Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Reflecting on the life of Barbara Walters, from a Minnesota journalist’s perspective January 4, 2023

The cover of Walters’ book, published in 1970. (Photo credit: Amazon)

WHEN NEWS BROKE that broadcast journalist Barbara Walters died on Friday at the age of 93, I reacted with disbelief. I didn’t think she was 93, older than my mom would have been if she was still living.

Once I got over that surprise, I began to reflect on Walters’ career as a journalist. As an experienced journalist myself, albeit in print journalism, I connect on a professional level.

BLAZING THE WAY FOR WOMEN

I have always admired Walters, called “a trailblazer” in her field. The description fits. She blazed the way for women in a profession dominated by men. This was true for many women of her time, not just those in journalism. Even I, nearly 30 years her junior, experienced challenges as a female newspaper reporter in the late 1970s and early 1980s. I often felt the sense that men, especially those in positions of power, did not like me. They ignored me, tried to intimidate me, pressured me not to report what had been said at a public meeting. I never caved.

I felt fortunate to have a publisher/editor who backed me up every time, who supported, encouraged and mentored me in my first job at a rural Minnesota weekly. I hope, expect, Walters had the same behind-the-scenes support because some male co-workers didn’t hide their disdain for her. When I watched a clip of her co-anchor dismissively addressing her on the ABC Evening News, I cringed. That Walters maintained her composure is admirable.

SHE DID HER HOMEWORK

There are many reasons to admire Walters. She had a way with interviewees that prompted them to open up to her. Part of that came from being well-prepared. She did her homework—researched backgrounds and prepared questions (written on index cards) well in advance. I followed that same preparatory process for interviews. It works. I relied on my advanced list of questions, my listening skills, my copious note-taking (no recording an interview ever) and my observations to get a story.

Walters never backed down. She asked the tough questions. She perfected the art of the interview. To watch her interviews, especially those from her “The Barbara Walters Special(s)”, is to observe a gifted journalist. She ended each interview with an open-ended opportunity to add what may have been missed in her questioning. I did the same. We were thorough, an indication of the perfectionist trait we share.

THE LESSER-KNOWN FACTS ABOUT WALTERS

In recent days I learned other facts about Walters that reveal her personal side. She learned patience and empathy from her older sister Jackie, who had “a mental disability” (I’m uncertain what that means), Walters once said. She named her daughter Jackie (whom she adopted, following multiple miscarriages) in honor of her sister.

And one final thing. Walters sent handwritten thank you notes and other cards. I do, too. She understood, and I do also, the value in taking time to express gratitude, in the power of the word, whether written or spoken.

Walters leaves a legacy that stretches beyond her trailblazing the way for female journalists. She leaves a legacy, too, of kindness.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting on July-December 2022 December 31, 2022

AS I CONTINUE MY REVIEW of 2022 with a focus on messages found and photographed while out and about in the second half of the year, I hope you will feel moved to reflection and thoughtfulness. Words can hurt or heal. Words can diminish or build up. Words can defeat or encourage. Words are powerful and we need to remember that. Always. In 2023, I wish for more kindness and understanding, more compassion and love, more goodness in the words we speak and write.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)

JULY

Inspirational messages on benches in public spaces always draw my attention and my camera lens. Whether at a nature center, city park, garden or elsewhere, I will pause and read such uplifting quotes. I loved this message on a bench at the Rice County Master Gardeners Teaching Gardens in Faribault. Touching the lives of others in a compassionate and meaningful way is among the greatest legacies one can leave.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2022)

AUGUST

Some time after the Rice County Fair ended, I meandered through the fairgrounds. During that look-around, I found a 4-H food stand sign leaning against a building. Painted with the 4-H theme of hearts, hands, head and health, it offered qualities we should all strive to follow: a heart to greater loyalty, hands to larger service, a head to clear thinking and health to better living. How much better this world would be if we followed the 4-H motto, and supported 4-Hers by dining at “1 great food stand.”

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

SEPTEMBER

September took me back to my native southwestern Minnesota to view an exhibit, “Making Lyon County Home,” at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum in Marshall. Two of my poems, “Hope of a Farmer” and “Ode to my Farm Wife Mother,” are included in that exhibit. To see my writing displayed there along with the work of other noted southwestern Minnesota writers was truly an honor.

A posted quote from poet and essayist Bill Holm speaks to the influence of the land on writers. He notes the difference between the woods eye and the prairie eye. As prairie natives, Holm (now deceased) and I see with prairie eyes. He summarizes well the influence of the prairie on creativity. I’ve always felt the prairie influence in my writing and photography.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2022)

OCTOBER

In a world that today feels more divisive than ever, I am encouraged by messages like the “EVERYONE WELCOME” sign posted in the window of a downtown Faribault business. I like how each colored line layers atop the previous one until the words emerge in a bold black, EVERYONE WELCOME.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2022)

NOVEMBER

I laughed when I read the poster in the window of my local library: Because not everything on the internet is true. Duh? Yet, it’s a message that needs to be posted because too much inaccurate and blatantly false information circulates online and people believe it. That’s the scary part. And then the falsehoods are repeated and they grow into something awful and horrible and detrimental.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2022)

DECEMBER

My chosen words for December come from the Adopt-a-Tree program in Faribault. Businesses, individuals, non-profits and more purchase and decorate trees to give to families in need of a Christmas tree. But before those trees go into homes, they are displayed at Central Park.

One donor focused on suicide crisis intervention and prevention and support for those who have lost loved ones to suicide. Anything that opens the conversation about mental health gets my backing. We need to continue talking about mental health. We need to reduce the stigma.

But beyond conversation, we need to “do.” We need to show care and compassion for those living with mental health struggles. We need to support and encourage them, and those who love them. We desperately need more mental healthcare professionals so people in crisis can access care immediately. Wait times of six weeks or more are unacceptable. Try waiting six weeks if you’re having a heart attack. That’s my comparison.

As we move into 2023, I am hopeful. Hopeful that we can grow more compassionate and kind. Hopeful that I will continue to discover positive messages posted throughout southern Minnesota.

Happy New Year, everyone!

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The magic of believing in Santa December 23, 2022

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This shows part of my small collection of Santas (and one St. Nicholas) and Santa cards displayed on a shelf in my dining room. The Santas on the left and right are candles received from my Aunt Ardyce at a family gift exchange in the 1960s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

MY OLDEST DAUGHTER TEXTED on Wednesday asking for a cookie recipe. The kids, she said, would want to leave a treat for Santa.

Oh, to be young again and believe in an overweight bearded man in a red suit bearing gifts on Christmas. Just to clarify, the 6 ½-year-old granddaughter is questioning Santa’s validity. But Izzy hasn’t vocalized her suspicions to her younger brother, Isaac. I expect she wants to share her doubts, yet is hesitating lest she’s wrong. Who wants to risk Santa not leaving gifts?

There’s something to be said for believing in Santa, no matter your age. Or maybe, more accurately, there’s something to be said for the magic that accompanies believing. So I suppose, in reality, I believe in Santa still.

I believe in the joy he brings. The smiles. The goodness. The laughter. The reminder that, even in difficult times, Santa navigates around life’s obstacles through a dark sky, Rudolph’s nose lighting the way. That’s such a strong visual, one we’ve seen illustrated many times in children’s picture books.

This time of year, so many individuals, organizations, churches and more bring joy. They are, like Santa, the bearers of gifts. Toys, food, clothing, gift cards… They become the magic. But it isn’t all about the tangible “things,” although those are decidedly needed and appreciated. It’s also about what giving means to the recipient. It means someone understands, someone cares, someone sees.

Santa is not fictional. He’s real, in a magical sort of way that is timeless and believable, even to the grandma of a suspicious first grader.

TELL ME: What are your thoughts on Santa?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Missing Mom: Grief during the holidays December 22, 2022

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The photo of my mom and son which prompted my grief to surface. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 1994)

MY FOREFINGER SLID UP the photo toward her face, circling repeatedly as if I could somehow reach into the image and connect with my mom.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was filing through a stash of old photos given to me by a sibling at a family holiday gathering the day prior. I’d never seen the photo taken nearly 29 years ago of Mom cradling my chunky newborn son on her lap. She was 60 then, younger than I am now. The two would eventually form a special bond, despite the geographical distance. When Caleb headed off to college, he would call his grandma occasionally. She shared about the lengthy conversations and I felt thankful. Those phone calls benefited both of them.

Now here I was sitting at my dining room table, caressing that photo, missing the two of them. Mom died in early January. Caleb will, weather permitting, fly into Minnesota later this week for a short stay. I last saw him in early January, shortly before his grandma passed; he couldn’t return for the funeral.

Sunday marked about a year since my final visit with Mom in her long-term care center. That anniversary date and the photo, along with Randy asking me if I was familiar with the song “The Christmas Shoes” (I was) prompted my emotions to swell into full-blown grief. He found the lyrics for me, then played the song about a young boy buying shoes for his dying mother on Christmas Eve. That did it. The lyrics penned by Eddie Carswell and Leonard Ahlstrom in the song released by NewSong in 2000 moved me to tears.

The gingersnap cookies I baked for Mom in 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2020)

I sobbed, tears gushing down my cheeks. “I miss my mom,” I sputtered, the words emerging as my shoulders heaved in sorrow, my breath ragged. I miss her kindness, her smile, her gentle way. I miss baking gingersnap cookies for her, as I did each Christmas because they were her favorite. I miss hugging her and talking to her, even if she couldn’t respond as her health deteriorated. I miss the essence of her, simply being in her presence. I miss sharing with her about her grandchildren, including that baby boy she cuddled. I miss telling her about the next generation, my two grandchildren. I miss sharing about my latest writing projects. She was always my strongest supporter, happy to hear that I’d had another poem or short story published.

A sampling of the many sympathy cards I received when my mom died in January. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2022)

This will be my first Christmas without Mom. Those firsts can be tough. I recognize that I am not alone, that many of you have lost loved ones, too, within the past year. I’m sorry. Grief often has a way of erupting during the holidays when families come together, memories surface. Time softens the edges of grief, yet never fully erases it. And that’s OK. To grieve is to have loved.

THOUGHTS?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Two friends, loss & resilience December 16, 2022

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Light, beautiful light, breaks through the grey as the sun sets. (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited & copyrighted file photo December 2017)

I READ A LOT. News. Books. Obituaries. And sometimes something touches me in a way that makes me want to cry at the cruelty of humanity. That happened this week when I read a tribute on an online obituary for a 45-year-old Faribault-born man.

I didn’t know Allen. I have no idea why he died. But he clearly was loved.

Yet, life wasn’t always easy for him, as his friend Rachel notes in her comment. She remembers the times they hung out on her front porch as teens “talking about nothing at all and everything.” I love the wordage of that remembrance. But then Rachel continues. “He always has (d) a smile and a kind word for everyone even though he was made fun (of) as much as I was.”

In that singular sentence, my heart simply broke. I know Rachel, enough to believe her truth. I admire her for writing that truth, not only about herself, but about the friend she says she will always miss.

Why were people mean to Allen and Rachel? And to me? I, too, was picked on as a child and pre-teen, sometimes even as an adult. Decades later the memories of those hurtful words still sting. Rachel’s comment reveals the same.

Yet, despite the teasing, Allen maintained a positive attitude with his always smile and kind words. That says something for his resilience, his ability to overcome, at least outwardly. He had a good friend in Rachel.

As I reflect on this, I follow the lead of these two friends. If you’ve endured meanness, I think you can go two ways—become just like the bullies or choose to be kind and empathetic. Allen, Rachel and I chose kindness. My compassion for those who are picked on/bullied/teased/made fun of, whether as children or adults, runs deep. In this moment of reading Rachel’s thoughts about Allen, my heart simultaneously breaks and swells with gratitude for these two friends who talked about nothing at all and everything.

THOUGHTS?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Why I still mail Christmas cards December 15, 2022

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Christmas cards land in my mailbox from Minnesota and across the country. (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited and copyrighted photo December 2022)

I NEARLY DIDN’T MAIL Christmas cards this year. Not that I didn’t want to send holiday greetings to family and friends. But the cost of cards and postage stamps caused me to pause and seriously consider. If I only mailed two dozen or so cards, this wouldn’t even be a concern. But I send more than 80, maybe even close to 100. I’m not counting. The expenses add up.

When I purchased $60 in postage stamps recently, the postal clerk thanked me for supporting the post office. I shared that my second daughter is a US mail carrier who works incredibly long hours six days a week delivering mail in Madison, Wisconsin. I hold a new appreciation for these hardworking postal employees like my daughter. She walks 10-12 miles a day on her route, starting in the dark of morning and ending in the dark of mid-evening. I figure we all owe these postal workers some grace, especially during the busy holiday season.

But back to those Christmas cards. The actual cards were another reason I nearly scrapped mailing holiday greetings this year. I couldn’t find any at a reasonable price. Like everything else, the cost of cards has skyrocketed from the usual $3 I pay for 24 cards to $6 – $8 for half as many. Eventually I found some discounted at a Big Box retailer, but still at a higher price than I liked.

The thing is, sending and receiving cards is one of my biggest holiday joys. I love reconnecting with people from my past (college roommates, co-workers, extended family, etc) and staying connected to those who are still very much a part of my life. I love opening envelopes to find family photos, cards and letters. I don’t even care any more if the letters are mass-produced. At least I’m getting updates. Occasionally a handwritten letter arrives, rare treasures in today’s world.

Even I send a photo-copied letter, confined to half a page. It’s not that I don’t have more to write. I do. But, again, I’m thinking cost. Ink is expensive. I also realize people are busy and don’t necessarily want to read a two-page recap of 2022. So I hit the highlights in an edited version of my life.

It’s always interesting to see what others write in their holiday letters. I like humor and storytelling. I dislike lengthy lists of accomplishments and travelogues that go on and on. I begin to feel like my life is rather boring and unaccomplished when I read such scripts. That said, it’s OK to include both, just in a balanced way.

All my Christmas cards are in the mail. I finished this holiday task in a full card signing, letter folding, address writing, postage stamp sticking, envelope licking blitz over the weekend. And now I wait for my mailbox to fill with holiday greetings, one of my greatest joys of the season.

TELL ME: Do you mail Christmas cards/letters/photos? Why or why not?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hearing horses’ hooves during the holidays December 9, 2022

A horse-drawn wagon rounds the corner from a side street onto Central Avenue during Winterfest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

LAST WEEK THURSDAY EVENING, I hurried down the sidewalk in pursuit of horse-drawn wagons along Faribault’s Central Avenue. I hoped to catch a few photos, realizing the challenges of night photography with a moving target and a new-to-me camera.

Those beautiful horses up close. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

I try to be in the moment also, noticing details so I can convey the experience in words. But mostly on this evening I focused on catching up to those horses without falling on occasionally snow-packed and slippery sidewalks. It wasn’t easy. Hurry with caution.

And while I hastened, I felt the cold nipping my exposed fingers. Another hazard of winter photography in Minnesota. I own mittens that flip open to reveal partially-gloved fingers. But on this evening, those were stuffed inside my coat.

The horse-drawn wagon, one of two, giving free rides on a Winterfest evening. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

In the end, I got some photos. None clear. But I rather like the blurred images, which convey a sense of movement. At one point during the chase, I was nearly slammed into by a man exiting a restaurant. It wasn’t intentional. I was walking close to the building to avoid snow and he happened to exit at the exact time I passed by.

Almost back to the starting point at Buckham Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

The whole chasing-the-horses episode seems a misadventure. I should have prepared better, planned ahead, given myself more time to photograph this Winterfest event before I had to be elsewhere. But I didn’t. I expect many of you are feeling like me, somewhat overwhelmed by all you need to get done during the holidays. Shop. Bake. Write out Christmas cards. Attend holiday events. It’s a lot.

But too often we put this pressure on ourselves. We don’t have to do it all. We can choose to slow down, to hear the clomp of horses’ hooves on pavement, to hear the jingle of bells on harnesses and, yes, even to feel the bite of cold on our fingers.

A banner in downtown Faribault recognizes Winterfest sponsors last week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

Enjoy a slow-paced December weekend.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Beyond simply Christmas trees December 6, 2022

A nutcracker ornament nestles in a Christmas Tree at Faribault’s Central Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

WHENEVER I FEEL DISCOURAGED by disparaging attitudes in my community, I need only shift my focus to change my mindset. So many people in Faribault are doing really good things to help each other in a time when individuals and families are struggling. Never is that more evident than during the holiday season.

Some of the 47 trees edging the sidewalk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

Buckham West, where parks & rec is based, donated a tree (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)
Love this elf tree topper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

One example of community generosity is currently displayed at Central Park, where 47 decorated Christmas trees line the sidewalk along Second Avenue. These are more than simply trees adding a festive flair to Faribault. These are trees purchased and decorated by non-profits, businesses, service organizations and more through the city Parks and Recreation Department’s Adopt a Tree Program.

In the distance, to the far left is St. Vincent de Paul. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

The city works with local non-profit St. Vincent de Paul, just across the street from the park, to give the trees to families in need. This Thursday, December 8, the trees come down for distribution to those selected to receive this bit of holiday cheer.

The Lion’s Club is a community service focused orgnization. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)
Stars shine light and hope, here in a tree topper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo Decmeber 2022)
Many local businesses, like Affinity Plus, donated trees. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

As I view it, these donated trees stretch beyond decorating homes that would otherwise be without Christmas trees. These trees are about giving hope. These trees are about showing care, compassion and love. Both donors and recipients likely experience those feelings. A sense of community connection flourishes.

Sponsors of this tree focus on mental health, specifically suicide prevention and supporting survivors. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

In these assuredly tough economic and divisive times, we need, more than ever, to be there for one another. To see the humanity in each other, to respect one another, to support and care for one another. To connect as a community.

A gnome tops a tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)
Looking at the trees toward the south. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)
The variety of ornaments, including this shiny reindeer, is impressive. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

Only several years into Adopt a Tree, the program is growing with 15 more trees than in 2021. Such generosity of spirit touches me, shows me that the Faribault community cares. For that I feel grateful.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting on Alexander Faribault, connecting past & present December 2, 2022

The home of town founder Alexander Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2017)

ON SATURDAY, THE HOME of Faribault’s founder, Alexander Faribault, opens for its 15th annual Christmas open house. The event features the 1853 house decorated for the holidays in the French-Canadian style. Faribault was of French-Canadian and Dakota descent.

The Faribaults’ dining room set for the holidays during the 2017 Christmas open house. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2017)

To walk through the rooms of this historic home is to feel the presence of the Faribault family, including wife Mary Elizabeth Graham and their children. The Faribaults lived here only a few years before moving to a large brick mansion on the bluffs overlooking the Straight River. With 10 children, I expect they needed more space than the wood-frame house provided.

An overview of Alexander Faribault’s gravesite at Calvary Cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2020)

Across town several miles to the west atop a hill overlooking the countryside on the edge of Faribault, the life of Alexander Faribault comes full circle. It is here, in Calvary Cemetery, that this fur trader, this friend of the Dakota, this town founder, this family man, is buried.

A memorial to Alexander Faribault stands at the Calvary Cemetery entrance. The birth date here differs from the one on Faribault’s tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2020)

In April 2020, I visited this cemetery for the first time specifically looking for Faribault’s gravesite. I found it along with a memorial marker honoring him at the graveyard’s entrance.

Memorial marker words up close. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2020)

Race or creed did not color his judgments, the marker states in part. That seems to match what I’ve read about Alexander Faribault. Both his mother and wife were of Dakota heritage, thus he and his children were, too. Alexander, who traded with and befriended the Dakota, later sheltered some of them on his land. Government treaties removed indigenous peoples from their land, including in current-day Faribault. Alexander Faribault served as an interpreter in the signing of regional treaties given his knowledge of the Dakota language and culture. I wonder if he felt conflicted by how the government treated the Dakota.

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. Faribault artist Ivan Whillock created this sculpture which sits atop the Bea Duncan Memorial Fountain. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Today, 216 years after Faribault was born on November 28, 1806, an awareness and acknowledgment that indigenous peoples were the first inhabitants of this area is rising. Long before fur traders like Faribault set up trading posts in the region, the Dakota lived here, hunted here, fished here, raised their families here, called this place home.

This shows a portion of an in-ground marker for Alexander Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2020)

When I consider the friendships forged among fur traders and the Dakota, I think of the Faribault community today and those who call this place home. This city truly is a melting pot of cultures and peoples. I celebrate that. Some day I hope we can all, like our town founder, view each other through a clear lens without the filter of race or creed coloring judgment.

A holiday greeting from Alexander Faribault displayed at a past Christmas open house. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FYI: The Alexander Faribault House Christmas Open House is from 11 am- 3 pm Saturday, December 3, at 12 First Avenue Northeast, Faribault. The event is free and is part of this weekend’s Winterfest celebration in Faribault.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In small ways, we can make a positive difference November 22, 2022

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Photographed several months ago in Pine Island, this scene epitomizes love and care. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

I’VE FELT IN A RATHER reflective mood recently. Perhaps it’s the shift in seasons. Perhaps it’s the approach of Thanksgiving. Perhaps it’s the deep concern I hold for those who are struggling. In reality, all three and more contribute to these present feelings.

November—with shortened daylight, colder temps and a landscape devoid of color—always brings a noticeable change within me. I prefer snuggling under a fleece throw with a good book in the evenings. I feel more cocooned, not as connected. That’s not necessarily negative, just different.

But what doesn’t change is my awareness that these months of family-centered celebrations can be really hard for some. Not everyone will gather with those held dearest. Geographical distance, death, illness and more separate. I, for one, seldom have my entire family together on holidays given distance and work schedules. Yes, that can be tough when others share about all of their loved ones back home. I’ve learned to feel grateful for the family I do see.

A welcoming message spotted in a downtown Faribault business. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2022)

I’ve found also that focusing on others goes a long way in creating a mindset of care and compassion. A lot of people, at least in my circle, are dealing with a lot right now. Death. Illness. Job loss. Financial struggles. It’s almost overwhelming, the amount of need, the grief, the pain, the trauma.

I can’t fix things, but I can be there in meaningful ways.

This inspiring message on a business in downtown Pine Island uplifted me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

We have this capacity, each of us, to make a difference in this world. Not necessarily on a grand scale. But in small ways that touch individuals in our communities, our families, among our friends and beyond. Something as simple as opening a door for a stranger; mailing an encouraging handwritten note; treating people with kindness and respect; dropping off a gift card or a bag of groceries; calling; and listening can make a big impact on someone.

My mom, Arlene, who died in January, taught me the importance of caring for others. As a mother of six, she always put her children first. Beyond our farmhouse, she did the same within her community, volunteering at church, blood drives, veterans-related groups and with other organizations. She left a legacy of love, faith and compassion.

We can all learn a lot from the Arlenes of this world.

Whenever I’m out and about, I feel especially grateful when witnessing the goodness of people. One of those moments came in early September while in Pine Island. Near the Hardware Hank, I watched two women, presumably mother and daughter, walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. I nearly cried at observing such love, care and compassion.

A welcoming message on Just Food Co-op in Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

I celebrate, too, when I see welcoming signs posted at businesses or on homes.

This loving inscription is posted at the State Public School for Dependent and Neglected Children’s Cemetery in Owatonna. The school (orphanage) was open from 1886-1945. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

Even a message of love imprinted in stone at a cemetery touches me. When I intentionally look for the positive, I see it, hear it, feel it. There truly is more good than bad in this world if we allow the light to break through the grey and outshine the darkness.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling