Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

“Anonymous mother” & a call to action November 5, 2025

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An anonymous mother’s story and commentary as written by Kate Langlais for her “I Am Minnesota” project. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

I ALMOST MISSED IT. “Anonymous Mother’s Story” positioned next to “The Young Mother” charcoal portrait in the “I Am Minnesota” exhibit by Faribault artist Kate Langlais. But there it was, tucked in the corner near the light switches in the Paradise Center for the Arts main gallery.

The exhibit features some 20 portraits and stories of first and second-generation immigrants from my community. None is more relevant than that of the young mother who now faces deportation and separation from her infant. Here are key words in her story: young mother. here legally. green card. application suddenly canceled. awaiting deportation. ankle bracelet. cruel and inhumane.

We’ve all heard countless media reports of people snatched from the streets and elsewhere by masked agents of the federal government, unlawfully detained without due process, separated from family, deported… That is, indeed, cruel, inhumane, heartbreaking and wrong. Even when immigrants are following all of the rules, all of the laws to legally live here, they find themselves targeted.

Martha Brown took this photo of the anonymous mother which is included, along with text, in the “I Am Minnesota” exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

To read the story of this young mother from my area, to see the faceless portrait, and then to also view a photo taken by Martha Brown, candidate for Minnesota House District 19a, deeply touched me. Brown photographed only the young woman’s legs and the wheels of her baby’s stroller. That was absolutely the right and compassionate thing to do.

The intentionally-framed image is more effective and powerful than if Brown had photographed the woman’s face. Every single person who sees this image should understand the reasons for anonymity. In a statement with the photo, Brown urges southern Minnesotans to reach out to their U.S. congressman “to stop this cruel and inhumane treatment.”

Langlais’ inclusion of the anonymous mother’s portrait and story, along with Brown’s photo and words, is perhaps the most important part of the “I Am Minnesota” exhibit. And to think, I nearly missed it there in a corner of the gallery. Don’t miss this exhibit, which closes on November 15 at the Paradise Center for the Arts. It’s located in historic downtown Faribault, a place many immigrants call home.

One of my favorite images from downtown Faribault shows a group of Somali men visiting on a street corner. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2024)

FYI: The Northfield Public Library is hosting “Bridging Communities: A Celebration of Somali Culture” from 1-4 p.m. Saturday, November 8. The event features interactive dance workshops led by the Somali Museum of Minnesota Dance Troupe; a performance by the Faribault Middle School Choir; and a participatory sing-along of Somali songs. Other activities include henna art, face painting, bilingual Somali storytelling, a scavenger hunt with prizes and more. The library is collaborating with Somali community partners and St. Olaf and Carleton colleges to bring this event to Northfield.

NOTE: I photographed the “I Am Minnesota” exhibit with permission of the Paradise. I also received permission from Martha Brown to include her photo in this post.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“I Am Minnesota” exhibit features immigrants’ portraits & stories in Faribault November 4, 2025

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Kate Langlais’ newest installment of her “I Am Minnesota” project fills the main gallery at the Paradise Center for the Arts with nearly 20 portraits. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

EACH TIME I VIEW the portrait art of Faribault artist Kate Langlais, I feel gratitude. Gratitude for the project she’s undertaken to showcase first and second-generation immigrants in my southern Minnesota community. Titled “I Am Minnesota,” this collection of portraits and accompanying first-person stories is now displayed in the main gallery at the Paradise Center for the Arts in downtown Faribault until November 15.

Kylee, as drawn in charcoal by Kate Langlais. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Every single person in Faribault, Rice County and Minnesota ought to see this enlightening exhibit. In her artist’s statement, Langlais shares her own family story of descending from immigrants. She invites everyone to write their stories in the gallery guestbook and then to take the time to read the posted stories and “open your heart to connecting with all of your Faribault neighbors.”

The Monroy Lara Family, an oil on canvas by Kate Langlais. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

I appreciate those words, “open your heart to connecting.” It is when we begin to talk to one another, to meet each other on a personal level, to see each other as individuals, that barriers begin to fall and we become neighbors, even friends.

A charcoal portrait of Cathlena by Kate Langlais. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

This “I Am Minnesota” exhibit connects us in a way that is effective. It doesn’t get much more personal than faces and stories. These are the stories of individuals rooted in Africa, Asia, North America, South America and Europe.

In her own words, Cathlena’s story. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Viewing this creative project takes time. Some of these portraits I’ve previously seen at smaller exhibits of Langlais’ immigrant-focused work. It’s important to see every face, hear every voice. Like Rosa’s.

The Molina Family as drawn in charcoal by Kate Langlais. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Born in the US and raised in Texas and Minnesota, Rosa has struggled with racism. She tried to fit in while growing up—reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, joining Girl Scouts, throwing toilet paper at houses… Still, Rosa was told to “go back” to her own country. America is her own country. She was told, too, to “speak English because this is America.” Being bilingual is, in my opinion, a strength in today’s interconnected world.

Another view of portraits in the “I Am Minnesota” gallery exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Even among acquaintances, I’ve heard derogatory comments about Faribault’s immigrant population, especially Somalis. I don’t let those negative remarks go unchecked. Rosa says it well: “I just think sometimes that some people forget that their families were once the different ones.”

Kate Langlais’ drawing of Sam, born in a Cambodian refugee camp. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

To be “different”—in how you dress, the language you speak, the food you eat, the way you look, your customs and traditions—often makes you a target. The first and second-generation immigrants who shared their stories with Langlais don’t hold back. They’ve been bullied, misunderstood, struggled, been told to assimilate… It’s disheartening at times to read their truth. But these are words we need to read.

The Echeverria Family operates a successful food truck, Delicious Pupusas, as drawn in charcoal by Kate Langlais. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
Silvia Echeverria’s story about how her family business came to be accompanies the family portrait. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)
In the corner of another portrait is the name of a popular Faribault restaurant, El Tequila Family Mexican Restaurant in business for 27 years in multiple communities. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Among all of the tough truths there are beautiful words, too, of friendships, dreams, opportunities, goals, hard work and success. Restaurants opened. A food truck business started. And many other stories of obstacles overcome to achieve personal happiness and professional success.

Charcoal portrait of Dawud, whose family story is rooted in Somalia, by Kate Langlais. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

Second grader Dawud, born in St. Paul and living in Faribault, holds unbridled optimism about his future. “I want to grow up to be a business owner, just like my dad, and travel around the world,” he says. But then he also dreams of becoming a professional basketball or soccer player, like many other Minnesota boys his age. I hope nothing, especially not his immigrant background, holds him back. Ever.

As Marco, who came to the US at age seven shares, “We love autumn, flowers, the sun, nature, and the great opportunities to become better people.”

The Paradise Center for the Arts in historic downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2025)

FYI: The Paradise Center for the Arts, 321 Central Avenue North, Faribault, is open from noon-5 p.m. Wednesday-Friday, from 10 a.m.-2 p.m. Saturday and also during scheduled events and performances.

This exhibit was photographed with permission of the PCA. Portraits are the copyrighted work of artist Kate Langlais. My photos, in some cases, do not show the entire portrait. Please visit this gallery exhibit to view all of the portraits in full and to read the accompanying stories.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Finding memories & sharing stories at the RCHS Flea Market September 16, 2025

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Vendors set up shop on the grounds of the Rice County Historical Society last Saturday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

I’VE SHOPPED ENOUGH FLEA MARKETS, garage sales and thrift shops through the decades to understand that all three hold nostalgia and memories along with some bargain prices.

Vintage goods offered by Rex Kern. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

Take the recent Rice County Historical Society Fall Flea Market in Faribault. Browsing through tables of merchandise and talking to vendors elicited many memories with second-hand goods prompting stories.

Vendor Rex Kern, left, visits during the flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)
I detasseled Dekalb seedcorn and my dad grew Dekalb. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

For example, when I spotted a Dekalb seedcorn sign, I initiated a conversation with merchant Rex Kern about detasseling corn for Dekalb. Worst job, ever, I declared. Kern listened and then agreed that pulling tassels from corn stalks in the heat and humidity of July, dew running down my arms, corn leaves slicing my skin for $1.25 hour sounded awful. But then he shared his story about catching and stuffing turkeys into cages. That, I said, sounded far worse than pulling tassels. Kern didn’t last long at that job. In my mind, I was seeing, too, the many loaded turkey trucks that pass through Faribault en route to the turkey plant only blocks from the flea market.

This beautiful bride brought back memories of my own bridal doll. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

At Kern’s booth I also found assorted dolls standing in cardboard boxes, their heads peeking above the edges as if watching shoppers. I found the scene a bit creepy although the dolls were not creepy. Among those dolls was a bride, which sent me back to a childhood Christmas. I received a bridal doll enclosed in a red suitcase. She was beautiful. Until she wasn’t. My older brother took her and smashed in her boobs. Why? Because, sometimes brothers can be mean.

Among the albums at the flea market, heart throb Donny Osmond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

If Donny Osmond, who performed with his older brothers in the Osmonds band and then solo, was ever mean to his only sister, Marie, I don’t know. But I do know that I considered him a heart throb. A flea market album, “Donny Osmond—Alone Together,” was enough to temporarily take me back in time to my teen years of swooning over the likes of Osmond, David Cassidy, Bobby Sherman and many other teen idols.

This unrelated collection of merchandise drew my eye, prompted memories. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

But I wasn’t exactly embracing the clown I saw sandwiched between Winnie the Pooh and a bunny. I remember, as a kid, fearing clowns in parades. Not any more. Still, I wouldn’t intentionally buy a clown to display in my home.

