Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

February snow in a mostly snowless Minnesota winter February 16, 2024

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The unshoveled sidewalk in front of my house stretches before me mid-morning Thursday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

VALENTINE’S DAY BROUGHT our first measurable snowfall since Halloween in this unusual snow-drought winter here in Minnesota. I haven’t missed snow, especially after last winter’s exceptional record snowfall that caused even the hardiest of Minnesotans to wonder if the snow would ever end.

A winter with minimal snow makes life all-around easier. I doubt anyone living in our state would deny that. It’s easier to navigate without snow-packed roads and sidewalks. Randy’s commute to work on icy roads Thursday morning took 50 minutes rather than the typical 32. And no snow also means less work as in no snow to blow, blade or shovel.

I used my new Snow Trax for the first time Thursday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2024)

Thursday morning I had about three inches of snow to clear, not much really by Minnesota standards. I bundled up, starting by pulling long johns on under jeans. Then I layered a fleece-lined sweatshirt over a tee and flannel shirt topped by a lightweight jacket. I clamped Snow Trax onto snow boots. A stocking cap and mittens completed the ensemble.

I headed out the back door into the garage to grab the scoop shovel and the wide-bladed plastic snow shovel. I knew it would take both to effectively clear snow.

Snow layers my neighbor’s evergreens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

It was a beautiful morning with a white landscape set against a backdrop bold blue sky. Snow outlined branches, layered evergreen boughs and seedheads. And the sun glittered diamonds across the snow. Anytime the sun shines in winter, I feel better. There’s something about sunshine that offsets even the coldest temperatures, the deepest snow, causing spirits to soar.

My distorted shadow on the snow-covered lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

As I pushed and scooped the snow from the sidewalk and driveway, I felt my stomach, leg and back muscles tightening. I worked at a steady pace, not pushing myself. Soon I found myself overheated. I unzipped my jacket, then the sweatshirt. I felt like I was sweating, even with a temp below 20 degrees. Shoveling snow, even if only a few inches, is a work out.

Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Melding with the scrape of the shovel and the click of studs on my Snow Trax was the splash of tires on the wet roadway. In February, the sun is strong enough to melt remaining ice and snow from hard surfaces cleared of initial snow. I wanted to get the snow off the sidewalk and driveway so the sun could melt the thin layer of ice and snow I couldn’t completely shovel away.

Remnants of a floral bouquet I received three weeks ago lie atop the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)

I labored an hour shoveling snow, finishing on the south-facing patio. Randy grills year-round, so our patio always needs to be free of snow. As I pushed snow, I remembered the bouquet of mostly dead flowers I’d tossed out two days earlier. I pulled them from under the snow, laid them atop a patio table. The purples, pinks and greens contrasted against the virgin white snow, visually pleasing me.

On this Thursday, this day after Valentine’s Day, I didn’t mind the snow all that much. It felt, in a way, like the first snowfall of the season. Magical. Beautiful. And definitively more like Minnesota ought to appear in mid-February.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Winter, “real” winter, settles into Minnesota January 16, 2024

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A winter scene photographed from Interstate 35 north of Faribault in 2019. Today’s landscape looks similar. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

“THERE, I LOCKED the cold outside,” he said upon securing the kitchen door before bedtime. My husband possesses a unique sense of humor. And on a brutally cold January evening with wind chills plummeting into the minus 30-degree range, humor is welcome, perhaps even necessary.

Fresh snow blown by strong winds created blizzard conditions in rural areas of Minnesota over the weekend, similar to this photographed in Rice County in January 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)

This is the winter some Minnesotans have awaited in a winter that has proven primarily warm and snow-less up until now. Then winter roared into Minnesota last weekend with blizzard warnings in the western part of the state, winter weather advisories and warnings elsewhere, and a much-touted snow event that didn’t quite deliver in my area. Strong winds and sub-zero temps followed.

I use these shovels to clear snow from the driveway and sidewalk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2021)

I felt thankful for the minimal snowfall of some four inches since I am currently the resident snow remover, a task typically handled by Randy. He is on physical restrictions for five weeks following a surgical excision on his lower back. So, by default, I must shovel snow.

Randy blows snow with our aged snowblower following a 2019 winter storm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2019)

“I should have taught you how to use the snowblower,” Randy said as I slipped on a parka, boots, warm stocking cap and mittens (with hand warmers tucked inside), and wrapped a scarf across my face. I laughed. Our snowblower is massive, aged and not a machine I feel comfortable or capable of handling or maneuvering.

My warm winter boots. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Admittedly, I whined a bit. Not because of the shoveling, but rather the biting cold and bitter wind. As I pushed and tossed snow from the driveway and then the sidewalk, I felt my thumbs numbing. Soon I pulled them next to my fingers, clenching my hands into fists around the hand warmers.

As I worked, I determined I best change my attitude. Right then and there I re-framed my thoughts into one of gratitude that I could physically do this work. Not everyone my age can. Not everyone can due to other limitations. And not everyone has a partner who encourages with humor, even if I don’t always laugh.

Weather warnings like this one have popped up on phones around Minnesota in recent days. This warning was sent to my phone in February 2021. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2021)

Monday morning dawned bright with sun dogs, a temp of minus 10 degrees and a wind chill I didn’t even want to know. I wanted to stay snug inside my warm house. But Randy and I pushed ourselves to get out and drive across town to the Shattuck-St. Mary’s soccer dome for a morning walk. On the way there, Randy noted the crunch of our van tires, a phenomena that happens in subzero temps like this. It’s a sure indication that it’s dang cold outside as are those columns of light flanking the sun.

Pulling into the parking lot, I saw a lot of vehicles. After several days of really cold weather, cabin fever becomes a real feeling. The need to get out and move, just not outdoors, becomes a priority. We looped the soccer field six times, still wearing caps and gloves. It may be warm inside the dome, but not that warm.

I usually drink coffee in my Minnesota Moments mug. I freelanced for this magazine, no longer in publication. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2018)

Back home, I made coffee, loaded laundry in the wash, did some online tasks and texted friends before moving on to writing. I took a break later to empty the washing machine and carry the basket of clothes from the basement to the living room where I’d strategically positioned drying racks in front of heat vents.

“You’re not going to hang the laundry outside?” Randy joked from his comfy spot on the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny,” I replied. Not even I, a diehard of hanging laundry on the line (sometimes even in January), would attempt to do so when the temp is seven degrees below zero. I would risk instant frostbite while the wet clothes froze stiff in my hands. The brilliant sun shining bright upon the snow could almost fool me into believing, though, that enough solar power shone to sun-dry laundry. Yet, the truth of winter in Minnesota—real winter—is this: A sunshine-filled day can be an illusion. It is the temperature, the wind chill, the crunch of tires on snow, the locking of the door against the cold, which reveals reality.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A winter-weary Minnesotan writes about snow removal January 20, 2023

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Randy starts down the driveway with the snowblower following a past snow event. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2020)

WAY TO GO, MINNESOTA! We are living up to our reputation as a snowy state. With more than three months of winter remaining, we’ve already surpassed our seasonal annual average snowfall of 51.2 inches by an inch.

Our 2022-2023 seasonal to-date total of 52.1 inches (recorded in the Twin Cities) likely comes as no surprise to anyone who lives in the North Star State. Winter storm after winter storm after winter storm has left us, or at least me, feeling winter-weary. Once again Thursday evening I donned my winter wear, pulled on my practical winter boots and headed outdoors to assist Randy with snow removal. This time some seven inches of new-fallen snow.

The tree shovels we use to removal snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2021)

I work the three shovels while Randy guides our massive hefty ancient snowblower down the sidewalk and driveway. There are places a snowblower can’t go and those spots—the front sidewalk and steps and along the side of the garage by the garbage cans and recycling bin—are my responsibility. I’m happy to help. Well, maybe not exactly happy, but rather willing.

Randy advised me to be careful around the garage due to ice. I appreciated his warning as the last thing I need is to slip, fall and break a bone or suffer a concussion. That’s a concern for both of us as we age. I read a recent report that, if you’re over the age of 45, you should leave the snow shoveling to someone else. I just laughed. While reasonable health advice, it’s not exactly practical for most Minnesotans.

I take baby steps while traversing snow and ice, the penguin shuffle I believe is the proper term. Yet, I realize that’s no guarantee of safety. I also pace myself while shoveling. Thankfully our Wednesday into Thursday snow was low in moisture content, thus light and easy to shovel and blow. It’s the heavy snow that makes for challenging and health-risky snow removal.

It could always be worse… A huge, hard-as-rock snowdrift blocked our driveway in this March 1965 photo taken on my childhood farm, rural Vesta, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 1965)

But I encountered a new problem on Thursday. On several occasions, the snow I tossed with a scoop shovel tumbled right back onto the surface from which I’d just removed it. The problem: The snow is now banking so high along sidewalk and driveway edges that it needs to be strategically thrown. High enough and far enough.

Once we’d finished our snow removal assignments, Randy and I worked on clearing the driveway of snow down to the concrete. Part of the front metal scraper is broken off our aged snowblower, meaning a layer of snow now remains. Thursday evening I used the wide metal shovel and Randy the plastic one as we attempted to get under the snow and peel it away. Sometimes that approach worked well, sometimes not.

This image expresses how I feel about the ongoing snowfall in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

We remained cognizant of ice underneath. Randy advised caution near the down spout and I pointed out a patch of black ice where the concrete dips. In the end, we did the best we could and called it done…until the next winter storm rolls into southern Minnesota.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Winter in Minnesota: Of snow, flannel, chili, soup & more November 18, 2022

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We use an assortment of shovels for snow removal, to scrape, scoop and push snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2021)

ALTHOUGH THE CALENDAR is about a month out from the official start of winter, we in Minnesota are already in the throes of the season. Cold and snow define winter here and we have both already. Too early, I say.

The snow boots I wear are warm, practical and fashionable. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2020)

Three consecutive days this week found me shoveling snow from the sidewalk and driveway. I allowed Randy the honor of shoveling the first snowfall of the winter. But I figured I best do my part, so I laced on my warm winter boots and headed outdoors on the second day of shovellable snow.

Isaac, waiting to head outdoors to shovel snow at my house in January 2021. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)

Thirty-five minutes to the north, my nearly 4-year-old grandson bundled into his snowpants, winter coat, mittens, hat and boots to clear snow from the driveway with his small plastic shovel. As only a child can feel, Isaac was, his mom said, “Loving the snow!” With an exclamation point. I encouraged him to head south and shovel Grandma and Grandpa’s driveway. He never showed.

And so I am accepting that winter is upon us. That means replacing the cotton bed sheets with warm flannel sheets, layering up (inside and out), wearing lots of flannel, cozying under a fleece throw with a good book in the evening, delaying rolling out of bed in the morning because the house is still too cold. The thermostat is programmed to drop to 62 degrees at night, up to 67 during the day, and then bump a notch to 68 in the evening.

Photographed on the door of a Northfield business in April 2022. Shoppers are encouraged to stomp the snow from their boots and shoes. And, yes, we get snow well into April here in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)

Staying updated on the weather has become even more important, mostly to determine how bad the roads will be (and when to shovel). Have plows been out sanding and salting? How’s the visibility? Watch those bridge decks and ramps for slippery spots. Slow down. Take it easy. Spin-outs and crashes were a regular part of this week’s vocabulary.

Inside my house, a few changes are happening, too, as I adapt to winter. Laundry, which I typically clip to outdoor clotheslines, now drapes a drying rack. Sheets and towels go in the dryer. Already I miss the fresh scent of linens dried by the sun.

Chicken Wild Rice Soup, one of my favorites, served at a fundraiser in St. Peter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Wednesday I cooked up a big pot of chili. I crave chili and soup in the winter. I start my morning with a bowl of old-fashioned, fruit-filled oatmeal, the same as always, no matter the season. That is a constant, just like my need to write. Winter doesn’t alter my writing. But it does limit my outdoor photography. Even though I own combo mittens/gloves with the mitten end flipping open to expose half of my fingers (thanks, Randy, for one of the best gifts ever), I take fewer photos in winter. I don’t like freezing my fingertips, just like I don’t enjoy shoveling snow.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Love, Minnesota style January 23, 2019

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Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo from a past snowy Minnesota winter day.

 

I received this loving text message from my husband Tuesday morning: Do not shovel snow. It’s freezing mist now and sidewalks would get icy.

 

Copyright 2019 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

Taking snow removal to the second level in Minnesota March 1, 2018

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Randy blows snow off our driveway following a February 2014 storm. This winter has been similar in snow and cold to that of four years ago. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo February 2014.

 

IF RESIDENTIAL SNOW REMOVAL in Minnesota involved simply clearing driveways and sidewalks, our work would be easier.

 

In this image, you can see the depth of snow on the roof.

 

But when snow accumulates and no January thaw arrives to reduce the snow pack, we start thinking about problems like too much snow on roofs and those damaging ice dams.

 

 

Sunday afternoon, after our most recent 4-inch snowfall the day prior, Randy pulled out the ladder and climbed to the flatter section of our house roof. He had about 18 inches of accumulated snow to scoop and toss from roof to ground. After awhile, he was working up a sweat in the bright sunshine.

 

 

Just inside the kitchen, I watched him labor. I’ll shovel snow, but only if it’s on the ground.

 

 

My job was to monitor my husband, to see that he stayed safe and didn’t overdo the shoveling. Now that we’re in our sixties, I tend to think more about how shoveling can cause heart attacks and back issues. And then there is that slipping and falling off the roof factor to consider. Randy seems mostly to ignore my concerns. I wish he wouldn’t.

 

Randy guides our ancient snowblower along the driveway following a late January snowfall of about 15 inches. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo January 2018.

 

Already that day he’d fired up the snowblower to clear snow from our sidewalk and that of three neighbors and also blew snow from our drive and a neighbor’s. I shoveled steps and walks and followed with clean-up. Our snowblower is bulky and heavy and so aged it should probably be in a museum. Has any Minnesota museum ever done an exhibit on how Minnesotans deal with snow? That could be interesting, tracing the history of how that process has evolved. There’s the fashion aspect, the equipment facet, the weather factor…

 

 

With the sun shining and temps rising into the balmy forty-ish range this week, all of Randy’s rooftop shoveling paid off with shingles now visible and ice dams melting. We’re good until more snow stacks and temps plunge. Next week.

TELL ME: If you live in a snowy state like Minnesota, how do you handle snow on the roof and ice dams? If you don’t have to deal with these issues, feel free to comment anyway.

© Copyright 2018 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Snow removal in my Minnesota neighborhood February 23, 2013

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Shoveling the driveway, take one.

About to begin shoveling the driveway.

“HOW MUCH SNOW did we get?” I asked my husband upon arising Friday morning. I had no desire to bundle up and head outdoors to shovel the sidewalk and driveway. Again.

He guessed about five inches.

“I don’t feel like shoveling.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll blow it out when I get home.”

And so I felt a tinge of guilt, making the mail carrier and the few pedestrians in my neighborhood plow through the snow. But at least school wasn’t in session and kids wouldn’t be trudging through the snow, too, packing it down.

Shoveling the driveway, take two.

The first scoop of snow.

But then, around 2 p.m., the next door neighbor barreled down the sidewalk with his snowblower blazing a trail past our house and then back a second time to clear an even wider path. That Ken did this simply out of the goodness of his heart pleases me.

Up the street, a kindly soul opened the driveway and sidewalks of another neighbor whose property my husband typically clears of snow.

Shoveling the driveway, take three.

Moving right along…

Across the street, the neighbor boy attempted to clear the driveway, a seemingly insurmountable job for the little guy. He was giving it his all, for awhile, clearing only a small section before abandoning the task.

Perhaps someday he’ll blaze a trail through the snow with a snowblower.

Or maybe he’ll just give up and move to Florida.

Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Shoveling snow boulders December 22, 2010

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I’VE JUST COME in from shoveling snow. Nearly 1 ½ hours of scrape and lift and throw. Or bend and scoop and carry and throw.

I could have waited for my husband to do this after work. But he works hard all day and tonight he will have about 45 minutes to eat and shower before leaving for a church meeting. Honestly, who schedules a meeting during Christmas week?

But that is another topic for another day. Today I am focusing on the snow which the city plow scraped from the street and deposited at the end of our driveway and sidewalk. This would be boulder-sized chunks of compacted snow seasoned with salt and sand.

As I labored to clear away the mounds of snow, I grunted and sighed. My back ached. My right hip hurt from the stooping and twisting.  When I stopped occasionally to lean against the scoop shovel handle, I breathed in deeply.

Then I forged onward, determined that this snow would not get the best of me. Soon I was sweating. Even my hands. I unbuttoned by wool pea coat.

I carried more shovels full of snow boulders up the slight incline of the driveway apron. I heaved the snow chunks onto the snow along the sides of the driveway because I could no longer toss it atop the roadside mountains. Finally, I finished…then realized I also needed to open the sidewalk.

When I saw that mountain of snow before me, I nearly gave up and walked away. But, instead, I dug in, determined. Scoop, carry, throw. Scoop, carry, throw. Scoop, carry, throw.

Soon I removed my coat and tossed it atop the snow. Still sweating, I also ditched my stocking cap.

While I worked, I tried to think of some clever sign to post in the yard, for all to see along my busy street. Here are some of my ideas:

FREE SNOW

ENOUGH ALREADY

AND THIS IS ONLY THE SECOND DAY OF WINTER?

WHY WAS SNOW SO MUCH MORE FUN WHEN I WAS A KID?

GET FIT. INQUIRE HERE.

Then, when I finished, I stashed the shovels in the garage, snapped some photos of the major ice dams and icicles hanging from our house (another job for another day) and tossed down three hands full of chocolate chips. After all that shoveling, I deserved some chocolate.

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WHAT WOULD YOU WRITE on that snow sign I contemplated posting in my yard?

How do you reward yourself after shoveling snow? With chocolate, like me?

And, finally, my apologies to my brother-in-law Neil, who just returned from Iraq. He told me I was blogging (complaining) too much about the snow. He’s in Hawaii right now. Enough said.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling