Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Mn Prairie Roots’ final photo picks for 2012 January 3, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:23 AM
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TODAY WE’LL VIEW the best of my photos, in my opinion, from the final three months of 2012.

While most of my stories and photos take you to places in Minnesota, sometimes I venture into North Dakota and Wisconsin, home to my son and a daughter.

See me standing down there waving at my daughter atop Eagle Tower? Photo by Miranda Helbling.

See me standing down there waving at my daughter atop Eagle Tower? Photo by Miranda Helbling.

Early OCTOBER found the daughter, my husband and I on a day trip to scenic Door County in northeastern Wisconsin at the peak of fall colors. I would like to take credit for this scenic shot, but Miranda shot this from atop Eagle Tower at Peninsula State Park, Fish Creek. It is the perspective of this image, the balance of objects and contrast of colors, and the fact that I am actually in front of the camera, rather than behind it, which make this photo a winner.

The absolutely fabulous lunch counter at the Highland Cafe.

The absolutely fabulous lunch counter at the Highland Cafe.

The strong horizontal lines, the unexpected jolt of red and the quaintness of this lunch counter scene at the historic Highland Cafe in southeastern Minnesota make this another obvious pick for a favorite photo. In OCTOBER I photographed this cafe, which unbeknownst to me then, would close about a month later. I would encourage you to check out the rest of my cafe photo shoot by clicking here.

My Mom counts the jars of horseradish.

My Mom counts the jars of horseradish.

OCTOBER also took me back to my native southwestern Minnesota, where some members of my extended family gathered at my middle brother’s place to make horseradish. I was allowed to photograph the process in between helping with the horseradish making. After the condiment was poured into jars and lids tightened, my 80-year-mother stepped up to count the jars. That’s when I photographed her hands, resulting in this photo. I’d suggest you click here to view my documentation of horseradish making.

Graffitti

Graffiti

I am big on details when I shoot photos. So when I noticed a manual typewriter at The Emporium during a day trip to Hastings in OCTOBER, I just had to leave my mark. Realizing this would also make for an artsy image, I shot this photo. The composition, limited colors and the bend of the keys all appeal to my eye as does the vintage charm of typing on a manual typewriter.

A customer steps up to the check out counter, where the wood floor is especially worn.

A customer steps up to the check out counter, where the wood floor is especially worn.

Vintage could be applied to another image, this one taken in NOVEMBER at a long-time North Mankato hardware store. My camera and curiosity often give me access to places the ordinary person may never see. Such was this visit to Mutch Hardware, which recently closed. However, photo ops exist right before your eyes, if you will only see them. When I saw the worn floor boards in front of the check-out counter, I knew I had a photo op. So I placed my camera on the floor, angled it up a bit and clicked without ever seeing what the lens saw. This was the result. I’ve used this shoot-from-the-floor/ground angle often with some surprisingly excellent results. To view all of my published pix from Mutch Hardware, click here. 

A scene from November in downtown Fargo.

A scene from November in downtown Fargo.

I can’t quite pinpoint what most appeals to me about this image taken in downtown Fargo in NOVEMBER. But I think it’s the FARGOAN sign, the words “proper & prim” on the window and how both contrast with the hardy man biking by on a blustery cold day which cause this scene to stand out.  I like that the biker is purposely out of focus, defining motion.

A snippet of the many bookshelves at Zandbroz Variety, So artful.

A snippet of the many bookshelves at Zandbroz Variety. So artful.

If you see just a bunch of books crammed onto bookshelves, then you need to examine this image again. I see lines, rectangles, squares and colors repeating. I saw abstract art in this section of Zandbroz Variety during a stop at this eclectic store in downtown Fargo in NOVEMBER.  The angle of the bookshelves draws the eye into the photo.

Every little girl wants to portray an angel...

Every little girl wants to portray an angel…

My top photo picks from DECEMBER are all Christmas-related, including this endearing shot of angels in a Christmas pageant at my church, Trinity Lutheran in Faribault. Given the poor available light, which meant shooting at a slow shutter speed, I was doubtful I would manage to get any publishable images. But, as luck and timing would have it, I was able to hold the camera still enough and click at the exact right moment to freeze this classic scene.

Some of the guests took home gifts of poinsettias which served as table centerpieces.

Some guests took home gifts of poinsettias which served as table centerpieces at the community dinner.

When my husband and I attended the Community Christmas Dinner at Fourth Avenue United Methodist Church in Faribault, I pulled out my camera after I finished my meal and took a wide range of photos to showcase the event. Soft light pouring in through the glass doors created ideal lighting for this scene in which I noted strong horizontal lines. I also like the balance of the image and how the design on the bulletin board truly encompasses the essence of the community dinner. I was pleased with so many of the photos I shot here and I’d encourage you to check them out by clicking here.

Although the wise men did not arrive at the birth of Christ, they are typically depicted in nativities. I added the "star" with an editing tool to enhance the image.

Although the wise men did not arrive at the birth of Christ, they are typically depicted in nativities. I added the “star” with an editing tool to enhance the image.

Finally, my last photo pick for 2012 was shot at the outdoor Nativity scene in front of Buckham Memorial Library and the Faribault Community Center. After viewing the image above, I felt something was missing, and that “something” was a star. So I added a “star” with an editing tool and this is the result.

This concludes a three-part review of my favorite Minnesota Prairie Roots photos from 2012. It’s been my honor to share these photos with you, to perhaps give you a new perspective on a scene, to take you to a place you’ve never been, to experience something you’ve never done…

In all of my photos, I strive to tell a story. And to do so, I present overall views and detailed shots. Seldom do I simply stand and shoot. You will find me crawling on the floor/ground, bending, climbing onto chairs and elsewhere, moving in close, photographing from unexpected angles. I am not afraid to wiggle my way into a place to get just the right shot. I consider color and lines and light. I anticipate how a scene will unfold.

Long ago I stopped viewing the world like the average person. Everywhere I see photos and stories waiting to be shared via images and words. Thank you for allowing me to share my discoveries with you, my dear, dear readers.

Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections on 2012 from Minnesota Prairie Roots December 31, 2012

ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS present a time to reflect. So on this, the final day of 2012, I’ve considered the past year, what’s been most significant in my personal life and for me as a blogger.

My 18-year-old son, shortly before my husband and I left him in his dorm room on the campus of North Dakota State University four weeks ago.

Our 18-year-old son, shortly before my husband and I left him in his dorm room on the campus of North Dakota State University in mid-August.

This year marked a time of transition for my husband and me from the full-time job of parenting, a position we’ve held for 26 consecutive years, to becoming empty-nesters. The youngest of our three children, our son, started college in August. The past 4 ½ months have been a period of adapting for all of us. But it’s gone well. Although I miss our boy, the letting go process has been easier than I thought. And for our son, even though he would not admit it, I think he’s missed us a tad more than he imagined.

Audrey and Randy, May 15, 1982

My husband, Randy, and me on our wedding day, May 15, 1982.

Prior to that, in May, Randy and I celebrated 30 years of marriage. I cannot even fathom how three decades have soared past, snap, like that. But I am thankful to have lived them with the man I cherish and love. That reminds me of this little story from yesterday, when we were shopping for window treatments. The associate assisting us complimented us on how well we were getting along, noting that disagreements between some couples often get so intense he simply needs to step away. Not that Randy and I don’t disagree—we do. But we always manage to work things out.

I love this sweet image of Amber and Marc taken after my son's high school commencement.

I love this sweet image of Amber and Marc taken after my son’s high school commencement.

This year also brought love into the life of our oldest daughter, Amber, who met Marc, now the love of her life. I never realized, until this happened, how happy I would feel as a mother to see my girl so happy.

Some of the guest gathered in the Vesta Community Hall for my mom's 80th birthday party.

Some of the guests gathered in the Vesta Community Hall for my mom’s 80th birthday party open house.

The celebration of my mother’s 80th birthday in April, several weeks before her actual birth date, was also defined by love. My mom is the most kind-hearted person I know. And to see the community hall in my hometown filled with family and friends who came to show her their love filled my heart to overflowing with gratitude. This open house party was the best gift we, her family, could ever have given her, even if the party ended early due to a tornado warning. You can read two posts about the party by clicking here and then clicking here.

During 2012, I continue to be gifted with a faithful and growing readership here at Minnesota Prairie Roots. My blog has been viewed this past year 290,000 times by readers from 186 countries. Such support humbles me. I also am honored, even surprised, that I continue to find success in writing poetry. This has been a good year for me in poetry.

Friends, Nimo Abdi, a sophomore at Faribault High School, left, and Nasteho Farah, a senior.

Friends, Nimo Abdi, a sophomore at Faribault High School, left, and Nasteho Farah, a senior.

Within the realm of writing, specifically here on this blog, I had no difficulty choosing my favorite post of 2012: Yearning for respect & equality, “no matter what color you are.” In that post, I featured photos from the International Festival Faribault and interviews with several teenaged Somali immigrants. It was an especially powerful piece, both in portraits and in the honest and troubling words spoken by these young people who face discrimination in my community. To this day, it hurts my heart to read this post. I’d encourage every single one of you to read or reread that story by clicking here.

The south side of the house roof, reshingled.

The south side of our house roof, reshingled.

The post which drew the most comments, and the most heated comments, this year, Why I am not getting a kitchen redo, totally surprised me. I never expected to hear from so many readers who empathized with our experience related to defective shingles. If you haven’t read that post, click here. However, if you prefer to keep your blood pressure low, skip this story.

Creative freedom of speech

Creative freedom of speech along Interstate 94 in west central Minnesota.

A political post, Driving home a political point along a Minnesota interstate, produced the most views, 3,288 in a single day. Typically I avoid politics. But, when I spotted a limo driven front end first into the ground along Interstate 94 near Alexandria in a statement about the direction in which President Obama is driving this country, I had to post photos. The post was picked up by reddit.com, which generated the high viewership. (Click here to read this post.)

This concludes my review of 2012. It’s been a good year, filled with love, change, constancy and, most definitely, many blessings.

WHAT DEFINED YOUR YEAR?

© Copyright 2012

 

Don’t ask Santa, ask Grandma in the home of champions December 29, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 12:09 PM
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BILLBOARDS, ESPECIALLY THOSE in rural Minnesota, fascinate me.

The signs impress me as more interesting, more focused, quirkier, it seems, and zeroed in on a specific geographical region. The messages, the art, can reveal much about an area and often make me smile, sometimes even laugh.

This creative real estate billboard in Sleepy Eye, at the intersections of U.S. Highway 14 and Minnesota Highway 4, makes me smile. A nearby sign boasts the local high school's athletic accomplishments.

This creative real estate billboard, right, in Sleepy Eye, at the intersections of U.S. Highway 14 and Minnesota Highway 4, makes me smile. A nearby sign boasts athletic accomplishments at Sleepy Eye and St. Mary’s high schools.

Additionally, many small towns take great pride in the local high school’s athletic accomplishments, even from decades ago.

Although many small towns brag about local sporting accomplishments, I would like to occasionally drive into a community and also read a sign boasting of academic, musical, theatrical or other accomplishments.

Wouldn’t that be nice to see in our sports-obsessed world?

Imagine reading a sign like “Home of the 2012 Minnesota State Spelling Bee Champion” or something like that.

HAS ANYONE OUT THERE ever spotted a sign in a community highlighting non-athletic accomplishments at the high school level?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The educating & healing continue 150 years after The U.S.-Dakota War December 28, 2012

STUDYING MINNESOTA HISTORY decades ago, I learned about “The Sioux Uprising of 1862” and even wrote a term paper on the topic bearing that title.

This archway leads to the Wood Lake State Monument, on the site of the battle which ended the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.

This archway leads to the Wood Lake State Monument, on the site of the battle which ended the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.

I thought nothing negative of that word, Sioux, which translates to “snake.” The Ojibway, once enemies of the Dakota, gave the tribe that name. I did not know; it was the word I was taught.

That I even studied “The U.S.-Dakota War of 1862,” the proper terminology for the six-week war fought primarily in my native southwestern Minnesota 150 years ago, seems remarkable. So many in Minnesota never knew of this conflict in our state’s history.

I don’t pretend to know every detail of the war between the Dakota and the white settlers and soldiers. But I do remember that I grew up with a fear of “Indians,” reinforced by the television westerns especially popular during my formative years and by the history lessons delivered about The Sioux Uprising of 1862, as it was then called.

Those classroom lessons were decidedly one-sided: The whites were the good guys, the Indians the bad guys. That line of thinking was wrong, oh, so wrong. I realize that now, having reached that conclusion decades ago.

The maltreatment of the Dakota by greedy traders, broken treaty promises, starvation, efforts to convert and transform the Dakota people into Christian farmers, expulsion from their homeland and more contributed to the war.

Yet, even the Dakota disagreed about the need to wage this battle. Some helped settlers escape to safety while others plundered and killed. My own maternal forefathers fled the New Ulm area to St. Peter, making this war a part of my personal family history.

The Milford State Monument along Brown County Road 29 west of New Ulm commemorates the deaths of 52 settlers who were killed in the area. Located along the eastern edge of the Lower Sioux Reservation, Milford had the highest war death rate of any single township.

The Milford State Monument along Brown County Road 29 west of New Ulm commemorates the deaths of 52 settlers who were killed in the area. Located along the eastern edge of the Lower Sioux Reservation, Milford had the highest war death rate of any single township.

While I carry no ill will toward the Dakota, I will tell you, unequivocally, that feelings still run deep in southwestern Minnesota. I am also honest enough to admit that perhaps I would feel differently if my family members had been massacred or if I was of Dakota, instead of German, heritage.

Although time can heal, it doesn’t always. Misconceptions and misguided expectations, even after 150 years, exist on multiple sides of the issue. I won’t delve into that here, but I do think the healing is still ongoing, forgiveness (on both sides) still not attained.

Words on a marker in Reconciliation Park in Mankato where 38 Dakota were hung on Dec. 26, 1862.

Words on a marker in Reconciliation Park in Mankato where 38 Dakota were hung on Dec. 26, 1862. On Wednesday, a new Dakota 38 Memorial was dedicated listing the names of the 38 men who died here. This file photo was taken of an existing plaque in the park.

In a ceremony in Mankato on Wednesday marking the 150th anniversary of the hanging of 38 Dakota, Mayor Eric Anderson proclaimed this the year of “forgiveness and understanding.”

The Dakota also called upon all to “forgive everyone everything.” Those words will be engraved into Kasota stone benches to be installed next summer at the site of the new Dakota 38 Memorial dedicated in Reconciliation Park on Wednesday.

Strides toward understanding and forgiveness, and education, can perhaps finally heal the still festering wounds of this long ago war.

TO VIEW PHOTOS from the event in Mankato on Wednesday, click to link here to Minnesota Public Radio.

TELL ME, ESPECIALLY if you grew up in Minnesota, did you study The U.S.-Dakota War of 1862? Also, are Minnesota students today being taught about this war?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Loving Christmas with family December 26, 2012

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My husband Randy and me with our three adult children, from left to right, Miranda, Caleb and Amber.

My husband Randy and me with our three adult children, from left to right, Miranda, Caleb and Amber.

IF YOU WANT to make a mom happy, return home for Christmas.

My three, plus the eldest daughter's boyfriend, Marc, opened gifts Christmas Eve afternoon. Caleb is juggling on the left with his new juggling balls.

My three, plus the eldest daughter’s boyfriend, Marc, opened a few gifts Christmas Eve afternoon before Miranda had to leave. Caleb is juggling on the left with his new juggling balls.

All three of my children were able to get back to Faribault for the holidays, although my second daughter had to leave early Christmas Eve afternoon. She was on-call Christmas Day with her job as a Spanish medical interpreter in northeastern Wisconsin. But I had her here for awhile and that made me one joyful mother.

Ditto for my mom.

After taking numerous "good photos," we decided to imitate six-month-old Hank (the first great grandchild for my mother) by closing our eyes. Missing from the photo is Alex, the photographer.

After taking numerous “good photos,” we decided to imitate six-month-old Hank (the first great grandchild for my mother) by closing our eyes and pretending to sleep. Missing from the photo is Alex, the photographer.

For the first time in many years, all six of her children and their spouses and their children, plus the first great grandchild and significant others, gathered for a pre-Christmas family celebration at my middle brother’s rural Lamberton home.

One of my favorite candid shots, my son embracing his grandma, whom he had not seen since July Fourth.

One of my favorite candid shots, my son embracing his grandma, whom he had not seen since July Fourth.

My mom repeated many times, before and after the get together, how very happy she was that everyone could make it. All but four could stay for the entire day and into the evening.

Santa shows up every year at the family Christmas. Here he hugs my second daughter. He handed out cans of SPAM to me and my siblings apparently to celebrate all the SPAM we consumed as children.

Santa shows up every year at the family Christmas. Here he hugs my second daughter. He handed out cans of SPAM to me and my siblings apparently to celebrate all the SPAM we consumed as children.

We took lots and lots and lots of pictures, as my eldest daughter’s boyfriend noted. I believe, I mean I know, he was slightly overwhelmed by the entire event. Who wouldn’t you be when you’re not used to my loud and fun-loving family, most of whom bunk out on the basement floor after the day’s festivities end?

Last year my sister Lanae brought vintage hats for all the women to wear. Here most of the granddaughters pose with grandma.

Last year my sister Lanae brought vintage hats for the women. Here most of the granddaughters model their hats with grandma.

I love my family. And I love that my 80-year-old mom experienced the joy of having her closest loved ones with her for a single day to celebrate Christmas.

I decided the men needed hats, too, so I brought Santa hats for them to model in a serious pose.

I decided the boys needed hats, too, so I brought Santa hats for them to wear, here in a serious pose.

HOW ABOUT YOU? Are you able to gather with extended family to celebrate Christmas and what are some of your traditions?

Santa always poses for a photo with my mom.

Santa always poses for a photo with my mom.

Hank, the first baby in the family in 11 years, was the center of much attention.

Hank, the first baby in the family in 11 years, was the center of much attention.

My sister Lanae gifted our brothers, Brian and Brad, with Kitty Piddle and Dog Drool.

My sister Lanae gifted our brothers, Brian and Brad, with Kitty Piddle and Dog Drool. I also received red hot sauce from her and one fabulous gift I will tell you about in another post.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

All about caring & community at the church basement Christmas dinner December 17, 2012

We hung up our coats and headed to that doorway into the basement dining room.

Guests hung up their coats before heading for the dining room.

WE SHRUGGED OFF our winter coats, my husband and I, and secured them onto hooks before following the tantalizing aroma of turkey and meatballs into the church basement dining area.

My meal, minus the cranberries, bread and cake which were also served.

My meal, minus the cranberries, bread and cake which were also served.

I grabbed a plate and the volunteers passed it down the line, spooning on mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, turkey and two Swedish meatballs.

Then I heard the clatter, the sound of a cane falling upon tile and saw the elderly man directly behind me lying face down, motionless, on the floor between the serving line and the table for take-outs.

Volunteers expected to serve around 225 diners at the free Community Christmas Dinner. A free will offering could be given.

Volunteers expected to serve around 225 diners at the free Community Christmas Dinner. A free will offering could be given.

“Call 911,” I ordered my husband. I knew, given my hearing loss, that I wouldn’t be able to hear above the drone of conversation filling the basement at the Fourth Avenue United Methodist Church Community Christmas Dinner.

A sampling of the volunteer crew it takes to put on the Christmas dinner.

A sampling of the volunteer crew it takes to put on the Christmas dinner.

At some point, a server took the plate from my hand. “Give it to someone else,” I said.

“Is there a nurse here?” I asked as a cluster gathered around the fallen man. I mostly wanted someone to be with him, down there on the floor, comforting him until the paramedics arrived. And there was and that relieved me although I was still very much worried.

I felt helpless standing there, camera bag slung over one shoulder, camera on the other. I couldn’t simply take back my plate, sit down like nothing had happened and enjoy my Christmas meal.

Eventually, the man was eased off the floor and onto a chair and I sought out my husband who stood outside the glass doors in the bitter cold talking on the phone with the emergency dispatcher. I relayed that the man was now sitting and alert. And I wondered why the rescue squad had not yet arrived from two blocks away, knowing full well from personal experience that time seems to stand still when you are in need of emergency services.

And so the story ended. No broken bones. No heart attack. Not even shattered eyeglasses as the unsteady aged man tripped on a table leg and plunged forward, his fall broken only by the shoe of the woman scooping mashed potatoes at the beginning of the serving line.

If not for that shoe, he would have smashed face first onto the tile.

It seemed a Christmas miracle.

And so I stepped back into the serving line, the crew filling my plate for the second time. I pondered how grateful I am to live in a community where volunteers cook and serve savory meals in church basements and, when in a time of need, are there to comfort and assist.

Friends gave friends rides to and from the church dinner.

Friends gave friends rides to and from the church dinner.

The beautiful Fourth Avenue United Methodist Church in Faribault. I'll take you inside the sanctuary in a follow-up post.

The beautiful Fourth Avenue United Methodist Church in Faribault. I’ll take you inside the sanctuary in a follow-up post.

Coffee maker Dan Tersteeg mans the coffee corner. The coffee makers always use Folgers coffee, he says, because it works best with Faribault's water.

Coffee maker Dan Tersteeg mans the coffee corner. The coffee makers always use Folgers, he says, because it works best with Faribault’s water.

I noticed this full coffee cup setting on a cupboard lined with holiday decorations. During the congregation's Lenten soup luncheons, desserts fill the shelves.

I noticed this full coffee cup sitting on a cupboard lined with holiday decorations. During the congregation’s Lenten soup luncheons, desserts fill the shelves.

Inside a room labeled "Fourth Avenue Room," where women were slicing Christmas cake, among other tasks, I found this sign posted.

Inside a room labeled “Fourth Avenue Room,” where women were slicing Christmas cake, among other tasks, I found this humorous sign posted.

And then these directions, too, posted, perhaps, by the boss?

And then these directions, too, posted, perhaps, by the boss?

In the kitchen, a team of workers tended the food and washed the dishes, etc.

In the kitchen, a team of workers tended the food and washed the dishes, etc.

And another worker handed out Christmas cake.

Another worker handed out slices of festive and delicious Christmas cake.

Diners enjoyed each other's company and observed the goings-on.

Diners enjoyed each other’s company and observed the goings-on.

Some of the guests took home gifts of poinsettias which served as table centerpieces.

Some of the guests took home gifts of poinsettias which served as table centerpieces.

A street-side sign welcomes diners to the free Community Christmas dinner.

A street-side sign welcomes diners to the free Community Christmas dinner.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Not again, please, not again December 14, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 4:54 PM
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I SWITCHED ON THE TELEVISION this afternoon, mail in hand, to read a few Christmas cards before continuing on with my day of catch-up around the house and wrapping gifts.

“20 children, six adults dead at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Ct.” or some such words flashed across the bottom of the screen as a reporter detailed the latest mass execution in America.

My aunt’s holiday letter fell from my hands. I read not a single cheery greeting, but instead dumped the pile of remaining unopened mail onto the dining room table and sobbed.

How can this be?

Again.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Presenting poetry: Practice makes perfect December 7, 2012

THAT WELL-KNOWN ADAGE of “practice makes perfect” proved prophetic for me Thursday evening during a poetry reading in Faribault.

An event which I had fretted/worried/stressed about for the past week nearly went off without the proverbial hitch. (I struggled only once, as I read a poem about my son being struck by a hit-and-run driver six years ago.)

Peter Allen presented with me Thursday evening at the Faribault library. I handed my camera to my husband and he tried to get some decent shots shooting available light. This one is the best.. And, no, I am not not sleeping. I'm either contemplating Peter's poem or glancing at my script. Photo by Randy Helbling

Peter Allen presented with me Thursday evening at the Faribault library. I handed my camera to my husband and he tried to get some decent shots shooting in available light. This one is the best. And, no, I am not not sleeping.

Yes, I did it. I stood before an audience and read/discussed poetry along with a co-presenter for 1 ½ hours.

The secret to that success most certainly was practice and, as I emailed my virtual, now real-life, blogger friend Beth Ann, prayer. Beth Ann traveled all the way from Mason City, Iowa, 20 miles south of the Minnesota border, with her husband, Chris, to hear me and Peter Allen present.

Me reading "Prairie Sisters," my first poem of the evening. The poem was published in volume two of Poetic Strokes.

Me reading “Prairie Sisters,” my first poem of the evening. The poem was published in volume two of Poetic Strokes.

About that practice… I’ve been reading my poetry and scripts to my kitchen walls for the past week, rehearsing twice on Thursday and even more on Wednesday. When I phoned my husband, Randy, late Thursday afternoon to remind him of the presentation (he’d asked me to do so), he inquired, “Have you been smoking? Your voice sounds hoarse.”

He was joking, of course, as I don’t smoke and can’t even tolerate cigarette smoke.

I’d been practicing, I told him. Perhaps I’d rehearsed enough if my voice was growing raspy.

The scene in the Great Hall before the audience arrived. It's a gorgeous venue.

The scene in the Great Hall before the audience arrived. It’s a gorgeous venue. I used a few props and visuals in presenting.

Here’s one of the biggest surprises of all from the evening: Because I felt so confident going into the presentation, I actually, truly, enjoyed myself. Who would have thought? Not me.

Second, the turn-out of 32 audience members floored me and Peter. I expected perhaps a dozen. Buckham Memorial Public Services Librarian Allyn M. McColley, who coordinated the event, shared my enthusiasm for the high audience attendance. And, honestly, I did not personally invite a single person, although I did post about the event here last week.

I am grateful that so many ventured out of their warm homes on a cold December evening to embrace poetry. Such interest warms this poet’s heart. I could hear that interest in the laughter, in the questions, in the comments.

It also warms my heart that my two dear friends, Billie Jo and Tammy, both the mothers of young children, would choose to hear me read poetry on their girls’ night out.

And then to think that blogger Beth Ann, whom I’d never met prior to Thursday evening, drove more than an hour with her husband from northern Iowa to listen to me and Peter present simply touches me. (Beth Ann blogged this morning about our meeting and the poetry presentation, so be sure to click here and read her engaging piece.)

Finally, my dear husband, Randy, who helped me tote a van full of props and books and food to the library and then assisted with props and hand-outs, took me out to dinner afterward. We dined at a lovely Italian restaurant, Augusto’s Ristorante, several blocks from the library. It was the perfect way to end a fabulous evening.

FYI: Click here to link to photos posted on the Buckham Memorial Library website.

I believe this is a bust of Judge Thomas Scott Buckham, after whom the library is named. His wife, Anna, gifted the city of Faribault with this Art Nouveau/Greek Revival style building constructed in 1929-1930. The bust is located above the fireplace in the Great Hall, right behind where Peter and I presented.

I believe this is a bust of Judge Thomas Scott Buckham, after whom the library is named. His wife, Anna, gifted the city of Faribault with this Art Nouveau/Greek Revival style building. The bust of this pioneer settler is located above the fireplace in the Great Hall, right behind where Peter and I presented.

One of several Greek murals gracing the Great Hall.

One of several Greek murals gracing the Great Hall.

Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault, was built in 1929 with a Greek theme. Interior features include a Charles Connick stained glass window and Greek murals.

Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault, was built in 1929-1930 with a Greek theme. Interior features include a Charles Connick stained glass window and Greek murals. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Happiness equals family and friendship December 3, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:58 AM
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SINCE I’VE TOUCHED on two hot button topics—defective shingles and dogs in grocery carts—the past two posts, I’m focusing this morning on the positive.

Good Monday morning to you. It’s 50 degrees here in southeastern Minnesota at 7 a.m. On December 3. Love it.

Didn’t love the thick fog so much Sunday morning traveling back from north of the Twin Cities metro after spending the night with my husband’s oldest sister and her husband. But we sure did enjoy the “alone” time with them for a post Thanksgiving dinner.

Thanksgiving Day dinner 2011 at my house with a small part of my family and extended family.

Thanksgiving Day dinner 2011 with my family and a small part of my extended family. File photo.

Typically when we gather with Randy’s family, it’s a whole mass of people with minimal time for one-on-one visiting. And as nieces and nephews marry and start families, the visits with extended family have become less frequent and we’ve now moved from an annual Christmas get together to a summer-time reunion. That’s fine by me as it’s one less place to be during the holiday season.

Anyway, our eldest daughter and her boyfriend also joined the four of us for Saturday evening’s meal of turkey and the trimmings. It’s the first time we’ve seen them since Marc moved in October from California to St. Paul. My mom asks me all the time, “How does Marc like Minnesota?”

I can now report that he seems to like it just fine. (Of course, he has not experienced a “real” Minnesota winter yet.) He commutes 12 minutes via the downtown St. Paul skyway system and one outdoor block to his place of employment.

Thanks to my friend, Mandy, we delivered an artificial Christmas tree to Marc for his St. Paul apartment. I sent a mass email to about a dozen friends last week asking if anyone had a tree they no longer needed and Mandy responded. Such great friends we have.

Speaking of friends, here’s one of the things I love about a town like Faribault, which, by my standards, is not a small town, but which by Twin Cities metro standards likely would be considered small-town. Yesterday while shopping at one of two local grocery stores, I encountered three friends. Yes, it takes awhile to get the cart filled when you “have to stop and visit.” But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A shipped-in, store-bought strawberry can never match the taste of a fresh Minnesota berry, like those pictured here in this file photo of Straight River Farm berries.

Not the strawberries from Roger’s farm, but elsewhere. File photo.

Finally, and this is not meant to make anyone feel sorrowful. But a 79-year-old friend died on Friday. He had a myriad of health issues and his wife died only in May. They were a great Christian couple. We were especially close to Roger. He was always so kind and good to our family, giving us strawberries, sweetcorn and other produce he grew on his rural Faribault acreage.

But more than that, Roger embraced our family with a genuine and caring warmth. Several times Roger invited Randy and me out on a Sunday evening to play pegs and, I can’t remember the name of the game. We would play, but mostly listen to Roger tell his jokes and stories. He loved to tell jokes and stories.

We would laugh, and then laugh some more.

And when the game ended, Roger’s wife, Delores, would dish up the homemade ice cream Roger had made.

It is the seemingly simple things in life—like dinner with extended family and friendship—which make me happy. Life is good on this Monday morning in December.

WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY on this Monday morning?

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Forget shopping in North Dakota on a Sunday morning November 25, 2012

A sign along a city street welcomes us to Fargo, North Dakota, from Moorhead, Minnesota, just across the Red River.

LET’S PRETEND FOR A MOMENT that you are me. You’ve traveled nearly 300 miles from southeastern Minnesota to Fargo, North Dakota, with your husband to visit your son at North Dakota State University in mid-October.

Your son needs basic supplies like laundry detergent and deodorizing powder to sprinkle into his smelly athletic shoes. He also needs long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, socks and a warm scarf to wrap around his neck. Winter, after all, is waiting on flat and windy Fargo’s doorstep.

Being the nice parent that you are, you offer to take your boy shopping. And even though your son detests shopping, he agrees. He is no dummy. He would rather spend Mom and Dad’s money than his own.

So you plan a shopping trip to Target in West Fargo for 10 a.m. Sunday because that will allow the teen to sleep in. Afterward you’ll grab lunch around 11 a.m., then proceed to J.C. Penney (you checked online and Penneys does not open until noon) and leave town by 1 p.m. That is the plan. You have 300 miles to drive yet today.

But the entire plan is tossed out the window when you arrive at Target around 10:30 a.m. Sunday to find the doors locked. This big box retailer does not open until noon.

You suggest heading to Walmart. Your son gets on his smart phone, which he’s recently purchased quite successfully without your assistance or money, thank you. The three of you are soon winding your way around West Fargo, aiming for the discount retailer many love to hate.

Pulling into the parking lot, you notice that the place appears mostly deserted of cars and certainly of customers. As you draw nearer to the front doors, you spot signs stationed at the entrances:

The sign posted in front of the West Fargo Walmart on a Sunday morning.

OK, then.

Now what? Change of plans. Again.

Time to proceed with Plan C, which would be to check if Moorhead, Minnesota, just across the Red River, has a Target. It does. So you aim west for the border, driving five-plus miles, burning up gas because you don’t have time to wait for North Dakota’s stores to open.

You arrive at the Minnesota Target to find the parking lot packed with vehicles bearing mostly North Dakota license plates.

If only you had known about the Sunday morning shopping ban in NoDak, you would have planned differently and squeezed in a Saturday evening shopping outing. You would not be a now unhappy and grumpy Fargo visitor.

But you’ve heard/read nothing of this Blue Law (which you can read about in detail by clicking here)…

How are you supposed to know this stuff? You live in southeastern Minnesota.

And why is such a seemingly antiquated law still on the books?

FYI: I DID NOT REALIZE until I later spoke with a friend, a Minnesotan who grew up in North Dakota and whose son lives and works in Fargo, that the Blue Law not all that long ago prohibited retailers from any Sunday sales. So I suppose I should consider it progress that North Dakota retailers can now open their doors at noon on Sunday.

Secondly, this same friend told me that North Dakota has a five percent sales tax on clothing, of which I was unaware. The trip back across the river to the Target store in Moorhead thus saved us some tax dollars. However, according to information I found online, some North Dakota legislators want to repeal that tax. You can read about those efforts by some Fargo Democrats by clicking here.

Finally, can anyone explain the origin of the Blue Law in North Dakota? I expect it dates back to Sunday as a day of rest, as the Lord’s Day. I respect that and hope that most would choose worship over shopping. Yet, times have changed and church services are held on Saturdays too and, well, you know…

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling