A HOPE Christmas ornament, which is too heavy to hang on the tree. So I hang it on a drawer knob. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2024)
HOPE. It’s a word that holds expectations, the promise of something better. And it’s one of my favorite words.
Today, Christmas Day, my hope is that you are celebrating in a way that is joyful and meaningful to you. Perhaps you are with friends or family. Maybe you are alone, far from loved ones. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I hope you understand how much you are cherished. Every. Single. One. Of you.
The older I grow, the more I realize how much we need each other, how connections make life so much richer, better.
Through my writing and photography, I’ve connected with people I would not have otherwise “met.” I have forged friendships across the country that have widened my world to new places, new perspectives, new experiences. What a blessing.
Hope and blessings fill my life. Today, Christmas Day, as I celebrate Christ’s birth as a woman of faith, I also celebrate you and what you mean to me. You are a gift.
Merry Christmas to each of you! May hope and joy fill your day.
This limestone sculpture by Thomas Miller depicts a Dakota warrior. It sits across from Reconciliation Park in Mankato at the Blue Earth County Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
FORGIVE EVERYONE EVERYTHING.
Powerful words on a bench at the Dakota 38 Memorial in Reconciliation Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
Those uppercase engraved block words, white against red on a stone bench at the Dakota 38 Memorial in the heart of downtown Mankato at Reconciliation Park, hold the strength of a people who really have no reason to forgive. But they choose to do so. And in forgiveness comes healing.
The names of the 38 Dakota men hung in Mankato are listed on the Dakota 38 Memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
December 26 marks the date in 1862 when 38 Dakota men were hung near this site along the Minnesota River in America’s largest mass execution. Originally, 303 Dakota were sentenced to death following “trials” (the quotes are intentional) after the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862. President Abraham Lincoln reviewed the list of those sentenced to death, approving the hanging of thirty-eight. Thousands gathered to watch the execution on the day after Christmas 162 years ago.
Up close, names of the Dakota who were hung. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
This history I learned early on, but only from a White perspective and only because of my roots in southwestern Minnesota, at the epicenter of the war. I expect many Americans, including many Minnesotans, to this day know nothing of this conflict that killed hundreds of Whites and Dakota. Internment and exile of the Dakota followed. Native Peoples suffered because of the atrocities before and after the war.
A massive limestone sculpture of a white buffalo in Reconciliation Park represents the spiritual survival of the Dakota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
This is history I’d encourage everyone to study. And not just from a one-sided perspective. I won’t pretend that I am fully-informed. I’m not. I do, though, have a much better understanding than I did growing up. I’ve read, listened, learned. I know of stolen land, broken treaties and promises. Starvation. Injustices. Demeaning words like those attributed to a trader who told starving Dakota to “eat grass.” Andrew Myrick was later reportedly found dead, his mouth stuffed with grass.
A sign in Reconciliation Park directs visitors to the many sites around Mankato focused on reconciliation and remembrance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
But back to those three words on that stone bench in Mankato: FORGIVE EVERYONE EVERYTHING. The Dakota truly have no reason to forgive. But they choose to do so. I’ve learned that forgiveness is part of Dakota culture and beliefs.
An overview of the location of Reconciliation Park along Riverfront Drive in Mankato, along the Minnesota River and across from the public library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
In the month of December, the attitude of forgiveness extends beyond words in stone to an annual horseback ride honoring the 38+2 (two more Dakota were sentenced to death two years later). This year, two rides—The Makatoh Reconciliation & Healing Horse Ride and The Dakota Exile Ride, the first originating in South Dakota, the other in Nebraska—will end on December 26 with gatherings at Reconciliation Park and the Blue Earth County Library, located across from each other.
Just down the street from Reconciliation Park, murals on the Ardent Mills grain silos celebrate the diversity of Mankato, including that of the Dakota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
These rides focus on educating, remembering, honoring, healing and forgiving. Five powerful verbs when connected with the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862.
Katherine Hughes’ poem ends with the word “forgiveness.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
The poem “Reconcile,” written by Katherine Hughes and posted in Reconciliation Park, closes with this powerful verse: Hope for a future/When memories remain/Balanced by forgiveness.
A Dakota prayer in the park ends with the word “reconciliation.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)
FORGIVE EVERYONE EVERYTHING.
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FYI: Here’s the schedule for the December 26 events. A community gathering is set for 9 am-10 am at Reconciliation Park and the library. Horseback riders arrive at 10 a.m. A ceremony in the park takes place from 10 am-11:30 am. From 11:30 am-1 pm, a healing circle will happen at the library with discussion surrounding the events of December 26, 1862, covering the past, present and future. A community meal for the horseback riders, who rode hundreds of miles to Mankato, follows.
I’ve been to Madison, Wisconsin, many times, taken many photos there. This is one of my favorites, taken along a bike trail in the Atwood Neighborhood on Madison’s east side. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
SHORTLY BEFORE I SAT down to write a blog post earlier this afternoon about not mailing Christmas cards this year, I checked my local newspaper’s website and read this headline: “5 dead, others injured in a shooting at a private Christian school in Wisconsin.” Then I clicked on the story.
In the second paragraph, I read that the shooting happened in Madison, Wisconsin, where my second daughter, who is eight months pregnant, and her husband live. A moment of fear pulsed through me. Miranda delivers mail in Madison. In reality, the likelihood of her working a mail route near Abundant Life Christian School at the time of the shooting seemed slim. Yet, I didn’t know where the school is located or where her routes take her. And it is a lack of information that can lead the mind to places you don’t want to go.
So I googled and found that the school sits on Madison’s east side, an area familiar to me since my son lived and worked on the east side of the capitol city for awhile. Next, I texted Miranda on a family group thread. Yes, during her work day. She had just learned of the shooting. And, yes, she was OK, and delivers mail on the west, not the east, side of the city. But, she noted, a co-worker’s child attends Abundant Life.
My heart broke. Not only for that child and parent, but for all the children, families and staff connected to this K-12 school along East Buckeye Road. They have been forever traumatized.
The initial report of five dead, as shared by law enforcement, proved incorrect. As I write this, a teacher, a teenage student and the teen suspect are dead. Six other students were injured, two with life-threatening injuries. My heart hurts for those families, especially.
As I watched an afternoon news conference led by Madison Police Chief Shon F. Barnes, himself a former teacher, tears trickled down my face. Grief rose. And the words of the chief and other officials who stood before the media sounded all too familiar. Just different faces, different voices in a different city on a different date in time.
“Enough is enough,” said the police chief in three succinct words that likely summarize how many of us are collectively feeling. Gun violence in our schools, anywhere, is unacceptable.
On this day, answers to many questions about the shooting in Madison remain unknown as the investigation begins. But I think we can all agree that something needs to change. I don’t have answers on how to prevent this from happening again in some other school. And it seems no one else really does either as these shootings continue. But it’s not for a lack of trying—by controlling access to schools, by offering more resources to help troubled students, by pushing for gun reform…
On this Monday, only 10 days before Christmas, the people of Madison are experiencing the unthinkable tragedy of a school shooting. They are a community collectively reeling and grieving, searching for answers. I feel for my daughter’s co-worker, for her child and for every single student, teacher, staff and family connected to Abundant Life Christian School.
Suddenly the fact that I’m not sending out Christmas cards this year just doesn’t seem all that important.
I created this Thanksgiving display in a stoneware bowl. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
GRATITUDE. It’s a word that gets tossed around a lot this week as we observe Thanksgiving. And that’s good as we all need to pause, reflect and focus on reasons to feel thankful.
Health and family often top that list. And I’m staying in that lane of feeling especially grateful this year for restoration of my health and for my dear family—my husband, three adult children, two grandchildren and sons-in-law. And the soon-to-be-born second grandson.
This map shows the geographical distance separating my family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
While my core family is scattered from Boston to eastern Wisconsin to Minnesota, we are never far apart, thanks to smartphones. So, yes, this mom and grandma, who once lived in the days of no phone service (not even a landline) and of typewriters, is especially grateful for technology that allows us to stay easily connected.
Still, that does not make up for in-person time together as a family. It doesn’t happen often that we are together. But in August, we were. All of us. For the annual Helbling family reunion. If ever my mama’s heart was full and happy, it was then. The son actually spent several weeks in Minnesota after flying in from Boston for the international unicycling convention in Bemidji and then staying until the reunion. To have that lengthy time with him, whom I typically only see at Christmas, was beyond wonderful. Technology allowed this extended stay as he could work remotely, although he did complain about my slow internet speed.
A sampling of some of the exercises I did while in vestibular rehab therapy at Courage Kenny, Faribault, from April to September 2023. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)
And then there’s my health. This past year marked the year I reclaimed my life after spending 2023 dealing with issues caused by long haul COVID. I spent six months in vestibular rehab therapy to retrain my brain. I learned to feel comfortable walking without feeling unbalanced. I learned to manage sensory overload (which remains a residual problem). And much more. I shall be forever grateful to my healthcare team, specifically my physical therapist Ryan, and my family for getting me through an incredibly difficult health challenge. My symptoms were debilitating. Few understood then and few understand now what I experienced.
But because of that experience, I’ve been able to encourage and support others who are in the throes of debilitating long haul COVID. I understand. I empathize. And my compassion for them runs deep. This is real and life-changing.
Information about the eye muscle surgery I underwent in Minneapolis under the care of a neuro ophthalmologist. I had this same surgery performed at age four. These are my pre-surgery eyeglasses, without mega prisms. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)
In January, I underwent bilateral strabismus surgery to realign my eyes. Although that surgery failed (as it does up to 20 percent of the time), I remain grateful for one thing—my vision. It’s certainly far from perfect. I still see double if I’m not wearing my prism-heavy prescription eyeglasses. I struggle to tell if photos I am taking or processing are clear. But the bottom line is that I can see. And that is reason to feel grateful. I. Can. See.
This tag of reasons to feel grateful hung on a Gratitude Tree outside the Northfield Public Library in 2019. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In all of the challenges of life, reasons exist to feel thankful. It’s easy enough to fall into complacency and take good health, family, friends and life in general for granted. Don’t. None of those are a given. No matter what, we can choose to feel grateful, even in the midst of struggles. Something positive can come from negative. Life brims with reasons to feel grateful. I am.
Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers! I am grateful for all of you, for your support, for your friendship, for the light you shine in my life.
Blonde brownies baked this morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
I HAVE A LOT ON MY MIND, as I expect many of you do. So this morning I baked blonde brownies. Nothing healthy about this sweet treat. Nothing healthy at all. The brownies are loaded with sugar. Two cups of brown sugar, to be exact. But on this day I don’t care.
(Book cover sourced online)
Today I’m continuing to read A Fever in the Heartland by Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter and author Timothy Egan. If ever there was a book that opened my eyes to American history, this is it. I’ve had to read this book in doses given the heaviness of the topic. Every. Single. Person. Should read this book. The content is relatable to today in many aspects. And that, my friends, is beyond frightening.
Lastly, it’s Friday. The sun is shining brightly. Laundry is drying on the line. And I’m waiting for a friend, who just lost his dog, to stop over for a brownie.
Enjoy your weekend, everyone! Take a walk. Meet a friend. Defiantly bake brownies.
The two Valley Grove churches, including the 1862 limestone church, are edged by a cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
A CEMETERY MAY SEEM an unlikely spot to find inspiration. But that’s exactly what I found in mid October while meandering through Valley Grove Cemetery, rural Nerstrand. The graveyard sits next to the historic Valley Grove churches and rates as one of my favorite peaceful places in Rice County.
In the distance, a colorful tree line backgrounds the cemetery in October. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2024)
Black-eyed susans are among the prairie wildflowers that grow on Valley Grove’s 50 acres. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Stunning oak trees shelter a section of the cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Here, high atop a hill, a vista of fields and farm sites, of woods, of prairie grasses and wildflowers, sings of tranquility. My spirit quiets in the presence of this place. Here I can hear a rooster crowing from afar. Here I can feel the wind on my face. Here I can look into the expansive sky and imagine.
So many great messages on this tombstone. What a gift to the living. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
I can imagine a world of peace, hope, love, kindness. Words lifted from grave markers of the dead and given to the living. If only we choose to accept them and run with them, creating a kinder, gentler world.
The section in the foreground is where I found the words and messages featured here. An 1894 wood-frame church also graces this place. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Simple, basic and powerful words on a tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Poetically beautiful words on a gravestone plaque. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
These words I found within the cemetery. Hope. Help. Peace. Be kind. And many more. Words and messages I needed to read in the discord of today, in these unsettling times. Words that are chiseled onto stone, chosen by loved ones to honor those they loved or perhaps chosen by the dead before their deaths.
Zooming in on those incredibly powerful messages. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
On this day, I contemplated the power of these enduring words and quotes which inspire, encourage, uplift. These words weather storms, stand granite-strong and unchanging here under the Minnesota sky of snow and rain and scorching sun.
A reminder of what we need, especially now. Peace on all levels. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
As I walked in this particular section of the cemetery, I felt gratitude toward those who likely lived the words inscribed upon their tombstones. I would have liked them and the examples they set by living generously, selflessly, compassionately. I would have appreciated how they lived with care, kindness, optimism and so much more. How they helped their neighbor. Loved. Served. Did everything they could to create a better world by their loving words and actions.
And then I found one of my favorite words, hope, on a tombstone. Hope, always hold hope. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
This I found at Valley Grove. Among the tombstones, among the dead. Messages for the living that resonate, that hold wisdom and shine like a billion bright stars piercing the darkness.
I purchased this retro peace tray at an antique shop in St. Charles, MN., in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
PEACE. Sometimes it feels especially elusive. And today, the day before the election (because I am writing this Monday afternoon), peace eludes me. I am so unsettled that I am binge-eating potato chips. I can’t recall the last time I had a bag of potato chips in the house or engaged in this type of eating behavior. This just is not me, someone who tries to eat healthy. But I am stressed.
I hope I feel differently in a few days. Feelings about my personal peace aside, I hope peace washes over the entire nation. We need it.
We need a calming, a break from all the negativity and barrage of craziness (a word I don’t often use and don’t particularly like, but it fits here). We need a return to normalcy and decency and respect.
We need to start caring about one another again, to stop the attacks and finger pointing and all the behavior that spirals us into discord. There’s been way too much bullying, too much name-calling, too many lies, too much degrading and hateful rhetoric. Too much. I want it to end. And I imagine I am not alone in feeling that way.
Peace. I’m talking inner peace. I’m talking peace within families and neighborhoods and schools and communities, where, even if we disagree, we can get along, set aside our differences, listen, compromise, work together.
When I was coming of age in the tumultuous early 1970s, peace was a buzzword. It was everywhere. On protest signs, in fingers flashed, in words spoken, on clothing, in pleas made… Looking back to that time period, I recognize that peace felt elusive then, too. But somehow we found our way back, until we didn’t.
NOTE: As the creator of this blog, I moderate all comments. This post is not meant to spark political sparring, but rather reflects my thoughts and feelings.
This shows a portion of a photo by Steve Somerstein featured in a 2015 exhibit, “Selma to Montgomery, Marching Along the Voting Rights Trail,” at St. Olaf College in Northfield, MN. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo)
FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, I voted early, in person. I waited in line for 30 minutes to cast my ballot. I didn’t mind. And I’m not a patient person. But this, this election, especially, I wanted to ensure that nothing would stop me from voting. Because we never know what life will throw at us at the last minute, I decided voting early was the right choice for me.
Genola City Hall, where I found a sample primary ballot posted on the door in September. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
A woman staffing my polling place shared that “busy” and “a steady stream” have been the norm at this location since absentee/early voting opened in Minnesota. It’s clear that people are invested in this election, more so than any I can ever recall. There’s a lot at stake. And we have a voice in the outcome.
A close-up of the sample primary ballot on the door of the Genola City Hall. Genola is a small town in Morrison County in central Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
My ballot included not only the all important Presidential race, but also voting for those who will represent me in Washington DC, St. Paul and locally (school board, city council, mayor, etc.). There were additional questions on the ballot about a local sales tax and about continuing to fund environmental programs with state lottery monies.
I attended local candidate forums sponsored by the American Association of University Women, read newspaper Q & A’s and more to learn about people and issues on the ballot. The forums proved especially eye-opening. Audience members were able to anonymously submit written questions to the moderator and you can bet I did. People don’t always come across the same in person as they do in print or other media. The value of forums/debates/whatever you want to term them is in the unexpected. Being put on the spot. Hearing questions that may otherwise not have been asked. Listening not only to how a candidate responds, but also observing their body language and interaction with other candidates.
I photographed these ballot instructions inside an historic building at the fall 2024 Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show, rural Dundas, MN. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)
When I went to my polling place, I knew exactly who would get my vote. I felt fully-informed. There was never a question about what’s important to me. I value honesty, integrity, compassion, a candidate who cares and truly represents the people he/she serves. An individual who works for the common good, not for himself/herself and his/her personal agenda and power. An individual who listens, to everyone. An individual who does not degrade others. At the local level, I want someone who keeps politics out of places they don’t belong. I value that. I value truth.
The American and Minnesota state flags fly on the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
I value freedom, democracy, the right to vote my conscience.
Please exercise your right to vote if you haven’t already done so. It’s your responsibility as an American.
NOTE: This post is not meant to spark political debate or discord, but rather to share the importance of voting and what centers my vote. As the creator of this blog, I moderate all comments. The decision whether to publish a comment or not is my choice.
Faribault is home to people from many countries as noted on this interactive map at a past International Festival in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
TWO DAYS. TWO CONVERSATIONS. And I am the richer for meeting Adolfo and Jose and hearing their stories.
I should backtrack a bit and state that for me to strike up conversations with people I don’t know is not unusual. Such interactions widen my world, broaden my understanding and simply help me learn more about others.
It was little Milan, Adolfo’s one-year-old grandson, who initially drew me to pause during a morning walk through Faribault’s Central Park. Adolfo was pushing Milan in an umbrella stroller when Randy and I crossed paths with them. Milan, with his big brown eyes, black hair and radiant smile, is the essence of cuteness. Cute babies and kids are always a reason to stop and chat.
The pair walk through the park every morning as Adolfo cares for Milan while his mom is at work. I don’t recall whether Mom is Adolfo’s daughter or daughter-in-law. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the deep love Adolfo has for family and his willingness to care for his grandson before heading to work in the afternoon.
Kids used markers to create flags from their native countries while attending the local International Festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ESCAPING COMMUNIST VENEZUELA
I asked Adolfo about his background, what brought him to Faribault. He moved here from Orlando to be with family. But he’s originally from Venezuela. His home country, he said, is not a good place to live. The reason: Communism and violence. He left family behind and desperately wants them here, safe in America.
By that time, little Milan was out of his stroller, pushing it, then dropping to the ground, his pants covered in bits of dried leaves, his tiny hands clasping two Matchbox cars. He is close to walking alone. Milan proved a distraction from the deep pain Adolfo obviously feels separated from his family still in Venezuela.
“We’re so happy to have you here,” I told my new friend. And I genuinely meant that as my heart hurt for this man who has endured so much already.
“God bless you,” Adolfo said, as he made the sign of the cross, held his hands to his heart.
Adolfo repeated our names several times, clearly an effort on his part to remember them. I repeated his, too, and Milan’s, and wished I knew Spanish. Adolfo spoke Spanish to Milan, who is being raised bilingual. What a gift to that little boy with the big brown eyes, with the loving family, with the Grandpa whom I consider kind, caring, loving and brave.
Children gather at Faribault’s Central Park to break a pinata during an International Festival. This photo placed first in a local photo contest and remains one of my favorite. I love that it reflects the diversity of Faribault and shows kids simply being kids with no thought of ethnicity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
FINDING A WELCOMING NEW HOME IN RURAL MINNESOTA
A day later I met Jose, a young man taking his lunch break at a park near Montgomery. He was working there for the Le Sueur County park system. Jose moved to nearby Le Center 15 years ago, having lived in California, Texas and Mexico. Like Adolfo, Jose is grateful to be here, with family. I told him how happy I am to have him living in Minnesota.
It didn’t take long before he opened up about how much he feels welcomed here, how he’s learned to love our four seasons, even winter. Jose shared about learning to drive in winter. And then he recounted being “baptized by black ice.” He walked onto the unseen ice and found himself flailing backwards. This part of Jose’s story included theatrical actions that left all of us laughing.
What a delightful young man. He’s hardworking, loves his family and likes living in a rural area. To hear that he’s found Minnesotans to be friendly pleases me. The reality is that not everyone welcomes individuals like Jose and Adolfo. I do.
I am the richer for having met these two men, whose life experiences and stories are vastly different than mine. Yet, we are the same. We have families and heartaches and hopes and dreams. That commonality connects us. And so does our humanity.
We followed roads west of Faribault toward the Kilkenny and Montgomery areas. I gave up trying to keep track of where we were. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
THE WHEELS KICKED UP DUST as our van moved along back gravel roads in Rice and Le Sueur counties on a recent weekday. Randy and I were on a fall color drive that took us past cornfields and farm sites, past woods and wetlands, past trees blazing orange and those still green.
This farm site sits along Leroy Avenue, just off 160th St. W. between Shieldsville and Kilkenny. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
As we wound our way along winding roads and along straight grids west of Faribault, I felt what I always feel this time of year—a longing for the land. In this season of harvest, this season of leaves coloring the landscape, I yearn to connect with the soil, the earth, the agrarian heritage that roots me.
Corn awaits harvesting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
I miss the land. I miss the roar of combines harvesting corn and soybeans, golden grain spilling into wagons or trucks. I miss the distinct, indescribable scent of autumn rising from fields. I miss all of it. A country drive in October helps ease the heartache of one who grew up on a farm, but left it fifty years ago.
This curving gravel road took us past wooded hillsides and a wetlands restoration area. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
This is the time of year, whether you’re rural, small town or city-raised, to take a drive into the countryside. Off paved roads. Onto gravel routes.
Some treelines were vivid with color, others not. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
I am always drawn to barns rising above the landscape. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
A rural intersection ablaze in color. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Gravel forces a slower pace, offers opportunities to stop and appreciate that which unfolds before you. On this drive, it was the coloring of trees, just beginning, aged farm sites back-dropped by woods or surrounded by fields. Just being here in the rural-ness honored my past, filled my soul.
A Czech church and cemetery west of Montgomery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
And then we paused at an historic country church nestled among cornfields near Montgomery. We walked the expansive cemetery. As I meandered and took photos, I heard the wind rustling the dried corn leaves, a comforting sound in the silence of the land.
Anna and John Frolik are among the early settlers buried at Budejovice. They were born in 1886 and 1887. Their photos adorn their tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
I wondered about the Czech immigrants who settled in the area, built Budejovice Church in 1868. What were their heartaches, their stories, their hopes and dreams? I expect they longed for the Old Country, for the familiarity of home, for the loved ones an ocean away.
This machine shed, surrounded by cornfields, sits just across the gravel road from the church and cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Such thoughts filter through my mind whenever I am among the souls of the departed, my soles touching the land under which they lie buried. I don’t feel sadness as much as a sense of respect for those who came before me, who forged a new life in Minnesota with grit, determination and a whole lot of fortitude.
Cornfields flank a gravel road leading to a colorful treeline. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2024)
Driving the countryside in autumn evokes not only nostalgia and reflection, but also a sense of time passing. Leaves turn color. Crops morph to golden hues, ready for harvest, or already harvested. And dust rises from the land, carried on the wind, coating our van. Miles and miles and miles of gravel roads behind us, we arrive home. I’m exhausted. My shoes are covered in dust. But I feel content. Replenished. I needed this, this country drive that was about much more than viewing fall colors. It was also about filling my soul.
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