FOR MANY MINNESOTANS, going Up North to the lake cabin for a week in the summer is a time-honored tradition. They go to the same mom-and-pop, or luxury, resort. Stay at the family cabin. Or camp at a private campground or state park.
They fish. Swim. Boat. Hike. They dine out and shop and play hard. It’s all part of the experience.
Seven years ago, I finally joined this Minnesota summer-time phenomenon when a sister-in-law and brother-in-law purchased lake property and opened the on-site cabin to family. Every summer since, Randy and I have headed to Horseshoe Lake south of Crosslake in the Brainerd lakes area for a week-long get-away.
I’ve grown to know and love this region of north central Minnesota, decidedly different than southern Minnesota. Here woods and pristine lakes define the landscape. Narrow tree-lined gravel roads trail into the woods. Personalized signs identify cabin locations. Boats, bait and beer are common refrains.
For those of us who come here to vacation, this place provides a respite from everyday life, a peaceful place to plant ourselves for a bit. Lounging lakeside. Dining lakeside. Drinking coffee as the sun rises over the lake. Reading lakeside.
Here the unique call of loons carries across the water. Here rods bend as weighty fish take bait. Here the sun sets on a campfire complete with s’mores. Here time has no clock.
And for me, cabin life means, above all, being with family. Our eldest daughter, her husband and their two elementary-aged children join us for several days. I love sleeping under the same roof, the grandkids in a loft, the adults in two bedrooms.
I love gathering around the same table for meals. Grilled pork chops, burgers, hot dogs, veggies and, one evening, take-out pizza. I brought banana bread and chocolate chip cookies from home to share. And this stay we picked up a made-from-scratch-daily Grandma Bettie Jane’s blackberry/peach pie from Schaefer’s Foods in Nisswa to celebrate the son-in-law’s birthday.
I love playing games. Some numbers game dreamed up by math whiz Isaac, 7, who seemed determined to stump Grandma. Or BUILDZI, a tabletop game challenging players to stack uniquely-shaped blocks into a tower. No bumping the table, please. And when the grandkids left and quiet settled in, Randy and I played Yahtzee.
But before everyone left, when extreme heat confined us to the indoors, the daughter suggested booking an escape room at Copper Cat Escape Games in Brainerd. I’ve always wanted to try this mystery endeavor. And so we did, looking for, solving and following clues to unlock locks, eventually leading us to Granny’s secret recipe. There was no sitting in a rocking chair for this Grandma. I was in the thick of the action, good at finding, not so good at deciphering. It was a whole lot of fun, earning a top rating from me.
Not so easy, though, was sifting through sand searching for a small plastic toy dinosaur that Izzy, 10, found in the lake, buried on the beach and then couldn’t find. Our efforts turned up nothing. But this search is now the stuff of family stories.
Up North at the cabin is about sharing stories, about connecting, about making memories and about understanding that, above all, family matters most.
TELL ME: Do you get away with your family to a special place each year? I’d like to hear. I should note here that I would love to have all of my family—the son and his girlfriend from Boston and the second daughter and her husband and our other grandson from Madison, WI.—together with us at the cabin. Maybe some day…
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Barns, an enduring symbol of farming June 25, 2026
Tags: agricultural symbol, agriculture, barns, childhood memories, commentary, cosmos, farm sites, farming, Hutchinson, Mantorville, Minnesota, photography, road trip, rural life, rural Minnesota, southern Minnesota, travel
IF A SINGLE BUILDING symbolizes agriculture in Minnesota, it is a barn.
Barns hold the history of farming within their walls. They hold the stories of farm families who labored therein. They hold memories—the heat of cattle, the lingering scent of manure, the pulse of milking machines, the scurrying of barn cats and much more.
Barns also hold heartaches and challenges and the satisfaction and rewards that come with farming.
To step inside a barn, or even to observe one from a distance as I did on recent trips out and about in rural Minnesota, is to understand the importance agriculture plays in this state.
Sure, farming has changed. Many barns no longer house animals, once a farm staple, as ag has shifted to crop farming. But at its core, this profession, this way of life, still centers rural parts of Minnesota, keeps small towns going. I saw that, from Mantorville to Faribault and from Faribault to Morris and back home.
Barns dominate farm sites just like grain elevators landmark many small rural communities.
While I see too many dilapidated barns fallen into heaps of rotting wood, I also see those that are well-cared for, still standing strong against the ravages of time and weather. I know that comes at a cost to the landowner. Keeping a barn properly roofed and painted is a major expense. I appreciate efforts to preserve barns built by generations past.
My ancestry traces to farming, to German immigrants who arrived in America, eventually making their way to southwestern Minnesota. There they found rich dark soil in which to plant seeds. Land upon which to build farmhouses, barns and other buildings necessary to the operation of a farm.
I am rooted in farming. I worked inside the barn my father built. I shoveled manure, scooped silage, pushed a wheelbarrow heaping with ground feed, carried pails brimming with milk, bedded straw, tossed hay bales from the hayloft, fed calves… I worked the land, too, picking rock and pulling cockleburrs. I carried lunch to my dad and uncles on hot summer days of baling hay.
There is nothing romantic about farming. It is hard work. It is a risky business affected by weather, markets, prices, too many factors out of a farmer’s control.
Yet, I will unequivocally state that I am incredibly thankful I grew up on a working farm. The lessons learned there about working together, about forging forward despite setbacks, about standing independent and strong are ingrained in me.
My dad laughed when I told him I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up. He knew better. There was nothing to keep me on the farm. And so I left, went to college, became a journalist. But even though physically-removed from the farm, I’ve always carried my ruralness within me, reflected in my writing and photography.
I find myself still drawn to rural scenes. A farm site. A grain elevator. A gravel road. Cattle grazing. Farm machinery, especially tractors, traversing fields. These all define agriculture. But it is the barn which symbolizes farming and the enduring strength and hope of a farmer.
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NOTE: I took these photos from the front passenger seat, either through the windshield or side window while traveling at highway speeds. Locations of several photos are not noted as I don’t recall the exact locations.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling