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.
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.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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