A student watches a video of Martin Luther King, Jr. in the “Selma to Montgomery: Marching Along the Voting Rights Trail” exhibit at St. Olaf College, Northfield, in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
WE ALL HOLD DREAMS. Hopes and desires and wishes that improve our lives. Financially, mentally, emotionally and otherwise. Perhaps they are dreams directed inward. Or they are dreams for others in our lives, especially our loved ones.
Sixty years ago today, Martin Luther King, Jr. revealed his dream at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC. His was a powerful speech packed with powerful words that resonated as much on August 28, 1963 as they do today:
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.
Visitors could photograph themselves at the “Selma” exhibit and express their thoughts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
King’s statements in “I have a dream” held the hope of Americans denied very basic civil and voting rights simply because of their skin color. A year later, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 became law, prohibiting discrimination (and segregation) in public places. Passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 followed, assuring the right to vote. But the struggle continued as it does today for people of color.
Back in 1964 and 1965, I was too young and too far removed from the Civil Rights Movement to have any knowledge of what was happening in the world beyond my childhood home in southwestern Minnesota. I lived in a rural area of primarily Germans and Scandinavians, where the only difference was in religion. Either you were Lutheran or you were Catholic with a few Presbyterians, Methodists and Brethren tossed in.
I don’t recall ever seeing a Black person. Few, if any, lived in Redwood County. Indigenous Peoples lived on nearby reservations to the east and to the west by Morton and Granite Falls. But I never saw the Dakota, never interacted. Mine was a world of whiteness. Now I am the mother-in-law of a man whose father is black, his mother white. I’ve heard my son-in-law’s unsettling stories of what it’s like to be a Black man in America today.
Opinions expressed in the “Selma” exhibit polling place. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
Today I live in a place of varied colors and cultures. For that I feel thankful. At the core, we are all just people with hopes, desires, wishes. We all hold dreams, no matter our skin color.
A sign marks the Fairy Garden at the Rice County Master Gardeners Teaching Gardens in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
DECIDEDLY MAGICAL. Those words describe my reaction to fairy gardens, mini scenes created with small scale fairies, gnomes, animals and more in an unexpected spot within a flower garden.
A ground level view of gnomes’ rocky woodland home in the gardens of Susan and Dale Kulsrud, featured in a 2014 garden tour. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2014)
I saw my first fairy gardens during the Northfield Garden Club 2014 Garden Tour and have loved them ever since.
A unicorn-hugging fairy in the Faribault garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Maybe it’s the kid in me or perhaps the creative in me that appreciates these delightful scenes that transport me from reality into a storybook world. We all need to escape the chaos of life occasionally, even if but for a few minutes. Fairy gardens do just that for me.
Love depicted in a bridal couple in the master gardeners’ garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
It’s OK to embrace the child within us, to imagine living in an enchanting place where goodness and kindness and love prevail and everyone gets along. I believe those truths when I spot a fairy garden in the tranquility of a flower garden.
An overview of a section of the master gardeners’ garden in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
A variety of birds can be seen at the Faribault garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Water bubbles from a stump water feature inside the pond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Recently I discovered a new fairy garden at the Rice County Master Gardeners Teaching Gardens located on the Rice County Fairgrounds in Faribault. This garden had already been a favorite spot to visit, to walk among the flowers and other plants, to observe butterflies and birds, and to watch water spilling from a water feature inside a pond.
Reflecting the cultural diversity of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
A volunteer working there on the day I stopped mentioned that the fairy garden is especially popular with kids, who often move the figurines. I love that—envisioning children playing with the mini people and animals, rearranging the scene, stories spinning through their heads. Imaginative play is something we should all engage in, even as adults. We’re never too old, or too young, for that.
Stones imitate water in this bucolic scene. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Unlike real life, fairy tales always have happy endings. The prince finds Cinderella. Little Red Riding Hood defeats the Big Bad Wolf. Jack climbs the beanstalk, outsmarts the giant, escapes, and saves the day to live happily ever after. Ah, if only happily ever after was always the ending.
A bunny welcomed in the Faribault garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Fairy gardens offer a respite, happiness, if we we choose to pause, bend low, see them. If we choose to believe in their magic.
Loving art by Izzy, age seven. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
THOSE OF US WHO HAVE parented or are parenting young children understand how proud kids are of their artwork. They carry drawings and paintings, ceramics and a whole lot of creations home in their backpacks. What to do with all of it?
Toy room gallery space. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
My eldest daughter has created a gallery in the kids’ toy room to display Isabelle and Isaac’s art. Whenever I visit their south metro home, I check out my grandchildren’s wall of art. I ask the 4 ½-year-old and the 7-year-old about the pieces. At their ages, I want them simply to enjoy making art.
Bright flowers jolt color onto the gallery wall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
I have no insider knowledge as to how their preschool and first grade teachers teach art. But I do hope the kids are not simply copycatting an example, but rather have some artistic freedom. I expect, though, that can prove challenging for a teacher with limited time and a classroom full of students.
Combining the visual and literary arts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Whatever, I appreciate that my grandkids are creating. Art hasn’t always been valued when finances are tight in a school district. In the past, the arts have often been the first to get trimmed or cut. I feel like thinking on that has shifted. There’s a realization that we need the arts. Visual. Performing. Literary.
Texture emerges in this bamboo and panda art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
A close-up of a portion of the gallery wall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
Interactive art:These tent flaps open to reveal a photo of Isaac tucked inside a sleeping bag.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
I cannot imagine a world without the value the arts bring. Value in expression. Value in entertainment. Value in communication. Value in lifting spirits, in bringing joy. Value in thought and sparking conversations. And for the littlest among us, value in hands-on creative learning.
Handprint art to cherish. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
To see my grandchildren’s handprints, imperfect block letter printing, dabs of paint on paper and more is like a glimpse into their life at school and a glimpse at their creativity.
The power of lines in art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
I love that my daughter showcases their work in a family gallery. How encouraging that is to Izzy and Isaac to have their art prominently displayed rather than stashed in a pile or tossed away. And, yes, I realize there’s a point when you can’t keep everything. Then it’s time to photograph the art, give some to loved ones and/or share with seniors in care centers.
Not all art makes the wall. This artsy flowerpot was a Mother’s Day gift. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
But for now, in this moment, that wall of artwork from the past school year reveals that art holds importance in their household. And that makes this creative grandma especially happy.
Among the many retirement cards Randy recently received. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I’M OLD SCHOOL. I like to give and receive greeting cards. Why? It’s personal. Much more personal than anything sent electronically.
All of the cards in this boxed set are verses I wrote. (Source: Warner Christian Resources)
I also happen to write freelance greeting card verses for a faith-based publishing company in Anderson, Indiana. I’ve done that for years, so long I can’t recall when I started. But I appreciate that Warner Christian Resources (formerly Warner Press) prints the writer’s name on the back of each card. Currently, all the cards in the boxed set, “Sympathy—Classic Condolences,” are printed with verses I penned. Order a box of these 12 cards, four designs (click here), and you’ll read my verses and see my name on the backs of the cards. I have one other card in a 2023 get well collection.
Typically I sell a handful of verses during each annual submission period. So while not particularly lucrative, writing greeting card verses for Warner challenges me. It’s not easy coming up with new ways of delivering a message. Kind of like writing poetry, every creative word counts.
Now back to greeting cards in general. I value them. They require time to choose or craft. They require putting pen to paper to sign and/or add a personal note. They require a stop at the post office or a mailbox if mailed. In other words, greeting cards take time and effort to send or give. And to me, that says something. That someone is thinking about me or I of them. That they care, that I care.
A downward view of some of Randy’s retirement cards. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Recently, we’ve received an influx of greeting cards, starting with congratulatory wishes for Randy upon his recent retirement (well, sort of retirement as he eases into it by working fewer days each week). When I posted about his retirement, I encouraged you, my readers, to send cards. The many greetings that filled our mailbox humbled us. For Randy to receive cards from blog followers who took the time to choose or craft, sign and send greetings shows me what kind and caring hearts you have. Thank you.
My friend Valerie colored this postcard for me and wrote a get well message on the back.She knows how much I like to hang laundry on the line and how I colored when my vestibular symptoms were the worst. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Recently, I’ve also received get well cards as I deal with the difficult symptoms of vestibular neuronitis. Anyone who’s ever faced a health challenge understands just how much a card means when you’re not feeling well. Such cards uplift, encourage, show that someone cares about how you’re doing, how you’re feeling. I understand that and try to always mail cards to friends and family who need encouragement.
Lastly, Randy and I celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary on Monday. We’ve received a few cards. Early on in our marriage, we got lots of anniversary cards every May. Now? Not many. Maybe after you’ve been married for as long as us, the thought is not even there to send a card. I have a sister-in-law who considered it weird that I would mail an anniversary card to her and her husband. No matter her opinion, I still send them a card each year.
How about you? Are you old school like me and still appreciate greeting cards? Do you send them, receive them? Or do you prefer to convey wishes in another way, or not at all? I’d like to hear.
An edited computer screen image of students about to graduate Sunday evening from Purdue University. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
“YOU ARE READY and the world needs you….The world needs your energy and talents.” Versions of those statements are likely being repeated by keynote speakers during college commencements across the country. Sunday evening, Kathleen Howell, professor of Aeronautics and Astronautics at Purdue University, delivered those words to master’s and doctor of philosophy students receiving their diplomas, my son among them.
Purdue’s Boilermaker mascot was on-site for weekend commencement ceremonies. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)
From hundreds of miles away in southern Minnesota, I watched livestreaming of the lengthy ceremony. My vestibular neuronitis symptoms prevented me from making the long trip to Indiana. But Randy was there, sitting in packed Elliott Hall of Music for hours waiting to see Caleb walk across the stage to accept his master’s diploma.
Purdue’s college president, left, and other staff filled the stage Sunday evening in this computer screen photo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
As speakers go, Howell did a stellar job of addressing graduates, reflecting on their time at Purdue and the future. And I’m not just saying that. I’ve attended college commencements thrice through the years and have heard some not so good speakers, especially the Wisconsin politician who apparently thought he was at a campaign rally rather than a university graduation.
The rising moon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But back to West Lafayette, Indiana, and that speech by Howell. She shaped her address around a quote from President John F. Kennedy’s “moon speech,” quite appropriate given her area of expertise and involvement with the space program. In his talk about space exploration at Rice University in Houston, Texas, in September 1962, JFK said, “We chose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.”
Graduates, families and friends gather pre-commencement at Purdue Sunday evening. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)
Howell took that quote and expanded, suggesting grads reflect on what they’ve learned and the lessons they’ve learned. How they’ve chosen the things that are hard, pushed through hard times, modified their paths, come out stronger and more resilient. Her words, I expect resonated with many. They did with me as a parent. Howell encouraged the new degree-holders to trust themselves, to always recognize that not everything is accomplished alone. I appreciated her specific acknowledgment of those who supported, continue to support, these new graduates.
All in all, Howell’s keynote address was upbeat, uplifting, encouraging. I never once just wanted her speech to end so the ceremony could proceed. But when it did and doctorate candidates began the process of being “hooded,” I admittedly grew impatient.
Caleb, pre-commencement. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)
Eventually, Caleb walked across the stage and I found myself overcome with emotion. He’d worked hard, met challenges to reach this point and I felt incredibly proud and grateful and many other feelings rolled into that moment. Howell’s speech caused me to reflect on Caleb as a little boy and his interest in space, not space travel as much as the solar system. He even had a star chart. His star, though, shines not in the skies, but in computer science. Caleb will be among those Purdue students who go on to create technological advancements. He’s already off to a good start with his undergrad accomplishments, independent research and work experience in the years between earning his bachelor’s (from Tufts University) and master’s degrees.
For all those parents who are watching their “kids” graduate, this is your moment, too. As Professor Howell said, none of us can do this alone. Not us. Not these new graduates. And especially not the first men on the moon.
A photo of the Edmund Fitzgerald shown during a 2014 presentation in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
CERTAIN SONGS FROM MY TEEN years into my early 20s occasionally surface like ear worms in my mind. Today that tune is “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” a ballad by Canadian singer, songwriter and guitarist Gordon Lightfoot.
Taconite pellets, like these, filled the cargo holds of The Edmund Fitzgerald as it journeyed across Lake Superior on November 9 and 10, 1975.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
The 84-year-old musician died on Monday, leaving a legacy of storytelling that includes his version of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s fateful final journey. The iron ore carrier sank in Lake Superior on November 10, 1975, claiming the lives of 29 crewmen.
Newspaper clippings about The Fitz were passed around to audience members at a 2014 presentation in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
Stories about the catastrophic shipwreck during a storm with hurricane force winds, waves reaching 70 feet and a gale force warning bannered newspapers. It was especially big news here in Minnesota since the 729-foot long by 75-foot wide ship left Superior, Wisconsin, just across from the port city of Duluth. The Fitzgerald was weighted with 26,000 tons of taconite pellets and bound for a steel mill near Detroit, Michigan.
PBS did a documentary on the Edmund Fitzgerald. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
On the afternoon of November 9, the freighter left Superior. By 7:15 pm the next evening, the USS Edmund Fitzgerald disappeared, the wreckage later found 17 miles northwest of Whitefish Point, Michigan.
In Lightfoot’s words:
The captain wired in he had water comin’ in And the good ship and crew was in peril And later that night when his lights went out of sight Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Lightfoot on the cover of his 2002 CD, which my husband owns. “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” soared to #2 on the Pop chart and remained there for 21 weeks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
The lengthy folk song of 6.5 minutes unfolds in suspenseful storytelling style. Lightfoot takes his listeners on board the massive Edmund Fitzgerald caught in the stormy, churning waters of Gitche Gumee (Ojibwe for Lake Superior). The songwriter uses some artistic license in his version of the disaster as noted when comparing facts to lyrics. Yet, his haunting song, like reality, carries the truth of death, the heavy emotions of loss. Every time I hear Lightfoot’s song, I feel overcome with sadness, as if the powerful, roiling waves of Superior are rolling over me, pulling me down down down into the dark depths of the lake.
The Edmund Fitzgerald stretched more than two football fields long. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)
The emotional intensity of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” remains strong for me, even decades after I first heard the new release in 1976. And that’s a credit to Lightfoot, who wrote history into a ballad that is poetically and tragically memorable.
TELL ME: Are you a fan of Gordon Lightfoot or any of his songs? I’d like to hear your thoughts on him, this ballad or musicians and/or songs particularly memorable to you.
A crown of thorns (similar to that worn by Jesus on the cross) used in a Stations of the Cross event at my church in 2019. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2019)
ON THIS GOOD FRIDAY, the day Christ was crucified, I contemplated what I would write. I had two topics in mind—suffering and compassion. Then I realized I needn’t choose one. I could focus on both.
Christ died a cruel and agonizing death. There is no denying that. Yet, even in his betrayal, his pain, his intense suffering, he showed compassion to the end. And beyond the end. We can learn a lot from Jesus.
We all experience suffering in life. That’s a given in our humanity. Right now I have friends going through some really rough stuff within their immediate and extended families. A one-year-old on life support. A nephew dead in a tragic car accident. Another battling advanced cancer. Ongoing and new health issues. It can feel like a lot. And to think otherwise would be to deny the challenges facing people about whom I care deeply. There are days when I feel overwhelmed by all the suffering in this world and beyond. Enough already, I want to scream.
Reaching out with care and compassion. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But then I recognize that I can either be dragged down by it or I can do as Christ did—show compassion. I can be that person who listens. I can be that person who offers encouraging words. I can be that person who mails an uplifting greeting card with a personal note. I can be that person who connects and shows care in tangible ways and sets aside my anguish to focus on those at the center of challenges.
This is not the time to pull out my own stories and compare, thus putting the focus on me. This is not the time for me to tell anyone how to think, feel or act. This is not the time to offer advice. This is the time to simply be there. To listen. To hug. To pray, but to take my compassion beyond thoughts and prayers.
We can all work on improving our listening skills. Not just hear, but listen. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I am a major advocate of listening. It is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give to someone who is grieving, in crisis, in the throes of health or other challenges. Listening doesn’t seem to come easily for most people. It takes a conscious, focused effort. But at its core, listening is easy. It requires keeping one’s mouth closed, for starters. And then it necessitates concentrating, taking in every word, every nuance, body language and detail.
By nature, I am a quiet observer. I don’t need to be, want to be, the loudest person in the room pushing my ideas or opinions or recommendations. I know too many individuals who fit that self-centered persona. They exhaust me and, yes, sometimes even anger me. Quiet compassion and listening center me.
An important message painted onto a fence in a downtown Faribault pocket garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Today, as I reflect on the life and death of Christ, I see someone who showed great compassion throughout his time on earth. He witnessed and understood suffering. He experienced emotions. He felt pain. Yes, I can learn a lot from Jesus. About loving. About listening. About showing compassion, even in suffering.
TELL ME: How do you show compassion to those who are facing challenges?
Art created by Briana, Faribault Middle School sixth grader. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
“THAT LOOKS LIKE an illustration in a children’s picture book” I think while viewing a drawing of a cat eyeing fish in a fish bowl. But I’m not paging through a book. Rather I’m appreciating a work of art by Faribault Middle School sixth grader Briana in the All Area Student Art Show at the Paradise Center for the Arts. The exhibit with student art from eight schools closes April 8.
A sampling of artwork in this exhibit, here the art of Faribault Middle School students. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Likewise, I envision other art on t-shirts, note cards, mugs, places beyond the walls of this Minnesota center for the arts in historic downtown Faribault.
I am grateful to the Paradise Center for the Arts showcasing student art annually. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Yet, on this day I value this student art in its role as part of a gallery exhibit, showcased to the public. This annual show is always such a delight in the variety of art, the talent, the way these young artists pour themselves into their work. Some pieces, more than others, offer glimpses into personalities and interests.
Making music via the visual arts. Guitars by Kiley, left, and Mish of Faribault Middle School. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
I can feel my fingers press into the strings of a guitar, the beat of music filling the room.
Paper collages by Faribault Middle School eighth graders Claire, left, and Maddie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
I can hear the rhythmic thump of a basketball upon the floor, feel my foot connecting with a soccer ball, see a tennis ball fly across the net toward me. I can hear a dog panting, feel its presence nearby.
Two especially creative pieces of art from Kylie, left, and Cassie, Faribault Middle School sixth graders. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
I can see my beautiful multi-hued nails, a reflection of this beautiful, diverse world.
Belinda, Roosevelt second grader, created this bold rooster. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
I can hear the rooster crowing, the chicken clucking, the dog barking.
A collection of kitties drawn by Kennedy, first grader at Roosevelt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
I can feel a hundred cat eyes on me, watching, waiting.
Holly, a senior at Faribault Area Learning Center, crafted this mask. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
It doesn’t take much to immerse myself in this student art, to experience it. Art can take us places. Geographically. Mentally. Back in time, forward in time. Into an imaginative place. Into a real place. Art can be healing and therapeutic and so many other things. Art can make a statement.
A sampling of art by students from Roosevelt Elementary School. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
To confine art’s purpose to a sentence or two would be like locking ideas inside a box. It can’t be done. As long as creatives create, the expanse of art’s reach is endless. Today these youth have shown me their evolving, developing creativity. And that gives me hope in a world that needs art today more than ever.
This message refers to the struggles associated with mental illness. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WE’VE ALL SEEN THEM—fundraisers and GoFundMe campaigns to help individuals and families who are struggling. Perhaps you’ve even been in that spot of needing financial help following a devastating event or a major health crisis. You’ve likely attended many fundraisers and/or donated online. I am thankful for such generosity.
Typically, these pancake breakfasts, spaghetti dinners, silent auctions,…crowdfunding efforts follow a diagnosis like cancer, a car accident or a major event like a house fire. Missed work and overwhelming medical and other bills all too often deplete finances. And if not for the assistance of caring family, friends and even strangers, many could not get through the challenges.
Yet, in the all of this, I’ve often wondered why individuals who’ve experienced a mental health crisis are not fundraising also. When they’ve been hospitalized and/or found themselves unable to work, the financial fall-out is no less.
I photographed these mental health themed buttons several years ago on a bulletin board at the Northfield Public Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ASKING FOR FINANCIAL HELP
But I hold hope that is changing. I read an encouraging article, “Out from under: Crowdfunding is an option for people in mental health crisis,” by freelancer Andy Steiner. In her MinnPost article, Steiner shares the story of a 42-year-old artist and educator diagnosed with bipolar disorder and post traumatic stress disorder linked to childhood abuse and who suffers from debilitating migraines as a result. Unable to work sometimes for months at a time, the woman faced financial struggles. She was behind on her rent. A friend suggested she start a GoFundMe. Eventually, she reluctantly did so, getting enough donations to pay overdue bills and then some. It was just the boost she needed. Financially and mentally/emotionally.
Steiner’s article includes interviews with Mental Health Minnesota and with GoFundMe. I encourage you to read her story by clicking here. I feel such hope in reading that more people facing mental health crises are beginning to seek the outside financial support often elusive to them.
I recognize this doesn’t fix everything. We have a long ways to go in ending the stigma which continues to surround mental illness. I see improvements. But I don’t think we’re to the point where family and friends are delivering hotdishes (the Minnesota term for “casseroles”) to individuals and families in the throes of a mental health crisis. Financial and emotional support, encouragement and, yes, even compassionate greeting cards/calls/notes are needed just as much in these situations.
Reaching for help, this hand was part of a mental health-themed sculpture, “Waist Deep,” which once stood outside the Northfield Public Library as part of a changing art installation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrightedfile photo 2019)
CRISIS RESPONSE EXPANDING IN MY COUNTY
And we definitely need more mental healthcare professionals. That brings me to another recent bit of encouraging news. My county of Rice has been selected as the site for a new satellite office of the South Central Mobile Crisis Team, a team which responds (to homes, etc. and virtually) 24/7 in mental health crises in a 10-county area. Currently, it can take some 2 ½ hours for that team to arrive here from its home base 40 miles away. That’s too long. If you were experiencing a heart attack, for example, you wouldn’t be expected to wait two hours.
Yes, I hold hope. I hold hope for the many individuals and families who will benefit from additional, immediate mental healthcare resources. I hold hope that Crowdfunding and fundraising dinners and breakfasts will become more common for individuals experiencing a mental health crisis and the financial fall-out. I hold hope that they will find, too, a more understanding community of emotional support. All of this is so long overdue. We each have the power within us to show compassion and care and thus help reduce the stigma of mental illness. Let’s do it.
I highly-recommend this book to learn more about mental illness from the perspective of parents. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In a powerful statement to the media, Caroline Ouko said, “Mental illness should not be your ticket to death. There was a chance to rescue him. We have to do better.” The words of this grieving mother should cause every single one of us to pause and consider, what if this had been my loved one in a mental health crisis? Could this happen to someone I love? To any of us? Sadly, it could.
We can do better. We have to do better. Mental illness should not be a ticket to death.
Photographed along a recreational trail in the Atwood Neighbor of Madison, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A FEWRESOURCES
FYI: If you or someone you love is experiencing a mental health crisis and/or is in need of mental health support, please seek help.
National Alliance on Mental Illness, with state chapters, is a great resource for information and support, including virtual and in-person support groups. Click here to reach the national NAMI website.
Trees bud at Falls Creek Park, rural Faribault, in late May 2022. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)
TODAY, THE FIRST DAY of spring, hope springs that this long winter of too much snow will soon exit Minnesota. Most Minnesotans, including me, are weary of days marked by new snowfall that has accumulated, pushing this 2022-2023 winter season into top 10 records in our state.
Asparagus, one of my favorite spring vegetables. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But now, with the official start of a new season on March 20—the season of new life, the season of planting and budding and greening—I feel a mental shift. Psychologically, my mind can envision a landscape shifting from colorless monochrome to vivid greens. I can feel the warmth of warmer days yet to come. I can smell the scent of dirt released, breaking from winter’s grip. I can hear the singsong chatter of returning birds. I can taste asparagus spears snapped from the soil.
A bud beginning to open in late April 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2020)
All of this is yet to come. I understand that. A date on a calendar doesn’t mean spring in Minnesota. That season is realistically weeks away. April can still bring inches of snow.
Crocuses, always the first flower of spring in my flowerbeds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021)
But we are edging toward spring. I feel that in temps sometimes reaching just past 40 degrees. I feel it in the warmth of the sun, shining brighter, bolder, longer. I see dwindling snow packs and exposed patches of grass. I hear spring in vehicles splashing through puddles rather than crunching across snow. I see spring, too, in the endless potholes pocking roadways.
The first line in my winning poem, posted roadside in 2011. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)
On this first day of spring, I am reminded of a poem I penned in 2011, a poem which splashed across four billboards along a road just off Interstate 94 in Fergus Falls in west central Minnesota. To this day, publication of that poem remains an especially rewarding experience for me as a poet.
Billboard number two of my spring-themed poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)
I submitted the poem to the now-defunct Roadside Poetry Project’s spring competition. Poems changed out seasonally in this Fergus Falls Area College Foundation funded contest. It was a bit of a challenge writing a spring-themed poem, as I recall. Not because of the theme, but rather the rules—four lines only with a 20-character-per-line limit. But, as a writer, it’s good to be challenged.
Line three of my Roadside Poetry Project spring poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)
I suppose you could say the same about Minnesota weather. It’s good to be challenged by an especially snowy winter so we appreciate spring’s arrival even more. Yes, that’s a positive perspective—a way to mentally and psychologically talk myself into enduring perhaps six more weeks of winter in this official season of spring.
The last of four billboards featuring my Roadside Poetry spring poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)
NOTE: I intentionally omitted any pictures showing snow/winter.
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