A Fun Lil’ Band plays at the flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

It’s interesting how memories that have long been tucked away can suddenly resurface when triggered by a sight, a smell, a sound, a conversation. In a brief conversation with members of A Fun Lil’ Band, playing at the flea market, I shared that I never had the opportunity to play an instrument and can’t even read a musical note. The closest I came to playing music was on a toy accordion I received for Christmas one year. And, no, none of my three brothers wrecked that.

This vintage 1930s bike priced at $200 looked similar to one my mom rode. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

My maternal grandfather salvaged wrecked bikes from the junkyard, repairing and repainting them for me and my siblings. So when I saw several vintage bikes for sale at the flea market, I thought of Grandpa. I only wish I had realized then what a gift of love this was to us, his grandchildren. Without Grandpa fixing up those bikes, I wouldn’t have had “Sky Blue,” (yes, I named my bike) the recycled bike he painted sky blue and gave to me. My very own bike, no sharing with siblings required.

Young entrepreneur Avery set up shop at the flea market. She also sells on etsy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

I expect other flea market shoppers found memories among the tables and tables and tables of merchandise. I also found a 13-year-old selling her homemade bracelets and earrings via her business, DazzleberryBeads. Avery started the company because she wants to buy a dog. She’s almost there. I failed to ask her what kind of dog.

A shopper brought her dog, which I asked to photograph. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

But I did see, and photograph, a dog at the flea market.

Commemorative buttons from Faribault for sale at the flea market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

I appreciate the stories shared at flea markets, the memories recalled, the art discovered, the history displayed. A flea market is about so much more than getting rid of “junk,” which really isn’t junk at all. It’s about all of us, collectively, sharing our lives.

This, the vendor said, is a sheriff. The piece reminded me of all the Westerns I watched as a child. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2025)

TELL ME: Do any of the items in the photos featured here prompt memories for you? Please share your stories.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Three stories of kindness in my community July 30, 2025

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A look through a garden kaleidoscope at The Paine Art Center & Gardens in Oshkosh, WI. (Photo courtesy of Miranda Boyd)

IN SOME WAYS, kindness resembles a kaleidoscope. It’s ever-changing, surprising and delightfully-beautiful. So is music. Combine the two, and you have a harmony of kindness.

A harmonica and instructions given away recently following at a concert in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

Attendees at a recent blues concert in Faribault’s Central Park were extended a kindness by the Minnesota Blues Society via the gift of a free harmonica and a short lesson in playing techniques. The Everett Smithson Band had just completed its performance when folks gathered in the park’s center for the give-away. I grabbed two harps (a synonym for harmonica) for my elementary-aged grandchildren, but didn’t stick around for the lesson. An interested group of concert-goers, though, circled Smithson, a Minnesota Blues Society Hall of Fame inductee, for instructions.

Decades ago as a child, I had a metal toy harmonica, with not a clue how to play it. My attempts at music were more noise than anything. Yet here I was, many years later in the presence of a professional harmonica player and vocalist willing to teach a bunch of strangers harmonica basics through the Blues Society’s “Harmonica Lessons for All Ages” program. The group, with a mission in part of promoting blues music in Minnesota, has given away more than 500 harmonicas. That’s a whole lot of kindness spread to music lovers across the state, including right here in Faribault.

Burkhartzmeyer Shoes, in business since 1949. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2025)

KINDNESS IN A SHOE STORE

It was during a previous concert in the same Faribault park that I once again witnessed kindness, this time in the words of a 10-year-old, the daughter of a friend. I don’t recall how the subject turned to shoes. But this young girl, who’d been cartwheeling across the grass and playing Frisbee and kick ball with her sister and friends, declared that her favorite store is Burkhartzmeyer Shoes. That’s a third-generation family-owned shoe store and repair shop in Faribault.

Now when a kid tells you they like a shoe store better than a certain Big Box retailer (which shall remain unnamed), you take notice. Turns out Bruce at Burkhartzmeyer Shoes allowed my young friend entry to the shoe storage space behind the curtains. She was impressed by all the shoes in the back room and by the free sucker you get whenever you buy a pair of shoes. Oh, and by the fact the Burkhartzmeyers know your shoe size just by looking at your feet.

So here I was in the park listening to a story about a kind shop owner who left such an impression on a 10-year-old that she was now promoting “Shop Local” without even realizing it. Kindness in action repaid with kind words.

Books on Central is located along Central Avenue in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2024)

KINDNESS IN A BOOKSHOP

Another shop in Faribault, this one open not even two years, also excels in exceptional customer service and kindness. Last week, when the grandkids were staying with us, we popped into Books on Central, a used bookstore run by Rice County Area United Way. All proceeds benefit non-profits which the local United Way supports. My granddaughter, who is very much in to dragons, was looking for a dragon book she hadn’t yet read. There were none to be found despite the best efforts of the volunteer staff and myself to locate one.

The next day, though, I received an email from volunteer Dave Campbell that the graphic novel, The Dragonet Prophecy, was just donated. Did I want it for my granddaughter? Izzy, who previously wanted nothing to do with graphic novels, quickly said, “Yes.” Did I mention she loves dragons?

Dave said he would hold the book for me. If not for his wife, Jeanne, who was volunteering on the day we shopped at Books on Central, the Wings of Fire graphic novel would have been processed, shelved and quickly sold. It’s a popular series. But Jeanne remembered Izzy’s dragon interest and, in this act of kindness, a girl who loves to read now has one more dragon book in her collection.

Kindness exists everywhere. I saw it in a harmonica give-away. I heard it in the story of a 10-year-old praising a local shoe shop. And I received it in a book held for the granddaughter I love, the girl I want to live and grow and thrive in a world of kindness.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

“Four Red Sweaters,” a difficult, but necessary, read July 1, 2025

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(Book cover sourced online)

TYPICALLY, I CAN READ a book within two weeks. But not Four Red Sweaters—Powerful True Stories of Women and the Holocaust by Lucy Adlington. I had to renew this book at my local library in order to finish it.

Why? The content is so difficult, disturbing and devastating that I could only read this work of nonfiction in small chunks. But I was determined to finish this book about Jock, Anita, Chana and Regina—four Jewish girls living in Nazi Germany—and all connected by red sweaters. I owed it to them to learn more about the awful atrocities inflicted under Adolph Hitler’s rule by those who lived, breathed, and followed him and his ideology.

All the while I was reading Four Red Sweaters, a small voice in my head whispered warnings in words like a knock on the door, fear, anti-immigration sentiment, snatched, disappeared, deported, deception, secrecy, dehumanizing… The parallels to today were not lost on me.

REAL PEOPLE WITH STORIES

What I particularly like about this book, if one can ever really “like” a book on such a topic, is the personalization. Anita is not just #69388 inked onto her left forearm at Auschwitz-Birkenau. She is a girl who arrives at the concentration camp wearing shoes adorned with pompoms and tied with red shoelaces. She is a girl who knew how to play the cello. That skill eventually saved her.

But too many died. Millions and millions. That included the Fink family, brutally murdered by their neighbors in an act so heinous I can’t share it here. Turn to page 96 in the book. The Finks were extended family of Jock, a main character in this story. She was one of the “lucky” Jewish children who escaped Nazi Germany, along with her sisters, on a Kindertransport, an all-out effort by brave souls to get Jewish children out of the country to safety. But Jock’s parents and brothers died at the hands of the Nazis.

The pages of Four Red Sweaters are filled with heroic acts, bravery, defiance and determination that show the incredible strength of the human spirit. There existed a mentality of surviving together or dying together. The pages of this book are also filled with stories of unbelievable, unfathomable cruelty.

A NECESSARY READ

Author Adlington backs her writing up with 23 pages of source notes. In small print. That’s a whole lot of documentation in researching and writing this book. I cannot imagine the emotional toll this took on her. I also cannot imagine anyone reading Four Red Sweaters and not feeling deeply moved and worried, but also grateful to Adlington for sharing the stories of Jock, Anita, Chana and Regina and the broader stories of the Holocaust. We need to read about, study, learn and remember the past so as not to repeat it.

Near the very end of Four Red Sweaters, Adlington writers about a knitter who, in 2013, designed Remembrance socks. Heatherly Walker’s sock pattern honors Regina and the others who were forced to knit socks and more for the Nazis and their families. She incorporated hidden Jewish stars into the pattern, which is available on the Ravelry website for crafters. Knitting is an integral part of the stories Adlington shares in her book.

Hope in a story at the traveling exhibit about Holocaust survivors, “Transfer of Memory,” which I viewed in 2014 at the Steele County History Center, Owatonna. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)

DEFIANCE, COURAGE, HOPE

One seemingly small act stands out for me in Four Red Sweaters. Regina’s friend Esther, after foraging mushrooms for the Nazis in the Sobibor extermination camp, walks into the SS canteen, sees a pot of soup cooking and spits in it. And the Nazis eat it. I can only imagine the satisfaction Esther felt in that moment of defiance. Endless examples of defiance, courage, hope and resilience are knitted into the pages of Four Red Sweaters.

As challenging as it was for me to read this book, I needed to do so. For to stop reading when the content grew increasingly difficult and disturbing would have been to do exactly as the Nazis desired. Nobody must know. But we must all know. And, sometimes, like Esther, we must spit in the soup.

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TELL ME: If you’ve read Four Red Sweaters, how did you react? What stands out for you in the book? Special thanks to Missy’s Crafty Mess (the blog of an avid reader and knitter) for writing about Four Red Sweaters, which led me to this book about the Holocaust. I am grateful for her recommendation.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In honor of Mother’s Day: Stories of 3 strong mothers May 9, 2025

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This page from an altered book crafted by my friend Kathleen shows my mom holding me. Mom died in January 2022. I love the quote. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THREE MOTHERS. Three strong women. Three remarkable experiences. This Mother’s Day I feel compelled to share the stories of a trio of moms. Their stories are decidedly different, yet similar in the common denominators of strength and love.

Photographed in a small southern Minnesota town, a box containing Naloxone used as an emergency treatment for an opioid overdose or suspected overdose. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

MOTHER OF A RECOVERING ADDICT

Let’s start with the woman checking out my clutch of greeting cards recently at a local chain discount store. As I stepped up to the counter, a young man bade her goodbye. “I love you, Mom,” he said while walking toward the exit.

It was one of those moments when I simply had to say something. “That’s so sweet,” I said, looking directly at the clerk.

I don’t remember our entire conversation. But I do recall the highlights. Her son is a recovering addict two years sober. “I almost buried him,” she told me.

“You must be so proud of him,” I replied. And she was and is and I wanted to reach across that check out counter and hug her. But I didn’t. My encouraging words would have to suffice. I walked out of that store feeling grateful for this mom who never gave up on her son and for the son who recognizes the value of her ongoing love and support.

This shows two of the 22 Miller siblings featured in an exhibit at the Waseca County History Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

MOTHER OF TWENTY-TWO

Then there’s Lucille Miller of rural Waseca, married to Alvin and mother of their 22 children. Yes, twenty-two, all single births. I learned about the Miller family recently while touring the Waseca County History Center. An entire display focuses on them.

Lucille gave birth to her first child in December 1940 at age 17 and her last in January 1966 at age 43. Fifteen girls and seven boys (oldest to youngest): Ramona, Alvin Jr., Rose, Kathleen, Robert, Patricia, Marylu, Diane, John, Janet, Linda, Virginia, Helen, Art, Dolores, Martin, Pauline, Alice, Angela, Marcia, Gregory and Damien.

I can’t even fathom being pregnant that often, birthing that many children, or coming up with that many names. But Lucille Miller did just that and raised her children on the family’s Blooming Grove Township farm. She died in August 2006, her husband not even a year later. Lucille and Alvin never intended to have 22 kids. But these deeply spiritual parents considered each and every one a blessing.

Information I found online backs that up. This mother of many also “took in” several kids, led two women’s organizations and worked to establish local group homes for the disabled. Three of the Miller children had disabilities.

Helen Miller’s book about growing up in a Minnesota farm family of 22 children.

Helen Miller, 13th in line, calls her mom “a saint.” (I certainly don’t question that assessment.) She’s written a book, 21 Siblings: Cheaper by the Two Dozen, about growing up in this mega family where the Catholic church and school centered life and organization was key in keeping everyday life running smoothly. Chores were listed, then assigned, and siblings used the buddy system. I have not yet read the book, but intend to do so.

I expect the obituary of Lucille’s daughter, Virginia Miller Pelto, 60, who died on May 8, 2014, just days before Mother’s Day, reflects the way in which her mother lived: Of the many things Virginia loved, above all she loved people. As a very spiritual person, she put the world on her shoulders and in her prayers. She donated time to her church, her community and anyone who needed to just talk. Any mother would be proud to have a daughter with such a giving and compassionate spirit.

My daughter Miranda and grandson Everett, 3 months old when this photo was taken. (Photo courtesy of Miranda, April 2025)

MOTHER OF EVERETT

Finally, there’s the story of my second daughter. Miranda became a first-time mom in mid-January. Considered a “geriatric mom” given her closing-in-on-forty age, she was closely-monitored throughout her pregnancy. Miranda was in excellent physical condition—she’s a letter carrier. Her pregnancy proved uneventful with labor commencing the day before her due date. But then everything changed. For the worse. Labor was long, delivery difficult with baby’s head and shoulder getting stuck. Once Everett—all 10 pounds of him—was born, Miranda experienced extensive postpartum hemorrhaging requiring the transfusion of three units of blood. A team of doctors and other medical personnel at a Madison, Wisconsin, hospital worked to save her life.

A week later, after Miranda and John were semi-settled at home with Everett, Randy and I traveled to Madison to see all of them. When the new parents recounted harrowing details of that difficult birth, my strong strong daughter said she feared she might die. Before she saw her son.

As Miranda and I stood in the nursery, arms wrapped around each other gazing down at newborn sleeping Everett, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. I still get emotional thinking about how I nearly lost my daughter on the day my second grandson was born. I’ve written about that experience in a short story, “Birthing Everett,” which will publish in late August in The Talking Stick anthology.

We all have mothers. We all have stories, whether we are sons or daughters or mothers ourselves. Today I honor all mothers, especially Miranda, Lucille Miller and the store clerk who nearly buried her son. They are three strong women.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Stories to make you feel better March 11, 2025

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Sunrise on Horseshoe Lake, rural Merrifield, MN. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2024)

ON THE SATURDAY I should have been in Madison, Wisconsin, cuddling my nearly two-month-old grandson, Everett, I was, instead, home in Minnesota. Sick with a cold. I felt sad and disappointed that our trip was canceled.

But then my son-in-law sent a short video clip of Everett. To the soundtrack of “It’s a Beautiful Morning,” I watched Everett smile. You know the type of smile that widens and grows until it reaches your eyes. It was only a few seconds, but enough to shift my mood to joy.

And who doesn’t need a little joy right now? There’s a lot happening currently on a national and international scale that causes me deep concern, stress and worry. So I must intentionally seek out that which eases some of my angst. A visit with Everett and his parents would have proven a wonderful distraction. Soon, perhaps, Randy and I can do the four-hour drive to Madison.

Meanwhile, back home in Faribault, I connect with friends, go on walks, lift hand weights, hang laundry outside on the line, bake banana bread, take a Sunday afternoon drive, listen to uplifting music (specifically Christian radio station KTIS), pull out my camera, write, read…all simple things that brighten my days.

(Book cover sourced online)

Most of you know that I love to read. I happened upon a collection of short stories which was, in a way, like a short “It’s a Beautiful Morning” video clip. The slim volume, Notes from the Porch—Tiny True Stories to Make You Feel Better about the World by Thomas Christopher Greene, was exactly the book I needed to read on the weekend I was still fighting my cold and couldn’t see Everett.

Greene shared the stories via social media from his home in Vermont during the COVID-19 pandemic. And now he’s compiled those stories, typed into his laptop on his front porch, in this book. Even if you’re not a big reader—and I know a lot of people who don’t read books—this is a breeze of a relatable read.

In his book, Thomas Greene writes about a blue heron in sharing the story of his baby daughter Jane. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The book title alone, Notes from the Porch, points to the content of short snippets about everyday life. Most are not extraordinary moments, with the exception of the death of the author’s daughter, Jane, at six months. Even that has a positive message of we’re all stronger than we think. I bet nearly all of you can relate to that—the resilience we find in the midst of incredible personal challenges. And if you haven’t faced such challenges, then I’m glad you haven’t.

My niece and nephew dance in the rain at a family gathering. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But back to Greene’s book. He writes several stories about his seven-year-old neighbor boy who races his bike along the street. With wild abandon. Fearless. Occasionally stopping to chat with the front porch writer. I can picture that young boy, who also runs in the rain. Just as I can picture the older couple in another story, on their boat each evening chasing the sun. Rain and sunshine.

A page in a keepsake book a friend created for me after my mom died. The photo is of my mom holding me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Greene’s writing is not only descriptive, but also emotionally touching and insightful. When I read his story, “The Only List I Will Ever Make,” I cried at #11, the final item on his living life list: 11. Call your mom. If your mom is no longer here, call her anyway. No one will root for you more. I used to call my mom every Sunday evening until she could no longer talk on the phone. She’s been gone three years now, dying during the height of Omicron (not of) in a long-term care center. There are days when I wish I could call her, hear her supportive words, tell her I love her. Greene’s writing reminds me that Mom is but a memory away, part of me for the kindness and compassion she taught me, for the unconditional love she gave to me, for the…

This art created by my granddaughter reminds me that we can all be each other other’s sunshine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

And now Greene has gifted all of us with his kind and compassionate words. He writes of kindness witnessed in a grocery store. He writes about a father joyfully, publicly sharing the news that his straight A daughter has been accepted into an Ivy League school. A Black girl from Vermont, the daughter of an immigrant without any money, going to Harvard because she earned it. That reminds me of my own son getting into an elite East Coast college, because of his smarts, certainly not because we had the money to send him there.

Notes from the Porch uplifts, encourages, teaches. Each story is like “It’s a Beautiful Morning” video clip of my smiling grandbaby. Sure to leave you feeling better.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Five especially memorable personal moments in 2024 December 31, 2024

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Time passes… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THE END OF A YEAR always evokes a time of personal reflection. A time to consider the events, the moments, the feelings, the blessings that stood out in the 366 days passed. I’ve selected five, from the many, that happened in my life. Certainly, there’s much more that affected me personally. But these are ones that imprinted deeply upon me.

My unborn grandson’s room, photographed at Thanksgiving. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

1. A BLESSING BREWING

The year 2024 brought incredibly joyful news to my family. That news came in a six-pack of all natural & locally brewed craft beer from Big News Brewing Co. My second daughter and her husband brought the beer in August, when they arrived from Madison, Wisconsin for the annual Helbling family reunion.

I was excited to taste this beer from a new brewery (so I was told) in Madison. I pulled out a bottle, read the label, BABY Boyd IS BREWING—ARRIVING JANUARY 2025, and realized this was no ordinary beer. I was about to become a grandma for the third time. Miranda and John pulled off the surprise. I was so focused on the journalistic aspect of the Big News Brewing Co. name that I totally missed the bare baby feet graphics on the necks of the bottles. Soon that baby boy will arrive.

A message from Barb, published in the memorial folder at her funeral. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2024)

2. THE BLESSINGS OF FRIENDSHIP

On the flip side of birth is death. And in 2024, I lost a dear friend, Barb, to cancer. We have been part of the same couple’s bible study group for some 20 years. I’ve lost track. As she neared the end of life, Barb and her family opened their doors wide so family and friends could come and go. We carried in meals and, more importantly, love. Barb, no matter how awful she felt, always had time for visitors. Her strength, her unwavering faith, her cheerful attitude uplifted all of us. She understood the value in being together, of approaching death with courage and faith. Of saying goodbye.

But it was after Barb’s funeral, as her casket was wheeled out of church to the waiting hearse, that I felt the full blessings of the friendship we (and by “we” I mean our bible study group) shared. Barb had chosen the guys as pallbearers. We six women stood side-by-side waiting as our husbands gathered around the casket. I stretched out my arms, motioning for my friends to come close, to wrap our arms around one another. There we stood, a line of women linked. Linked in grief, friendship and love. It was a powerful moment.

Flags for countries of origin displayed at a past International Festival in Faribault celebrating my community’s diversity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

3. A BLESSING FROM A NEW FRIEND

Also powerful was the moment I met a Venezuelan immigrant while on a walk in Faribault’s Central Park. Adolfo was pushing his one-year-old grandson, Milan, in a stroller when I paused to greet them. I learned that Adolfo had fled violence and Communism in his home country and wanted desperately to get his family to America. His pain was palpable. “We’re so happy to have you here,” I told my new friend. Adolfo responded with a broad smile and the words “God bless you” as he made the sign of the cross and held his hands to his heart. I will forever cherish that moment and the memories of the morning I met Adolfo and Milan in Central Park.

A graphic of the first coronavirus. Source: CDC

4. BLESSING ANOTHER

I am also grateful for the opportunities I’ve had in 2024 to encourage a young man, whom I’ll call J, in his struggles with long haul COVID. A friend, after a short conversation in a grocery store parking lot, connected me to J’s mom and from there the door was opened. I understand how devastating this diagnosis. I spent six months in vestibular rehab therapy in 2023 trying to overcome the many debilitating symptoms of long haul COVID. I’m better now, but still experience residual, primarily with sensory overload issues.

J’s case is much more severe than mine, especially physically. He had to drop out of college, used a wheelchair, struggled with overwhelming symptoms too numerous to mention. I tried to offer him hope, support and encouragement. Empathy, compassion and understanding. I also referred him to my physical therapist, whom J is now seeing. Few people understand this chronic condition, or even make an effort to understand, which makes working through long haul COVID even harder. That I could take my experiences and help J, and his mom, has helped me, too. I can see the good in a very difficult year in my life when I was basically home-bound. Empathy and the capacity to help others grows with each challenge we face in life.

Randy and I with the mandala our son crafted for us. (Copyrighted photo by Caleb Helbling)

5. BLESSED WITH LOVE

Finally, my last memorable moment of 2024 came just recently with a Christmas gift from my son, who was visiting from Boston. Caleb gifted Randy and me with a mandala he laser cut from plywood, stained and glued together. Six layers. When I realized what it was, I wept. I cried because of the love Caleb’s gift represents. I cried because I recognized the time, effort and thought he put into crafting this artwork for us. Hearts theme the piece. It speaks “family.” If art can capture love, this mandala holds endless love.

And so 2024 ends. A year that brought joy and sadness. But also a year overflowing with love…from family to friends to community.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In which I meet Adolfo, Jose & little Milan October 17, 2024

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Faribault is home to people from many countries as noted on this interactive map at a past International Festival in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TWO DAYS. TWO CONVERSATIONS. And I am the richer for meeting Adolfo and Jose and hearing their stories.

I should backtrack a bit and state that for me to strike up conversations with people I don’t know is not unusual. Such interactions widen my world, broaden my understanding and simply help me learn more about others.

It was little Milan, Adolfo’s one-year-old grandson, who initially drew me to pause during a morning walk through Faribault’s Central Park. Adolfo was pushing Milan in an umbrella stroller when Randy and I crossed paths with them. Milan, with his big brown eyes, black hair and radiant smile, is the essence of cuteness. Cute babies and kids are always a reason to stop and chat.

The pair walk through the park every morning as Adolfo cares for Milan while his mom is at work. I don’t recall whether Mom is Adolfo’s daughter or daughter-in-law. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the deep love Adolfo has for family and his willingness to care for his grandson before heading to work in the afternoon.

Kids used markers to create flags from their native countries while attending the local International Festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

ESCAPING COMMUNIST VENEZUELA

I asked Adolfo about his background, what brought him to Faribault. He moved here from Orlando to be with family. But he’s originally from Venezuela. His home country, he said, is not a good place to live. The reason: Communism and violence. He left family behind and desperately wants them here, safe in America.

By that time, little Milan was out of his stroller, pushing it, then dropping to the ground, his pants covered in bits of dried leaves, his tiny hands clasping two Matchbox cars. He is close to walking alone. Milan proved a distraction from the deep pain Adolfo obviously feels separated from his family still in Venezuela.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” I told my new friend. And I genuinely meant that as my heart hurt for this man who has endured so much already.

“God bless you,” Adolfo said, as he made the sign of the cross, held his hands to his heart.

Adolfo repeated our names several times, clearly an effort on his part to remember them. I repeated his, too, and Milan’s, and wished I knew Spanish. Adolfo spoke Spanish to Milan, who is being raised bilingual. What a gift to that little boy with the big brown eyes, with the loving family, with the Grandpa whom I consider kind, caring, loving and brave.

Children gather at Faribault’s Central Park to break a pinata during an International Festival. This photo placed first in a local photo contest and remains one of my favorite. I love that it reflects the diversity of Faribault and shows kids simply being kids with no thought of ethnicity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FINDING A WELCOMING NEW HOME IN RURAL MINNESOTA

A day later I met Jose, a young man taking his lunch break at a park near Montgomery. He was working there for the Le Sueur County park system. Jose moved to nearby Le Center 15 years ago, having lived in California, Texas and Mexico. Like Adolfo, Jose is grateful to be here, with family. I told him how happy I am to have him living in Minnesota.

It didn’t take long before he opened up about how much he feels welcomed here, how he’s learned to love our four seasons, even winter. Jose shared about learning to drive in winter. And then he recounted being “baptized by black ice.” He walked onto the unseen ice and found himself flailing backwards. This part of Jose’s story included theatrical actions that left all of us laughing.

What a delightful young man. He’s hardworking, loves his family and likes living in a rural area. To hear that he’s found Minnesotans to be friendly pleases me. The reality is that not everyone welcomes individuals like Jose and Adolfo. I do.

I am the richer for having met these two men, whose life experiences and stories are vastly different than mine. Yet, we are the same. We have families and heartaches and hopes and dreams. That commonality connects us. And so does our humanity.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The joy of a Northfield tie dye artist September 12, 2024

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My first view of the tie dyed t-shirts. Two days later, I returned and met the artist. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

TIE DYED SHIRTS jolted color against a brown privacy fence along West Seventh Street in Northfield next to Riverside Park on a recent weekday afternoon. The colorful display proved a photographic surprise as I headed for the park.

The shirts have creative designs front and back. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Prices and payment box, on the honor system. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
Vibrant hues on a heart shirt, one of my favorites. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

Rich, brilliant hues and creative designs instantly drew my attention to this pop-up shop that was as much a place to buy a tee on the honor system as it was an art display.

Artist Rebecca Stull. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

The creative behind the wearable art is Rebecca Stull, who lives in an apartment building behind the fence with her daughter, Lily Joy, age three. I met them two days after I initially spotted and first photographed the tie dye art. I happened to be in Northfield again, same location, aiming for the Northfield Farmers Market in the park. And out came Rebecca and her daughter, the artist carrying bowls of water to set beside the sidewalk for passing dogs.

Rebecca also tie dyed these cute heart onesies. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

I couldn’t believe my luck. To meet Rebecca, to hear her story, excited me. Everyone has a story. Rebecca is new to tie dying, learning as she goes. I would not have guessed that based on the art she produced. She has a two-year online art degree, a good background for creating this art.

A mandala, a favorite design of Rebecca’s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

This young mother and artist holds a passion for art, for tie dying. She feels a calling, she said, “on a journey to work with Jesus.” That shows in the crosses gracing some of her shirts, including little Lily’s. She also favors mandalas.

Rebecca pulled tees from the fence to show me fronts and backs. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

What I love about Rebecca, besides her tie dye art, is her joy. She exudes positivity, despite struggles. Rebecca shared just enough for me to understand that life hasn’t always been easy for her. But here she is, getting the support she needs, using her creative talents, raising Lily Joy with a joyful spirit.

Rebecca’s storefront, next to her apartment building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

She told me how thankful she is for a landlord who supports her tie dye creativity.

Lily Joy counts her mom’s t-shirts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

I encouraged her. It’s clear Rebecca wants the best for her little girl. Some of the monies from her first t-shirt sales paid for Lily Joy to go to the recent Defeat of Jesse James Days carnival. The three-year-old is an enthusiastic marketer of her mom’s tie dyed shirts. As I watched, Lily Joy, walked along the fence line, touching the shirts, counting inventory for her mom.

A cyclist passes Rebecca’s tie dyed t-shirts as he heads to the Northfield Farmers Market on a Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

To have met these two blessed me, jolted joy into my day. And it all started with a walk to Riverside Park, 35mm Canon camera in hand.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling