Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Don’t tell me you’re “fine” when you’re not & other insights March 5, 2017

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HOW ARE YOU? I’ve never liked that question, even realizing the underlying kindness that laces those three trite words.

The standard answer of “I’m fine” is expected. The truth most often is not.

 

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Now Minneapolis writer Nora McInerny Purmort—who has faced her share of “I’m not fine” days—tackles the “How are you?” question in a podcast series from American Public Media. Terrible, (Thanks for Asking) is a must-listen series in which Nora seeks only honest responses to “How are you?”

I’ve listened to one podcast thus far. “Unbroken” features an interview with sexual assault survivor Sarah Super. It’s an incredible, horrible, powerful and, yes, sometimes graphic, story. But so worth your time for the insights revealed. Sarah is one strong woman. And we can learn so much from her about the importance of speaking up, of being heard and more.

Both she and Nora address the issue of silence. And, yes, I picked that from the interview because silence is all too pervasive. I’m talking the hard, uncomfortable silence that those who have suffered trauma, those who are dealing with health issues, those who are facing unimaginable difficulties and challenges hear. Yes, hear. Silence truly can be deafening.

Sarah cites the reason many friends and loved ones remained silent following her assault: “I didn’t know what to say or do.”

Puh-lease.

“Your silence,” Sarah says, “feels like apathy.” The definition of apathy is lack of interest, enthusiasm or concern. Lack of. Imagine how that feels to your loved one who is hurting. Lack of.

Nora reiterates Sarah’s thoughts: “Silence hurts when you are on the other end of something awful.”

In an interview with National Public Radio about her podcast series, Nora repeats, “The worst thing—and it doesn’t matter if you’re dealing with death, or if you’re dealing with all of these other things that we’ve talked to people about—silence is the worst thing you can hear from people.”

She gets it. Within six weeks, this young woman lost her father to cancer, miscarried and then lost her husband to brain cancer. Since then, Nora has authored the book It’s Okay to Laugh (Crying Is Cool, Too). And now the enlightening podcasts have followed.

What can we learn from all of this? My take-away is this: First, we need to speak up, to end the silence, to really care when we ask someone, “How are you?” And then we need to listen, really listen. That means setting aside our stories, our comments, our whatever, and truly focusing on what the other person is telling us. It’s about them. Not us.

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CHECK BACK TOMORROW for a way that Minnesota is breaking the silence on an issue that affects all of us, directly or indirectly.

© Copyright 2017 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

How to write an obit 101 from Jim’s family March 1, 2017

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THE OLDER I GET, the more I find myself reading the obituaries published in the Faribault Daily News. And, yes, I’m old school. I still subscribe to a print paper.

I also have education and work experience in journalism, including writing obituaries. It’s one of the first skills I learned in the journalism program at Minnesota State University, Mankato. If you can’t write an obit—and make damn sure the name is spelled correctly—then you best choose another career.

But much has changed since I graduated from MSU in 1978. Newspaper staffers no longer write obits that once published for free. Today obits are paid-for pieces written by survivors of the deceased or penned in advance before death. That allows for creative obits reflecting personalities rather than the straight-forward factual death notices I once composed.

Source: Faribault Daily News

Source: Faribault Daily News

On Tuesday I opened the Faribault paper to find probably the longest obituary I’ve ever seen published. It runs 38 column inches, which takes you from the top of the “Matters of Record” page to the bottom, spanning two columns.

I figured, given the length, that I would find stories and humor therein. I did. I always appreciate humor in an obit. We all need moments of laughter in the midst of grief.

So here, for your entertainment, are some stories from the obit of Faribault resident James Dale Kittlesen, 87, who died on Sunday, February 19:

While at Gustavus, he met his future wife (Karen), of 59 years, although there is confusion as to how this happened…Others blame Karen’s brother Morrie who gave his fellow geology student a bag of brownies and told Jim that his sister Karen had made them especially for him. It became obvious to Jim that Karen knew nothing about the brownies while he was thanking her in the library.

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In 1991, after 16 years, Jim retired from his position as Director of Business Affairs of the Faribault School District having been hung in effigy only once.

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In recent years he became a fan of the Minnesota Windchill… After sitting in the bleachers for an entire game he discovered he could barely stand as his back hurt too much. When people would ask about his sore back he would explain it was a “sports injury.”

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At Trinity he worked with the pie makers where he learned “mad chopping skills.”

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Recently, while Jim was sitting in his comfy chair, Karen asked, “Is there anything on your bucket list you would have liked to have done?” He replied, “No, not really. I think I’ve done everything I wanted to do.”

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I never knew Jim. But I feel like I do now after reading his life highlights, stories and quotes.

There’s one more thing Jim’s family wants mourners to know regarding his funeral: Jim will not be wearing a tie so feel free to follow suit.

TELL ME: How do you want your obituary written? Straight forward journalism style? Or a mix of straight facts and stories? How do you want to be remembered?

FYI: Click here to read Jim Kittlesen’s complete obituary published on the Boldt Funeral Home website.

 

Abandoned in rural Minnesota January 12, 2017

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abandoned-house-truck-in-alma-city

 

SCENES LIKE THIS sadden me.

Why was this house abandoned? Did the owner fall ill or die? Or simply move to a better and more spacious home? Or did lack of finances factor into this abandonment? Or a personal crisis?

I wonder.

This scene in unincorporated Alma City in western Waseca County, rural Minnesota, is all too familiar. Houses that once sheltered families stand deserted, paint peeling, wood softening to a weathered grey.

What stories does this house hold? What memories were made here? Does anyone care that this house is no longer a home?

And what about that rusting truck? What routes did it travel? Back county roads, gravel roads, field drives? Perhaps to the hardware store, the grain elevator, a local cafe.

Who steered the wheel of this GMC? Perhaps a farmer or a retired farmer.

All these things I ask because my mind works that way. Inquisitive, ranging around thoughts, always wondering.

TELL ME: What short story would you write about this scene?

Note: This image was taken in October, well before winter arrived in Minnesota.

© Copyright 2017 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Minnesotans remember the Holocaust in traveling exhibit June 23, 2014

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I READ IT IN THEIR STORIES. Courage. Hope. Strength. Fortitude. Survival.

I see it in the lines that etch deep into their faces, in their piercing eyes, in their hands. Courage. Hope. Strength. Fortitude. Survival.

Panels showcase portraits and stories.

Panels showcase portraits and stories.

They are men and women, now living in Minnesota, who survived the Holocaust.

On a recent Saturday, in Owatonna, a rural Minnesota community far removed from the horrible history of Nazis and concentration camps and atrocities against Jews, I was introduced to brave souls who endured almost unimaginable experiences to emerge with spirits still strong, hope alive, lives to live.

Holocaust survivor Leo Weiss.

Holocaust survivor Leo Weiss.

Eva, Ella, Sam, Walter, Paula, Anne, Joe, Trudy, Leo…

The Steele County History Center, 1700 Austin Road, Owatonna, is hosting "Transfer of Memory" through August 17.

The Steele County History Center, 1700 Austin Road, Owatonna, is hosting “Transfer of Memory” through August 17. Museum admission charges apply.

Thirty-five impressive portraits by photographer David Sherman and accompanying information written by Lili Chester tell the stories of these Holocaust survivors in the traveling exhibit, “Transfer of Memory.” The show, created in partnership with the Jewish Community Relations Council of Minnesota and the Dakotas, will remain at the Steele County History Center until August 17.

Their stories will touch you.

Their stories will touch you.

I’m especially pleased that this exhibit is showing in Owatonna, offering southeastern Minnesota residents like myself the opportunity to view the portraits and read the stories without traveling into the Twin Cities metro.

Panels of portraits and stories define "Transfer of Memory."

Panels of portraits and stories define “Transfer of Memory.”

As I perused the panels of photos, plucking laminated story cards from below the portraits, I found myself immersed in the personal stories of survival and lessons learned. Hands gripped to prevent separation. Warnings given to save lives. Lying about age and religion to save one’s self. Death and marches and sickness. Horrible horrible stories.

Hope in a story.

In their words: hope.

But always hope. Hope and faith and more allowed these individuals to survive such awful atrocities.

I wonder if I would have possessed the willpower to continue on, to overcome, as they did.

Survivor portraits and stories impress.

Survivor portraits and stories impress.

These Holocaust survivors offer not only their experiences, but their introspection. Therein lies the power of this exhibit:

Don’t hate, it is a terrible thing. Everyone is born innocent. There is no reason to hate.—  Eva Gross

The United State presents to me and all our sons and daughter (s) an equal opportunity. Have patience, make an effort and be tolerant.—  Sam Rafowitz

The potential of (evil) is there in all of us if we do not remember the past.—  Lucy Smith

FYI: If you are unable to view this exhibit in person, click here to see the portraits and read the stories online.

Permission was secured from curators Laura Zelle and Susie Greenberg and from photographer David Sherman to use these photos of Sherman’s work and the exhibit quotes published here. Original exhibit photos and text are copyrighted.

 

 

Gathering photos & stories at a Faribault car show June 17, 2013

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An idyllic car show setting in Faribault's TeePee Tonka Park.

An idyllic car show setting in Faribault’s TeePee Tonka Park.

SUNDAY MARKED A PERFECT summer-like day here in southeastern Minnesota, ideal for strolling the Faribault Heritage Days Car Show in TeePee Tonka Park.

I love the tree-lined setting along the banks of the Straight River where, on this afternoon, wisps of cottonwood tree seed fluff wafted through the air while I meandered among the vintage vehicles. Fifties music set a period mood.

The truck marking the show.

The truck marking the show.

Although my knowledge of cars is limited, my automotive machinist husband is like a walking encyclopedia of information. He approaches car shows from an automotive perspective. I view them from photographic and storytelling angles.

This ambulance transported patients to the Tracy Hospital and to other hospitals, including in Sioux Falls, S.D.

This ambulance transported patients to the Tracy Hospital and to other hospitals, including in Sioux Falls, S.D.

For example, why would someone like Kurt Halverson of Owatonna own a 1977 ambulance used by the City of Tracy from 1981-1989 and prior to that, Fergus Falls?

The words that caught my attention on this 1977 ambulance.

The words that caught my attention on this 1977 ambulance. Kurt hopes to drive the ambulance in Tracy’s annual community celebration, Boxcar Days, in September. He recently received an old Tracy ambulance jacket from the Rev. Homer Dobson,pastor at his grandfather’s church.

I was drawn to this particular vehicle by the words “Tracy Ambulance” posted on side windows. (I wrote about Tracy, 25 miles from my hometown, last week on the 45th anniversary of a killer tornado there on June 13, 1968. Click here and then click here to read those posts.)

Kurt, a former EMT, always wanted to own an ambulance. When the Tracy emergency vehicle came up for sale, he jumped at the chance to purchase it. His grandpa lived in the Tracy area, so he knows this small town in southwestern Minnesota well. Owning Tracy’s ambulance is a sentimental connection, he says.

Besides that, this particular ambulance fits into a 7-foot standard garage.

A peek inside Kurt's ambulance. At one time the funeral home in Tracy, like those in many small towns, provided ambulance service.

A peek inside Kurt’s ambulance. At one time the funeral home in Tracy, like those in many small towns, provided ambulance service. Kurt belongs to The Professional Car Society, Northland Chapter.

His geographic familiarity with the Tracy area surprised me. I find few people around here who know towns west of Mankato. We instantly connected as we talked about Tracy and he praised Tracy native Scott Thoma’s book, Out of the Blue, about the killer F5 tornado.

Our connection, though, extended beyond Tracy. Turns out Kurt attended Waseca High School with my niece, Tara, and knows my sister, Lanae. Small world.

For me, these car shows are always more about the stories than about the cars…

BONUS PHOTOS (with more to come in a future post):

a 1930s Ford owned, if I remember correctly, by Kurt's father-in-law.

A 1930s Ford owned, if I remember correctly, by Kurt’s father-in-law.

Because I like to photograph details...

Because I like to photograph details…

On the front of a Road Runner car.

On the front of a Road Runner car.

Lots of trophies to be awarded.

Lots of trophies to be awarded.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Friday night at the car wash January 19, 2013

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HE LEANED ACROSS the front seat of the car, not to kiss me, but to spray Windex onto the passenger side windshield and then wipe the glass dry with a paper towel.

After 30 ½ years of marriage, this is Friday night—a date at a local car wash.

Not that my husband invited me along or even remotely suggested that this might be a date. But at the last minute I decided the car wash would make for an interesting photo shoot. Randy knows me well. He didn’t even question me or roll his eyes.

My first side view shot of the car wash, taken from the adjoining Kwik Trip gas station.

My first side view shot of the car wash, taken from the adjacent Kwik Trip gas station.

While he tended to gassing up the car, I strolled over to the car wash to shoot some exterior scenes before we joined the line of five waiting vehicles. Not bad for a 37-degree January evening topping off an exceptionally warm winter day with temps soaring into the 40s.

When you live in Minnesota, you have to jump on warm weather like this to wash away the destructive road salt that clings to vehicles. A sign at the car wash even states the business will close when temps dip to 10 degrees.

And we all know, because we’ve been hearing for days now from weather forecasters, that Minnesota is headed into the deep freeze. Wind chill advisories have already been issued for parts of the state. Strong winds, combined with air temperatures, will make the outdoor temp feel like 25 to 30 degrees below zero.

We’ve heard repeated warnings about frostbite and hypothermia and the need to protect our skin.

I tell you this to emphasize to those of you who live in much warmer locales and cannot fathom such extreme cold, why Minnesotans would wait in line at a car wash on a 37-degree evening.

While Randy and I waited, he fiddled with his cell phone, inputting the number to an area radio station. He’s good at music trivia or being the whatever number caller, having recently won tickets to a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert and years ago a trip to the Bahamas and the chance to win $1 million (which he did not win).

Waiting in line at the car wash, our car is on the left.

Waiting in line at the car wash, our car is on the left.

At this point, I stepped briefly from the car to scope out photo ops and shoot a few frames, hoping the other motorists wouldn’t roll down their windows and question me.

Back inside the car, we chatted a bit—about what I can’t remember—and Randy cleaned the interior windshield and eventually the garage door rose, the car ahead began exiting and my spouse directed our car inside.

Now you might think that in the privacy of the enclosed car wash, this could have been a date-date. But, nope, I was too busy photographing the art.

You perhaps see simply a car. I see art in this photo-edited image.

You perhaps see simply a car. I see art in this photo-edited image.

Yes, more car wash art.

More car wash art.

Not just water spraying on the windshield, but abstract art.

Not just water spraying onto the windshield, but abstract art.

Nearing the end of the car wash art exhibit.

Nearing the end of the car wash art exhibit.

Exiting the car wash (exhibit).

Exiting the car wash (exhibit).

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections on 2012 from Minnesota Prairie Roots December 31, 2012

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ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS present a time to reflect. So on this, the final day of 2012, I’ve considered the past year, what’s been most significant in my personal life and for me as a blogger.

My 18-year-old son, shortly before my husband and I left him in his dorm room on the campus of North Dakota State University four weeks ago.

Our 18-year-old son, shortly before my husband and I left him in his dorm room on the campus of North Dakota State University in mid-August.

This year marked a time of transition for my husband and me from the full-time job of parenting, a position we’ve held for 26 consecutive years, to becoming empty-nesters. The youngest of our three children, our son, started college in August. The past 4 ½ months have been a period of adapting for all of us. But it’s gone well. Although I miss our boy, the letting go process has been easier than I thought. And for our son, even though he would not admit it, I think he’s missed us a tad more than he imagined.

Audrey and Randy, May 15, 1982

My husband, Randy, and me on our wedding day, May 15, 1982.

Prior to that, in May, Randy and I celebrated 30 years of marriage. I cannot even fathom how three decades have soared past, snap, like that. But I am thankful to have lived them with the man I cherish and love. That reminds me of this little story from yesterday, when we were shopping for window treatments. The associate assisting us complimented us on how well we were getting along, noting that disagreements between some couples often get so intense he simply needs to step away. Not that Randy and I don’t disagree—we do. But we always manage to work things out.

I love this sweet image of Amber and Marc taken after my son's high school commencement.

I love this sweet image of Amber and Marc taken after my son’s high school commencement.

This year also brought love into the life of our oldest daughter, Amber, who met Marc, now the love of her life. I never realized, until this happened, how happy I would feel as a mother to see my girl so happy.

Some of the guest gathered in the Vesta Community Hall for my mom's 80th birthday party.

Some of the guests gathered in the Vesta Community Hall for my mom’s 80th birthday party open house.

The celebration of my mother’s 80th birthday in April, several weeks before her actual birth date, was also defined by love. My mom is the most kind-hearted person I know. And to see the community hall in my hometown filled with family and friends who came to show her their love filled my heart to overflowing with gratitude. This open house party was the best gift we, her family, could ever have given her, even if the party ended early due to a tornado warning. You can read two posts about the party by clicking here and then clicking here.

During 2012, I continue to be gifted with a faithful and growing readership here at Minnesota Prairie Roots. My blog has been viewed this past year 290,000 times by readers from 186 countries. Such support humbles me. I also am honored, even surprised, that I continue to find success in writing poetry. This has been a good year for me in poetry.

Friends, Nimo Abdi, a sophomore at Faribault High School, left, and Nasteho Farah, a senior.

Friends, Nimo Abdi, a sophomore at Faribault High School, left, and Nasteho Farah, a senior.

Within the realm of writing, specifically here on this blog, I had no difficulty choosing my favorite post of 2012: Yearning for respect & equality, “no matter what color you are.” In that post, I featured photos from the International Festival Faribault and interviews with several teenaged Somali immigrants. It was an especially powerful piece, both in portraits and in the honest and troubling words spoken by these young people who face discrimination in my community. To this day, it hurts my heart to read this post. I’d encourage every single one of you to read or reread that story by clicking here.

The south side of the house roof, reshingled.

The south side of our house roof, reshingled.

The post which drew the most comments, and the most heated comments, this year, Why I am not getting a kitchen redo, totally surprised me. I never expected to hear from so many readers who empathized with our experience related to defective shingles. If you haven’t read that post, click here. However, if you prefer to keep your blood pressure low, skip this story.

Creative freedom of speech

Creative freedom of speech along Interstate 94 in west central Minnesota.

A political post, Driving home a political point along a Minnesota interstate, produced the most views, 3,288 in a single day. Typically I avoid politics. But, when I spotted a limo driven front end first into the ground along Interstate 94 near Alexandria in a statement about the direction in which President Obama is driving this country, I had to post photos. The post was picked up by reddit.com, which generated the high viewership. (Click here to read this post.)

This concludes my review of 2012. It’s been a good year, filled with love, change, constancy and, most definitely, many blessings.

WHAT DEFINED YOUR YEAR?

© Copyright 2012

 

Why I recycle holiday trimmings and cards December 19, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:31 AM
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ONCE THE GIFTS are opened—after we’ve played the steal-the-presents game—gift wrap and trimmings are scooped up in a furious rush to rid the room of rubbish.

And if I’m not quick enough, I miss the opportunity to salvage ribbons and bows, tissue paper and gift bags.

I cannot bear to see these items trashed. My extended family knows this about me and they laugh as I hurry to gather in the goods at our annual holiday get together.

I used festive holiday trim and a card from Christmases past to decorate this gift.

I used festive holiday trim and a card from Christmases past to decorate this gift.

But I was raised right, by a Depression era mother who saved everything. As the eldest daughter in a family of six children, I assumed some of her saver traits, including the recycling of holiday trimmings.

I do not, however, rescue wrapping paper as Mom did so many years ago while a farm wife guarding every penny. She would fold each piece of gift wrap with great care, attempting to remove strips of Scotch tape without ripping the paper. And then she would pack the pretty paper away with the previously used bows to reuse the following Christmas.

Examples of Christmas cards in my stash that could be recycled into gift tags.

Examples of Christmas cards in my stash that could be recycled into gift tags.

Like my mom, I also learned to recycle holiday greeting cards into gift tags. Why not? With a few snips of the scissors, I have a lovely tag to adorn a present.

I like to think, as I’m clipping cards and gathering the pretties ripped from presents, that I am honoring my mother, honoring an entire generation of Americans who saved and scrimped and got by as best they could with what they had.

We could all learn from them.

Long before recycling and going green became trendy buzz words, they already understood the importance of reusing/repurposing.

A recycled ribbon and card grace this package.

A recycled ribbon and card grace this package.

HOW ABOUT YOU? Do you recycle anything from the holidays?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The tale of two princesses and the disappearing jewels December 13, 2012

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ONCE UPON A TIME, in a land far from the kingdom of the Twin Cities, a young princess (in name only) received a royal treasure from her fairy godmother.

The treasure chest of jewels arrived via a rural chariot, a horseless carriage dispatched to deliver correspondence of great importance to those dwelling in the land of Prairieville.

The gift—an elegant card upon which a treasure chest and jewels were imprinted—arrived on the 8th birthday of the Little Princess, or some such birthday of her youth. The aging princess can no longer precisely remember the year.

The Little Princess, whose name was given to her by her fairy godmother’s sister, found within the treasure chest an emerald ring. She was overcome with happiness as she slipped the ring onto her finger. Such beauty she had never known.

She vowed then and there never to remove the ring.

Each morning, the princess would awaken and cast her eyes upon the emerald that graced her finger. The gem sparkled upon her hand and, for the first time, the Little Princess truly felt like a real princess.

Then one afternoon, after the princess had been romping about the farmyard of her peasant family (perhaps in a raucous game of tag with her siblings; she can no longer recall details), she discovered the ring was missing. The king issued a royal decree ordering his rural subjects to hunt for the lost treasure.

The Little Princess joined the futile search. Despite their best efforts, the good people of Prairieville—who scoured the woods and grasses and even the gravel pathways of the land—never found the lost emerald.

Great crocodile tears slipped down the Little Princess’s cheeks and she was overcome with inconsolable sadness.

THE END

Nevaeh's cute, cute holiday painted fingernails.

Nevaeh’s ringless fingers. But look at those adorable nails.

DEAR READERS,

The above tale, which clearly is not a fairy tales because it does not end with “happily ever after,”  is a slightly embellished story from my childhood. I’m not a real princess, you know. Nor was I ever gifted with a genuine emerald.

Recently I was reminded of my cheap, adjustable, but treasured, childhood birthday ring by two incidents.

I was shopping in the jewelry department of a Big Box retailer when I spotted a ginormous emerald, in reality a fake stone on a piece of costume jewelry. I was giddy, I tell you, just giddy. I slipped the jewel onto my finger and remembered that lost ring from long ago before placing the band back on its display hook.

Later that day, while attending Family Game Night at my church, 6-year-old Nevaeh raced up to her mother in tears. She had, she lamented, lost her ring while drying her hands in the bathroom. Billie Jo soothed her daughter and assured her the ring could be replaced.

Then I told this sweet princess about the ring I’d seen earlier that day and about the lost ring of my childhood.

At that point, I noticed Nevaeh’s adorable fingernails painted with holiday designs. I decided to distract this sweet princess and asked to photograph her hands.

And so Princess Nevaeh splayed her hands across the kitchen counter in the church fellowship hall, the tears gone, a smile stretching across her face.

THE END

WILL SANTA BRING Nevaeh a new ring for Christmas? Will Santa bring me an emerald (uh, imitation stone) for Christmas? How will these two stories really end? Happily ever after or with two princesses still missing their treasured rings?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Troll tales November 23, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:03 AM
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Norway native Steinar Karlsen carved this troll at the 25th annual 2002 Scandinavian Hjemkomst Festival in Moorhead.

EVER SINCE I WAS a little girl, trolls have held a special fascination for me.

That curiosity and, yes, even a tinge of fear, relate to the storybook, The Three Billy Goats Gruff. In that Norwegian folk tale, three different-sized goats attempt to cross a bridge under which lurks a hungry troll. The smallest goat tricks the troll into waiting for the middle-sized goat which tricks the troll into waiting for the biggest goat which then bucks the troll into the river.

Can you understand how this might both frighten and empower?

This bridge, near Hammond in southeastern Minnesota, is similar in style to the Minnesota River “troll bridge” of my youth. The “troll bridge” along Minnesota Highway 19 near Morton was replaced by a more modern bridge. But the old one, last I traveled that section of roadway, still stands nearby. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo, 2010.)

I always thought of this goat-trolling troll whenever my father steered the family car across the Minnesota River bridge near Morton on our annual trip to “the Cities” to visit relatives. My anxiety level rose ever so slightly as the car curved down Minnesota Highway 19 toward the bridge.

In the back seat, my four siblings and I (the youngest sat up front) and grandpa, packed shoulder to shoulder, curled our fingers into clenched fists, prepared to take on that troll—by pounding with determined ferocity on the interior roof of the car.

My other childhood troll encounter occurred when I turned nine and celebrated my one and only birthday party ever with classmates. One friend gifted me with a wild, pink-haired troll which stood a mere inch or so tall. She, the troll, not the friend, was also a piece of jewelry with a pin attached.

I treasured that troll, still do, because trolls were popular then and I had none. Suddenly, I was just like my classmates; I owned a troll, albeit a teeny one.

A side shot of the two trolls carved by Steinar Karlsen and displayed at the Hjemkomst Center. Since 1990, this artist has created 400-plus life-sized human sculptures and hundreds of animals, birds and sea life.

Imagine how thrilled I was decades later when my girls were preschool and early elementary ages and trolls were back in vogue. I bought them doll-sized trolls to cuddle and families of mini trolls. The bright-haired ogres lined the window in their toy room, their mops of hair bleaching in the morning sun.

Trolls evoke such a mix of memories for me. How about you?

BONUS PHOTOS, just because I have no other category into which to slot these two Hjemkomst Center images, but wanted to share them:

A beautiful and historic mosaic graces a wall in the entry to the Hjemkomst Center.

Next to that troll bench carved by Steinar Karlsen are these flags hung from the balcony railing overlooking an atrium. I couldn’t find any info as to the reason these specific flags are there.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling