Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

“Little House on the Prairie” originated as a book series, remember August 4, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:28 AM
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A Laura look-alike climbs onto a covered wagon at the Laura Ingalls Wilder Pageant site near Walnut Grove recently.

WHENEVER THE TOPIC of “Little House on the Prairie” surfaces, folks cannot believe that I know the stories from the books and not the television show.

But years before the long-running TV series aired, in a school in a small town some 20 miles north of Walnut Grove, my teacher read, yes, read, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books to me and my classmates daily after lunch. I have fond memories of sitting there in my desk at Vesta Elementary School raptly listening to Mrs. Kotval read of the Ingalls family’s life on the prairie, my prairie.

At the time, back in the mid-1960s, I simply loved hearing the mesmerizing accounts of prairie fires and of blizzards, of fiddle-playing and of grasshopper plagues, of mean Nellie Oleson and of kind, kind Mary, Laura’s older sister. Wilder’s descriptive writing drew me in—into the dug-out, onto the seat of the covered wagon, into the country school. Simply put, I adored the Little House books.

A prairie fire scene from the Laura Ingalls Wilder Pageant, presented every July at a hillside amphitheater along the banks of Plum Creek near Walnut Grove. I've seen the pageant three times in its 33-year history.

Honestly, I don’t recall my teacher emphasizing that neighboring Walnut Grove, the Ingalls’ family home from 1874 – 1876 and from 1877- 1879, was the setting for On the Banks of Plum, Creek. Truly, what mattered most to me was the telling of a good story to which I felt connected.

You would think then, given my early exposure to the Little House books, that I would have become a devoted fan of the television series. I wasn’t. The show aired in September 1974, my first year of college. I had no time for TV then or in the years that followed.

However, I recall seeing an episode or two or three. Of those I remember only the inaccuracies of mountains in Walnut Grove and of day-trips to Mankato. Despite the producers’ clear lack of prairie-landscape and geographic-distance knowledge, they offered good, wholesome family entertainment that has endeared generations, just not me.

I remain unimpressed by the hoopla over the television series and the big to-do about those, like Michael Landon (Charles “Pa” Ingalls) and Melissa Gilbert (Laura Ingalls), who starred on the show.

It is the books, the writing of Laura Ingalls Wilder, that impress me, that take me back to elementary school days, when my teacher gave me the gift of reading.

Years later I would pass that gift along to my daughters by reading the Little House books to them. Even as preschoolers they would snuggle against me on the couch, leaning in close as page after page I read of prairie fires and of blizzards, of fiddle-playing and of grasshopper plagues, of mean Nellie Oleson and of kind, kind Mary, Laura’s older sister.

I worry that today’s generation is growing up without that intimate knowledge of Wilder’s writing, accepting instead the embellished Hollywood version of life on the prairie. Even my 8 ½ and 12-year-old nieces, who recently attended the Laura Ingalls Wilder Pageant, “Fragments of a Dream,” in Walnut Grove with me and other family members, had not read the books. I was surprised, disappointed even.

I mourn that loss of connection to the written word, that ability to create, to envision, to perceive, yes, to imagine a scene, a setting, a place, simply through reading.

For 33 years, Walnut Grove area residents have presented the Laura Ingalls Wilder Pageant based on Wilder's stories. I've found the pageant to be true to the books, the acting superb, the setting beautiful.

Devoted "Little House" fans come to the pageant dressed in prairie dresses and bonnets.

Amy Van Dorsten, 15, played the coveted role of mean and spiteful Nellie Oleson in this year's pageant. My niece Cortney insisted on getting Nellie's autograph after the performance.

A covered wagon near the pageant grounds entrance provides photo ops for Little house fans like my nieces.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Riding out severe weather in this Minnesota summer of storms July 27, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 7:26 AM
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WITH SEVERE WEATHER once again in the forecast for Minnesota today, I am nervous, and understandably so in this summer of storms.

Between 11 p.m. and midnight Friday, my family was stranded in our car along Redwood County Road 5 north of Walnut Grove during a 45-minute torrential downpour that packed 70 mph winds.

I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

As the wind buffeted and rocked our car in the pitch black darkness of the country, as rain poured, as lightning flashed, I prayed, head pressed for awhile against the back of the driver’s seat where I was seated behind my husband. My 78-year-old mom sat in the front passenger seat and my 16-year-old son was next to me in the back.

At one point I grabbed my son’s hand and squeezed so tightly that he asked me to let go. Later he would slide his hand across the seat and grasp mine in his.

The evening started out pleasantly enough with the drive from Vesta, where I grew up and where my mom still lives, to Walnut Grove some 20 miles away. We were going to the Laura Ingalls Wilder pageant, Fragments of a Dream, presented in an outdoor amphitheater just west of this small town.

Throughout the performance, which began at 9 p.m., I kept a watchful eye on the sky, where clouds were building to the west. My cousin Randy, a trained weather spotter and seated behind me, made the mistake of informing us that the area was under a tornado watch until 4 a.m. That information instantly raised my anxiety radar.

Yet, the show continued as lightning flashed all around us, as rain fell hard enough (for a short while) for audience members to pull out umbrellas and rain gear. I kept thinking they would call the show soon and send us safely on our way. That never happened, although in retrospect it should have. My brother Brian would later tell me he watched the storm cell move into the area on television weather radar.

Around 11 p.m., we exited the pageant grounds and just as we entered Walnut Grove minutes later, the sheets of rain began to fall. My husband drove across State Highway 14 where a police car sat, lights flashing, as is typical for post production. On the other side of the highway, still in town, Randy pulled over, remarking that maybe he shouldn’t park under a tree.

I thought we would stay there until the storm passed. But then, before I could suggest we do so, Randy took off and our nightmare began. On an unfamiliar road marked only by center tabs on the recently sealcoated gravel surface, he blindly (in my opinion) attempted to direct the car north toward Vesta.

Soon enough, after I reminded him that he was responsible for three other lives, not just his own, he pulled partially off the road onto the shoulder. Ahead of us, we could see other vehicles parked too, their emergency lights flashing.

And then, only then, did I realize the gravity of our situation. We were in the midst of a severe storm packing fierce winds with nowhere to go. Winds estimated at 70 mph slammed against the car, flattened the roadside grasses and I’m pretty sure ravaged trees, although I couldn’t see them. As our vehicle rocked, I feared it would flip. I feared also that a tornado would drop from the skies. When the lightning flashed, I could see dark, ominous swirling clouds. The wind changed direction from west to northeast.

Several times I wished out loud that we could seek out the safety of a farmhouse. But how could we even see to find a farm driveway? My mom, in her ignorance or fear, repeatedly told me the car was the safest place we could be. I repeatedly told her that, no, a basement would be the safest place we could be.

To their credit, the rest of my immediate family members did not panic, although they would later admit that they, too, were scared. My aunt Iylene and cousin Janelle, who were caught on the same road during the storm, later shared that they were as terrified as me and especially concerned because six of them were inside a higher profile, wind-catching pick-up that was topped with a canoe.

When the rain would relent enough for us to see somewhat, my husband would drive a short distance. Probably four our five times he drove then pulled over. Drove then pulled over. We kept thinking this could not last forever. But it did.

With a non-functioning radio and the cell phone inside my purse in the car trunk (which didn’t matter since I typically cannot get reception in this area of Minnesota), we were uninformed, at the mercy of the elements and of our imaginations (or at least mine).

Had I been thinking rationally, I would have grabbed my camera and photographed the spectacular lightning show that lit up the entire prairie sky and sent an occasional bolt zig zagging to the ground. But I was not thinking clearly. Instead, I was focused on that wind, that fierce, fierce wind that just kept rocking our car in that nightmare of a night in the middle of the prairie.

When we finally arrived at my mom’s house an hour later, I could have kissed the ground of my hometown. I have never in my life been happier to see Vesta.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections, in words and photos, upon graduation June 10, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:41 AM
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A soon-to-be graduate walks down the hallway of Westbrook Walnut Grove High School one last time.

ALL ACROSS THIS COUNTRY, family, friends and faculty gather in hot, stuffy gymnasiums or auditoriums to celebrate high school and college graduations.

The honored students perch on hard folding chairs, fidgeting, sweating in their caps and gowns, some crying, others smiling, most simply wishing the ceremony over.

Speakers speak of friendships and memories, of lessons learned and lessons yet to be learned, of the past and of the future.

Mothers wipe away tears. Cameras flash. Applause rings out and choirs sing.

And then the graduates march, down the aisle, tassels swaying, smiles wide, into the waiting arms of those who love them enough to let them go.

My niece, Carlyn, left, and a classmate prior to graduation from Westbrook Walnut Grove High School.

Graduation gowns await graduates at WWG High School.

The guys hang out one last time before graduation ceremonies at WWG High School.

Family, friends and faculty gather in the WWG gym for graduation ceremonies.

A family member videotapes the WWG High School graduation ceremony Sunday afternoon in Westbrook.

WWG students await their diplomas.

A long line of family and friends forms to greet WWG graduates with flowers and hugs.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Embracing diversity in small-town Minnesota June 7, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 3:21 PM
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THREE DECADES AGO, maybe even two decades ago, you never would have seen this in rural southwestern Minnesota.

But of the 54 seniors graduating from Westbrook Walnut Grove High School on Sunday afternoon, 15 students were Asian. That’s remarkable in an area originally settled by primarily Scandinavians and Germans.

Seeing those dark-haired, dark-eyed graduates with olive-toned skin among students with fairer complexions struck me more than any single aspect of the WWG high school graduation ceremony.

Hearing surnames like Yang and Vang among Jensen, Erickson and Schweim, simply put, pleased my ears.

Demographics on the Minnesota prairie certainly have changed in the 36 years since I graduated from nearby Wabasso High School. In my class of 89, all of us were Caucasian. Our only cultural exposure came through the foreign exchange students who attended our school.

Thankfully, that has changed, at least in some rural Minnesota communities like Walnut Grove and Westbrook. Walnut Grove, childhood home of author Laura Ingalls Wilder, is home to many Hmong families and boasts a Hmong grocery store. Jobs, primarily in nearby Marshall, and affordable housing apparently drew these immigrants to this rural area.

For young people like my blonde German-Norwegian niece, who graduated with the WWG class of 2010, cultural diversity has always been a natural part of life.

As I sat in the WWG gymnasium Sunday afternoon contemplating this, I watched a Hmong man across the aisle from me videotaping the ceremony. I wondered about his background. Had he fled a war-torn country? What had he endured? Did he feel accepted here? Was this the first generation of his family to graduate from high school? Did he miss his homeland?

A Hmong man videotapes the Westbrook Walnut Grove High School graduation ceremony Sunday afternoo.

Later, when slides of the graduates flashed upon a big screen at the front of the auditorium, I noticed several photos of students in traditional Hmong attire. They are a people proud of their heritage.

When I listened to the WWG High School Choir sing “We Are the World,” I appreciated the appropriateness of the song and pondered how this mixed ethnic group really is the future of our world.

I don’t know how the folks of Westbrook and Walnut Grove welcomed the Hmong. I expect initial adjustments were not always easy for long-time residents or for the newcomers. I expect there are still occasional clashes.

In Faribault, where I live, we still have much to learn as Somali, Sudanese and Hispanic people integrate into the community. Certainly, strides have been taken to bridge differences through efforts like those of the Faribault Diversity Coalition.

But I’ve heard all too many derogatory remarks about minority populations—about the Somali men who hang out on downtown sidewalks, about the Hispanics involved in drug crimes, about the gangs, even about the bright green color painted on a Mexican bakery (which, at the urging of some local businessmen, has since been repainted a subtler green to better fit the historic downtown).

Perhaps if we had, like the WWG class of 2010, grown up together, we would be more accepting of each other.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling