Christdala Swedish Lutheran Church, rural Millersburg. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2020)
IN MY BACKROADS travels around Minnesota, I’ve often stopped at churches, drawn by their history, architecture and art. Churches are, to me, more than houses of worship. They are also galleries, museums, centers of praise and grief and joy.
Inside Vang Lutheran Church, rural Dennison, a depiction of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2014)
There’s almost something holy about stepping inside a church, into the quiet of a space graced by colorful stained glass windows, religious sculptures, pews worn by the hands of many.
I feel a sense of reverence in the light, in the stillness, in the peace that fills an empty sanctuary. I feel centered. Calm. Enveloped by the sheer beauty surrounding me.
Inside St. Michael’s Catholic Church in Buckman in Morrison County, stained glass art shows Jesus carrying His cross. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2021)
That beauty often emanates from the art. Stained glass windows, designed and built by skilled artisans, add a dimension of sacredness that appears heavenly when sunlight streams through glass.
Jesus’ crucifixion depicted in a stained glass window inside Holden Lutheran Church, rural Kenyon.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2016)
Themed to history, those windows visually tell stories written within the bible. Many focus on Holy Week: The Last Supper. Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane. The crucifixion of Jesus. And then His glorious resurrection on Easter morning.
This statue of Mary grieving the loss of her son shows deep emotion. It’s inside St. Mary’s Catholic Church, New Trier. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)
Sculptures, too, depict the same in life-size statues.
Hands convey so much love in intimate details in this sculpture of Mary holding Jesus’ hand. Photographed at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, New Trier. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)
Sacred and religious art is powerful. It evokes emotions. Inspires. Uplifts. Gives reason to pause and reflect.
This shows a snippet of the center stained glass window in a trio above the altar at Trinity Lutheran Church, Wanamingo. It depicts Christ’s resurrection. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2016)
This Holy Week, as my thoughts turn more reflective and inward, I feel deep gratitude for the long ago faithful who created the stained glass windows, the sculptures and other art adorning churches. These works of art are worthy of our attention, our appreciation, no matter religious affiliation or not.
A full view of the altar painting by A. Pederson inside Moland Lutheran Church, rural Kenyon. It’s based on Matthew 11: 28 – 30. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened…” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2013)
I can only imagine how many eyes have focused on the art within sanctuary walls. During baptisms. During weddings. During funerals. And during worship services. Joy. Comfort. Peace. Blessings. They’re there, all there, within the art within these sacred spaces.
Photos by wildlife photographer Dave Angell, exhibited previously at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2023)
MARCH ROARED INTO MINNESOTA like a lion this past weekend. Louder in some parts of our state, like in Minneapolis northward. And quieter in other parts, like here in Faribault.
Snow falls under grey skies Sunday afternoon in my backyard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
We got only a few inches of snow in my community. I think. It’s difficult to measure in a spring storm that mixes heavy snow, light snow, wet snow, sleet and rain. Yes, it’s been quite a mix of precip. But I can assuredly tell you that the once barren landscape is layered in fresh snow under grey, drippy skies.
Snow falls, layering patio lights, fence and evergreens Sunday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
The Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport recorded 8.2 inches of snow, the biggest snowfall of the season. They can have it, although I’m sure Minnesotans attempting to fly out for warm spring break destinations did not appreciate all the flight delays and cancellations on Sunday.
Snow creates an interesting black-and-white grid on my patio bricks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
Other than attending church services early Sunday morning and stepping onto the back stoop to take a few photos, I stayed inside all day. It was an ideal “sprinter” day (as my friend Gretchen aptly terms this season) to settle in with a good book. I’m reading The Violin Conspiracy, a novel by Brendan Slocumb centering on a gifted Black violinist. It’s a riveting, emotional read. Sometimes I wanted to roar like a lion at the unfairness, the prejudice, the challenges that thread through this book. I’m half-way through the novel.
A few more lions, but mostly lambs, have been added to this March calendar at Buckham Memorial Library since I photographed it on March 16. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
Lion. Lamb. That applies to life, to books, to the month of March.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2016 from Shepherd’s Way Farm, rural Nerstrand)
If I have a choice, I’ll choose a gentle lamb. I dislike conflict. I dislike sprinter storms that create travel woes, that require snow removal. But often we have no choice. Weather and life roar in like a lion and we face the challenges. Sometimes with fear. Sometimes with bravery. However we react, we are the stronger for having faced the lion. More empathetic. More compassionate. Less afraid. And that is the lesson of March.
Leaping across a path near the parking lot at River Bend Nature Center in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2013)
THEY LEAPT LIKE BALLERINAS across the dirt trail, white tutu tails flashing.
They were a herd of 11 deer sighted recently at Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center. I stood on Raccoon Trail aside Randy simply watching. One after the other they leapt with such grace, such practiced precision.
I photographed these deer at River Bend in April 2022, not far from where we sighted 16 deer on March 13. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
Only moments earlier, as we hiked down Arbor Trail on the nature center’s northeast side, Randy touched my arm, motioning me to stop. There, ahead of us, across the intersecting dirt path, several deer lingered in lowland grasses. I didn’t initially see them, my distance vision not all that acute. But eventually I spotted the camouflaged deer.
Rustic signs mark trails at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)
And then we saw more in the distance, nearer the Prairie Loop. There, barely visible behind trees.
A sense of wonderment, of awe, of just wanting to take in the scene before me overtook my spirit. Such moments in nature deserve full attention. We watched while two men walked right past us, unaware of the nearby deer so engaged were they in conversation.
We waited, whisper-quiet. Watching. Then the deer moved, ambling along the edge of tall dried grasses, staying parallel to the trail. Soon more deer emerged from a stand of trees and trailed the first traveling troupe. It was a sight, the endless stream of deer moving east.
Our attention turned that direction, toward the deer, one by one, long-leaping over Raccoon Trail, into the woods, up the hill, toward the prairie. We started counting. One, two, three…all the way to eleven. Only when the last deer exited the stage did we dare move, so mesmerized were we by the performance.
Inspirational quotes like this are spread throughout River Bend. I especially love this one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2019)
Randy and I resumed our hike, following Raccoon Trail until the biting wind of the March evening prompted us to turn back. By that time we were talking again or walking in comfortable silence. I wished aloud that I had my 35 mm camera with me. I’ve never been this near so many deer at River Bend. Eleven. But perhaps it was better I was without my camera so I could focus on the moment rather than on focusing and framing images.
Camouflaged deer among the prairie grasses of River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
Then, back at the intersection of Raccoon and Arbor Trails, Randy alerted me to more deer. Five this time. Standing statute still, without stage fright. Watching us. Us watching them in a stare-down. I wondered which of us would move first. Wildlife or human.
This sign posted in a kiosk along Raccoon Trail reminds visitors that deer and other wildlife, are just that, wildlife. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
I ooohed over the cute babies, last year’s fawns. Even if deer are dreadful when darting onto roadways and unwanted when dining on garden flowers and vegetables, I appreciate them in their natural habitat. This is their home, their stage, this land of tall grasses and woods. Here they walk with elegance. Here they leap with the grace of seasoned ballet dancers. Here they give me pause to stop, to listen to the trill of red-winged blackbirds as we watch each other—deer and human—in the fading light of a March evening at River Bend.
Crocuses blooming on March 12. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
DAYS AFTER I BRUSHED aside leaf mulch, my crocuses are in full bloom under the bold sunlight of March here in southern Minnesota.
Veins run through the cupped purple petals popping with golden centers. They are beautiful to behold. Vibrant in a landscape of brown.
Due to the unseasonably mild Minnesota winter, these crocuses are blooming weeks earlier than usual. Had I not uncovered the perennials several days ago to find a lone blossom leaning, I would have missed this explosion of color in my front yard flowerbed.
I admire crocuses, daffodils and tulips, the first brave flowers of spring. That they even survive in this harsh climate seems a miracle in itself. Crocuses store food in corms, their underground stem system.
And so I want to take a moment to celebrate this clutch of crocuses, to recognize the importance of noticing that which is right before our eyes. All too often we hurry through our days without pausing to appreciate the little things. The flush of blossoms. The bright flash of a cardinal. The scurrying of a squirrel. Today may you stop, look and see, really see, the beauty within this day.
TELL ME: What little thing are you seeing today that bring you joy?
Under a layer of leaves, I found this blooming crocus. Already, in early March. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
IN TRULY UN-MINNESOTAN fashion, I have penned very little this winter about the weather. That is atypical of a life-long resident. We are, if anything, obsessed about weather in Minnesota. We take pride in our cold weather, our snow, in managing to persevere in an often harsh climate. Weather affects our lives on a daily basis.
But this winter season, our image as the Bold Cold North has significantly changed. These past four months have been primarily snow-less and unseasonably warm. Sure, we’ve had a bit of snow and some cold snaps with sub-zero temperatures. Yet nothing like we’ve come to expect.
As I write, I look out my office window to a scene devoid of snow. The temperature is 46 degrees. At 9:51 a.m. on an early March morning. Laundry is drying on the clothesline. And the sun blazes bright upon the monotone landscape.
Daffodils, too, are emerging early. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
If I look closely, I see signs of spring come too soon. I need only examine my perennial flowerbeds to find spring flowers emerging from the soil. Under a layer of dried leaf mulch, I uncover a single crocus tipped on its side. I push more leaves aside revealing tender shoots of crocuses and daffodils. They need sunlight to thrive.
Tulips on the south-facing side of my house started popping weeks ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
Tulips and irises are up, too. Too soon. Not yet blooming. I noticed tulip bulbs popping greenery already in February.
All of this is an anomaly. We should be experiencing snowstorms and school closures, hearing the scrape of snowplows, the roar of snowblowers. Kids should be skating and sledding. As much as I appreciate the lack of icy roads and sidewalks, no snow to clear and no worry about winter weather, it just doesn’t feel right.
I’ve realized that I really do like the diversity of distinct seasons in Minnesota. There’s something to be said about anticipating spring after a long hard winter, like we experienced last year with record snowfall…
The traditional valentine bouquet, red roses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
AHEAD OF US ON THE SIDEWALK, two young men, both on rollerblades, paused. As Randy and I drew nearer, I noticed one holding a bundle of wrapped flowers. I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, for me! Thank you!” I exclaimed, stretching my arms as if to take the bouquet. They laughed.
It was one of those chance encounters that proved delightfully fitting on the Sunday before Valentine’s Day. Randy and I were out for an afternoon walk on the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf when we met the teens. The state campus is often used as a pathway by students from Shattuck-St. Mary’s, a private college prep school in Faribault. MSAD sits between Shattuck’s upper and lower campuses.
Given their rollerblades, I figured the two were hockey players at Shattuck. They confirmed that. And they confirmed that the flowers were for a girlfriend. “He’s in love,” the Minnesotan said of his Canadian roommate. I smiled, happy to witness this gentle ribbing, this evidence of young love. Oh, to be sixteen again and feeling madly in love.
Another valentine tradition, assorted chocolates in a heart-shaped box. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Love. While we romanticize love on Valentine’s Day with flowers and chocolate and cards and dinner out, it is so much more than romanticism. Ask anyone who’s older and who has been in a relationship for awhile. Like me. Love is listening and caring and kindness and simply being there in the quiet of each other’s company. It’s supporting one another through challenging days and celebrating together in the good times. Or simply enjoying the ordinary days, which comprise the bulk of life.
And love in February is two 16-year-old hockey players skating along the sidewalk, one cradling wrapped flowers for a girl.
I received this handcrafted valentine in the mail from my friend Beth Ann. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
I adore this valentine crafted by Jack, Amelia and Ben and mailed to me from northwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
Valentine chalk heart in the window of Keeper’s Antiques in downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
Valentine love, for me, is also handmade valentines in the mail, vintage valentines from my mom’s collection and window displays themed to February 14. It is childhood memories of shoeboxes crafted into valentine receptacles, boxes of candy conversation hearts and Juicy Fruit gum taped to red hearts. It is my 5-year-old grandson’s homemade paper valentine heart stuck to the front of my fridge.
My son crafted this cloth valentine 25 years ago in kindergarten. I hang it on my door every Valentine’s Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Valentine’s Day brings loving thoughts of family (including my husband of nearly 42 years) and friends. February 14 is truly a day that stretches beyond romantic love. I sincerely hope individuals who are not in romantic relationships feel included. Love is universal. Love hugs all of humanity.
One of my favorite valentines, because of its theme, among my mom’s vintage valentines. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
I love the vibe of Valentine’s Day, a day when our thoughts focus on a world full of love in a world too often filled with hatred. On this singular day, we can intentionally choose to exude positivity. We can choose to forgive and focus on that which connects, rather than divides, us. We can choose to listen and encourage and use only generously kind words. We can choose to skate along the sidewalk like 16-year-olds intent on delivering bouquets of happiness. And we can choose, too, to stop, stretch our arms toward those flowers and engage in conversation with individuals we meet in the everyday moments of life. We will all be the richer for having connected, for showing love to one another on Valentine’s Day and well beyond February 14.
Inspirational signage photographed in a residential front yard, Nerstrand, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
WITH THE BEGINNING of a new year, thoughts turn to what may unfold in 2024. We just don’t know. So much is beyond our control, even if we think it isn’t.
Life brings joy. Life brings challenges. Life brings the unexpected. That’s a given. Life can be downright difficult at times. And that’s where we each have the power to make a difference in the lives of family, friends and even strangers. That starts with listening, not to our own voices, but rather to the voices of others.
How many times has someone asked how you’re doing and you answer honestly (or maybe not so honestly) only to then hear the questioner share his/her story? Suddenly the focus is on the other person and not your situation. Happens all the time. How does that make you feel? In those conversations, I’ve felt dismissed, unheard, like I don’t matter. And I am not a selfish, self-centered person.
The point here is, if you ask someone how they are, opt to listen. Keep the focus on them, not you. People appreciate someone who listens, who shows genuine care and compassion.
We Minnesotans have a tendency to use the word “fine” way too much when responding to “How are you?” I, for one, really want to know when I ask that question. I try not to use the phrase as a meaningless greeting. Oftentimes I’ll customize the question if I know, for example, that someone is facing challenges. That shows I truly care.
I suppose part of my perspective comes from my journalism background. To be a good news reporter requires well thought out questions and strong listening skills. As a reporter, you are an observer, a gatherer of information, not an active participant in the story. Those skills can translate to everyday life, too.
A few months ago I saw a sign in a front yard in small town Nerstrand listing quotes by the late Fred Rogers. Fifth on that list was this: LISTENING IS WHERE LOVE BEGINS. I love love love that quote stressing the importance of listening.
I loved listening to Rogers’ quiet, gentle, soothing voice on his TV show, “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” He exuded calm, peace, serenity. His messages of kindness, love, listening, embracing the beauty in each day and more are definitively positive. We should each strive to live them. Smile. Hold a door. Thank someone. Encourage. And listen, really listen.
The Honor Guard and Color Guard in place for the Veterans Day ceremony in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
IT WAS, FOR MANY, an emotional day. A day of remembering, grieving, honoring, respecting. Veterans Day held all of those for me and many others who gathered in my community to honor those who have served our country in the military. That includes my father, a U.S. Army combat soldier in the Korean War.
A crowd gathers Saturday morning for a short Veterans Day program outside the Rice County courthouse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
A member of the Honor Guard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
The only firing on this November 11 in Faribault was that of the Honor Guard shooting blanks from rifles.
A sizeable crowd gathers at the Rice County Veterans’ Memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
Upon my arrival at the courthouse lawn, I noticed first veterans, the American and other flags, the crowd and the red. Red coats. Red roses. Red symbolizes patriotism, sacrifice and bloodshed. And red in a rose symbolizes love.
Among the 23 pairs of boots honoring a veteran who committed suicide. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
Those red roses were lovingly placed aside blue carnations in 23 boots representing the 23 American veterans who daily commit suicide. Local organizers of Operation: 23 to Zero, an organization that raises awareness about vet-related issues, including suicide and PTSD, set up the display and stood watch for 23 hours in honor of those who took their lives. Cole, Damian, Joel, Brandon, Nicole…
Operation: 23 to Zero display on the memorial plaza. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
Those boots circled the central monument focus of eagle and dove. Individual slabs of stone for each military branch edge that circle with fitting inscriptions like THIS WE DEFEND. A sign propped against one of the stones offered encouragement, a strong message of hope, and it touched me deeply: “If you are looking for a sign NOT to kill yourself today—This is it. You are loved. You do belong. You are worthy.”
Steve Bonde plays taps, hauntingly mournful. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
Although I knew none of the service men and women who died by suicide, I felt sadness and grief filling my thoughts. I could sense the collective grief, the somberness. This small circle of 23 boots on the veterans plaza seemed a sacred space.
Faribault firefighters were among those in attendance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
In the deafening noise of traffic from the nearby busy street and the mostly too low amplification system, I struggled to hear any of the speakers. So I focused instead on observing. I was pleased to see a cross-section of ages from children in parents’ arms to teens to young adults to middle age to aged. The presence of young people, especially, pleases me, for they, too, need to understand the meaning and importance of Veterans Day.
Among the hundreds of pavers surrounding the memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
In the all of the gathering at the veterans memorial in Faribault, I felt not only deep emotions, but also pride in country and a unity that is not often seen these days. On this single day, this November 11, we came together to honor our veterans, despite our personal political viewpoints.
Memorable bumper sticker. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
A bumper sticker I noticed on a Vietnam veteran’s vehicle summarizes well the intent, the goal of those who have served abroad in war. “We went over there so you could be here.” It’s a seemingly simple phrase, yet profound in depth.
FYI: Please check back for more photos of the Operation: 23 to Zero display and a post about more Veterans Day events I attended in Faribault.It was a full day.
Among my Dad’s papers, etc.: A letter home to his parents, a page of military instructions he carried into war, a newspaper clipping and his dog tag, circling the words “hell hole” in his letter.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
I RUN MY FINGERS across his dog tag, thumb caressing the raised letters and numbers stamped into metal. His name, KLETSCHER, ELVERN A. B blood type. P for Protestant. His Selective Service number, the same number on his Armed Forces of the United States Geneva Convention Identification Card, the laminated card he carried with him into war. Just like the duplicate dog tags that would identify him if he was injured or killed in action.
This photo from my dad’s collection is tagged as “Kim, Rowe, Allen & me, May 1953 Machine Gun Crew.” That’s my father on the right.
Seventy-one years ago, my dad was a fresh-faced young Minnesota farm boy fighting in the Korean War as a combat soldier for the U.S. Army. Each November, around Veterans Day, I pull out two shoeboxes filled with photos, letters, documents and more from Dad’s time in the service. And although I’ve looked through the contents many times in the 20 years since Dad died, I still feel the same overwhelming sense of sadness in all he experienced. The death of combat buddies. His killing of the enemy. Orphan children begging for food across barbed wire fences. The cold and hunger and fear. And then the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder he suffered upon his return home to southwestern Minnesota.
My dad brought this 7 x 9-inch cloth “RETURNED FROM HELL” patch home with him after serving for nearly a year in Korea.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I feel all of that as I touch his dog tag, run my fingers along the short chain like fingers worrying rosary beads in prayer. War is hell.
On the back of this photo, my dad simply penned “a letter from home.” I appreciate this photo of my dad taken by an unknown buddy in Korea.
Hell. Dad used that word in a March 4, 1953, letter to his parents and siblings. He criticized the draft board, his anger fueled by the possibility that a younger brother might also end up in Korea. He wrote, in part: “Do they know what it’s like over here? Hell no. Why the heck don’t some of them come over here and look this over? They’d probably come to there (sic) senses…” Not everything he wrote is printable. But his anger and frustration are palpable. And I don’t blame him.
U.S. Army Cpl. Elvern Kletscher, my father, in the trenches in Korea.
War is hell. I try to imagine my dad penning that letter on his 22nd birthday. Missing his family. No cake, no nothing to celebrate. But rather worry about whether he would live to the next day. He had reason to fear for his life. Only a week prior, he was wounded in action at Heart Break Ridge while engaged in mortar firing with the enemy. Shrapnel struck him in the face and he was hospitalized for several days.
My grandparents, Ida and Henry Kletscher, posing with some of their children, flank my father, Elvern Kletscher, who is about to leave for military service in 1952.
Interestingly enough, Dad mentions none of that in his letter home. Rather, he closes with these sentences: “I’m feeling fine and don’t worry about me. I’ll write again soon.” I don’t believe Dad was “feeling fine,” in a place he called a “hell hole” in his letter.
My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea.
As I filter through the shoeboxes holding his military belongings, I pick up a hardcover 4 x 6-inch black book. It’s tattered, bent, dirty, obviously well-used. When I open the cover to read the words Dad penciled across lined paper, the realities of war strike me full force. Here are details and instructions on weaponry—60 mm mortars, submachine guns, tank mines, smoke screens, chemical warfare… He writes about reconnaissance, combat and security patrols and “avoid contact with enemy—may have to fight in self defense.” There are diagrams and fire commands and details I don’t understand, and don’t necessarily want to understand.
My dad carried home a July 31, 1953, memorial service bulletin from Sucham-dong, Korea. In the right column is listed the name of his fallen buddy, Raymond W. Scheibe.
But “Conduct on lines” and the details that follow need no deciphering: “1) Hold fire until enemy is within 500 yards. 2) Listening post must have cover and concealment, must have good route for withdrawal…” I expect Dad carried this book into war. Just as he carried deep trauma home from “The Forgotten War,” as the Korean War has been dubbed.
Words imprinted on the Veterans’ Memorial in Northfield, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2023)
War is hell, even if done for the right reasons—to defend democracy and freedom and country. For his time in the Army in 1953, Dad was paid $266.27. It’s documented on his federal income tax return. So little for so much given, not that there’s ever enough payment for a combat soldier.
My dad’s military marker in the Vesta City Cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I wish I could wrap my arms around Dad, hold him, tell him how deeply sorry I am for the horrors he endured while fighting as an infantryman on the front lines during the Korean War. Mostly, I wish I could simply listen, sitting quietly as I finger the chain of his dog tag, the beads providing tactile comfort as he talked (if he would talk) about the personal hell that is war.
The Rice County, Minnesota, Veterans’ Memorial in Faribault. This photo and five others I took now grace public spaces in the newly-opened State Veterans Home in Bemidji. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
NOTE: Please use this Veterans Day as a time to thank those who have served our country. But more than thanking, listen, support and encourage. The voices of our veterans need, and deserve, to be heard.
Purple spotlights transformed trees to shades of purple. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
IN THE EARLY EVENING DARKNESS of Faribault’s Central Park, on an unseasonably summery September Saturday, I felt enveloped in a magical world of autumn leaves sparkling purple. The setting seemed surreal, magical, enchanting. And the feeling felt hopeful.
Musician Steve Huber performed first followed by Joe and the Mechanics in the Central Park Bandshell. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
I was among hundreds gathered for the first-ever Light of Hope Celebration to recognize those lost to cancer, those battling cancer, those who’ve survived cancer…and those of us who love (d) them. Purple spotlights shone on trees centering the park, creating a serene, yet celebratory, scene while musicians performed in the bandshell, speakers spoke and kids engaged in activities just for them.
An autumn-themed luminary for a cancer survivor. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
My focus, though, was on the hundreds of luminaries lining the sidewalks that edged and crisscrossed this central community gathering spot. I walk here daily, among the towering trees and scampering squirrels. The din of traffic, the presence of others, the locations of St. Vincent de Paul and the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour across the streets are all reminders that Faribault truly is about community. We need one another. And I felt, at this event, a strong sense of community, of coming together, of leaning on one another.
Gathering to talk, to listen to music, to celebrate. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
I felt such love as I hugged the local x-ray tech who did my recent mammogram. I assured her my results were good. She and I have a history, meeting several years ago in the hospital ER when I broke my wrist. I hugged others, too, whom I haven’t seen in a while. It felt right, to reach out and encircle these individuals who, at some point, have been there for me, whether personally or professionally. And if my cousin and a friend, who are currently undergoing chemotherapy for aggressive, advanced breast cancer, had been there, I would have held them close in prolonged hugs also.
I saw so much love written upon luminaries by those who lost loved ones to cancer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
Twenty years ago I was on the receiving end of many hugs as I stood inside my hometown church, St. John’s Lutheran in Vesta, embracing family and friends at the death of my dad. He died of esophageal cancer and other health issues. At the cemetery, I wrapped my arm around my mom, shaking with cold and grief on that brutal winter day. She was a breast cancer survivor.
Many family—including my husband, a sister and sister-in-law—and friends have survived cancer. Many family—including a dear nephew and aunt—and friends have died of cancer. And today many in my circle are battling cancer, including a much-beloved cousin, a brother-in-law and a dear friend. Cancer is brutal and awful and horrible. And it seemingly spares no family.
A beautiful hope sign suspended in the center of the park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
But there is hope. In the support of others. In events like the one on Saturday organized by the Light of Hope Cancer Foundation with a mission “to empower local cancer patients and families to focus on treatment and healing by providing immediate and practical financial support while advocating and fundraising for research, education and cancer prevention.” There is strength in a supportive and caring community.
A survivors’ tent, right, offered survivors of cancer a place to gather, celebrate and enjoy cake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
And there is hope, too, in knowing options are available for treatment. That is also personal for me as my uncle, Dr. Robert M. Bowman, developed the drug Letrozole (Femara), approved by the Food and Drug Administration in 1998 to treat certain types of breast cancer in post-menopausal women. Today, as my retired chemist uncle lies in hospice suffering from Parkinson’s, his wife, my beloved Aunt Dorothy, tells me how grateful Robin feels for having created a life-saving drug. He gave women hope.
I shot this scene shortly before leaving at 7:45 pm. So beautiful…the luminaries, the trees morphed purple by spotlights. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
As I walked among the hundreds of luminaries, first in the light of early evening and then in the darkness, I remembered, grieved silently, contemplated, celebrated… And I felt hope. Strong, beautiful, powerful hope.
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