Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Oh, glorious Sunday sunshine in southern Minnesota February 3, 2020

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A view of the Cannon River dam, river and surrounding area around Father Slevin and North Alexander Parks in Faribault, on Sunday afternoon. Portions of the river are open and sections iced-over.

 

BLUE STRETCHED WIDE AND FILTERED across the sky accompanied by bright sunshine melting snow and ice, warming backs, dancing across open water.

 

Looking the other direction down the Cannon River from the dam walkway toward the Second Avenue bridge.

 

This weekend brought a welcome end to a nearly 10-day streak of grey skies here in southern Minnesota. And it was glorious.

 

Trees reflect in an open section of the Cannon River next to a frozen section.

 

In multiple conversations, I listened to Minnesotans praise the change in weather, thankful for a respite from winter. I added my own words of gratitude. And, like most everyone, I felt the urgent need to get outdoors, to take in the sunshine we’ve craved. Missed.

 

A lone fisherman angles along the banks of the Cannon River Sunday afternoon.

 

Sunday afternoon, with the temp at 40 degrees, Randy and I followed the recreational trail along the banks of the Cannon River in North Alexander Park. It’s a favorite scenic walking spot in Faribault with no worry of packed ice or snow.

 

Just across the street, the Faribault Public Schools’ football stadium.

 

Occasionally I paused to take photos, my fingers quickly chilling in temps that felt more like 30 degrees given the 15 mph wind. Only when we curved into the shelter of evergreen trees did the cutting wind cease.

 

Photographed in the Ace Hardware parking lot, on our way to North Alexander Park, a woman pushing a stroller.

 

Fishing in the Cannon River on February 2, 2020.

 

From a distance, I observed this jogger attired in shorts as he ran along Second Avenue.

 

Everywhere, people were out and about—fishing from the shore of the Cannon, walking the trail, pushing babies in strollers, jogging (in shorts), pedaling on a fat tire bike, chipping ice from driveways, walking dogs…

 

Looking toward the dam, the shelter in Father Slevin Park and the Faribault Woolen Mill in the distance.

 

Water rushes over the dam.

 

Geese walk across the ice near the Woolen Mill dam.

 

And on the river, water churned over the dam, geese walked on ice and ducks swam in open water.

 

Suspended from a light post along Second Avenue, a relatively new banner defines this as Faribault’s Mill District as part of a branding campaign by the Faribault Area Chamber of Commerce & Tourism.

 

Photographed from the riverside trail, the Second Avenue bridge and Mill District banner.

 

The historic Faribault Woolen Mill (right), with its signature smokestack, located along the banks of the Cannon River.

 

Nearby, vehicles dodged ponding water on busy Second Avenue in this area now bannered as the Mill District. The historic Faribault Woolen Mill sits here along the Cannon.

I love this spot, especially on a lovely sunshine-filled Sunday afternoon in February.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Here comes the sun, if but for a moment October 11, 2018

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That’s the sun, photographed through my office window, there between the utility lines.

 

WEDNESDAY MORNING AT 9:30 I’m in my office writing. And then I notice it, the sun blazing a spotlight through the grey sky.

I rise to pull down the pleated shade. And then I stop, realizing the stupidity of my automatic reaction to keep the sun out of my eyes.

We have not seen the sun here in southeastern Minnesota in days. Like eight straight. Or maybe it’s ten. Too many, anyway. Rather, our world rains grey, literally, autumn leaves spiraling, their beauty mostly lost in the gloom.

This is not the autumn I covet, I love, I desire in my favorite of seasons. When, I wonder, will the weather shift? When will the cobalt blue skies of October replace the steel grey? When will the rain stop?

But sometimes you need to grab those moments of light, as I did Wednesday morning. I paused in my writing to watch the orb of light that shown brilliant—if only for 15 minutes—between layers of grey clouds to the east.

 

Blue sky. Finally. And briefly.

 

Then I stepped outside and looked the other direction, toward treetops of autumn showcased against blue sky. Blue. Not grey.

And I thought of all those people in Florida and other parts of the South enduring the weather wrath of Hurricane Michael. And the people in the Dakotas and northern Minnesota already dealing with snow. And I thought, really, I may not like the grey and wet and cold. But, in true Minnesota lingo, I thought, “It could be worse.” Much worse.

TELL ME: What’s the weather like in your part of the country/world?

© Copyright 2018 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A cross on my carpet August 7, 2016

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LIKE ME, I’M CERTAIN you’ve had those moments when you’ve stopped, halted by an unexpected scene.

That happened shortly before 9 a.m. Friday as I passed through the living room toward my home office. I noticed shafts of sunlight slanting across the beige carpet in front of the La-Z-Boy recliner.

 

Cross on carpet 004 - Copy

 

The house had been dark and shuttered for days due to high heat and humidity. But on this blessedly cool early August morning, the windows and front interior door were flung wide, though the drapes were still partially-closed. Through those gaps and openings, the bright morning sun angled a cross onto the floor.

I stood there for a moment taking in the scene before grabbing my camera from my office. I needed to document this, to visually imprint the comfort I felt in seeing that cross—a reminder for me of my Christian faith and the hope I have in Christ. He is always with me. In difficult times and in joyful times.

Not every sermon comes from the pulpit. On this beautiful morning, a message came in slants of sunshine upon my carpet.

FYI: Click here to listen to my current favorite Christian song. Eye of the Storm, by Ryan Stevenson.

© Copyright 2016 Audrey Kletscher Helbling