visible everywhere along this rural roadway between Morristown and Faribault.

But I see winter knocking at the door, suitcase bulging with snowflakes.

© Copyright 2016 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Sure signs of spring in Owatonna April 12, 2016

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AFTER A LONG MINNESOTA WINTER, and they all seem long to me, we look for sure signs of spring. A robin. Snowbirds returning from Arizona, Texas and Florida. Road construction beginning.

The recently unveiled motorhome in Owatonna.

The recently unveiled motorhome in Owatonna.

And in Owatonna, about a dozen miles to the south of my Faribault home, it’s the unveiling of a motorhome parked in a front yard along East Main Street, one of the town’s main drags. “This, like the return of the robins, is a sure sign of spring,” a friend and Owatonna resident shared in a recent email.

Motorhome in Owatonna in January

This is a photograph of the same motorhome taken in January.

I posted a photo of that camper in early February, when it was shrouded in a “blanket” and snow blanketed the yard.

Campers filled the spacious Four Seasons Centre and spilled into a parking lot.

Campers filled the spacious Four Seasons Centre and spilled into a parking lot.

On Saturday I was in Owatonna again, this time to tour exhibits at the Steele County History Center (posts forthcoming on that). And while we were there, my husband and I checked out the Noble RV Camper Show next door at the Steele County Four Seasons Centre. Like the uncovered camper on Main Street, the camper show signals spring, even if temps are still in the 30s and windchills in the teens.

We’re not campers. But we wanted to tour these homes on wheels.

If he could have, Randy would have kicked back with a beer, watched TV and fallen asleep inside this comfy motorhome.

If he could have, Randy would have kicked back with a beer, watched TV and fallen asleep inside this comfy motorhome.

These are some pretty fancy schmancy rigs with fireplaces, steel appliances and kitchens way nicer than the one in my woodframe house. If this is camping, I could learn to like camping. My few camping experiences have involved leaky tents, deflating air mattresses, partying neighbors and, once, even a flood. So when people ask if I camp, I respond with an emphatic no.

If you were in the market for a camper, this was the place to be. So many to tour...

If you were in the market for a camper, this was the place to be this past weekend. So many to tour…

I lost count of how many motorhomes we toured on Saturday. But after awhile, they all began too look alike. And I was tired of carefully stepping up and down trios of stairs, my hand gripping a side hold lest I plummet onto the cement.

For the sportsman, there was even a ice fishing house/camper. Remove the lids and drop your line into the water on a frozen lake.

For the sportsman, there was even a ice fishing house/camper. Remove the lids and drop your line into the water on a frozen lake.

For one thing I was especially grateful. Not a single salesman approached us. So we didn’t have to feign interest in something that didn’t interest us beyond abating our curiosity.

© Copyright 2016 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The shifting of seasons in Minnesota November 4, 2015

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barn

Grey skies hang over a barn and harvested cornfield west of Sleepy Eye along U.S. Highway 14 on a late October morning.

AS THE SEASON SHIFTS here in Minnesota, I struggle to hold onto the light. To the color. To memories of lush landscapes and warm days.

A bare field near Belview in southwestern Minnesota.

A bare field near Belview in southwestern Minnesota on a late October morning.

I am no fan of the transition months—November and March. I’ve always thought these the least visually inviting. Grey skies dominate. Cold winds rage. The land appears devoid of color. Black fields. Muted tones. Everywhere.

One of my favorite barns in the Springfield area along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

One of my favorite barns in the Springfield area along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

But then a barn flashes red in the monotone landscape.

Clouds break apart over a farm along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

Clouds break apart over a farm along U.S. Highway 14 in southwestern Minnesota.

Sun spotlights through the clouds beaming light upon the land. A patch of blue emerges overhead.

In the final days of October, my camera landed on this stunningly beautiful treeline near Shieldsville.

In the final days of October, my camera landed on this stunningly beautiful treeline near Shieldsville. I’ve seen some of the prettiest fall colors near my Faribault home. This is true every year.

Nearing the end of October, some corn remained to be harvested.

Nearing the end of October, some corn remained to be harvested.

Along U.S. Highway 14 east of Springfield, this brick barn stands strong and tall.

Along U.S. Highway 14 east of Springfield, this brick barn stands strong and tall.

I begin to notice patches of color—autumn leaves still hanging on, corn carpeting fields, defiant red barns still standing.

The barn with the smiling lips, between Sleepy Eye and Springfield, always makes me smile.

The barn with the smiling lips, between Sleepy Eye and Springfield, always makes me smile.

Harvesting corn along U.S. Highway 52 in the Rochester area in mid-October.

Harvesting corn along U.S. Highway 52 in the Rochester area in mid-October.

A country church along Interstate 90 near the Winona exit reminds me of blessings and thankfulness, especially at harvest time.

A country church along Interstate 90 near the Winona exit reminds me of blessings and thankfulness, especially at harvest time.

Reasons to smile. Reasons to appreciate November. This eleventh month raises my awareness of thankfulness. Thankfulness that I live in Minnesota, a state of four seasons, of changing landscapes, of bountiful harvests. And this week of unexpected November warmth.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Autumn in Faribault October 12, 2015

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Nearly noon on Sunday along Second Avenue in Faribault, Minnesota.

Nearly noon on Sunday along Second Avenue in Faribault, Minnesota.

IF I COULD TAKE A DAY and tuck it away for safekeeping, to pull out on the dreariest of bone-chilling Minnesota winter days, it would be yesterday.

Gorgeous fall colors in a tree along Fifth Street Northwest across from Trinity Lutheran Church.

Gorgeous fall colors in a maple tree along Fifth Street Northwest across from Trinity Lutheran Church.

Sunday here in southeastern Minnesota was gloriously beautiful as in blue skies and sunshine and warmth melding with the changing colors of the season.

Biking through River Bend Nature Center.

Biking through River Bend Nature Center.

A walk in the woods. A drive in the country. Fishing at the King Mill Dam. Sunday was a day to be cherished.

A deep blue sky provides the backdrop for aged cottonwood trees in River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.

A deep blue sky provides the backdrop for aged cottonwood trees in River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.

My mom told me a few weeks ago how much she loves this month of cobalt skies. I’ve always felt the same about the skies of autumn.

A leaf from the maple tree in my backyard.

A leaf from the maple tree in my backyard.

And the hues of the leaves. Do I forget from year to year how lovely are the blazing oranges, the brilliant reds, the subtle browns? Or are the colors sharper, more vibrant, this year?

The sun blazes through cottonwoods in Tee Pee Tonka Park.

The sun blazes through cottonwoods in Teepee Tonka Park.

Really, it doesn’t matter. What matters is seeing, and appreciating, the blessedness of autumn.

BONUS PHOTOS:

A black-eyed susan adds a jolt of color to a road ditch at River Bend Nature Center.

A black-eyed susan adds a jolt of color to a road ditch at River Bend Nature Center.

Prairie grasses have dried to a muted brown at River Bend Nature Center.

Prairie grasses have dried to a muted brown at River Bend Nature Center.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The joys & revelations of a Sunday afternoon drive in rural Minnesota September 1, 2015

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THERE IS SOMETHING about late August and early September in Minnesota that is comforting, yet tinged with melancholy. Comforting in the hope of harvest. Melancholy in that summer is all but a closed chapter in our book of seasons.

In the morning, fog lingers after nights that necessitate the closing of windows, the pulling on of blankets. But then, as the day progresses, the chill gives way to heat and humidity. It’s as if summer and autumn are tugging at the weather blanket.

Somewhere east of Northfield.

Somewhere east of Northfield.

Beyond the weather, there exist undeniable visuals of the seasonal changes, best observed during a drive in the countryside. I am a firm believer in the value of a Sunday afternoon drive to notice that which all too often passes unseen and unappreciated. So this past Sunday, my husband and I followed blacktop county and back gravel roads through the up-and-down terrain of rural Rice County.

We have neither smart phones or a GPS, thus rely on our over-sized 1994 Minnesota Atlas & Gazetteer and our sense of direction (the husband’s, not mine) to navigate when necessary. Mostly we just drive, turning when we please.

On the edges of fields, corn leaves are drying.

On the edges of fields, corn leaves are drying. This scene is along a road between Faribault and Dundas.

It doesn’t take much to please me. Simply by being in the country, I experience a sense of peace. All is well in the world as I notice the seasonal changes of corn leaves morphing from green to parched. I can visualize combines roaring across the land, golden kernels spilling into grain trucks.

Beautiful horses and beautiful goldenrod somewhere east of Northfield.

Beautiful horses and beautiful goldenrod somewhere east of Northfield.

In and along road ditches, clusters of goldenrod bloom.

Flowers are past their prime, but still lovely, in this vintage Ford pick-up truck parked on the Fossum farm along Rice County Road 28 east of Northfield.

Flowers are past their prime, but still lovely, in this vintage Ford pick-up truck parked on the Fossum farm along Rice County Road 28 east of Northfield.

And when I look across the landscape, I see that tinge of color creeping into trees, the browning of the green that teases autumn into our days. Flowers are fading. A red barn seems redder in a land that is growing more subdued and muted. Grain bins stand at the ready.

Bins peek above a cornfield between Faribault and Dundas.

Bins peek above a cornfield between Faribault and Dundas.

I love autumn. It is my favorite season. Yet, I am reluctant for the chapter of summer to end. For I know that all too soon, I will be immersed in the chapters (plural) of winter.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The greening of Minnesota May 27, 2015

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The greening of an abandoned farmsite between Faribault and Morristown.

The greening of a farmsite between Faribault and Morristown.

AUTUMN HAS ALWAYS been my favorite season here in Minnesota. But spring holds an appeal almost equally as strong.

Corn rows emerge in a field near Delhi in southwestern Minnesota.

Corn rows emerge in a field near Delhi in southwestern Minnesota.

We are in the throes of spring with trees now leafed out, dormant grass morphed to life and the black landscape of fields sprouting corn and soybeans, as if a farmer took a green pen and ruler and inked lines across the land.

Minnesota State Highway 68 south of Morgan stretches out behind me in this snapshot taken of the passenger side mirror. Green breaks this monotonous stretch of roadway.

Minnesota State Highway 68 south of Morgan stretches out behind me in this snapshot taken of the passenger side mirror. Green breaks this monotonous stretch of roadway.

On a day trip to Belview and back to Faribault on Saturday, I delighted in the greenery of rural Minnesota. I find visual joy in viewing a landscape transformed. The intensity of green almost hurts your eyes. It’s that vivid.

The steeple of the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity emerges from the canopy of trees in New Ulm.

The steeple of the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity emerges from the canopy of trees in New Ulm.

I treasure these late spring weeks, for I know this emerald gem is mine for only a sacred short time.

Beautiful greenery in Waseca.

Beautiful greenery in Waseca.

TELL ME ABOUT the season in your part of the country or world. What do you see in the landscape that surrounds you?

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Spring in rural Minnesota: The greening of the grey May 7, 2015

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I DON’T KNOW IF ANY GREEN is more vibrant than that of spring, especially here in rural Minnesota.

A scene photographed from Rice County Road 15 between Faribault and Morristown, Minnesota.

A rural scene photographed from Rice County Road 15 between Faribault and Morristown, Minnesota.

Green in the landscape after months of grey and white and black dances a visual delight. It’s as if our eyes cannot get enough of lush green grass and the tight buds of leaves unfurling in flashes of green that sway to the rhythm of the wind.

Farmers, such as this one near Wanamingo, are working the land and planting.

Farmers, such as this one near Wanamingo, are working the land and planting.

Soon seeds sown into black earth will erupt in rows of corn and soybeans like a precision marching band overtaking fields.

harvest

A dryer and bin on a rural Rice County, Minnesota, farm await the 2015 harvest about a half a year away.

The beat of the seasons begins. Planting into growing into harvest. A familiar rhythm in this land I love.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Waiting April 27, 2015

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My daffodils are in full bloom here in southeastern Minnesota.

Daffodils are in full bloom in southeastern Minnesota.

THEY’RE POPPING UP here in the north land. Daffodils. Crocus. Tulips. Bulging buds burst or about to burst into the vibrant hues of spring.

Fiddleheads are poking up along the foundation of my house.

Fiddleheads poke up along the foundation of my house.

I’m waiting, waiting, waiting for tulips to loosen their lips, for fiddleheads to unfurl in the rhythm of the wind.

Waiting, always waiting.

Why? Why must I always wait for tomorrow?

Wild day lilies are emerging.

Wild day lilies emerging.

I must delight in today. Green growth. The slow warming of days. The beginning. This transition of seasons.

Garden art that stays on my backyard fence year-round.

Garden art stays on my backyard fence year-round.

There will be time to seed zinnias and spinach, to fill pots to overflowing with greenhouse goodness, to climb the ladder and haul down the garden art, to pull out the lawn chairs and gather around a backyard campfire.

My artist friend Steve Denninger gifted me with this piece of original garden art created from recycled items. It hangs on an old wooden box in my backyard. The box is built from a recycled fence.

My artist friend Steve Denninger gifted me with this piece of original garden art created from recycled items. It hangs on an old wooden box in my backyard. The box is built from a recycled fence.

For now, on this day, in this moment, I must appreciate today. Stop waiting. Maybe tomorrow won’t be better than today and today is actually better than tomorrow. Yes, I must stop waiting and live in today’s season of life. Whatever that may be.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Glorious autumn in my Minnesota backyard October 24, 2014

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I SHOULD HAVE RAKED leaves this week. Should have.

A view of my backyard taken from the back steps shows the one maple tree that has dropped all those leaves.

A view of my backyard taken from the back steps shows the one maple tree that has dropped all those leaves.

But I couldn’t. Couldn’t because there’s something wonderful about stepping out the kitchen door into a backyard blanketed by golden maple leaves.

Focusing up at the leaves still clinging to the maple.

Focusing up at the leaves still clinging to the maple.

Wonderment of color and earthy scent and crackle of dried leaves underfoot.

Garden art given to me by my mom several years ago.

Garden art given to me by my mom several years ago is surrounded by fallen leaves.

Oh, how I love this season, this Autumn.

Garden art still staked outdoors copies the hues of leaves and sky.

Garden art still staked outdoors copies the hues of leaves and sky.

The hues and scents and crispness endear me to October.

Posing Grant Wood style after raking leaves.

Posing Grant Wood style after raking leaves. The ground is once again strewn with a layer of leaves.

I thrilled in watching cousins—my two great nephews and a great niece—gather leaves by rake, hand and wheelbarrow into a pile for hiding and jumping.

My great nephew, who just moved to rural Faribault from Utah, didn't quite know what to think of being placed atop a leaf pile.

My great nephew, who just moved to rural Faribault from Utah, didn’t quite know what to think of being placed atop a leaf pile.

Oh, to be a kid again.

The monster leaf on the left measures nine inches across, here compared to a more normal-sized maple leaf.

The monster leaf on the left measures nine inches across, here compared to a more normal-sized maple leaf.

I marveled, along with Deb visiting from the Iron Range, at the nine-inch span of a leaf dropped by the backyard maple. Neither of us had ever seen a maple leaf so large. She took it back home to show her husband, who’s never traveled south of Minneapolis.

I'm in no hurry to rake the leaves in my backyard. This fountain rests on a patio table.

I’m in no hurry to rake the leaves in my backyard. This fountain rests on a patio table.

Autumn is too fleeting to rake her leaves in, to bag and haul them away in unwelcome dismissal.

I'm still hanging laundry outside and will do so until the snow flies. I noticed how this kitchen towel mimics the hues of autumn.

I’m still hanging laundry outside and will do so until the snow flies. I noticed how this kitchen towel mimics the hues of autumn.

I don’t want this glorious season to depart, so why would I hasten Autumn along?

Flower pots are stacked, waiting to be stashed inside the garage.

Flower pots are stacked, waiting to be stashed inside the garage.

Being a life-long Minnesotan, though, I understand the need to prepare for Winter. And I’ve started. Yes, I have. I’ve emptied flower pots of dead plants. I’ve yanked zinnias from the ground. I’ve hauled fern and cactus indoors.

Every day more leaves drop from my backyard maple. I know I will wake up one morning soon and the branches will be bare.

Every day more leaves drop from my backyard maple. I know I will wake up one morning soon and the branches will be bare.

The leaves, though, will stay for awhile longer.

A garden art angel I have yet to move indoors.

A garden angel I have yet to move indoors.

Oh, how I love this blessed season of Autumn.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A photo essay: Autumn at River Bend October 20, 2014

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A trail through the woods at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.

A trail through the woods at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.

IT IS IMPOSSIBLE, I’ve determined, to fast walk my way through a park or nature center, camera slung around neck or over shoulder. Impossible.

A slower pace allows one to notice the individual trees in the woods.

A slower pace allows one to notice the individual trees in the woods.

I cannot hurry, even with the goal to raise heart rate and burn calories. My desire and need to notice details, to take in and often photograph my surroundings, overrides.

Rudi, one friendly collie who cooperated for one photo.

Rudi, one friendly collie who cooperated for one photo.

On a recent Sunday afternoon walk at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault, I tried, oh, I tried, to step it up. But then Rudi appeared and I just had to pet and photograph this friendly collie. The thing is, I’m not a big dog lover. Typically, I’ll skirt a canine. But not this one who reminded me of Lassie.

A group of goats are grazing on Buckthorn at River Bend.

A group of goats graze on Buckthorn at River Bend.

Rudi proved to be distraction number two after I observed penned goats attacking invasive Buckthorn (more on that in a future post).

Oak leaves

Oak leaves

More oak leaves

More oak leaves

And still more

And still more oak leaves

My husband and I fast-paced for awhile before my eyes focused on patches of oak leaves in burnished shades of orange and red. I veered slightly off the tarred path for close-up images.

So many folks were walking the trails on a gorgeous autumn afternoon in southeastern Minnesota.

So many folks were walking the trails on a gorgeous autumn afternoon in southeastern Minnesota.

My husband claims this is a fossil in rock.

My husband claims this is a fossil in rock.

Rustic signs mark River Bend trails.

Rustic signs mark River Bend trails.

A burst of brilliant red berries caught my eyes.

A burst of brilliant red berries caught my eyes.

Even dried swamp grass possesses a certain beauty.

Even dried swamp grass possesses a certain beauty.

Even a dried milkweed pod does not go unnoticed.

A dried milkweed pod does not go unnoticed.

A single leaf is worthy of notice for its mottled beauty.

A single leaf is worthy of notice for its mottled beauty.

And so the distractions continued—fossil embedded in rock, leaves, tree trunks, contrast of colors and light, a quick chat with another couple, milkweed and signs and berries and dried swamp grasses.

A treeline showcases the changing colors of autumn.

A treeline showcases the changing colors of autumn at River Bend.

Everywhere, nature drew me to a halt.

Fallen trees and branches litter the woods.

Fallen trees and branches appear as nature’s art in my photographic mind.

And that’s alright. Sometimes life calls for a slow pace. An eye that sees a single leaf in the woods. An ear that hears the crunch of leaves underfoot. A nose that smells the earthy scent of autumn. A hand that feels the rugged bark of a fallen tree.

(These images were shot on October 12. One week later, River Bend’s woods had changed considerably with most trees bare of leaves. My husband reminded me that autumn can transition quickly in Minnesota.)

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling