A view from atop the prairie at River Bend Nature Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
WITH TREES MOSTLY STRIPPED of leaves, a visible shift in seasons has begun. But look closer, beyond the trees, and even more signs of a transition toward winter appear.
A weathered trail marker. I love these rustic, handcrafted signs placed throughout River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
I’ve found the much-beloved River Bend Nature Center in Faribault an ideal landscape in which to hike, observe and photograph the nuances of seasons.
A view of River Bend from the overlook shows the interpretative center and adjoining parking lot plus the surrounding woods. The nature center covers some 823 acres. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
So on a recent unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon, my husband, Randy, and I hiked on the north end of River Bend, first to the overlook providing a sweeping view of the land below. And then we returned to the woods before aiming through swampland toward the prairie.
A splash of color among more muted and golden tones. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
All along our route, I paused, photographed and appreciated.
Sumac. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
Beauty, for me, is not splashy, but rather subtle. A dried seed pod. The rusty hue of sumac clumps. Red leaves twined to twigs.
Luna, riding in a bicycle basket, wears goggles to protect her eyes from trailside branches, her owner said. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
In the distance, leaves still clung to a few trees in a stubborn refusal to let go of autumn.
Towering swampland grasses sway in the wind. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
The wind blew fierce on this first day of November, making photography a challenge at times. Yet it was the wind which made for the best part of the hike—the dance of the tall grasses. I’ve always been captivated by the way the wind gracefully bends grass stems. It’s poetic and lovely and mesmerizing.
Towering grasses dwarf Randy as he hikes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
I stood next to the towering swamp grasses—as high as 10 feet—for a while, studying the angle of the sun edging toward sunset, watching the slender, grain-heavy stems bend, bow, lean into one another.
A view on a portion of the Prairie Loop Trail leading to the top of a hill.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
And then I headed up hill to the prairie, low gray clouds sweeping the sky, a hint of blue remaining. I thought of Willa Cather who wrote of the prairie. And Laura Ingalls Wilder who lived on, and also wrote of, the prairie. And my own prairie upbringing which influences my work as a creative.
A drying cattail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
Fungi. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
Randy found an interesting stone along a trail. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
Much beauty exists here beyond a first glimpse. A puff-tipped cattail. Fungi laddering a tree trunk. A stone found on a trail.
A biker and his dog head up a trail toward the overlook on the north side of River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2026)
On this balmy, for November in Minnesota, afternoon, hikers and bikers migrated to River Bend, some alone, others in pairs, some with their dogs. All were enjoying a day that felt like a fond farewell from autumn. The wind and warmth kissed us as we embraced this loveliest of lingering autumnal days.
I stand beside the DFL Get Out the Vote bus touring Minnesota days before the election. I’m holding a campaign sign for Minnesota Secretary of State Steve Simon, a DFLer on the ballot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling)
ONLY DAYS BEFORE the mid-term elections, the big blue bus rolled into Faribault in a DFL-led Get Out the Vote effort. I was among those who gathered to listen to candidates talk not only about their goals, but also about the importance of this election. There’s no denying this election is especially important given the current federal leadership in this country and the very real threats to our democracy.
As I listened to Minnesota Secretary of State Steve Simon share that his office is preparing for possible election interference by the federal government, reality hit. Hard. Yes, I’ve heard this, read this, intellectually understood this. But still, to hear this spoken aloud by the man in charge of elections in Minnesota took me back to the January 6 insurrection and the current threats by a President hell-bent on suppressing/manipulating voting, even bribing Americans with the promise of $5,000 payments if Republicans retain control of Congress. Really? Buying votes? Not mine.
The DFL Get Out the Vote Bus pulled into Faribault late Thursday afternoon for an hour-long stop to fire up voters. Minnesota consistently has the highest voter turn-out in the country. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
I struggle to understand how anyone can support any candidate aligned with the President. So, yes, I am voting blue. Right down the ballot.
Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison addresses the crowd in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
I am concerned about the rising costs of everything from fuel to healthcare to groceries. I am concerned about tariffs. I am concerned about the unnecessary war in Iran. I am concerned about the United States’ damaged relationships on a global scale. I am concerned about an immigration enforcement program that has targeted not the worst of the worse, but also those who are here legally. I am concerned about Americans shot to death on the streets of Minneapolis by agents of their own government. I am concerned about the blatant racism and hatred spewed by our President and echoed by too many of his own party. I am concerned about the name-calling, the lies, the deception, the calls for violence. I am concerned about efforts to suppress free speech and freedom of the press. I am concerned about those who are losing their healthcare or unable to afford health insurance. I am concerned about those who live on the margins, who need our help, our compassion, our support. I am concerned about…the list is seemingly endless.
Parked along busy Minnesota State Highway 60/Fourth Street in Faribault, the DFL bus was highly-visible during its Thursday stop. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
Perhaps I care too much. But I’ve always been someone to stand up for what is right and good and decent. I champion for those who are bullied, probably because I was bullied as a middle school student and even as an adult.
Lieutenant Governor candidate Ben Schierer speaks for his ticket. He’s running with Senator Amy Klobuchar in the gubernatorial race. In the foreground, supporters of Minnesota House District 19A candidate Martha Brown listen. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
I refuse to remain silent, becoming somewhat of a political activist in the past year, if you call protesting weekly and planting my corner yard with DFL campaign signs political activism. My vote is also my voice.
A message posted on a house in Dundas, Minnesota, in August 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2020)
Here are some motivating quotes on voting that resonate with me:
Voting is the foundation stone of political action.—Civil Rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
The vote is precious. It is almost sacred. It is the most powerful non-violent tool we have in a democracy.—U.S. Representative John Lewis.
We cannot be silent when our rights and our democracy are under attack. The way we win is by standing together—and by making our voices heard in every election.—Massachusetts Governor Maura Healey
Elections belong to the people. It’s their decision. If they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will just have to sit on their blisters.—President Abraham Lincoln.
Your vote matters. Even if you disagree with me. Vote.
Loving words once posted in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
IN LIFE, SOME MOMENTS stand out. Not for their WOW factor, but rather in the power of simplicity. A smile. A loving word. An unexpected act of kindness. In recent days, I’ve experienced such feel-good moments.
IN MY KITCHEN
The most personal came in a family group hug as our eldest daughter and her family were about to leave after a Saturday afternoon with us. Randy and the two grandkids were hugging each other goodbye when 10-year-old Izzy called for a group hug. So the six of us circled by the kitchen door, wrapped our arms around each other and held each other tight. It was the best moment of the entire day.
Imade this sign last winter during the height of Operation Metro Surge. I pulled it from my basement stash, refreshed the letters and carried it on the protest line again last Saturday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo by Randy Helbling)
ON THE PROTEST LINE
A week later, while standing on the protest line in Faribault holding a resurrected sign with the message to “love each other,” I locked eyes with a passenger in a passing car. She happened to be a Somali woman. Upon seeing my sign, her face spread into a wide smile. This is one of the reasons I protest—to stand up for those who’ve been targeted, hated on, including by our own president.
At that same protest, several middle school-aged boys, walking past on the opposite side of the street and who happened to be Hispanic, waved and smiled in support of our messages. I can only imagine how good it felt for those youth and the Somali woman to see that others care enough to publicly stand up for them. That “love each other” sign is now displayed in my front living room for all to see who drive along my busy residential street.
AT THE GROCERY STORE
While grocery shopping hours after the protest, I spotted a woman wearing a “Kindness Matters” floral tee. I paused to tell her how much I appreciated the message on her shirt. Kindness does matter. And expressing kindness in words ranks high with me.
This is the photo that includes my friend Sharon and her family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2026)
IN A TEXT
My friend Sharon expressed such kindness to me via text after I shared a recent photo I took of her and her family at the Faribault Fall Festival. In part, Sharon wrote, “You do a lot for Faribault with your articles and photos. So uplifting.” I try. I try to follow the lessons learned from my kind, compassionate and caring mom. A strong woman of faith, she gave back to community through her extensive volunteerism all the while raising and teaching six children the importance of always speaking kindly of others.
A sign posted at the Bell Church last Friday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
AT BELL CHURCH
Kindness comes in actions, too. While on a fall color drive several days ago, Randy and I stopped at St. Peter Bell Lutheran Church, rural Waterville. We’ve always wanted to see inside the church. So when we noticed several vehicles parked outside, we stopped. Inside the fellowship hall, three women were prepping for a Smoked Pork Chop Dinner. Trudy paused in her work and took us into the sanctuary. Not only was that kind of her, but, as we were about to leave, she gave us a bag holding two servings of pumpkin ice cream made by the pastor for the fundraising dinner. Trudy didn’t expect anything in return, but Randy gave her a small donation anyway. Later, we enjoyed the flavor of fall in that delicious pumpkin ice cream at Richter Woods County Park in rural Montgomery.
ON FACEBOOK
Yesterday brought another sweet moment when Randy showed me a Facebook photo of our two eldest grandchildren, ages seven and 10, walking down the sidewalk, arms wrapped around each other. Unbeknownst to them, their mom, following behind, snapped the image. “Best buds,” she labeled the sibling photo.
Scott Hoffbeck’s motorcycle lies in the street by our house following an August 26 crash. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2026)
AT THE POLICE STATION
Finally, at 5 p.m. this Thursday, October 15, the Faribault Police Department is recognizing Randy and also Paloma Sanchez for their actions following a late August car-motorcycle crash by our house that severely-injured the motorcyclist. The two likely helped save the life of Scott “Scooter” Hoffbeck, according to the responding police officer. They tended to and stayed with Scott until he was taken via ambulance directly to the local airport and airlifted to St. Mary’s Hospital in Rochester. He remained in ICU for several weeks, but is now back in Faribault recovering at a local care center. Scott hopes to attend the public event in the second floor meeting room of the police station. (You are welcome to attend.) More memorable moments are yet to come in that anticipated emotional reunion and in the recognition of two individuals who truly showed what it means to “love your neighbor” by helping a stranger lying severely-injured in the street.
Moments matter. Love each other. In words. And actions.
A button in a banned books display at Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault, encourages patrons to find and read a book that has been banned somewhere, not locally. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
“LET BOOKS BE. Protect the freedom to read.” Those statements theme this year’s nationwide October 4-10 Banned Books Week. That event focuses on informing all of us about book censorship attempts in libraries, schools and bookstores.
This is the main banned book display showcased on shelves between the check-out and information desks at Buckham. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
Locally, Buckham Memorial Library is spotlighting Banned Books Week in two displays. There I read a list of 10 far-fetched reasons for banning books, according to the American Library Association. For example: Shel Silverstein’s A Light in the Attic “encourages children to break dishes so they don’t have to dry them.” Or “the basket carried by Little Red Riding Hood contained a bottle of wine, which condones the use of alcohol” from the story by Jacob and Wilhelm K. Grimm. Or “if there is a possibility that something might be controversial, then why not eliminate it?,” referencing Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown.
On the book ban list because “kids might break dishes.” (Book cover sourced online)
As I read down the list of ridiculous reasons for banning books, my jaw dropped. I laughed at the absurdity of it all. Really?
This display shows books that have been banned elsewhere. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
Because I’m a writer, an avid reader, a journalism school graduate who has worked as a newspaper reporter, and a strong supporter of First Amendment rights, I hold zero tolerance for banning books. If someone objects to the content of a book, then don’t read it. But don’t tell me I can’t read it. And certainly don’t pull it from a public space.
The Faribault library’s displays on banned books will be up through October. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
With kids, adults should consider age, maturity and the consequences of withholding a book from a child in their life. If I was a tween or adolescent and my parents or school banned a book, I’d probably try really hard to find a copy. Banning books from public libraries and schools is not a decision I can support. Ever.
I believe that knowledge is power. I’d rather a child be informed than uninformed. I’d rather a child learn from a reliable information source, such as a book, than “learn” from peers, social media or the internet. Or be kept in the dark. Kids are way smarter, know way more, than we adults realize.
Popular books that have been banned in some places. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
All of those thoughts flitted through my mind as I viewed the two Banned Books Week displays at the Faribault library. Those displays featured books like Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou and The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.
Freebies at Buckham Memorial Library promote the freedom to read. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2026)
I fingered the free LET BOOKS BE swag—bookmarks, buttons, wristbands, stickers—grabbing a few to show that I’m not OK with banning books.
We need only look at history, to Nazi Germany, to understand the devastating consequences of banning books. Consider May 1933, when 40,000 people gathered in the Berlin town square and burned some 20,000 books deemed as “un-German.” That is perhaps the most extreme example of book banning ever.
“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” wrote George Santayana in The Life of Reason in 1905, years before the book burnings in Nazi Germany. Now more than ever with attacks on the free press and on First Amendment rights, it’s important and necessary that we, and I don’t mean just librarians and teachers, stand strong against censorship, against book bannings.
A book that some have wanted banned. (Book cover sourced online)
To suggest that The Diary of Anne Frank should be censored because “it is a real ‘downer’” is among the far-fetched reasons given for banning a book on the ALA list I read at my local library. Imagine suppressing the voice of that remarkable teenager by pulling her diary from library shelves. I cannot fathom the thought of such absurdity, of Anne’s story left unread because someone objected. “LET BOOKS BE. Protect the freedom to read.”
Breezy Point is a popular resort destination in the Brainerd Lakes area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
TRAVELING NORTH OF THE TWIN CITIES from Faribault toward cabin and lake country, I’ve noticed a distinct difference in roadside billboards and businesses along the way. And that’s a reflection of how the southern part of Minnesota, where I live, differs from areas around Mille Lacs Lake, Brainerd and farther north.
Deer hunting requires processors like this one promoted on a billboard along U.S. Highway 169 in the Milaca area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
While I come from a region rich in farmland and mostly wide open spaces with some lakes, that changes to the dense woods and pristine water of “Up North,” a decidedly Minnesotan term for a region of cabins, vacation rentals, lakeside homes and all things woodsy outdoors.
Woods hug State Highway 371 north of Jenkins. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
For nearly 10 years now, Randy and I have headed north along U.S. Highway 169 once or twice annually to a family member’s cabin south of Crosslake in Crow Wing County. And it is along that route, outside Zimmerman, that the land begins to shift from urban to a more rugged, rural, outdoorsy feel.
A float plane flies over Horseshoe Lake during a poker run. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Here I begin to see signs for boats, beer and guns. Some of that reflects the hunting culture, others the recreational opportunities offered by the area’s many lakes. Fishing. Boating. Tubing. Even float planes flying in for a beer and brats poker run.
Mille Lacs Lake just south of Garrison. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Mille Lacs Lake, which hugs a section of highway 169, is especially impressive for someone like me who grew up on the prairie, mostly absent of lakes. I feel somewhat unsettled looking across the vast expanse of water with no distant shoreline visible. Mille Lacs, at 132,516 acres, is Minnesota’s second largest inland lake.
In Nisswa, an ice cream parlor taps into the Paul Bunyan and Babe legend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
There’s a lot of water, a lot of woods Up North, where Paul Bunyan is comfortably at home among the pines. Businesses play off the fictional legendary lumberjack and his side kick, Babe the Blue Ox.
The appropriately-named A Pine Restaurant near Jenkins. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Log cabin and A-frame style buildings, which would seem mostly out of place in southern Minnesota, blend seamlessly into the landscape here. The look is signature northwoods. Cozy. Comfortable. Often set against a backdrop of trees.
Logged lumber stacked along Minnesota State Highway 371 south of Hackensack. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Stacks of logged trees and campfire wood for sale frequent roadsides.
A welcome sign on my brother-in-law and sister-in-law’s lake home south of Crosslake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Life feels more laid back Up North. Or maybe that’s because I arrive with the perspective of a visitor, someone who comes here to relax, to get away from everyday life. Whatever, this part of the North Star state feels different than southern Minnesota.
A lakeside cabin west of Hackensack. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Here, rather than acres of corn and soybeans, acres of thick woods prevail with narrow roads cutting pathways to lakeside cabins, resorts, homes.
The start of an evening campfire along the shore of Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Here, Up North at the cabin, if I get up early enough, I can drink my morning coffee lakeside as the sun rises over Horseshoe Lake. Or listen to the haunting echo of loons. Or relax lakeside in the evening around a campfire.
A loon rises and flaps its wings on Horseshoe Lake.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
Last trip north in mid-September, I didn’t want to leave. I dreaded heading south into heavy metro traffic, the speed, the chaos erasing the peace I carried within me. I knew work, in the form of an unfinished house project, awaited us.
The Hairy Mosquito Trading Company along U.S. Highway 169near Milaca. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2026)
As we drove home, past the leaping deer statue in Deerwood, the deer processing billboards along the highway, the signs and art of The Hairy Mosquito Trading Company, the landscape began to change. Farms and fields. Abundant roadside businesses. More housing.
Traffic volume increased as we neared the Twin Cities. Busy, busy, busy. Oh, so busy. All the way to Faribault, even south of the metro along Interstate 35, vehicles zoomed.
A Faribault firefighter rings a bell at the September 11, 2025, commemoration at the fire station. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2025)
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AFTER the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on America, that event remains, for me, as close as my memory, writing and photos. As close as the stories retold annually. As close as the local commemoration held each September to mark this American tragedy.
On the campus of Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota, a plaque honors alumnus Ann N. Nelson, who died on 9/11 in the World Trade Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
September 11, was, indeed, tragic. In the thousands of lives lost. In the sense of security shattered. In the trauma inflicted on all of us old enough to remember.
This young girl was not even alive when 9/11 happened. But here she is at the 2025 anniversary commemoration at the Faribault Fire Hall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2025)
Some were not yet born. Some were too young to remember. But for others like my mom, 9/11 marked a second monumental moment in American history. Shortly after the 2001 attacks, she compared September 11 to the 1945 attack on Pearl Harbor 60 years earlier. Mom was only nine then, an impressionable kid with no understanding that Hawaii was an ocean away from Minnesota and not, as she thought, several towns distant from her home. I could still hear the lingering fear in her voice even six decades later.
My son drew this picture of a plane aimed at the twin towers a year after 9/11 for a school assignment. A then-third grader in a Christian school, he needed to think of a time when it was hard to trust God. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted graphic)
I often wonder if my young son, just seven at the time of 9/11, understood the distance separating us from death and destruction in New York City, Washington DC and Shanksville, Pennsylvania. He was home sick from school that morning when my husband, Randy, called to tell me about the first plane slamming into the World Trade Center. I turned on my television to witness the second plane hitting the second tower.
I recall thinking how surreal this all seemed. How was this possible? What was happening? My eyes remained riveted to the TV screen.
I reconstructed a tower using the same blocks my son and his friend used on September 11, 2001, to duplicate what they saw on television. These are also the same airplanes they flew into the tower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
On the living room floor, my son and his friend, whom I was caring for that day, played. Soon they were stacking wooden blocks, blasting toy metal airplanes into the tall towers. Blocks scattered across the carpet.
I should have been the responsible mom and caregiver and switched off the TV. But I couldn’t. So I tried to explain to the boys the reality of what we were all seeing without scaring them. Was that even possible when I, as an adult, could not fathom the seemingly impossible?
Faribault firefighters paid special tribute to fallen New York firefighters on a memorial sign posted at the fire station and photographed in 2011. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
The passage of 25 years dims the sharpness of those early impressions. But I remember feeling deeply unsettled. Scared. Could the Mall of America, a symbol of American capitalism an hour from my southern Minnesota home, be the next target? Anything seemed possible.
In the early evening of that fateful day, I recall looking skyward, searching for planes. There were none. They’d all been grounded.
I remember listening to President George W. Bush address the nation, reassuring all of us. In part, he said, “Terrorist attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of America. These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve.”
In remembrance of 9/11, an American flag hangs over a highway in Hastings, Minnesota, on September 11, 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
On that day and subsequent days, I felt a strong sense of unity among Americans. We were united in shock, in grief, in determination, in resolve to stand strong as a country. It was remarkable really, the way we stood together in singular purpose of defending democracy.
I wish now, 25 years later, that we could reclaim that sense of unity. Not through another tragedy, but rather through an understanding that we are all human, that life is precious, that we are all interconnected no matter who we are or where we live in the United States of America.
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TELL ME: What are your memories of 9/11? I’d like to hear your stories from that day.
While in Willmar in west central Minnesota earlier this summer, I found a bench covered in ceramic tiles. Community members painted 600 tiles for eight benches as part of the public arts project, “Sit with Me.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2026)
WORDS MATTER. And, as a wordsmith, I find myself especially drawn to words that uplift. Encouraging words exist everywhere in everyday life, if we look and listen for them.
I photographed these positive stickers on a car parked at an outdoor concert at Little Prairie United Methodist Church, rural Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
Read them in a book. See them on a window or bumper sticker. Find them on a painted stone. Overhear them in a conversation. Speak them.
To use words in a positive way holds tremendous power. Likewise, to use words in a negative way can cause hurt that runs deep and destructive.
Among the many positive stickers on this car parked at a Little Prairie United Methodist Church outdoor concert was “see the good.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
Choose your words wisely. Be kind. Listen. Speak lovingly. Show compassion and care in words and actions. Strive to do good. Look for the best in others.
And if you must correct, counter or disagree, then do so in the gentlest of ways. Be respectful. That is much more effective than anger, accusations and fiery words that inflame.
Just looking at this sticker on a car window made me happy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2026)
We all live in this world together. We are all connected. And as such, let’s remember our humanity, our commonalities, that which builds up rather than breaks down. See the good in one another. Choose love and kindness. Embrace happiness. Live not selfishly, but with concern, care and compassion for others.
This photo of markers outside Content Bookstore in Northfield reminds me that we are all different, all individuals, yet living together on one planet. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2026)
This, my friends, is possible. And it starts with each of us, individually.
A beautiful floral-themed LOVE mural in Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WHEN WE CONNECT, when we give of ourselves, beautiful things happen.
Several months ago, I was the recipient of an unexpected gift. Hours later, I was the giver.
Such moments make life joyful and meaningful, causing us to pause and consider how much our words and our actions matter. For we are, if anything, all alike in our basic humanity. We need each other. We hold the power within ourselves to make a positive difference in the lives of others.
Ann did exactly that for me. I was out protesting, as I am nearly every Saturday morning in Faribault, when Ann showed up with a brown paper gift bag. A little background: Ann lived up the hill from me many decades ago and we’ve since bumped into each other occasionally about town. This winter we reconnected on the protest line.
My friend Ann, center, in her flower power sweater at the March No Kings Day protest in Faribault. Another No Kings Day protest is set for 11 a.m.-noon on Sunday, June 14, outside the Rice County government services building in Faribault. It’s part of a nationwide event on June 14. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2026)
At the third No Kings Day protest in March, Ann arrived in a vivid 1960s/1970s vintage vibe sweater she’d crocheted. I loved her flower power sweater so much that I blurted, “I need one!” Of course, I really didn’t expect Ann to craft a sweater for me. But she suggested I talk to her again in the fall, when she had more time for crocheting.
The flower power tote Ann crocheted for me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2026)
Fast forward a month and there was Ann holding that gift bag toward me on the protest line. “I made something for you,” she said. Inside I found not a flower power sweater, but a handcrafted flower power tote bag. Ann’s unexpected gift brought me nearly to tears as I considered the hours she spent crocheting, crafting something she knew I would appreciate and love. And I do.
Ann apologized that it wasn’t a sweater, explaining that she’d made several already and couldn’t tackle another. That didn’t matter to me. I never expected a sweater. So to receive this surprise from Ann, who is an incredibly strong, kind, compassionate and caring woman, meant a great deal to me. I felt enveloped in the warmth of her kindness and love.
Faribault area farm-fresh strawberries. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Hours later, I extended kindness to a shopper in the produce section of a local grocery store. When I commented on the price of strawberries, Pam (not her real name) and I commiserated over the high cost of groceries and everything in general. That led to a political discussion and venting from both of us about the current administration, the war in Iran and more. I invited my new friend to protest with me on Saturday mornings.
But Pam can’t. She’s a caregiver for her disabled husband. It’s hard for her to leave him, even to shop for groceries. Pam shared more, which I will keep confidential. But it was enough for me to offer her encouragement and to acknowledge the challenges she faces as a caregiver. Her husband was having an especially difficult day, which weighed heavy on Pam. I could see that she needed affirmation, acknowledgment of her feelings, and support.
Encouragement I received from a friend in a mini card sent years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I could offer all of that to Pam as I, too, have been a short-term caregiver. I didn’t tell her that. This was Pam’s story, not mine. But I tried to uplift her. “Can I hug you?” I eventually asked. Pam accepted my offer. And then we embraced, not in a superficial pat-pat on the back way, but in a tight hug that held the emotional depth of two women who understand the importance of human connections.
Tears brimmed her eyes and mine when Pam told me we were meant to meet that afternoon in the produce department of a local grocery store. I agreed. The cost of strawberries jump-started our conversation. But humanity and my genuine concern for Pam took us beyond casual conversation to a memorable moment. To a hug. Warm and genuine and real. A gift to both of us.
Twenty years ago an ambulance took my son to the Faribault hospital after he was struck by a car while crossing the street. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
SHE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND, the mother said, how anyone could drive away, leaving her son lying in the road. I don’t understand either.
Twenty years ago to the date, May 12, 2006, my then 12-year-old son was also struck by a vehicle while walking to his school bus stop along Willow Street less than a block from our Faribault home. That driver, too, left the scene.
Neither of the boys was seriously injured. My son suffered a broken bone in his hand, bump on his head, possible rib fracture and scrapes. The teen from Fridley suffered scratches and skid marks across his body, according to a media report.
But we all experienced trauma, compounded by the drivers of the vehicles who drove away. Drivers who left our sons lying in the street. Drivers who failed to show the decency and compassion to stop. Drivers who, for whatever reason, decided to continue on their way while our boys, our families, dealt with the fall-out of their actions and decisions.
I understand the anger of the Fridley mom. I felt the same 20 years ago. While time has mostly erased that anger, the questions remain. Who? Why? I would like to ask the driver, “How could you simply drive away, go about your morning, your day, your life as if nothing had happened, as if you had not just hit a child and left him lying on the side of the street?”
Despite a description of the vehicle as a blue 4-door, possibly a Chevy Cavalier or Corsica; a $1,000 reward (which is no longer valid); and investigative efforts by Faribault police, the driver was never found. Twenty years after this crime, I wonder if that driver carries any guilt.
I carry the memory of that day, fully aware that the results could have been much worse. Likewise, the mom in Fridley realizes the same. She is only in the early stages of dealing with her anger, her trauma, her questions. Twenty years removed from the hit-and-run involving my son, all three of those issues remain, although lessened by the passage of time, by the gratitude I feel of still having my son.
A photo of me with my mom taken several years before her death in 2022. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo by Randy Helbling)
AS MY FIFTH MOTHER’S DAY without my mom approaches, I’m thinking of her, missing her, remembering her.
She lived a long life, living until nearly ninety, something none of us expected given her heart issues. Several times we were called to her hospital bedside to say goodbye. I remember one instance when Mom was not expected to make it through the night. The next morning she woke up much-improved and told us, “I guess God wasn’t ready for this stubborn old lady.”
I’ll never forget that. But I would argue that Mom was not stubborn. She was kind, caring, compassionate, loving and patient. With six children, she had to be patient. I raised three children and understand the patience required of mothers.
We all hold memories of our moms—positive, negative and otherwise. Moms, like all of us, are imperfect. But they try. They do their best.
And sometimes they leave us a gift that offers glimpses into their lives. My mom left a stack of notebooks journaling her life from 1947-2014 with a few years missing. These are not diaries with personal feelings and thoughts expressed, but rather a documentation of daily life.
I treasure these notebooks filled with her handwritten observations and notes about life in rural southwestern Minnesota. Hard work filled her days. I pulled out her stenographer’s notebook dated 70 years ago to learn what she was doing in the 10 days before my birth.
Even into her senior years, Mom was still working, supervising a family horseradish-making event and then counting jars of the condiment. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2012)
There was the usual washing clothes in the Maytag wringer washer, mending, housecleaning, baking and preparing meals. But Mom also picked grapes with my dad, made grape juice the next day and the following day made 32 jars of grape jelly and 18½ quarts of tomato juice. And she was only days away from delivering me.
The day before I was born, Mom dusted floors, baked bread and cherry nut cake, took 13 dozen eggs into town and then celebrated her wedding anniversary with her in-laws. I’m tired simply reading that list of work she accomplished while nine months pregnant.
At 3 a.m. the next morning, Mom awoke in labor and arrived at the Redwood Falls hospital at 4:20 a.m., giving birth to 8 lb 12 oz. me 36 minutes later. That’s cutting it close, in my opinion. But when you go into labor in the early morning, need to get your one-year-old son to his grandparents’ house, and then travel 20 miles to the hospital, well, the time lapse seems reasonable.
The only photo I have of my parents, Elvern and Arlene, with me as a baby. My dad is holding my oldest brother, Doug. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo)
Six days after my birth, Mom returned home. I should note here that on her fifth day in the hospital, Mom wrote, “Days are plenty long.” I suppose for a woman used to being busy all the time, lying around proved difficult. But she should have enjoyed the respite from work while she could.
Shortly, Mom was back in full work mode, not only caring for a newborn and a one-year-old and doing other routine household chores, but also feeding a crew of men picking corn on the farm for several days running.
Oh, how I admire this generation of Minnesota farm women who fed and cared for their families and others without the modern conveniences of today. No automatic washer, dryer, dishwasher, microwave. No bathroom or phone in our old farmhouse. Food came mostly from the farm, not the grocery store. And that meant gardening and putting up produce.
A sample entry from Mom’s journals. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I’m thankful my mom found time to journal daily. Even if her entries were only several lines long, she apparently thought this documentation important. And I suppose in farming it was, allowing her and my dad to look back on the previous year’s weather, planting and harvesting progress, and such. But I think, too, writing in those spiral bound notebooks gave her a creative outlet and time for herself.
My mom saved everything, including this Mother’s Day card I made for her in elementary school. I cut a flower from a seed catalog to create the front of this card. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted image)
Mother’s Day offers a time to reflect on motherhood. Most give selflessly, love unconditionally, do the best they can. Mine did. And she left, too, her words chronicling everyday life as a mother and as a farm wife. As a writer I cherish this gift, not only on Mother’s Day, but always.
Reflecting on the power of words August 24, 2026
Tags: commentary, encouragement, kindness, Minnesota, positive words, reflections, thoughts, uplifting words, window stickers, words, wordsmith
WORDS MATTER. And, as a wordsmith, I find myself especially drawn to words that uplift. Encouraging words exist everywhere in everyday life, if we look and listen for them.
Read them in a book. See them on a window or bumper sticker. Find them on a painted stone. Overhear them in a conversation. Speak them.
To use words in a positive way holds tremendous power. Likewise, to use words in a negative way can cause hurt that runs deep and destructive.
Choose your words wisely. Be kind. Listen. Speak lovingly. Show compassion and care in words and actions. Strive to do good. Look for the best in others.
And if you must correct, counter or disagree, then do so in the gentlest of ways. Be respectful. That is much more effective than anger, accusations and fiery words that inflame.
We all live in this world together. We are all connected. And as such, let’s remember our humanity, our commonalities, that which builds up rather than breaks down. See the good in one another. Choose love and kindness. Embrace happiness. Live not selfishly, but with concern, care and compassion for others.
This, my friends, is possible. And it starts with each of us, individually.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling