INSIDE THE MERTON TOWN HALL, Audrey Klukas, who lives a few miles away in rural Owatonna, is hosting a May plant sale. She’s hauled plants and canned goods, homemade apple pies and woven rugs from her trailer, up the steps into this aged building.
Marigolds, geraniums, petunias, tomatoes, succulents, peppers, hostas, sedum, coneflowers and more cover tables and sections of the old wooden floor. Tree seedlings sit on a painted church pew.
Klukas has grown most of the plants in her rural greenhouse. She’s a woman of many talents, an entrepreneur, a student of horticulture. In 1973, she graduated with the first class of horticulture students completing their two-year degree at the University of Minnesota, Waseca. That technical college closed in 1992.
It’s clear that Klukas put her education to good use—planting seeds, then watering and nurturing the growing plants. She’s shared the fruits of her labors in this month-long sale, held every Friday through Sunday in May. The final weekend sale is from 9 a.m.-5 p.m. May 29-31.
As I wandered among the plant-filled tables, bright sunshine streamed through the windows, Asian beetles clinging to the warm glass.
I admired the jars of canned goods. The pickles. Jam in assorted varieties like rhubarb with strawberry, raspberry and cherry. And then something I’d never seen, pickled kohlrabi and kohlrabi with pepper flakes and jalapeno. I should have bought a jar.
Instead, I meandered, taking it all in. I stopped to run my hands across the woven rugs crafted by Klukas and displayed on a table below a flyswatter, a clock and an American flag bannered on the wall above a printed copy of “The Pledge of Allegiance.” I noticed a handprinted sign: Needed old jeans for rugs. It takes a lot of jeans to make a rug, Klukas told me.
I asked some questions about the building, which she probably uses more than anyone, Klukas said. A 4-H club once met here. And when I looked closer, I saw that verified in an over-sized green clover, a discarded banner and more in and above a trophy case.
A trophy caught my eye. Klukas stepped around her plant tables and onto a stage to remove the trophy from the cabinet. A silver horse topped the Steele County 4-H Club Herdsman Award sponsored by the Sheriff’s Mounted Posse and Auxiliary of Steele County, 1975. I admired the 51-year-old trophy, as much a piece of history as a piece of art.
Since this is the Merton Town Hall, the center of township government, this is also a meeting and polling place. I wiggled my way to the voting booths, divided and cordoned off with blue fabric for privacy. Here locals exercise their right to vote. This is about as grassroots as it gets in a democracy.
Klukas and I didn’t talk much. But she shared that a church once used this building, too, which was originally a school. No more details known. School, church, town hall, 4-H club meeting place and now, in the month of May, this simple structure in the middle of farm fields is a space to sell plants, rugs, homemade preserves, pies…the fruits of Klukas’ labors.
When I stepped outside the town hall, I considered the feet that have climbed the front steps into this building. To learn. To worship. To discuss township governance. To vote. To commit to the 4 tenets of 4-H: head, heart, hands and health. To gather. And on this May day to shop as farm fields green, as robins tend their young inside an on-site weathered gray outhouse that leans into the land.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Voices rise, past & present in Minnesota April 7, 2025
Tags: commentary, Congressman Brad Finstad, democracy, family legacy, farming, memories, Minnesota, opinion, Owatonna Town Hall, Rabbit Tracks, student newspaper, Town Hall, voices, Wabasso High School
I COME FROM A LONG LINE of engaged citizenry rooted in the rich dark soil of the southwestern Minnesota prairie. On that land, generations of my family used their voices and skills to create change, to make the place they called home a better place. My paternal great grandfather, Rudolph, started that engagement by helping found a Lutheran church in my hometown. Pre-building, congregants met in his farmhouse.
From that church to school boards to county boards, from elementary schools to high schools to college campuses and more, countless family members have served and continue to serve others by representing them, crafting policies, improving lives. I am proud of that legacy.
Now you might ask, what about you, Audrey? I, too, have served, but in a different capacity. I’ve never held a desire to lead, to run for elected office or even sit on a board. Rather, I’ve observed, used the written word to inform others. During my years working as a newspaper reporter, I covered endless county board, city council, planning and zoning board, school board, caucuses and other meetings. I learned a lot about how government does and doesn’t work during those many hours of scribbling notes, gathering quotes, writing news stories. I learned, too, that individual voices matter and are heard. And I shared that in my unbiased, balanced reporting.
Today I craft writing that is not straight news reporting, because I am no longer a newspaper reporter. Rather, my writing is personal and sometimes opinionated. My voice matters…as much as anyone’s.
While coming of age near the end of the Vietnam war, I began writing angsty poetry about the war. I purchased and wore a POW bracelet, a thick silver band that wrapped around my wrist. It was engraved with the name of an American soldier held as a prisoner of war. I also wrote the occasional opinion piece for my high school paper. Not about the war, but on other topics.
It was my dad, a dairy and crop farmer, who inspired me to voice my thoughts in the May 24, 1974, issue of my school paper, Rabbit Tracks. In an opinion piece titled “Farmers Develop Backbone of America,” teenage me wrote about low farm prices and how farmers were struggling to survive. I had witnessed my dad dumping milk down the drain during a nationwide protest by the National Farmers Organization. All these decades later, I more fully understand how difficult that must have been for Dad. He depended on income from milk sales to provide for our family. But he sacrificed and let his voice be heard in that NFO protest.
Sunday evening I listened to another farmer voice his thoughts, this time in the open mic part of a Town Hall meeting attended by hundreds in nearby Owatonna. He drove from Janesville to share concerns about how tariffs will negatively affect his farming operation via market loss, dropping crop prices and rising costs for everything from tractor parts to fertilizer and fuel. This farmer of 60-plus years pleaded with his Congressman, Representative Brad Finstad (a fourth-generation farmer who was invited but did not attend), to listen and to do something. It was a powerful and particularly emotional delivery.
Emotions are running high right now across this country. I cannot imagine anyone who would disagree with that. We may disagree on policies, decisions and leaders. But we still—as of this writing—have a voice, even as efforts to suppress our voices continue. We can protest, like my 82-year-old uncle did on Saturday at the Minnesota State Capitol. We can attend town halls to learn, to speak, to let our voices be heard. We can contact our elected officials via phone and/or email and tell them what we think. We can engage. We can vote.
A long line of speakers and attendees of all ages addressed numerous topics from veterans’ issues to education to housing to healthcare to democracy and more at the Sunday Town Hall in respectful conversation. The common threads weaving through the event were a deep concern for what is happening in our country and to assure our voices are heard.
I leave you with this opinion piece published in the October 15, 1974, issue of my high school newspaper. An 11th grader wrote about posters she created and which students were defacing. Here’s Mary’s closing sentence in a letter to the editor titled “Keep Hands, Pens Off”: A lot of time and effort has been put into these signs and the least you can do is keep your hands off of them. If everyone is so anxious to write something on the wall, make your own posters. How applicable those words are to today.
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NOTE: I welcome respectful conversation here. That said, I moderate all comments on this, my personal blog, and make the final decision on publishing comments.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling