Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Growing up with 21 siblings in rural Minnesota, a memoir June 10, 2025

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This book is also packed with candid and posed photos of the Miller family, adding to the text. (Book cover sourced online)

THIS COULD BE MY STORY or that of any other Baby Boomer who grew up in rural southern Minnesota. With one primary exception. None of us had 21 siblings. Yes, twenty-one. I had only five—three brothers and two sisters.

But Helen Miller had seven brothers and 14 sisters, all single births, all born to the same parents, Lucille and Alvin Miller of rural Waseca, over a span on 26 years. She’s chronicled the family’s life in a self-published memoir, 21 Siblings—Cheaper by the Two Dozen.

I happened upon this book, printed in 2018, after visiting the Waseca County History Center and seeing an exhibit about this unusually large family. I knew then that I needed to read this story by Helen, 13th in line. She’s just a bit older than me. I expected my farm upbringing during the late 50s through the 60s and into the early 70s would be similar in many ways. I was right.

WHITE RICE & PANCAKES

This book proved a stroll down memory lane. I remember meals of mostly meat and potatoes with a side vegetable given that was the preferred meal of my farmer father. He, like Alvin Miller, was quite content to eat those basics and didn’t care for any deviations. Large gardens were the norm, no matter family size. Lucille Miller canned fruits and vegetables, just like my mom, except a whole lot more. And, when food supplies ran low, both our mothers cooked a meal of white rice and cinnamon. I detested that and to this day still don’t like plain white rice.

I also do not much like pancakes, although I have no particular reason to explain that dislike. Helen Miller should. She writes of the family receiving boxes and boxes of pancake mix following a railroad accident. Except they didn’t get the pancake mix until months later…when weevils had infested the food. The Millers simply sifted out the bugs, prepared and ate the pancakes. They weren’t about to turn down free food.

Specific stories like these point to the challenges of feeding a mega family, even with their own garden produce, chicken, pork and eggs. With that many people to feed and to shelter, you can only imagine the logistics of running the household. Older siblings were responsible for younger siblings. Everyone pitched in with chores. They shared a lot—clothes, shoes, a singular cup for drinking water (same as my family), rooms, a love of music and a strong faith.

This shows part of the Miller family exhibit at the Waseca County History Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2025)

THE IMPORTANCE OF FAITH

The Millers’ Catholic faith centered their lives. Lutheranism centered mine. Faith carried the Millers through an especially tragic event—the deaths of their aunt, Irene Miller Zimmerman, and her six young children in 1959. An unseen train broadsided their station wagon just blocks from Sacred Heart School, the same school Helen and her siblings attended. She writes: It was under this veil of grief that I grew up a rather serious child. She was only four years old.

Amid the difficult moments, Helen documents light-hearted moments, too. One in particular caused me to burst into laughter. As a seven-year-old, Helen went to Confession for the first time, thinking she had not broken any of the Ten Commandments. But she had to confess something to the priest. Helen admitted to disobeying her parents twice, having false gods twice and then, and here’s the kicker, committing adultery three or four times. Now there’s nothing funny about that sin. But when an elementary-aged girl confesses to something she clearly doesn’t understand, well, I wonder how that priest kept from laughing aloud. He didn’t laugh, or correct her, according to Helen, who twice confessed to breaking the Sixth Commandment.

SEWING, FISHING & A WHOLE LOT OF PATIENCE

Story after story reveals a childhood upbringing that many times mimicked my own. Like Helen, I learned to sew because, if I wanted new clothes as a teen, I needed to stitch them. I babysat children for fifty cents an hour, just like Helen. I fished, occasionally, with my family. But the Millers fished often, usually at their rustic cabin along Reeds Lake a short drive from their farm. Vacations and dining out were not part of our youthful experiences. The list of similarities goes on and on among the many differences.

I can never fully relate to having 21 siblings. But this rural Waseca family managed and, by all accounts, well. With a whole lot of organization, love, strength and patience. And, Helen notes, with an eternally optimistic and patient mother. Just like my mom.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Hats off to a history of hats June 3, 2025

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Photos of fashionable hats shown in the HATS exhibit in Waseca, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

WE’VE ALL WORN different hats. Personally. Socially. Professionally.

Panels of hat photos and information. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

I’ve worn the hats of daughter, wife, mother, grandma, friend, sister, aunt, student, intern, newspaper reporter, writer, editor, photographer, poet, volunteer and much more. Collectively, these multiple hats, or roles, helped shape me into the person I am today.

This shows a portion of the many hats in the exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

But what about actual hats, you know, the ones you place on your head? A fascinating exhibit at the Waseca County History Center, simply titled “HATS,” offers an historic glimpse of late 1800s to more current-day hats from the museum and personal collections. The display will be up until the end of June.

This display features classy men’s hats of yesteryear plus hatboxes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

This ranks not only as an informative exhibit of hats, a few caps and related items, but also as a fun visual of fashion. From fancy hats with feathers and florals to all-business derbys and boaters to big floppy hats of the 1970s, the range of head-toppers evolves as time and styles change.

An entire glass case showcases vintage hatpins like this jeweled one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

And then there are the lovely vintage hatpins, elegant yet practical. A woman of yesteryear could pull a hatpin to defend herself if necessary.

Vintage hatboxes are artfully displayed throughout the exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

Vintage hatboxes, too, are part of the display, adding an artful element. As someone who appreciates type and fonts, and art, I found myself drawn to the mostly-round hatboxes. They truly are works of art as well as containers to store and protect hats.

A reply to a writing prompt posted in the HATBOX. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

I especially liked the interactive HATBOX corner, a hidden space to sit, pull a writing prompt from a hatbox, think and reply to the prompt before anonymously posting it on a wall. That got me thinking about the many hats I’ve worn and still wear. Hats down, my most cherished hats are those of daughter, wife, mother and grandma. The others matter, too, but not as deeply, not as personally, as donning the hats of loving, caring for and supporting my closest family.

A fun cap in the exhibit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

Actual, physical hats I’ve worn call for a bit more thought because I didn’t wear all that many. I had, still have, two childhood Easter bonnets. And then there’s the floppy lime green with white polka dots cotton hat I donned while detasseling corn. Perhaps I remember it best because I remember so well the experience of yanking tassels from cornstalks in the sweltering heat and humidity of July in southwestern Minnesota. Worst job ever, hats down, paying only $1.25/hour. Imagine dew rolling down your arms, corn leaves slicing your skin, the hot sun baking your body, no place to pee except between corn rows. A grimy band of sweat ringed that polka dot hat by day’s exhausting end.

The Waseca County History Center museum, 315 Second Ave. N.E., is open from 9 a.m. – 5 p.m. Tuesday through Friday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

While I didn’t see any hats quite like mine in the Waseca exhibit, I saw some that were similar. But mostly I saw how the hats we wear, literally or metaphorically, identify and shape us. Hats change with time, as we grow, progress, move through life. This display documents that, causing me to pause, to reflect, to consider all the hats I’ve worn through the years.

TELL ME: What hats have you worn? Which matter to you most and why? Or which proved a defining moment in your life?

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In honor of Mother’s Day: Stories of 3 strong mothers May 9, 2025

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This page from an altered book crafted by my friend Kathleen shows my mom holding me. Mom died in January 2022. I love the quote. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THREE MOTHERS. Three strong women. Three remarkable experiences. This Mother’s Day I feel compelled to share the stories of a trio of moms. Their stories are decidedly different, yet similar in the common denominators of strength and love.

Photographed in a small southern Minnesota town, a box containing Naloxone used as an emergency treatment for an opioid overdose or suspected overdose. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

MOTHER OF A RECOVERING ADDICT

Let’s start with the woman checking out my clutch of greeting cards recently at a local chain discount store. As I stepped up to the counter, a young man bade her goodbye. “I love you, Mom,” he said while walking toward the exit.

It was one of those moments when I simply had to say something. “That’s so sweet,” I said, looking directly at the clerk.

I don’t remember our entire conversation. But I do recall the highlights. Her son is a recovering addict two years sober. “I almost buried him,” she told me.

“You must be so proud of him,” I replied. And she was and is and I wanted to reach across that check out counter and hug her. But I didn’t. My encouraging words would have to suffice. I walked out of that store feeling grateful for this mom who never gave up on her son and for the son who recognizes the value of her ongoing love and support.

This shows two of the 22 Miller siblings featured in an exhibit at the Waseca County History Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2025)

MOTHER OF TWENTY-TWO

Then there’s Lucille Miller of rural Waseca, married to Alvin and mother of their 22 children. Yes, twenty-two, all single births. I learned about the Miller family recently while touring the Waseca County History Center. An entire display focuses on them.

Lucille gave birth to her first child in December 1940 at age 17 and her last in January 1966 at age 43. Fifteen girls and seven boys (oldest to youngest): Ramona, Alvin Jr., Rose, Kathleen, Robert, Patricia, Marylu, Diane, John, Janet, Linda, Virginia, Helen, Art, Dolores, Martin, Pauline, Alice, Angela, Marcia, Gregory and Damien.

I can’t even fathom being pregnant that often, birthing that many children, or coming up with that many names. But Lucille Miller did just that and raised her children on the family’s Blooming Grove Township farm. She died in August 2006, her husband not even a year later. Lucille and Alvin never intended to have 22 kids. But these deeply spiritual parents considered each and every one a blessing.

Information I found online backs that up. This mother of many also “took in” several kids, led two women’s organizations and worked to establish local group homes for the disabled. Three of the Miller children had disabilities.

Helen Miller’s book about growing up in a Minnesota farm family of 22 children.

Helen Miller, 13th in line, calls her mom “a saint.” (I certainly don’t question that assessment.) She’s written a book, 21 Siblings: Cheaper by the Two Dozen, about growing up in this mega family where the Catholic church and school centered life and organization was key in keeping everyday life running smoothly. Chores were listed, then assigned, and siblings used the buddy system. I have not yet read the book, but intend to do so.

I expect the obituary of Lucille’s daughter, Virginia Miller Pelto, 60, who died on May 8, 2014, just days before Mother’s Day, reflects the way in which her mother lived: Of the many things Virginia loved, above all she loved people. As a very spiritual person, she put the world on her shoulders and in her prayers. She donated time to her church, her community and anyone who needed to just talk. Any mother would be proud to have a daughter with such a giving and compassionate spirit.

My daughter Miranda and grandson Everett, 3 months old when this photo was taken. (Photo courtesy of Miranda, April 2025)

MOTHER OF EVERETT

Finally, there’s the story of my second daughter. Miranda became a first-time mom in mid-January. Considered a “geriatric mom” given her closing-in-on-forty age, she was closely-monitored throughout her pregnancy. Miranda was in excellent physical condition—she’s a letter carrier. Her pregnancy proved uneventful with labor commencing the day before her due date. But then everything changed. For the worse. Labor was long, delivery difficult with baby’s head and shoulder getting stuck. Once Everett—all 10 pounds of him—was born, Miranda experienced extensive postpartum hemorrhaging requiring the transfusion of three units of blood. A team of doctors and other medical personnel at a Madison, Wisconsin, hospital worked to save her life.

A week later, after Miranda and John were semi-settled at home with Everett, Randy and I traveled to Madison to see all of them. When the new parents recounted harrowing details of that difficult birth, my strong strong daughter said she feared she might die. Before she saw her son.

As Miranda and I stood in the nursery, arms wrapped around each other gazing down at newborn sleeping Everett, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. I still get emotional thinking about how I nearly lost my daughter on the day my second grandson was born. I’ve written about that experience in a short story, “Birthing Everett,” which will publish in late August in The Talking Stick anthology.

We all have mothers. We all have stories, whether we are sons or daughters or mothers ourselves. Today I honor all mothers, especially Miranda, Lucille Miller and the store clerk who nearly buried her son. They are three strong women.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Celebrating the Irish from green beer to Mulligan stew, music, royalty, parades & more March 12, 2025

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The Irish national flag flies outside an Irish pub in Wabasha. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’VE NEVER ATTENDED a St. Patrick’s Day celebration. I’ve never eaten corned beef and cabbage. But I have eaten Irish stew at The Olde Triangle Pub in Wabasha, although not on St. Patty’s Day.

Green beer outside a bar in downtown La Crosse, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I once spotted a partially-filled cup of green beer sitting outside a bar in La Crosse, Wisconsin, the day after St Patrick’s Day. I’m quite certain I’ve consumed an Irish lager or ale, although the beer was not colored green.

The Church of St. Patrick in St. Patrick. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I’ve never attended a St. Patrick’s Day Mass, although I’ve photographed the exterior of the Church of St. Patrick, Cedar Lake Township in the unincorporated village of St. Patrick.

A tombstone in the Church of St. Patrick Cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I am 100 percent German, although I had a full-blooded Irishman uncle (he died a year ago) from Belfast. He married into the family.

Now if any of this qualifies me to be an Irishwoman for a day, I will accept the luck of the Irish and don some green on March 17 or thereabouts.

The Olde Triangle’s hearty Irish stew. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

We can all be Irish in mid-March as communities, churches, restaurants and bars, and more celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. In my region of southern Minnesota, you’ll find lots of ways to be Irish. Starting on Saturday, March 15, Sacred Heart Church in Waseca gets festivities underway with Irish music and Mass at 10:30 a.m. A Parade of Clans to The Mill Event Center follows at noon for an Irish rally. I take rally to mean a big party—food, including Mulligan Stew and corned beef and cabbage, served from a food truck; beer; music and entertainment; and more fun. At 7 p.m., Miss St. Patrick and Miss Irish Rose will be crowned. A dance follows. I should note here that Waseca is home to an Irish pub, Katie O’Leary’s Beef & Brew.

Signage on St. Patrick’s Tavern in St. Patrick. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The tiny, unincorporated Scott County burg of St. Patrick, basically a church, cemetery, baseball field and tavern, is, of course, honoring the patron saint (and its name) via food and music at St. Patrick’s Tavern. The bar and restaurant along Old State Highway 13 northeast of New Prague will serve corned beef, cabbage and red potatoes on March 15 with a green beer on tap. Food and beer specials continue on March 17. There will be music both evenings.

Shamrocks in my yard, planted by friends. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Over in Le Center, a full day of Irish-themed festivities begins at 11 a.m. March 15 with Mass at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. Over at the American Legion, Mulligan Stew will be served from 11 a.m. – 2 p.m. And then at 2 p.m., the big St. Patrick’s Day parade through downtown Le Center begins. Presiding over everything will be the newly-crowned royalty—Miss Shamrock, Miss Leprechaun and Miss Irish Rose. Dancing in the evening at the Legion wraps up the celebration.

A St. Pat’s Day decoration in a storefront window in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In Owatonna, VFW Post 3723 is hosting a March 15 St. Paddy’s Day Dinner & Trivia party with dinner choices of corned beef and cabbage or Shepherd’s Pie, plus sides and dessert, served from 5-6:30 p.m. Irish Trivia follows at 7 p.m. with a chance to win a Pot of Gold. There will also be leprechaun races and other activities.

(Promo source: Paradise Center for the Arts Facebook page)

Music centers a high-energy show Saturday, March 15, at the Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault as Twin Cities-based The Northerly Gales brings its spin on Celtic Folk and Americana to the stage at 7:30 p.m. And, yes, you can enjoy a beer while enjoying the music.

Patrick’s on Third anchors the corner on the left of this block in downtown St. Peter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Over in St. Peter, St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated on the actual date, March 17. Paddlefish Brewing offers a special on its Leprechaun Lager. I expect the Irish and not-so-Irish will also gather at Patrick’s on Third for food and drink, including green beer. The Govenaires, the longest, continuously-operating drum and bugle corps in the U.S., performs in the 5:30 p.m. St. Patrick’s Day Parade and then briefly afterwards at Patrick’s on Third. The Governaires are traveling to Ireland in August to participate in the Rose of Tralee International Festival. They are encouraging donations of $17 on March 17 to help fund the trip.

Irish pride shows on the Kilkenny, Minnesota, water tower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

So there you go, a sampling of St. Patrick’s Day activities happening in my region. But I must mention one more thing. If you want to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in Kilkenny, Minnesota, you’ll have to wait. The Le Sueur County town of some 150 with the Irish name shifted its annual Irish celebration to September. Halfway to St. Paddy’s Day is set this year for September 13 and 14. Mark your calendars for more Irish fun six months from now.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Prayer request for Waseca Police Officer Arik Matson February 2, 2020

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I photographed this sign in downtown Waseca, Minnesota, late Saturday afternoon, February 1.

 

A BLOCK AWAY STANDS Church of the Sacred Heart, backdrop for the words, PLEASE PRAY FOR OFFICER ARIK MATSON.

From my vantage point, the towering church in the heart of downtown Waseca proved a powerful reinforcing visual to the message.

People throughout Minnesota and elsewhere continue to pray for the 32-year-old Waseca police officer shot in the head on January 6 while responding to a call about a suspicious person in a backyard. A suspect was arrested and now sits in prison on an unrelated charge. Matson remains in a metro hospital ICU. His condition, according to a January 21 entry on his Go Fund Me page, is “steadily improving.”

As of February 1, donors had contributed $194,314 toward a $250,00 goal to help the Matson family cover medical, grocery, gas, hotel stay and other expenses. The police officer is the father of two daughters.

After I read the PLEASE PRAY message, I noticed the BEER OLYMPICS banner below and the mismatched non-beer graphic…

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

For the love of books, a spotlight on several Little Free Libraries October 22, 2018

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I was delighted to find a Little Free Library near my son’s apartment when I visited him in Somerville, Massachusetts, in May of 2016. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

WHENEVER I SPOT A LITTLE FREE LIBRARY, I feel a deep appreciation for the stewards of these mini libraries.

The ability to read, as I see it, is the foundation of learning. But to read, you need access to books. Not everyone has that, whether by geographical location or lack of money for books.

So those individuals who place a Little Free Library in their yards (or elsewhere) and then stock and restock shelves have my gratitude. They realize the importance of easy 24/7 access to books.

 

The LFL Todd and Susan Bol installed outside the community-owned Vesta Cafe. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2012.

 

I grew up in a rural Minnesota community without a library. I understand what it’s like to be without library books. But thanks to Little Free Library founder Todd Bol, my hometown of Vesta has had a small public library since July 1, 2012. A Little Free Library. Todd gifted that to this small farming town. I am grateful.

 

A LFL in downtown Decorah, Iowa.

 

Recently I spotted two particularly distinct Little Free Libraries, one in the heart of downtown Decorah, one of my favorite northeastern Iowa cities. The library sits in a public plaza next to Oneota Community Food Co-op. That it’s barn-shaped seems especially fitting in a primarily agricultural state. A red barn remains an iconic symbol of rural life.

I grabbed a hardcover copy of James Patterson’s Double Cross with every intention of starting to read the book while in Decorah. That never happened and now the book sits on my to-read pile back here in Minnesota. First I need to finish The Girls of Ames—A Story of Women & a Forty-Year Friendship by Jeffrey Zaslow. The national bestseller published in 2009. The book holds special interest for me given one of the women taught journalism at Faribault High School and served as advisor to the student newspaper when my second daughter was co-editor. It’s an excellent read. And quite revealing.

But I digress.

 

 

A variety of books for all ages fill an eye-catching LFL posted at 805 State Street in Waseca. It’s designed as a TARDIS, the featured mode of transportation on the BBC sci-fi television show “Doctor Who.” I know nothing about the show. To me, the TARDIS resembles a blue phone booth.

 

 

The stewards of the Waseca TARDIS do a great job of visually promoting the LFL with the library now seasonally decorated for autumn and Halloween. Inside, they’ve also stocked Halloween-themed books. They seem to have a lot of fun with their LFL. I expect given its location along one of Waseca’s main arteries that the library is well-used.

 

 

What kid wouldn’t be drawn to a mini TARDIS? Or adult for that matter?

 

 

 

I love when folks run with the LFL idea and get especially creative, all for the purpose of getting books into the hands of others.

 

A cat watched as I photographed the TARDIS LFL.

 

FYI: This post is dedicated to Todd Bol, who founded the Little Free Library movement and who died on October 18 of pancreatic cancer.

© Copyright 2018 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A rite of autumn in southern Minnesota: My sister’s soup party October 19, 2015

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Soup, 15 crocks of

 

CROCKPOTS BRIMMING WITH SOUPS and chili crammed the tables in a Waseca garage on a recent Saturday evening as my sister Lanae and her husband, Dale, hosted their annual Soup Party.

 

Soup, 42 crock close-ups

 

It is a rite of autumn, this gathering of family and friends to sample a soup smorgasbord. Each guest arrives with a crockpot of homemade soup or chili—this year 22 types ranging from Bourbon Chili to Chicken Fajita, Beer Cheese and many more tasty varieties.

 

Soup, 24 crocks 2

 

You can always count on Teresa to bring a crock of Oyster Stew from across the street. And Monica, my other sister, never deviates from her Broccoli Cheese Soup. Kristi, a particularly creative cook, prepared savory Dill Pickle and Hungarian Mushroom Soups.

 

All soups are labeled.

All soups are labeled.

 

My middle brother arrived this year from southwestern Minnesota with Mystery Meat and Ham Soup. He challenged guests to name the mystery meat for a $10 prize. It was alligator.

 

Soup, 17 bread

 

Soup, 21 cheese balls

 

Soup, 19 Bloody Finger Cookies

 

Food traditions extend beyond the soups. Julie from next door always brings bread, although this year not as much given she’s battling cancer. My sister the hostess always buys a mega container of cheese balls and dumps them into an orange tub. Monica always brings Bloody Finger Cookies.

 

Soup, 53 smell my feet sign

 

A sarcastic message chalked on a board in the garage.

A sarcastic message chalked on a board in the garage.

 

Soup, 57 hat swaying in tree

 

A talented floral designer, Lanae always decorates her home and yard with Halloween themed items—this year witches hats swaying from a tree, strategically placed pumpkins, Halloween signage and more.

Vintage metal trays hold soup samples scooped into Styrofoam cups.

Everything is ready. Vintage metal trays will hold soup samples scooped into Styrofoam cups.

In the backyard, my brother-in-law Dale builds and tends a campfire as guests retreat to talk and laugh and settle in after eating way too much soup and too many sweets.

As the sun sets in southern Minnesota, guests gather on the driveway and in the garage to sample soups and chili.

As the sun sets in southern Minnesota, guests gather on the driveway and in the garage to sample soups and chili.

It’s a memorable evening, an autumn tradition that connects family and friends through good food and conversation. Rarely have I missed Lanae and Dale’s Soup Party.

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

American pride on Memorial Day weekend May 25, 2015

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Downtown Waseca, Minnesota, on Memorial Day weekend.

Downtown Waseca, Minnesota, on Memorial Day weekend.

MEMORIAL DAY BRINGS a focused gratefulness for freedom. And nothing is more visually representative of freedom in the U.S. than the American flag.

Another scene from downtown Waseca, on the other side of the street.

Another scene from downtown Waseca, on the other side of the street.

This weekend those flags are flying seemingly everywhere. On front porches, from flag poles and from lamp posts.

Driving eastbound on U.S. Highway 14 between Nicollet and Mankato.

Driving eastbound on U.S. Highway 14 between Nicollet and Mankato.

I feel my national pride swell at the sight of flags flying in communities like Elysian, Waseca and Morristown. On a Saturday trip from Faribault to Belview and back, I noticed the red-white-and-blue adorning homes, businesses, pick-up trucks and even silos. Just outside of Morristown, a couple grilled on their deck, an American flag waving in the wind just inches away.

A business in downtown Belview, Minnesota.

A business in downtown Belview, Minnesota.

I am thankful to live in this country. And grateful to those men and women who died for freedom. Because of them, I am free to express myself through writing and photography. Free.

The American flag on a bag of Crystal Sugar.

The American flag on a bag of Crystal Sugar.

On Sunday, as I diced rhubarb in my kitchen, I pulled a bag of sugar from the cupboard. And there, at the top of the bag, was printed an American flag. I paused in that moment, remembering the words I’d sung hours earlier at Trinity Lutheran Church, where I am free to worship:

God bless America, Land that I love,
Stand beside her, and guide her
Through the night with a light from above…

© Copyright 2015 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
“God Bless America” by Irving Berlin

 

Pearl Button Primitives: A gem of a shop in Waseca July 18, 2014

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I’VE SHOPPED COUNTLESS antique shops in my life.

Looking toward the front of Pearl Button Primitives.

Looking toward the front of Pearl Button Primitives.

But never have I seen one as artistically inclined as Pearl Button Primitives in downtown Waseca.

A candy display rack repurposed.

A candy display rack repurposed.

Shopping here is like perusing an art gallery or perhaps a museum curated by someone with an artistic flair.

This setting seems the perfect prompt for a story.

This setting seems the perfect prompt for a story.

I expect that’s because Justine Meyer possesses an educational background in art. It shows in the way she artfully arranges merchandise in snippet scenes that catch the eye.

A backdrop of vintage magazine pages create visual interest.

A backdrop of vintage magazine pages create visual interest.

Afghans and quilts brighten walls. Vintage ads and magazine pages make for unique merchandise backdrops. Rows of 45 rpm vinyl records precisely arranged on a wall appear pop art style. A vintage suitcase holds Carolyn Keene’s The Mystery of the Ivory Charm, Zane Grey’s Nevada and other old books. Plastic magnetic letters—the type my kids once plastered to the front of the fridge—provide a visual pop of color in a chest of drawers. I wonder whether my eldest would appreciate one of the maps splayed across the wall.

The back room.

The back room.

There’s so much to take in here that I really needed more than the 20 minutes I wandered through the shop on a recent Saturday afternoon. But Justine and crew (friends are part of the business, too) were already plucking up merchandise that had been hauled out back for an alley garage sale when I arrived late. They are clearing out, making way for new stuff and promise more such sales. I figured I best not linger too long.

Beautiful pairing of colors.

Beautiful setting just makes me want to scoop up these dishes.

Pearl Button Primitives describes itself as “an eclectic mix of antiques and primitives; featuring vintage jewelry & buttons, linens, architectural salvage, furniture, pottery, and other gathered treasures all lovingly displayed.”

A little quirky, a little scary.

Quirky.

In the tight space of this shop, antiques and collectibles abound. Quirky doll heads with open and shut eyes remind me of my favorite childhood doll.

It takes an artist's eye to pair this coat with this afghan.

It takes an artist’s eye to pair this coat with this afghan. Textures and contrast of color make this work.

Milk bottles and vintage jewelry pins and wash tubs and dainty floral hankies and dishes and a lovely coat and so much more draw my interest.

Symmetry and simplicity makes this display work.

Repetition and simplicity. Perfect.

But it is the artsy displays, the attention to detail, the obvious time and care invested here which most impress me.

There's something about this portrait of a determined, defiant woman with an attitude that I love.

There’s something about this portrait of a determined, defiant woman with an attitude that I love.

This shop makes a memorable imprint. Just like the “Woman with an attitude,” as I’ve dubbed the hands-on-hips woman in a portrait showcased at the front of the store. Love that painting.

The narrow space that connects the front of the shop to the back.

The narrow space that connects the front of the shop to the back.

Love this shop.

FYI: Pearl Button Primitives, 206 N. State Street, Waseca, is open from 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. Friday and Saturday, but not year-round. Best check before you visit. Click here to reach the shop’s website and here to reach the Facebook page. Phone: 507-461-1648.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

How the planned attack on a Waseca school impacts me personally May 2, 2014

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:16 AM
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HOW DOES ONE BEGIN to write about a school tragedy averted?

That is my challenge as I reflect on the events of the past days in which a 17-year-old Waseca High School student allegedly planned to carry out a Columbine type massacre in his southern Minnesota school.

The school where my youngest sister and a friend teach and which my niece attends. The school I just drove past last Sunday while visiting my other sister in Waseca, a rural community of nearly 10,000 only a half hour drive away.

A 17-page court document outlines the charges against John David LaDue, described in media reports as a normal kid, a good kid. Now he faces multiple charges, including first degree premeditated attempted murder, in a plot to kill his family, a school resources officer and others in his school. (Click here to read the charges against LaDue and a Statement of Probable Cause filed in court documents.)

An arsenal of weapons, bombs and bomb-making equipment were found in his bedroom and a storage locker and a journal documented his plans, according to court records.

This could have been another Columbine, another Virginia Tech, another Sandy Hook, another American school tragedy. And this time it impacts those I love.

I’ve found so often in my life that, until an event touches me personally, I cannot fully understand or comprehend. It is something that happens somewhere else, to someone else. Not this time.

And not in the past: a dear friend’s father murdered; a SWAT team sweeping through my neighborhood in search of a murder weapon in a drug deal gone bad; my son struck by a hit-and-run driver; the frantic middle-of-the-night screams of a woman being assaulted across the street from my home; a frantic young man ringing my doorbell seeking protection from a gang of men in pursuit of him; a brother-in-law and sister-in-law’s niece murdered in a case of domestic violence, the son of a high school classmate and hometown neighbor hunkered down at Virginia Tech during the massacre of 32 there in April of 2007…

Now this.

It would be easy to despair, to wonder what this world is coming to. But I’m going to take my cue from Waseca School Superintendent Thomas Lee, who in a May 1 press conference (click here to read his entire statement) said in part: “We can either believe that this (arrest of John LaDue) occurred as a result of a lucky break or, as I do, choose to believe that God was looking out for all of us.”

Furthermore, Lee continues with these words worthy of reflection:

On another note I respectfully submit that these kind of events that have been happening in schools across this country should be a warning sign to us all. These events are like “canaries in the mines” – an indicator that something is deeply wrong in our culture. These kinds of events are unique to our American culture. They are certainly not found anywhere else in the world, except in very few isolated cases. Why are they unique to our American culture? What is it in our culture that fosters these kind of events? There will be many opinions about this – our obsession with violence, our tv shows and movies, lack of parenting, the prevalence of guns, corporate greed and of course, gridlock in our government. I suggest that these are all symptoms of a significantly degraded culture. We all know that nothing is guaranteed in this life but it is time that we collectively look into the mirror with honesty and integrity – that we ask ourselves how our choices are contributing to this degradation, and determine what we can do individually to stem the downward slide. We need to do everything possible to look out for one another – especially our kids.

The superintendent is spot on correct. Nothing is guaranteed in this life. And we need to look out for one another, especially our kids.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling