Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Faribault: Still rooted in the rural August 18, 2014

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I LOVE THAT I LIVE in a community which, although becoming more and more urban in size, maintains a small town rural feel.

Car Cruise Night in historic downtown Faribault.

Car Cruise Night in historic downtown Faribault.

Faribault presents a charming downtown in its historic buildings and many locally-grown shops.

Occasionally, tractors and combines rumble along the arterial street past my house. Just last week I observed a pick-up pulling a wagon stacked with freshly baled hay.

 

Hay bales in pickup, back view

 

And then the other evening, when pulling into a downtown parking lot for the monthly Faribault Car Cruise Night, I spotted a pick-up truck packed with hay bales.

 

Hay bales in pickup, side view

 

My native prairie farm girl eyes delight in sights like this—reminders that folks still work the land and that Faribault is more than just another city of some 23,000 or so situated along the interstate.

 

Hay bales in pickup, back and side view

 

Despite its growth, my community remains rooted in the rural.

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PLEASE CHECK BACK for photos from two area car shows.

Also, thank you to Red Wing photographer Dan Traun who, through his stunning photography, has taught me to look in unexpected places (like a parking lot or alley) for photo opportunities. I’ve never met Dan, but I admire and have studied his images on his photoblog. I’d encourage you to check out this talented Minnesota photographer’s work by clicking here.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Cherishing the moments of a family reunion August 13, 2014

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The Tom Helbling family gathers at Sportsman's Park, rural Clearwater, Minnesota.

The Tom Helbling family gathers at Sportsman’s Park, rural Clearwater, Minnesota. This is just a small portion of the group.

IN THE BUSYNESS of a family reunion—between the food and the kids running here and there and the reconnecting—it is the moments which define a gathering.

As Meghan helps her Great Uncle Marty open his birthday gift, the two exchange an endearing look.

As Meghan helps her Great Uncle Marty open his birthday gift, the two exchange an endearing look.

Rare one-on-one conversations, a look exchanged,

Cousins Beth, left, and Keira paused for a photo as they scampered through the woods looking for a tree to climb. They never found one they could both ascend.

Cousins Beth, left, and Keira pause for a photo while looking for a tree to climb. They never found one they could both ascend.

friendships reforged… all matter.

The sweet hand of my 18-month-old great nephew, Aston, as he naps in his stroller.

The sweet hand of my 18-month-old great nephew, Aston, as he naps in his stroller.

These are moments that imprint upon the memory, that seal the bonds of family.

The family patriarch, Tom, and his wife, Jan, admired Corey's bike, but could not be persuaded to take a spin.

The family patriarch, Tom, and his wife, Jan, admire Corey’s bike, but could not be persuaded to take a spin.

This past Saturday the Tom and Betty Helbling family, those who could make it, reunited at a park near Clearwater. Many came from nearby while others drove from Michigan, North Dakota and other points south and west in Minnesota.

Celebrating the birthdays of three family members.

Celebrating the birthdays of three family members.

Some were missing, including members of my family from Boston, eastern Wisconsin and St. Paul. Noticeably absent was the brother currently serving in Afghanistan and his wife and son back home in Missouri.

My brother-in-law, Marty, opens his "old fart" birthday gift.

My brother-in-law, Marty, opens his “old fart” birthday gift.

The older I grow, the more I appreciate these reunions with my husband’s family.

I was attempting to photograph my great niece, Katherine, trying on her mom's sunglasses. I finally got that shot. But I also got this one, my favorite for the loving look exchanged between the two.

I was attempting to photograph my great niece, Katherine, trying on her mom’s sunglasses. I finally got that shot. But I also got this one, my favorite for the loving look exchanged between the two.

And the more I find the children so absolutely endearing.

Bennett plops down and plays with his truck among the coolers.

Bennett plops down and plays with his truck and matchbox vehicles among the coolers.

The ball diamond proved a popular spot for the little ones like my great niece, Meghan.

The ball diamond proved a popular spot for the little ones like my great niece, Meghan.

Girl cousins snug up to a kid-sized picnic table to create art.

Girl cousins snug up to a kid-sized picnic table to create art.

They bring joy and smiles and a thankfulness for the blessing of this next generation.

Cousins Meghan, left, Beth and Keira bond over artwork.

Cousins Meghan, left, Beth and Keira bond over artwork.

It is my hope the kids will remember the importance of family and of these reunions.

My great nephew, Cameron, covers third base.

My great nephew, Cameron, covers third base.

Perhaps they will recall scooping balls from a dusty field, tossing pebbles on the slide, creating art on a child-size picnic table, scaling trees and more.

Quiet time drawing with cousins.

Quiet time drawing with cousins.

I will remember their preciousness, the little legs that raced, the hands that drew, the cuteness factor.

Marty, with his birthday gift bottle of whiskey, sports his out-law t-shirt.

Marty, with his birthday gift bottle of whiskey, sports his out-law t-shirt.

I consider how the years fly by and suddenly I am the one with (dyed) grey hair sitting elbow-to-elbow with my brother-in-law who sports a red “out-law” shirt.

A teaching moment for my niece, Kristina, and her son, Aston.

A teaching moment for my niece, Kristina, and her son, Aston.

Where has time gone?

Abandoning the ball field...

Abandoning the ball field…

And why don’t the women who married Helbling brothers have “out-law” shirts or sashes or something?

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

How the 35W bridge collapse changed my view of bridges August 8, 2014

SEVEN YEARS AGO at 6:05 p.m. on August 1, 2007, the 35W bridge in Minneapolis collapsed, killing 13 and injuring 145. It is a moment that all of us who call Minnesota home will remember with a deep sense of sadness.

Crossing the 35W bridge near downtown Minneapolis.

Crossing the 35W bridge near downtown Minneapolis.

Last weekend, my husband and I traveled across the “new” 35W bridge, marked by wavy pillars. I didn’t realize we were on the bridge until I noticed the 30-foot high water symbol sculptures. We seldom drive this way and I’m just not all that familiar with Twin Cities roadways.

Nearing the other end of the 35W bridge.

Nearing the other end of the 35W bridge.

As we crossed the bridge, my thoughts flashed back to that terrible tragedy and specifically to survivor Garrett Ebling, former managing editor of the Faribault Daily News, the newspaper in my community. He was among those most seriously injured when his Ford Focus plunged into the Mississippi River.

This photo shows the opening spread of the feature article published in the November/December 2007 issue of Minnesota Moments. Casey McGovern of Minneapolis shot the bridge collapse scene. To the far left is Garrett before the collapse, to the right, his rescuer. The next photo shows his Ford Focus which plummeted into the Mississippi River. And to the right are Garrett and Sonja, before the collapse.

This photo shows the opening spread of the feature article published in the November/December 2007 issue of Minnesota Moments. Casey McGovern of Minneapolis shot the bridge collapse scene. To the far left is Garrett  Ebling before the collapse, to the right, his rescuer, Rick Kraft. The next photo shows his Ford Focus which plummeted into the Mississippi River. And to the right are Garrett and and his fiancee, Sonja Birkeland, before the collapse. On the second page are photos of Garrett in the hospital.

Shortly after the collapse, Garrett was the subject of a magazine feature article I wrote on his experience and survival. I interviewed him via email as he was unable to speak. He impressed me then with his tenacity and determination. I also interviewed his then fiancee, Sonja Birkeland, and his rescuer, Rick Kraft.

Garrett Ebling's book.

Garrett Ebling’s book.

In 2013, I published a review here of his book, Collapsed, A Survivor’s Climb from the Wreckage of the 35W Bridge. You can read that review by clicking here.

Garrett, like so many others, was simply commuting home when the bridge gave way. The ordinariness of this, I think, strikes me most. Just driving home…

I’ve never liked bridges. Not because I’m afraid they will fall, but because I don’t like heights. I remember a brother-in-law asking shortly after the collapse whether I was now afraid to cross a bridge. I’m not.

But, like many Minnesotans, I now have a heightened awareness of the condition of bridges. How could you not?

The Minnesota Highway 36 bridge over Ramsey County Road 51. (Shot taken through a dirty windshield, thus the spots on the image.)

The Minnesota Highway 36 bridge over Ramsey County Road 51. (Shot taken through a dirty windshield, thus the spots on the image.)

So, when my husband and I exited Minnesota State Highway 36 to Lexington Avenue/Ramsey County Road 51 not long after crossing the 35W bridge, we nearly simultaneously noted the condition of the highway 36 bridge. Now I’m sure inspectors have checked the bridge for structural safety. But to the untrained eye, rust and crumbling concrete raise concern.

Tell me, what holds fast in your memory about the 35W bridge collapse and did that tragedy impact how you view bridges?

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

I’ll take country over big city any day August 5, 2014

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Approaching downtown Minneapolis. Growing up on a southwestern Minnesota dairy and crop farm, I would travel with my parents and siblings once a year to visit relatives in Minneapolis. We got off at the 46th Street exit.

Approaching downtown Minneapolis. Growing up on a southwestern Minnesota dairy and crop farm, I would travel with my parents and siblings once a year to visit relatives in Minneapolis. We got off at the 46th Street exit. Thankfully lanes have been added since then. But I don’t understand that sign on the left: “RATE TO DOWNTOWN $ AT 42ND.” Whenever I see these signs entering the Cities, I wonder.

I CAN’T RECALL THE LAST TIME I’ve been in downtown Minneapolis. But it’s been more than 30 years since I’ve walked in the heart of the city and I have no intention of visiting anytime soon.

Almost to the I94/35W split near downtown Minneapolis.

The I94/35W split near downtown Minneapolis.

The big city is not for me. Give me wide open space and sky and fields and farms and small towns.

Give me horizontal, not vertical.

Minneapolis presents a photogenic skyline from afar.

Minneapolis presents a photogenic skyline as my husband and I bypass the downtown on our way to visit family in the metro.

Give me alfalfa or soybeans or a cornfield, not concrete and asphalt parking lots and buildings so tall I need to visually strain my eyes to see their tops.

I need to breathe, to see the horizon, to touch the earth.

Oh, you might advise me that I am missing out on cultural and unique dining experiences and whatever else the big city offers. Maybe. But I’ve found my own happiness in “outstate Minnesota,” as the geographical region outside the metro is termed. That moniker, even though I sometimes use it, seems to diminish the importance of anything outside the Twin Cities area.

I am thankful, however, that we don’t all like living in the same place. If that was the situation, there would be no rural, only metro. Or only rural and no cities. That, of course, is oversimplifying, but you get my point. We all crave different environments. That is a good thing.

The curving interstate and speeds of some vehicles can give the illusion of being on a racetrack.

The curving interstate and speeds of some vehicles can give the illusion of being on a racetrack.

I will always prefer a country gravel road over the racetrack craziness, or gridlock, depending, of a Twin Cities area interstate.

A gravel road just north of Lamberton in southwestern Minnesota.

A gravel road just north of Lamberton in southwestern Minnesota. File photo.

But that’s me, deeply rooted in rural Minnesota.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Grieving one gone too young July 31, 2014

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Valley Grove cemetery - Copy

 

I’D NEVER MET THE PARENTS, only knew their son from company gatherings.

But on a recent Thursday evening, I waited in line at a funeral home to pay my respects to the 25-year-old, my husband’s former co-worker, who took his own life.

As Randy and I snail paced through the winding line of mourners, past countless photo displays, I observed. Never have I attended a visitation with such quietness. Barely a sound in this carpeted room where mostly young men stood, their eyes focused on images sliding across a screen. Their friend, once so vibrant and alive, now gone, his closed casket on the other side of the room.

It made me incredibly sad to witness this. This grief tucked inside these young men who should not be here but rather tooling around in their pick-ups on a perfect Minnesota summer evening. Never have I seen so many trucks parked, and young adults gathered, outside a funeral home.

It made me incredibly sad to witness this.

I watched as a twenty-something slipped his arm around his significant other when they paused at the casket. Her grief ran deep and I expect so did his.

Grief rose inside me, too, and threatened to spill into tears for a young man I barely knew. But he is around the age of my own children and, as a mother, I cannot imagine such a loss. This is not the natural order of life, to lose a child.

I wondered, as we edged toward the family, past the displays of caps and replica cars and framed certifications, what I would say. How do you comfort?

At times like this, words seem futile. I wanted, in some small way also, to console the 12-year-old brother who occasionally turned and sheltered himself into his towering father’s side. He appeared invisible to other mourners. But I noticed him and his pain.

When we reached the brother, I asked his name. And he spoke with such softness that the father had to repeat his name. And then I asked to hug the 12-year-old and he allowed me to do so. Twice. And I told him he was loved.

And then the story spilled out—how he had given his older brother his nickname because he could not, as a young child, pronounce his sibling’s name. And for a moment a smile flitted across the pre-teen’s face and the father and I laughed. And I told the 12-year-old that he will always have that special connection to his brother.

Sometimes grieving families need moments like this and only sparse words of sincere sympathy. I offered such words and hugs and held hands, too, and felt the clench of grief.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A Saturday morning in small town Minnesota July 19, 2014

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I DIDN’T BUY ANYTHING at this recent garage sale in Dundas. But I got this photo:

 

Garage sale in Dundas 2

 

I can’t quite put my finger on why I like this scene, this image.

It’s not because I’m some old car enthusiast, although I admire this shiny 1957 Chevy.

Rather it’s the serenity, I think, of a Saturday morning in a small town. This car collector had driven to Dundas for a car show, which was cancelled presumably because of the predicted rainfall. This scene speaks to me of small town living and contentment and simpler days when life was less hurried.

And I like, too, how the hue of the car is mimicked in the color of the garage sale sign. Not quite the same shade, but noticeable to my eye.

This photo could write a story. That’s my conclusion.

How does this scene speak to you?

Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

 

Fabulous Fourth with family July 8, 2014

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FOR WEEKS I ANTICIPATED the Fourth of July. Not for the reason I should have, to celebrate our nation’s birth.

Son-in-law Marc, left, daughters Amber and Miranda, and son, Caleb.

Son-in-law Marc, left, with his wife (my daughter), Amber; son Caleb; and daughter Miranda.

But rather, I was looking forward to the holiday for the sole reason that my two daughters, son and son-in-law would be together for one day with my husband and me and my extended family.

With the son living in Boston and the second daughter 300 miles away in eastern Wisconsin, it is seldom we are all together. The last time was just before Christmas, for an evening.

Six months may not seem like a long time to be away from your kids. And it’s not in the span of time.

But, as a mother, I don’t think you ever fully adjust to the absence of the children you have loved even before birth.

I am blessed beyond measure by my family and am thankful for every moment we are together.

Yet, a certain melancholy creeps in. Without fail, I cry my eyes out every single time my daughter shuts the door on her red Chevy and my son rolls his luggage into the airport.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Feeling unsettled in a rural Minnesota cemetery June 12, 2014

A TIME EXISTED when I avoided cemeteries. I was young then, unappreciative of their value from an artistic, historical and personal perspectives. And, if I’m honest, I’ll admit that I felt a bit afraid walking atop graves.

My thoughts have changed. Whenever my husband and I happen across a rural cemetery, we’ll often stop and wander.

The aged Eklund Cemetery sits among farm fields in Walcott Township.

The aged Eklund Cemetery sits among farm fields in Walcott Township.

We did just that recently while in section 25 of Walcott Township in southeastern Rice County. This Minnesota township was named in honor of Samuel Walcott, an early, enthusiastic settler from Massachusetts. He returned to the East “after…his mind became distraught and he found an abiding place in an insane retreat in his native State.”

Randy, whose vision far surpasses mine, spotted the small final resting place along County Road 90, headed toward it and pulled into a field drive as no other parking exists.

The unassuming entry to the Eklund Cemetery.

The entry to the Eklund Cemetery, which sits almost on top of the road.

Now I’ve explored many a country cemetery. But I’ve never had to step over a double stretch of chains to enter. That should have been my first clue that the Eklund Cemetery would trouble me.

The old dates impressed me.

The old dates impressed me.

I felt almost instantly uncomfortable here as I meandered among aged tombstones marking the graves of early settlers like Hans Flom, born in 1826. There are 143 people buried at Eklund, including five with the Eklund surname.

The first burial here, of one-month-old Annie B.O. Sam, occurred after her February 28, 1884, death, according to the Dalby Database (a remarkable online collection of cemetery and other historical info compiled by Faribault residents John and Jan Dalby). A few months later, the 17-month-old daughter (listed only as “baby”) of Christ and Julie Davidson was buried here.

Such long ago dates impress me.

Weeds flourish among the weathered tombstones.

Weeds flourish among the weathered tombstones.

But I was unimpressed by the condition of the cemetery where dandelions and creeping Charlie and other weeds flourish in the too tall grass. Perhaps frequent rains have kept the caretaker away.

A fence separates graveyard from fields.

A fence separates graveyard from fields.

No matter, it was not the unkempt lawn that bothered me as much as the sunken graves, the marked depressions in the earth that show the precise spots of burials. When my husband remarked that vaults were not used back in the day, my concern increased. As foolish as it seems, I worried about suddenly sinking into a grave. And I’ve seldom felt that way before in a cemetery.

Eklund Cemetery, Ingeborg's gravestone

Eklund Cemetery, Nels Nelson gravestone

Eklund Cemetery, Palrud gravestone

I hurried my tour, distracting myself by noticing the abundance of Norwegians names like Hans, Ingeborge, Nels and Erik, middle name Ole.

The most unusual name I noticed.

The most unusual name I noticed.

This cemetery once served Eklund (or Egelund) Evangelical Norwegian Lutheran Church, disbanded in 1957. That steepleless church building now sits off Minnesota State Highway 60 on Faribault’s east side, according to information written by Helga Sam Thompson. Its current use is that of a chiropractic office.

A close-up of a time-worn, weathered tombstone.

A close-up of a time-worn, weathered tombstone.

In one particular spot in the cemetery, I noticed a patch of black earth the size of a grave. Just dirt, unheaped, no grass, with weeds beginning to edge into the soil. No marker marked the spot. Again, that uncomfortable feeling settled upon me. The last burial here, of Bernard C. Sam, happened in 2011. Prior to that, the most recent burial, of 22-year-old Matthew David Caron, occurred in 1997.

Someone still cares about a loved one buried here.

Someone still cares about a loved one buried here.

Shortly thereafter, Randy plucked an errant plastic flower petal from the ground, fallen from a gravestone cross. I advised him to leave the orchid colored bloom there. He did.

Nature leaves her signature on an in-ground grave marker.

Nature leaves her signature on an in-ground grave marker.

I wanted nothing from this cemetery. Nothing.

FYI: If you are into genealogy and/or history, visit the Dalby Database which includes a remarkable collection of 2.5 million records and increasing daily. Click here to read a summary of what you can find on this website. And then click here to reach the Dalby Database. John and Jan Dalby of Faribault were given the Minnesota Genealogical Society’s Pioneer Explorer Award in 2010.

Special thanks to John Dalby for providing me with links to information about Eklund Cemetery and church and Walcott Township histories.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering the true meaning of Memorial Day May 24, 2014

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MEMORIAL DAY MEANS, for many, a time of transitioning into summer activities. Picnics. Opening of the lake cabin. Thoughts of family vacations. A trek around the lake or dropping a fishing line into the water.

But for me, Memorial Day has always been about poppies and parades, ceremonies and cemeteries, American flags and American soldiers, my thoughts focused on those who’ve served our country. Like my Dad. Like his buddy, Ray, who died on a Korean battlefield the day before he was slated to return to his wife and infant daughter in Nebraska.

The Color Guard leads the 2013 Memorial Day parade in Faribault, Minnesota.

The Color Guard leads the 2013 Memorial Day parade in Faribault, Minnesota.

Today my thoughts are on my brother-in-law, Neil, currently deployed to Afghanistan. He’s serving in a medical facility, a somewhat safe place, if any place can truly be safe in a war zone.

Boy Scouts march down Faribault's Central Avenue, giving away small American flags, during Monday's Memorial Day parade.

Boy Scouts march down Faribault’s Central Avenue, giving away small American flags, during the 2011 Memorial Day parade.

This Memorial Day weekend, please take time to attend a parade or a ceremony.

About 30 people gather at the Cannon City Cemetery for an afternoon Memorial Day observance.

About 30 people gather at the Cannon City Cemetery for an afternoon Memorial Day observance in 2011.

Visit a cemetery. Note the veterans’ graves. Pay homage. Remember the sacrifices.

All eyes are on the flag.

A flag flies high at Cannon City Cemetery. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2012.

Then, when you’re firing up the grill, sipping a cold one, enjoying a wonderful day in a country where you are free, thank God, and those soldiers, for freedom.

BONUS:

FOR TIPS ON TEACHING your kids about Memorial Day, click here.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Feeling at home, wherever you live May 16, 2014

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This colonial style home atop a hill along Wisconsin Highway 21 in Arkdale always catches my eye.

This lovely Colonial style home atop a hill along Wisconsin Highway 21 in Arkdale always catches my eye.

DO YOU PICTURE a dream home in your mind?

There is something sweet and endearing about the simplicity of this country home near Redgranite, Wisconsin. Perhaps it's the porch, the setting...the welcoming style.

There is something sweet and endearing about the simplicity of this country home near Redgranite, Wisconsin. Perhaps it’s the porch, the setting…the unassuming bungalow style.

Or are you living in your dream house?

A sturdy farmhouse near Redgranite, Wisconsin.

A substantial farmhouse east of Redgranite, Wisconsin.

I’ve always wanted to live in a big white two-story farmhouse with a front porch. Rather like the farmhouse where my Uncle Glenn and Aunt Elaine and cousins lived near Echo, Minnesota.

Open front porches, like this one on a home in Redgranite, Wisconsin, encourage neighborliness

Open front porches, like this one on a home in Redgranite, Wisconsin, encourage neighborliness and sitting outside on a beautiful afternoon or evening. Love the curve of the porch roofline and the stone front and steps.

The house, as I remember it, featured lots of dark woodwork with a built in buffet and that coveted porch.

A stunning Cape Cod style home constructed from locally quarried stone near Redgranite, Wisconsin.

A stunning Cape Cod style home constructed from locally quarried stone near Redgranite, Wisconsin.

But then again, I also appreciate the Craftsman and Cape Cod styles of architecture.

A well-kept farmhouse between Redgranite and Omro, Wisconsin, has likely evolved through the years with numerous additions.

A well-kept farmhouse between Redgranite and Omro, Wisconsin, has likely evolved through the years with numerous additions. I appreciate the enclosed porch and the Victorian detailed scrollwork near the roofline.

I’ve always preferred old over new, although sometimes I think living in a modern home would equal fewer maintenance worries.

This cheery yellow house is located along Wisconsin Highway 21 in Redgranite. A welcoming holiday banner still graces the front door three months after Christmas.

This cheery yellow house is located along Wisconsin Highway 21 in Redgranite. Christmas lights and a welcoming holiday banner still grace this home three months after Christmas.

In the end, though, I’ve concluded that no matter where you live, it’s not the walls or design or age or style that truly define a home. It is simply being content where you’re at, with the people you love.

NOTE: These images were taken on a late March trip to eastern Wisconsin when snow still covered the ground. Not any more.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling