Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The healing power of smiles & laughter January 29, 2024

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(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018, used for illustration only)

A WEEK OUT FROM BILATERAL STRABISMUS eye surgery to realign my eyes, I am feeling like most people post-surgery. I want this healing and recovery process to move faster. I feel as if I’ve stalled after an initial sprint. So it goes.

In the meantime, this past weekend brought some much-needed laughter into my life. Laughter is healing. It was also the theme of Global Game Jam, a week-long world-wide game development event. My son, who lives and works half a country away in greater Boston, participated, working with three others to create the video game “Addicted to Laughter.” That followed the event theme of “Make Me Laugh.” I love that theme because we need more laughter in this world.

I’ve personally needed extra laughter in the past week during my recovery. Laughter is a good diversion when dealing with eye pain/irritation, headaches, insomnia, distorted/blurry/double vision and a brain that is working over-time to adapt to my newly-aligned eyes. Yes, side effects should lessen, but in the meantime…

Photo I took of the DVD collection

Randy and I have been binge-watching a DVD collection of Blue Collar TV sketches by comedians Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable Guy and Bill Engvall. Some of the content is more redneck and offensive than I like. But all in all, the trio made me laugh. Kudos to Randy for choosing this when I asked him to “find something funny” to check out from our local public library. I’d rather be reading, but my ability to read for any length of time is currently limited.

A smiley face has long graced this building near Roberds Lake, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But I have read, and appreciate, the many get well cards I’ve received, including one from my cousin Diane. It’s sunny yellow with smiley face art. Simply reading the words and seeing all those printed smiley faces make me smile and laugh aloud at some of the statements (like turning cartwheels) in this “The Healing Power of the Smiley Face” themed card. And, bonus, I’ve always loved smiley faces and once had a vivid yellow smiley face bulletin board hanging in my lime green basement bedroom with candy striped carpet. Ah, sweet memories of teenage years…

“Tranquil Garden Bouquet” had me smiling broadly Thursday afternoon. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

I must sidetrack here for a moment to share that my dear family of three adult children, two sons-in-law and two grandchildren sent me the most stunning flowers Thursday afternoon. I cannot begin to tell you how much that bouquet and the enclosed message lifted my spirits. I felt as if a million smiley faces were floating in a thought balloon around my head.

I felt the same late Saturday afternoon after a visit from dear friends Tammy and Billie Jo. I haven’t seen Tammy in several years; she and her family moved to northwestern Minnesota. When Tammy walked in the kitchen door, we embraced in a fierce hug. And I realized just how much I’ve missed her. I nearly cried at the joy of seeing her again. And so the three of us talked and laughed and talked and laughed and talked and laughed. Laughter heals.

Me, five days after eye surgery, posing in front of Dave Angell’s photo of alligators in Africa. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

My grandkids often make me laugh with their observations. Isaac, 5, didn’t let Grandma down after I texted a photo to his mom, my eldest daughter Amber, on Saturday. The day prior, Amber sent an image of Isaac outside the crocodile exhibit at the Minnesota Zoo. So when Randy and I viewed an exhibit by Faribault wildlife photographer Dave Angell at the Paradise Center for the Arts Saturday morning, I knew I needed a photo of me with Angell’s photo of alligators in the wilds of Africa. (Angell’s one gifted photographer.)

Isaac was not impressed by my efforts. “Those aren’t real!” he told his mom. I read his response and laughed aloud. Laughter heals. Oh, yes, it does.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In loving memory of Uncle Robin January 14, 2024

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Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

HE LOOKED NOTHING like a leprechaun. No pointy ears. No red hair or freckles. Rather he was a slim man with definitive wavy hair. Not at all what I expected given my Aunt Dorothy’s description of her fiancé. Clearly I misheard and in my 10-year-old self’s excitement missed the word “not.” “Robin does not look like a leprechaun,” Dorothy told me and my sister Lanae. We apparently were hoping for a boisterous leprechaun like that pictured on boxes of Lucky Charms cereal.

Instead, we got a soft-spoken Irishman with an Irish brogue who in no way resembled a leprechaun. Robin, born Robert Mathews Bowman in Bangor, Ireland, married my aunt 56 years ago. He died last Sunday, January 7, following a long battle with Parkinson’s.

ENDEARING NAMES

The morning after my uncle’s death, I called Dorothy at her New Jersey home. I needed to talk to her as much as she needed to talk to me. We share a special bond. She’s always called me, “My Little Princess.” I cannot even begin to tell you how loved I feel when Dorothy calls me by that endearing name. I never grow weary of those loving words.

But it is the loving name she had for her beloved Robin that sticks with me also. She always called him “My love” or simply “Love.” Dorothy and I talked about this in our phone conversation, about how the two met at a party at the University of Minnesota where Robin was doing his post doctorate studies. Within the year, they married. I learned from Dorothy that speaking love aloud to a spouse within a stoic German family is not only OK, but quite lovely. That has stuck with me through the decades. To be witness to the love my aunt and uncle shared was a gift.

CREATING A LIFE-SAVING DRUG

In his professional career, Robin gave another gift, one with a broad, life-saving reach. He was the lead chemist in the development of the compound Letrozole (brand name Femara) used to treat certain types of breast cancer in postmenopausal women. As I spoke with Dorothy, she underscored how grateful Robin felt to accomplish this, to potentially save the lives of women via this hormone therapy drug.

Robin was clearly passionate about research. He was also passionate about golf. But of one thing he wasn’t passionate and that was eating leftovers. He didn’t. I don’t know why I knew this or why it matters, but it was something we all simply understood about Uncle Robin.

AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT

That leads to a food story. Once while visiting my childhood farm, Robin’s dinner plate broke in his hands. He was just sitting there in an easy chair in the living room eating his meal when the vintage plate broke. Someone snapped a photo, thus documenting this as part of family lore. I remember the laughter that erupted and the absolute embarrassment this quiet Irishman felt. Perhaps in this moment he wished he could, like a leprechaun, magically disappear.

BLESSED BE HIS MEMORY

In the funeral flowers my youngest brother ordered from our family for Robin’s funeral, Brad included this fitting Irish blessing:

May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Loving words for an Irishman who looked nothing like a leprechaun.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Onward with hope post-COVID November 30, 2023

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My great niece Keira painted this HOPE stone, which sits on my office desk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I HADN’T PLANNED on writing a third post related to my health issues following a case of suspected COVID in early January. But then blog readers shared their experiences with the virus and I felt compelled to write more, to offer insights and, most importantly, hope.

In this sharing of stories in the circle of my blog, I’ve learned that some of you have endured symptoms similar to mine. Keith in New York City. Diane in Iowa. And then Beth in Michigan with an altered sense of smell.

In the aftermath of COVID infections, there’s still much to learn. I quickly recognized that during my struggles and also via your stories. Answers don’t come easily. Help can be elusive. Frustration and despair set in and it’s a challenge to be heard, to remain hopeful. Telling our stories is important, necessary.

I received this book in the mail, sent anonymously by a reader. The book and note made me laugh and uplifted me when I really needed uplifting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THE NEED FOR VALIDATION, FOR SUPPORT

I remember telling my physical therapist, Ryan, early on that I felt unseen because I was dealing with unseen neurological issues few seemed to understand. But when he compared my symptoms to those of someone with a traumatic brain injury, I felt validated. That’s all I needed, an affirmation that this was real, not just in my head. But it literally was in my head, in my brain.

My sister-in-law Rosie, who endured two concussions following falls, was (and is) among my biggest encouragers. She understands my symptoms, especially my inability to tolerate sensory overload. Having a key empathetic person is, in my opinion, vital. Likewise core family support is essential.

This quarter-sized token, gifted to me by my friend Beth Ann many years ago, lies on my computer desk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

GETTING HELP & SETTING GOALS

But personal support only goes so far. I am fortunate to have a primary care doctor who listens, shows great compassion, admits when he can’t help me, and referred me to specialists. My many office visits extended well beyond the allotted 20 minutes. Vestibular rehab therapy set me on a course to better health. I started therapy in mid-April. That continued weekly until mid-September. Therapy worked in retraining my brain, in helping me manage my symptoms.

On my final day of therapy in September, I told my therapist that I had three immediate goals: to get my hair cut, to return to worship services at church and to dine in a restaurant. Within two months, I accomplished all three with varying degrees of success. I share this to offer hope.

Here’s how I managed: I alerted my hair stylist to my sensory issues pre-appointment. Donita turned off the salon music and took care overall to minimize sensory input. Worship has proven a bit harder, especially managing the organ music, which often assaults me like a tsunami. Even with an ear plug, I struggle. I’ve learned that my brain struggles most in the early mornings and evenings and in busy environments. Restaurant dining remains challenging, although I managed in a quiet chain restaurant. I have yet to try a homegrown, noisy restaurant.

Inspirational and honoring words are embedded in mosaic tile at a memorial in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

HOLDING HOPE

There is hope. Always hope. It is, and has been, my go-to word through many struggles in life. For any of you struggling with post-COVID health issues, I hope I have offered you hope, or at least validated what you are experiencing.

These mini cards were a gift from Roxy, a blog reader from Owatonna who has been one of my strongest encouragers. I have sent these cards to others in need of support, passing along the gift of encouragement. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WAYS TO ENCOURAGE

For those of you who know someone dealing with long haul COVID, please support your family member or friend. Listen. Mail a greeting card. Text or call with encouraging words. (All helped me mentally; thank you, readers.) What we are going through may not be seen. But it is real, all too real.

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FYI: To read my first post, “How COVID changed my life,” click here. To read my second post, “Retraining my brain post-COVID,” click here.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Learning about Indigenous peoples from “The Forever Sky” November 27, 2023

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(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

IN THE PAST YEAR, my desire to learn more about Native American culture has heightened. My new interest followed a talk in September 2022 by then Rice County Historical Society Director Susan Garwood about “The Indigenous history of the land that is now Rice County, Minnesota.” This county, this community, in which I live was home first to Indigenous peoples, long before the first settlers, the fur traders, the Easterners who moved west.

This sculpture of Alexander Faribault and a Dakota trading partner stands in Faribault’s Heritage Park near the Straight River and site of Faribault’s trading post. Ivan Whillock created this art which sits atop the Bea Duncan Memorial Fountain. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I knew that, of course. But what I didn’t know was that the Wahpekute, one of the seven “Council Fires” of the Dakota Nation, used the current-day Wapacuta Park just up the hill from my house for honoring their dead.

This Faribault city park, where my kids once zipped down a towering slide, clamored onto a massive boulder, slid on plastics sleds, was where the Wahpekute many years ago placed their dead upon scaffolding prior to burial. That ground now seems sacred to me.

That it took 40 years of living here to learn this information suggests to me that either I wasn’t paying attention to local history or that my community has not done enough to honor the First Peoples of this land.

(Book cover sourced online.)

Whatever the reason, I have, on my own, decided to become more informed about Indigenous peoples. And for me, that starts with reading. I recently headed to the children’s section of my local library and checked out the book, The Forever Sky, written by Thomas Peacock (a member of the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Anishinaabe Ojibwe) and illustrated by Annette S. Lee (mixed-race Lakota-Sioux of the Ojibwe and Lakota-Sioux communities).

These two Minnesotans, in their collaborative children’s picture book, reveal that “the sky and stars all have stories.” Oh, how I value stories. And the stories shared in this book, these sky stories, are of spirits and animals and the Path of Souls, aka The Milky Way, and…

I especially appreciate the book’s focus on the northern lights, explained as “the spirits of all of our relatives who have passed on.” The descriptive words and vivid images make me view the northern lights, which I have yet to see in my life-time, through the eyes of Indigenous peoples. The changing blues and greens are their loved ones dancing in the night sky. Dancing, dancing, dancing. How lovely that imagery in replacing loss with hope and happiness.

The Forever Sky has created an awareness of Native culture previously unknown to me. Just like that talk a year ago by a local historian aiming to educate. I have much to learn. And I am learning via books found not only in the adult section of the library, but also among the children’s picture books. That writers and illustrators are covering topics of cultural importance in kids’ books gives me hope for the future. My grandchildren, even though they will never see the vast, dark, star-filled sky I saw nightly as a child of the prairie, are growing up much more informed. They will understand cultures well beyond their own heritage. And that encourages me.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Gratitude beyond Thanksgiving November 21, 2023

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Reasons to feel thankful, hung on a Gratitude Tree at the Northfield Public Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2019)

A SOLITARY TEAR TRICKLED down my left cheek as I struggled to hold back my emotions. I willed myself not to burst out sobbing in the quiet of the sanctuary, in the profoundness of his story.

He was nine years old, the pastor said, when a vision screening showed he needed prescription eyeglasses, an expense his parents could not afford. Yet, they found a way. His father sold his treasured guitar to pay for the $25 eyeglasses. Twenty years later, the son realized, understood, the sacrifice his dad made for him. And he thanked him. That simple thank you forever changed their relationship.

The Rev. Bruce Stam shared this personal story as he preached on gratitude just days before Thanksgiving. And it was his story which got me thinking about my own eyes and how, as a four-year-old, I underwent corrective eye surgery to realign my crossed eyes. I, of course, was too young to understand the financial challenges this presented to my parents. I regret that I never thanked them for the sacrifices they made to keep me from going blind in one eye and then for the prescription eyeglasses I needed to see. Just like the boy who would become a pastor.

Reasons to feel thankful written on feathers of a turkey at Faribault Lutheran School 10 years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2013)

All too often we are blind to seeing the importance of gratitude. Except perhaps on Thanksgiving, our yearly thankfulness reminder. Gratitude does not come easily. We need to work at it, to carry an attitude of gratitude throughout the year. We are more inclined, however, to focus on that which we do not have, on complaining rather than expressing thanks. That’s human nature.

I created this Thanksgiving centerpiece as a reminder to be thankful. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But we can refocus. Thanksgiving is a good day to start. Sure, we say we’re thankful for family and friends and food and shelter and good health and such. But what does that mean, in a personal way? I’ll start.

I am especially grateful this November for having mostly reclaimed my health following a viral infection in January that affected my brain. This was tough stuff. But I got through it with the help of caring medical professionals and the loving support of my husband and my eldest daughter, especially. Amber checked in with me daily via text, always asking how I was feeling and offering ongoing encouragement. Randy mostly did everything on the home-front besides encouraging me, taking me to medical appointments and reminding me that I was making progress. Their unconditional love and support carried me through some really dark days. I am forever grateful.

Likewise, friends and some extended family did the same. I tried to remember to thank them. But I expect sometimes, in the midst of my neurological issues, I failed.

I love the idea of a public Gratitude Tree, this one at the Northfield Public Library in 2019. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2019)

Thanking someone need not be complicated or extravagant. Heartfelt, loving words spoken, texted or written are often all that is needed. As a writer, I am big on sending greeting cards to express my feelings.

When I graduated from five months of vestibular rehab therapy in mid-September, I knew I needed to do more. I baked homemade carrot cake cupcakes with homemade cream cheese frosting for the team at Courage Kenny in Faribault. For my therapist, Ryan, I also baked chocolate chip cookies and penned a lengthy thank you. He deserved my deep gratitude for working with me tirelessly to reclaim my life.

Another thankfulness tag on that Gratitude Tree in Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2019)

Opportunities abound to express gratitude in our daily lives. With words. With actions. With a smile. Sometimes understanding the importance of thankfulness comes in a story, a story of sacrifice. A story that touches the emotions, that causes us to see as a single tear slides down our cheek.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

New film focuses on the people & stories of Johnston Hall November 7, 2023

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This undated photo of Johnston Hall is courtesy of the Rice County Historical Society.

AS A WRITER AND PHOTOGRAPHER, I understand the power of storytelling. That focuses my work. I strive to connect with readers in a meaningful and personal way via images and words.

Johnston Hall, photographed shortly before it was demolished. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021)

And so storytelling is the approach I intended to take in writing about Johnston Hall. A building constructed in 1888 on Faribault’s east side. A building which once centered learning, then healthcare. A building placed on the National Register of Historic Places. A building that did not, physically, withstand the ravages of time and weather. A building which in 2021 was demolished, but not without efforts to save it.

The QR code on the sign links to the new documentary on Johnston Hall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

Johnston Hall is not only part of my family’s story, but of the larger community, of Faribault’s history for 133 years. Now filmmakers Samuel Temple and Logan Ledman of the local 1855 History Team (Steamboat Media Company) have released their newest documentary, “Love Inwrought: Johnston Hall and the Memory of a Building.”

This shows the back of Johnston Hall Memorial Garden, looking toward Allina Health Faribault Medical Center. The garden is next to an employee parking lot. The bronze Seabury Divinity School plaque was saved from the hall and focuses the garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

I need to backtrack for a moment, though, to late August, when I photographed Johnston Hall Memorial Garden, located along State Street on the campus of the Allina Health Faribault Medical Center. The recently-completed garden honors the history of Johnston Hall and provides a contemplative space to reflect. For me, that’s remembering the time I spent, along with loved ones, in the aged building that once sat north of the hospital and clinic, northwest of the new garden.

Image credit: 1855 History Team Facebook page

In their Johnston Hall documentary, the filmmakers weave together history, memories, stories. Temple states that “…each soul passing through a building is a part of its memory, its identity and its legacy.” That is the singular line which stands out for me, the line defining Johnston Hall as more than a building that once stood tall, grand and strong, initially as part of Seabury Divinity School. Johnston Hall is part of so many personal stories, including mine.

Johnston Hall in a 1990 image, as a Medical Office Building. (Photo courtesy of the Rice County Historical Society)

While I don’t recall the exact year I first walked through the doors of this stately limestone Romanesque architectural style structure, it was after an orthopedic and fracture clinic moved into the building. That followed histories of usage as the divinity school (closed in 1933) library and classrooms, a nurses’ training school and then a vocational-technical school.

Johnston Hall photographed from the parking lot of the hospital and clinic. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021)

Broken bones and other health issues landed me and my family inside Johnston Hall. As a grade schooler, my son broke his little finger while unicycling in our driveway. In 2006, he was back at Johnston Hall, this time with a rib fracture and a broken bone in his hand after a hit-and-run driver struck him while he crossed the street to his bus stop. The same morning of that May 2006 scare, while my husband and son were in the hospital emergency room, I wound my way to nearby Johnston Hall for an appointment with an orthopedic doctor. I had waited too long to cancel my appointment, although I desperately wanted to stay by my son’s side in the ER.

On that May morning, I learned that I would eventually need right hip replacement surgery due to osteoarthritis. I delayed that surgery until 2008. The stairway and waiting room and exam rooms of Johnston Hall soon grew all too familiar.

To my second daughter also, who was screened for scoliosis in junior high and then referred to the medical team at Johnston Hall. Eventually her spinal curvature required wearing a customized, full body, hard plastic back brace 24/7 for a year. It was the first time I cried at Johnston Hall.

Stone was saved from Johnston Hall and incorporated into the memorial garden, including stone marking the hall as a gift from Augusta Huntington. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

In many ways, Johnston Hall and tears are intertwined. As the filmmakers share in their documentary, funding for the hall came from Augusta Huntington, formerly Augusta Shumway. Horatio Shumway left tens of thousands of dollars to his grieving widow. She used his gift to fund construction of Good Shepherd Chapel and then Shumway Hall in honor of Horatio. Both sit on the campus of the current-day Shattuck-St. Mary’s School, a private college prep school. In 1888, construction of Johnston Hall was completed, the cornerstone laid. The hall was a final bequeath from Augusta, who died in 1884. The building honors her father, William Johnston.

Up close, historic Johnston Hall shortly before its demolition. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2021)

“Love Inwrought: Johnston Hall and the Memory of a Building” features much more in-depth history, including the connection between Minnesota’s first Episcopal bishop, Bishop Henry Whipple (who called Faribault home), and Augusta Shumway. The filmmakers also highlight Henry St. Clair, a Dakota man who attended Seabury Divinity School, studying inside the library and classrooms of Johnston Hall. He became an ordained deacon and then a pastor. Indigenous peoples are an integral part of Faribault’s history and I appreciate that these filmmakers focus on that, too, in their latest work.

Incorporated into Johnston Hall Memorial Garden, the 1888 cornerstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)

In their well-researched documentary, Temple and Ledman use historical photos, illustrations, even a building model, actors, original music (composed by Sam Dwyer) and narration to tell the stories of Johnston Hall. Theirs is, indeed, a work of love, revealing how love inwrought takes a building beyond wood and limestone to memories abiding within the souls of those who’ve passed through its doors.

FYI: To view this documentary film, click here.

Please check back for a follow-up story featuring a closer look at Johnston Hall Memorial Garden.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Halloween frights or fun, you decide October 25, 2023

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A wax doll for sale at Audre’s Attic, a Lonsdale shop packed with vintage, collectibles, antiques and other interesting finds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

SHE LOOKED SWEET ENOUGH, the big blue-eyed doll with cascading blonde curls clutching a teddy bear. But something about the wax doll creeped me out. Maybe I’d seen too many media reports about the annual Creepy Dolls contest at the History Center of Olmsted County, this October upped to a “Creepy Dolls: Murder at the Masquerade Event!”. Whatever the reason, I felt unsettled, as if that doll for sale at Audre’s Attic in Lonsdale was watching me. Any other time of year, I likely would have passed her without a wary thought.

A sign posted on property along Wells Lake outside Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

But this close to Halloween, the imagination leans toward the frightful. Scary stuff, depending on your definition of scary, is everywhere. Mostly, it’s all in good fun…unless you decide otherwise.

Displayed at Hy-Vee Grocery in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

It’s interesting how just the sight of something ghoulish can trigger a memory. Like the pirate skeleton curling his bony hands around a photo of grapes in the produce section of a local grocery store. The skeleton didn’t frighten me. Rather, it was the grapes that rattled me. I flashed back to a 1960s Halloween party. I was an impressionable kid then, blindfolded and instructed to stick my hand inside a container holding something decidedly cold, wet and roundish. “Cows’ eyeballs,” enthused the older girls hosting the party. I shrieked. Why wouldn’t I? We were in the basement of the local veterinarian’s house. It made total sense to me that I was touching cows’ eyes. I wasn’t. I was fingering cold, wet grapes.

An edited version of original artwork at Something for All Consignment/Thrift Store in Lonsdale. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

The eyes apparently have it for me in the terror department. I’ve always been vexed by Edgar Alan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” his one short horror story that I remember above all others. An old man’s vulture eye, Evil Eye, led the narrator to commit murder and then confess to the crime after being taunted by an endless ringing in his ears. It’s a macabre story as is Poe’s writing in general.

Photographed in 2015 at an antique shop (now closed) in Oronoco. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2015)

Screenwriter and filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock matches Poe’s talent in the horror genre. I can’t watch “The Birds” (starring Lafayette, Minnesota native Tippi Hedren) without freaking out. To this day when I hear the raucous caw caw caw of crows, I feel unnerved, as if the birds are waiting to descend upon me.

Big Foot crosses grassland on the Spitzack farm in Rice County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2022)

Black things with wings, including bats and gigantic bugs with pinchers, fit my definition of frightening. Not skeletons. Not spiders. Not Big Foot. Not zombies. But dark winged things, plus mice, centipedes and memories of cold grapes scare me.

“All Dressed up for Halloween,” a quilt pieced and quilted by Marcia Speiker and displayed at the Rice County Piecemakers Fall Splendor Quilt Show in September. Buttermilk Basin is the pattern author. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)

Aside from the scary, I appreciate the fun side of Halloween, especially the excitement kids feel in dressing as favorite characters, imagining they are someone they are not. A superhero. A Disney character. An animal. Maybe even Batman, distinctly different than a bat. Wherever their imaginations take them, they race in their costumes—door-to-door and to Halloween events (not held in veterinarians’ basements) to gather bags full of candy.

Something for All Consignment/Thrift Store in Lonsdale offers assorted patterns to stitch Halloween costumes, including the 1995 pattern on the right. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

The little witches, dinosaurs, Spider Men and more skirt doorstep jack-o-lanterns, guts pulled out in strings of seeds and pulp. Unpleasant in an Edgar Alan Poe sort of way. Only painted pumpkins are spared disembowelment.

The underside of a monstrous bug found recently in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

Halloween mixes fun and fright. Over-sized bugs and skeletons. Candy. Creepy dolls. Cute princesses. Horror stories. Parties. And, if the mind (or the eye) wanders far enough, cold grapes persuasively re-imagined as cows’ eyeballs.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Focusing on the stats & stories of domestic abuse & violence in Minnesota October 17, 2023

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Lights glow purple on the Rice County Government Services building in Faribault in recognition of Domestic Violence Awareness Month. The moody sky fits the topic, the arrow on the pavement (from my perspective) pointing to hope, a way out of an abusive relationship. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)

BEVERLY BOARDED THE GREYHOUND BUS, battered suitcase in hand, journal and hastily grabbed clothes zippered inside. She felt worn down. Exhausted. On this day, she chose to leave, to flee her husband’s physical, emotional and verbal abuse. As Beverly walked down the aisle to her seat, her mood lightened. But then she spotted Thomas approaching the bus, face flashing anger, clenched fists threatening.

This anthology, featuring Minnesota writers or those with a connection to Minnesota, includes my short story about domestic abuse. (Book cover image sourced online)

This account of domestic abuse is fictional. I wrote the story, “Evidence,” which recently published and received an honorable mention in Talking Stick 32, Twist in the Road, a Minnesota-based anthology of stories and poetry. Even I don’t know how Beverly’s story ends. Will Thomas bust through the doors of the bus, hunt down his wife? Kill her?

Every day across Minnesota and beyond, scenarios like Beverly’s unfold in real life. The faces and places and circumstances differ. But the threat is real, as real as my fictional version aimed to not only provide a suspenseful read but also to raise awareness about domestic abuse.

A promo for the “2022 Homicide Report.” (Source: Violence Free Minnesota Facebook page)

October marks Domestic Violence Awareness Month. And that began in Minnesota with the release of the “2022 Homicide Report: Relationship Abuse in Minnesota” by Violence Free Minnesota. The report states that “at least 24 people were killed due to intimate partner homicide in 2022.” A further break-down of that shows at least 20 women and one man died from intimate partner violence and at least three bystanders/intervenors also died. Their ages ranged from 13 to 66. They lived in all areas of Minnesota from rural to urban.

Margie Brown Holland (my former neighbor’s daughter) and her unborn daughter, Olivia, were murdered in 2013 in an act of domestic violence. Information about Margie was displayed on a t-shirt as part of The Clothesline Project exhibit I saw in Owatonna in 2015. This exhibit is available for display through Violence Free Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2015)

While statistics and summaries matter, it is the stories which make the greatest impact. This report includes those, along with photos of nearly every homicide victim. Those stories begin on page 47, well into the 66-page report which is packed with powerful information that really should be read by every adult.

I focused my attention first on Chandra Lanae Pelch of nearby Medford. The 18-year-old was shot six times by her boyfriend in a murder-suicide on June 3, 2022. While the profile on Chandra is short, it is enough to break my heart. She leaves behind an infant son and loving family and friends.

I was also drawn to the story of Isaac Jon Hoff, 13, stabbed to death by his mother’s boyfriend, now serving 17 years in prison for his murder. It’s another heartbreaking case of domestic violence, of a woman attempting to defend herself, of a man grabbing a knife from her hand, of a son stabbed as he stood behind his mother. They were under an order of protection against their attacker. Isaac, who was described as “spunky, big-hearted and loved,” managed to call 911. He died later at the hospital. Isaac was from small town Olivia in southern Minnesota.

And then there’s Kimberly Ann Robinson, 41, who was found dead from a gunshot wound and blunt force trauma injuries on the side of a road in Rochester. Her boyfriend has been charged in her murder. She was a mother of three.

An excerpt from the 2016 book “She Stays” by HOPE Center Director Erica Staab-Absher explains why a woman stays in an abusive relationship. (Text copyright of Erica Staab-Absher)

Each story in this report deserves attention, for each person lived and loved and was loved. None were to blame for their horrific deaths, just like Beverly in my fictional story did nothing to deserve the physical and emotional abuse inflicted upon her by her husband. Domestic abuse, at its core, is about power and control. Too often, people ask, “Why didn’t she just leave?” That, in essence, shifts blame to the victim. This report explains “why” in “VICTIM’S ATTEMPT TO LEAVE THE ABUSER.”

The “2022 Homicide Report” does a good job of revealing the “whys” and of expanding on domestic abuse/violence-related topics within the legal system, racial disparities, healthcare, economic abuse, public/workplace violence and more. The report also includes recommendations in each of those target areas. One section even makes recommendations to the media about covering domestic violence.

Inspirational and honoring words are embedded in a mosaic honoring Barb Larson, killed in an act of domestic violence at her workplace, the Faribault Area Chamber of Commerce and Tourism, on December 23, 2016. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In the all of this, in the awfulness of these 24 deaths in Minnesota in 2022, we can all learn, grow our compassion, support and understanding, begin to recognize the warning signs of domestic abuse. There is hope and help available through advocacy groups and organizations, shelters and more. But it takes courage to seek help while under the power and control of an abuser. In my fictional story, Beverly found that courage on the day she grabbed her battered suitcase with her documenting journal zippered inside and boarded that Greyhound bus. But did she survive? The truth is, I don’t know.

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FYI: Talking Stick 32, Twist in the Road includes not only my fictional story about domestic abuse, but four other fictional short stories and two poems on the topic. Particularly powerful is the poem “At the Cafe” by Mary Scully Whitaker in which the author and a waitress witness emotional abuse and threats of violence against a woman, then intervene. The anthology, published by the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc, is available through Amazon.

If you are a victim of domestic abuse, know that help is available. Have a plan in place to leave safely, recognizing that leaving an abuser is a particularly dangerous time. You are not alone. And you are not to blame.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In Seaforth: Celebrating books, art & people October 4, 2023

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Promo for Saturday’s event, courtesy of Elizabeth Johanneck.

THEY ARE LONG-TIME FRIENDS. Friends who grew up together, who have a history of experiences and stories and of being there for one another. And they are both authors of books rooted in rural Redwood County, the land which shaped and grew them and their enduring friendship.

On Saturday, October 7, Twin Cities resident Elizabeth “Beth” Johanneck, author of If You Can’t Make it to Heaven, at Least Get to Seaforth—The Monica Stories and Then Some, and Granite Falls resident Cynthia “Cindy” Bernardy Lavin, author of the children’s book I Think I’ll Call You Annie: Based Upon a True Story (which Beth illustrated), return to Seaforth, population 77, for a 1-4 pm event sure to draw lots of interest.

The C4th Bar hosts the afternoon activities, which include a meet-and-greet (1-3 pm) with the authors and Monica Pistulka Fischer, prominently featured in Beth’s collection of short stories and art from the Seaforth and Wabasso areas. Books will be available for purchase.

Event promo courtesy of Elizabeth Johanneck.

But there’s much more planned than a book signing and time to chat with the long-time friends. The event also includes a hayride and self-guided tour of St. Mary’s Cemetery just northwest of Seaforth. Attendees can visit the gravesites of locals included in both books.

Image sourced online.

Back at the bar, Cindy, a retired elementary school teacher, will read her book about Seaforth’s most famous pig and offer a pig art project for kids.

The original painting of “Seaforth Main Street,” featured here on the cover of Beth’s book, will be on display at Saturday’s celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

Art is an important part of this celebration as art is an integral part of Beth’s book. Her book includes the only printed collection of selected paintings by her grandfather, Arnold Kramer, dubbed “Minnesota’s Grandpa Moses.” He documented early to mid 1900s rural life and scenes, creating an historical agrarian treasure of some 400 paintings upon his retirement from farming. His original painting, “Seaforth Main Street,” which graces the cover of Beth’s book, will be displayed at Saturday’s celebration.

The C4th Bar is also honoring Kramer and several other Seaforth residents (and one pig) with special drinks: “The Grandpa Moses” for folk artist Arnold Kramer; “The Angie” for business owner Angie Bergen; “The Monica” for Monica Pistulka Fischer; and “The Annie” for Dana and Connie Dittbenner and Annie the Pig. “The Monica” and “The Annie” are non-alcoholic drinks. Hot chocolate and make your own s’mores will also be available.

No event is complete without music. The celebration features the live music of Cowboy Dave Gewerth.

It will be quite an afternoon in Seaforth. I can almost envision the scene of a packed bar, of Beth and Cindy mingling, of glasses raised, of stories shared, of memories made. That’s the thing about small towns, especially—you may leave, but you remain forever connected to the place, the events, the people. Like Beth and Cindy, long-time friends who on Saturday return to their roots to celebrate publication of their books, but, more importantly, Seaforth and its residents.

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FYI: To purchase If You Can’t Make it to Heaven, at Least Get to Seaforth—The Monica Stories and Then Some, click here. (Also available through Barnes & Noble and independent bookstores, including Chapter Two Bookstore in Redwood Falls.) To read my review of the book, click here.

To purchase I Think I’ll Call You Annie, click here. Also available at independent bookstores and Barnes & Noble.

Disclaimer: I edited and proofed the manuscript for Beth’s book. My poem, “Her Treasure,” is printed in the book as a companion piece. Beth, Cindy and I attended Wabasso High School together, graduating with the class of 1974. Beth and I were also lockermates.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The centenarian, the seamstress & the tortoise September 27, 2023

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Audrey Kletscher Helbling and Mickey Nelson inside The Junk Monkey. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling, September 2023)

IN THE EVERYDAY MOMENTS of life, I often strike up conversations with strangers given my innate desire to hear their stories, to connect, to learn, or simply to show I care. Through such encounters, I’ve met the most delightful individuals.

THE CENTENARIAN

Take Mickey Nelson, 103, of Clarks Grove.

“You’re 103?” I overheard the question, edged with disbelief, while recently browsing a local vintage, collectibles and treasures shop. That was enough for me to pause and head to the front of the store to meet this centenarian engaged in conversation with shopkeeper Theresa.

When I spotted Mickey, I understood why Theresa sounded so incredulous. Mickey looked not a day over 80. His smile, which reached his eyes, exuded positivity, joy. And then I heard his story, realizing I’d heard it three years earlier.

Mickey is, in every way, extraordinary. In 2020, he walked 100 miles in his small southern Minnesota community to celebrate his 100th birthday. He didn’t walk just to walk. Mickey walked for a purpose, to raise money for the Salvation Army. And he raised a whole lot—$115,000, his daughter Michelle said.

I was beyond impressed by this WW II veteran and his generosity. Mickey remembered the bread lines during the Great Depression. That sparked his 100-mile mission to gather monies for Salvation Army food assistance during COVID-19. A similar effort by an aged veteran in England, who walked 100 laps in his garden during the pandemic and raised $30 million for Britain’s healthcare system, also proved motivating for Mickey.

On this day, I felt honored to meet Mickey, whose story was broadly shared in the media in 2020, the reason it was familiar to me. I decided right then and there that I wanted my photo taken with this celebrity, a remarkable man not only for his generosity of spirit, but also for the spirit of joyfulness he exudes.

Virginia Malecha displays two of her tote bags, among creations she was vending at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)

THE SEAMSTRESS

The same can be said for Virginia Malecha of Millersburg, whom I met while enjoying a pork burger during a recent event at the local co-op. She, like Mickey, exudes joy. And she, like Mickey, is generous. Virginia has sewn 200 cloth bags for patrons to use at the Northfield Public Library. As we talked, I learned that this seamstress has been sewing since age nine. She clearly enjoys the craft, stitching totes from recycled materials (such as clothing and duvets) and from her fabric stash collected through the decades.

Virginia invited me to stop at the Faribault Farmers’ Market to view more of her creations, including dish towels she machine embroiders, scrubbies and more. Two days later, I did just that. I was impressed by this kind, generous and friendly woman. She not only sews, but also taught herself to play the concertina and raised her family on a dairy farm (another connection given I grew up on a dairy farm). I asked to take her photo. I wanted to remember her beautiful smile and how she, like Mickey, inspired me. And it all started with a conversation over burgers in a co-op parking lot.

Not a tortoise, but a turtle, which is nearly as slow as a tortoise. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2020)

THE TORTOISE

And then there was the recent afternoon I met Paul (whose last name I never got) in the same park where Virginia vended her wares. He was walking, just like my husband and me. Randy and I were, however, going at a much faster pace. That led to a humorous moment, when Paul called us the hares, himself a tortoise. But, I reminded him, the tortoise wins the race.

On this day, though, I truly was the winner given the conversation that followed. We chatted a bit about retirement and other topics. But even before Paul mentioned that he was a retired Lutheran pastor from New Richland now relocated and living across the street from the park, I recognized his compassion. He listened as I shared about my neurological health issues caused by a virus in early January. His wife, he said, suffered a traumatic brain injury. Her challenges in many ways mimic mine. I felt, in that moment, understood, uplifted and incredibly thankful for this caring man.

Like Mickey and Virginia, we connected in an everyday moment of life. And I am the better for having met the three of them—the centenarian, the seamstress and the tortoise.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling