The Northern Lights, photographed northeast of Faribault near Cannon City (with a treeline in the foreground) around 9 p.m. Tuesday, November 11. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2025)
IT TOOK A LIFE TIME, but I finally saw the Northern Lights for the first time. Ever. And they were poetic, artistic, inspiring, incredible, wondrous, glorious…all the adjectives you can use to describe a dark night sky colored with streaks of green, red and pink.
Randy and I were sitting comfortably in the warmth of our southern Minnesota home Tuesday evening when our son texted that he could see the Northern Lights even in the city lights of Boston. A photo proved it. Then the daughter who lives 35 minutes to the north of us texted that they, too, could see the lights in Lakeville, south of the Twin Cities. Photos proved it.
We popped up, grabbed our coats and set out to see for ourselves. We didn’t have to drive far into the countryside before we noticed the first streaks of light. Turning onto a gravel road, we parked, stepped outside and turned our eyes heavenward. Then we eventually tried to figure out how to photograph the majestic scene above us on our smartphones, with only minimal success.
While I would have loved some spectacular images, what matters most is that I saw, with my own eyes, that which I’ve wanted to see my entire life. Others were doing the same. We counted about a dozen vehicles parked along rural roads, the occupants gazing skyward.
This imprinted upon me how something like the Northern Lights can bring people outdoors, appreciating this beautiful natural world that surrounds us and, which on this November evening, put on a spectacular light show.
TELL ME: Have you seen the Northern Lights? When and where? How would you describe them?
These are the most menacing (at least to me)clouds I’ve ever photographed. I shot this image in July 2011 on a friend’s country acreage between Faribault and Nerstrand. I don’t have any photos from yesterday as I was hunkered in my basement. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2011)
I OWE YOU a weather report.
The much-touted level 4 risk (out of 5) of severe storms here yesterday did not materialize. At least not in Faribault. But just to the east it did. A confirmed tornado touched down southeast of town in Richland Township, destroying several farm buildings and damaging a silo on a neighboring farm. That’s close enough for me. I feel badly for that farm family. Property damage was also reported by the Rice County Sheriff’s Department near Morristown, which is southwest of Faribault.
While that was happening, Randy and I were sheltering in our basement after warning sirens sounded just before 5:30 p.m. I’d prepared, earlier in the day gathering documents and items (yes, including my camera and Randy’s hearing aids) that I didn’t want blown away in a storm. My retired National Weather Service friend, who grew up in southwestern Minnesota, was keeping me updated on the weather throughout the day.
“PLEASE, JUST GET HOME.”
The biggest issue for me was that Randy was not yet home when the emergency sirens went off. I’d tried several times to reach him at work late Monday afternoon to warn him of the bad weather moving into our area. But his cellphone mostly doesn’t work inside the pole shed style garage in the countryside near Randolph. I texted and called numerous times in hopes that he might actually be in a part of the building with cell reception. I finally resorted to phoning the main garage in nearby Cannon Falls. Ideally, whoever answered could ring up Randy in the machine shop. That didn’t happen.
While I wanted Randy home, I really just wanted him safe. A pole shed, with no place to shelter, offers no protection during a storm. And I had no idea how weather-aware he was staying. Probably not too much given he’s swamped at work. He can’t hear warning sirens either.
In the end, it all worked out. Randy pulled into the driveway after sirens had been sounding for awhile. He’d stopped at the Faribault compost pile to drop off plant debris rather than driving directly home. Really? While sirens are wailing and a storm is moving in?
THREE LAUGHING EMOJIS
I recognize that Randy doesn’t fear storms. He doesn’t have the storm history that I do. I’m the one hustling us to the basement. It’s a bit of a joke with our adult kids. The second daughter, who lives in Madison, Wisconsin, texted yesterday, “Randy, get in the basement!” with three laughing emojis. Humor helps in a tense situation.
Many Minnesotans were not laughing yesterday as storms rolled in with tornado and severe thunderstorm warnings resulting in damaging winds and hail and that confirmed tornado between Faribault and Kenyon.
FEELING GRATEFUL THIS MORNING
This morning the sun is shining, popping through massive clouds in a deep blue sky. Crisp, cool air has replaced the heat and humidity of yesterday. Snow even fell in parts of northern Minnesota. Yesterday’s storms are behind us. I, for one, am thankful that strong tornadoes did not develop, that the National Weather Service and Twin Cities TV meteorologists prepared us and kept us informed, that my NWS friend, Brad, updated me and that Randy finally got home. Now, if only his cellphone would work inside that pole shed a 32-minute drive away. I’d feel much better next time severe weather rolls in.
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TELL ME: If you live in Minnesota or a neighboring state, did you experience any storms and/or storm damage on Monday? How do you react to storms, including warning sirens going off?
Surveying the destruction at Tracy Elementary School, which was destroyed by a June 13, 1968, F5 tornado. (Photo by The Tracy Headlight Herald and courtesy of Scott Thoma)
FOR DAYS NOW WE’VE HEARD the warnings and been advised to prepare for impending bad weather in parts of Minnesota and Wisconsin. Here’s the latest from the National Weather Service website as of early Sunday afternoon: Regardless of the risk level, an episode of dangerous weather is likely Monday, with all hazards possible…
The NWS breaks that weather threat down to include tornadoes (a few strong), large hail, damaging winds and frequent lightning. OK, then. I’m listening.
I live in southern Minnesota, which is under a “moderate” risk of severe storms. Now that word choice may not sound all that threatening until you consider that “moderate” ranks as number four on a scale of one to five. “High” risk, #5, tops the scale. Central and eastern Minnesota and western Wisconsin fall in this “moderate” risk area for severe weather.
Weather forecasters seem pretty confident in their predictions. So I have to go with what they’re saying and remain watchful and informed. And stay in contact with my friend Brad, a Minnesota native who lives in North Carolina and is retired from the NWS. He’s like my personal weather forecaster. (Thanks, Brad.)
Eric Lantz, 16, of Walnut Grove, shot this award-winning photo of the Tracy tornado as it was leaving town. He often took photos for the Walnut Grove Tribune, owned by his uncle, Everett Lantz. This image by Eric was awarded third place in the 1968 National Newspaper Association contest for best news photo. (Photo credit and copyrighted Eric Lantz)
I emailed Brad that “I really really really don’t like tornadoes,” not that anyone does. But I do have a bit of history with tornadoes stretching back to June 1968. On June 13, 1968, a violent F5 tornado with wind speeds of 261-318 mph devastated the small southwestern Minnesota town of Tracy, killed nine and injured 125. Days after that deadly twister, Dad, Mom, my siblings and I piled into the car for the 25-mile drive south of our family farm to view the destruction. The imprint of those scenes has stuck with me, which is likely the reason I respect and fear tornadoes.
More recently, in September 2018, five tornadoes (the largest an EF2) swept through my county of Rice, including in Faribault. Randy and I sheltered in our basement as strong winds raged, ripping the electrical mast from our house and downing trees throughout our neighborhood and nearby. It was frightening to be huddled in the basement, to hear that roaring wind and then to be plunged into darkness. But damage to our property was minimal. And no one was killed or injured in the county. Today I can look out my office window or walk into my backyard to see visual reminders of that severe storm in what I call “tornado trees.”
Going back further, I recall seeing the destruction in St. Peter, 40 miles to the west of my community, after a tornado touched down there on March 29, 1998. A young boy died. A childhood friend lost his home. Prior to reaching St. Peter, the tornado devastated Comfrey in southwestern Minnesota.
In 1980, a tornado took down a silo, tossed a silage wagon, ripped the railing off the house and more on my childhood farm. That was literally too close to home. It was home. I was working as a newspaper reporter some 65 miles away and raced back to Vesta the next day to see the damage. While working as a reporter in Gaylord, I also reported on and photographed damage left by a tornado.
On July 7, 2011, downbursts during severe weather heavily-damaged my childhood church, St. John’s Lutheran, and caused other damage in my hometown. In neighboring Belview, an EF1 tornado touched down on that same date causing widespread destruction. My personal weather forecaster friend, Brad, grew up in Belview.
A residential street in Tracy, once covered in branches and debris, had to be plowed to allow vehicles to pass following a June 13, 1968, tornado. (Photo by The Tracy Headlight Herald and courtesy of Scott Thoma, Tracy native and author of “Out of the Blue,” a book about the Tracy tornado)
Yes, I have a history with severe storms and tornadoes. How about you?
Be alert, prepared and safe, everyone, especially my friends in Minnesota and Wisconsin.
This photo taken at 4 p.m. Friday, March 28, shows the unusually high March temperature in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2025)
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO, the temperature registered 81 degrees on the State Bank of Faribault sign in our historic downtown. At 4 p.m. Saturday, the temp read 38 degrees. That’s a 43-degree plunge. Such is the fickle nature of weather in southern Minnesota. One day summer. The next day winter.
Let’s talk that one day of summer. The two oldest of our three grandkids were here for a sleep-over Thursday into Friday afternoon. We took full advantage of the unseasonably warm temps with lots of time outdoors. Who wants to stay indoors when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing and it feels like summer? None of us.
So out we went Friday morning, first to hang laundry on the clothesline, which didn’t interest Izzy, almost nine, and Isaac, six, quite as much as I had hoped. “We have a dryer,” Izzy informed me as she handed me clothespins. So does Grandma. But Grandma prefers hanging laundry outdoors, under the sky, under the sun, in the wind.
This looks just like the caterpillar found in our backyard on Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A CATERPILLAR, SQUIRRELS, BRAMBLES & A ROCK
Time outdoors led to discoveries, like the woolly caterpillar Izzy found in the backyard and which she insisted was poisonous. I insisted it was not while using a dried maple leaf and a piece of bark to move the fuzzy ball to a safe place in a flowerbed. She worried and warned that I was not to touch the poisonous caterpillar. “Izzy, it’s not poisonous,” I repeated. I’m not sure she believed me.
We noted all the holes dotting the backyard, spots where squirrels dug for hidden walnuts. Empty shells littered the dormant lawn.
The previous evening, Grandpa led Izzy and Isaac up the hill through the woods behind our house. It’s a bit of a climb past fallen branches and brambles. But they were adventurous, determined to make it to the top, to Wapacuta Park. There they found the playground equipment rather scary—Grandpa concurred—but a gigantic rock a whole lot of fun as they scampered atop it. This is the same mammoth rock their mom, aunt and uncle climbed as kids. Life come full circle.
The Fleckenstein Bluffs Park playground. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
TIME TO PLAY & TIME TO ASK SERIOUS QUESTIONS
Late Friday morning we headed to Fleckenstein Bluffs Park near downtown to a playground the kids found much more to their liking. Another rock (albeit fake) to climb, a towering climbing apparatus, musical instruments, sand diggers, mini spinning seats and more, including fossils imprinted in the fake rocks.
We spent time, too, on an overlook above the Straight River. There the grandparents had to answer questions about homelessness given the blue tent pitched alongside the river. “Why do they live in a tent?” Sometimes adults don’t have all the answers. But we tried. Izzy worried that the police were coming to arrest those living in the tent when she saw a cruiser driving down the bike trail. No, Izzy, they’re not going to arrest them.
Beavers have given up chewing on this tree along the Straight River, we discovered during a walk on Friday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
BEAVERS, GEESE, A HERON & MEMORIES
And so we followed the Straight River Trail, noting trees chewed by beavers, a sandbar in the river, chimes on an apartment balcony clinking in the wind, a pair of geese moving from land to river, a magnificent blue heron flying low above the water…then those geese again, swimming.
Izzy stopped to pluck stones from alongside the trail, dropping them into an empty yogurt cup she’d brought with her. We walked sometimes hand-in-hand, Isaac and Grandpa well ahead of us, also clasping hands. This time together in the outdoors is the stuff of memories, of learning, of connecting with nature.
This used bookshop in Faribault is a must-stop when the grandkids visit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
DRAGONS, TORNADOES & THE BIG WIDE WORLD
On the drive home, we stopped at Books on Central, a used bookstore run by the Rice County Area United Way. We like to take the kids there whenever they are in town. Izzy found a fantasy book about dragons she’s read, but wanted to own. And a nonfiction book about tornadoes. Isaac was looking for atlases. Jeanne, who volunteers at the bookshop, found two, as yet unprocessed, atlases in the back room. Isaac was happy, promptly sitting down to page through the books. We also chose a book for their baby cousin, Everett, in Wisconsin.
And so that was our day together. A time of laundry hanging, backyard observing, playing, walking and enveloping ourselves in nature. But above all, it was time for us as grandparents to be with our beloved grandchildren, simply enjoying an unseasonably warm late March day in southern Minnesota, “poisonous caterpillar” and all.
Blowing snow reduces visibility during a prior winter storm in Rice County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
AS I WRITE this Tuesday afternoon, a sense of foreboding looms. Grey, with a tinge of otherworldly light, defines the sky. Branches of bare trees lean. Unbalanced. Darkness encroaches, presses upon the earth with an anticipatory heaviness. By the time you read this, my area of southern Minnesota will be under siege with a full-blown blizzard. Unless the weather forecasters are wrong.
But this time the forecast of up to eight inches of snow with wind gusts topping 55 mph seems likely. I’ve already asked Randy to stay home from work because driving 24 miles in white-out conditions would not be smart. Or safe. The National Weather Service warns of treacherous travel, potentially life-threatening conditions. Power lines and trees laden with heavy wet snow could snap.
The weather rather matches my mood. I feel a sense of foreboding on so many levels. I struggle sometimes to see the light for the grey skies, for the oppressiveness that prevails. I wonder what will happen next. What storm is brewing?
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
During a weather event, I can prepare. Take precautions. Buy bread and milk (note I didn’t write, “buy eggs”). Stay home. Shelter in place. Face whatever comes. I’ve lived through blizzards, wind storms and even a tornado. I am a hardy American who happens to live in Minnesota, next to our wonderful Canadian neighbors.
And so that is the approach I must take. Stand strong against the negative forces. Speak up. Continue to show compassion, care, kindness, love. Hold hope. Understand that blizzards don’t last forever, although this one seems never-ending.
A city of Faribault snowplow hits the road during a past winter storm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Every single snowplow matters in removing burdensome snow from roadways. Imagine what a fleet of snowplows can do against the deepest snow drifted by raging winds. I’ve seen the results. Roads are cleared. The snow melts. The sun shines. Winter ends. The trees bud green. That is my visual hope during these grey days tinged with an otherworldly light.
One of my favorite winter photos, of a farm site along Interstate 35 north of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)
WE MINNESOTANS PRIDE ourselves on our winter hardiness. But this week is testing even the hardiest among us as temps drop into the double digit subzero range. Add the wind and it feels like -30 to -40 degrees outdoors. No wonder extreme cold warnings have been issued for our state. Exposed skin can freeze in minutes. No wonder schools are closing and shifting to e-learning.
A flowering tree, photographed in Faribault in spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2024)
The bright sunshine fools no one. It’s an illusion of warmth. But the sunshine also reminds me that much warmer days are only months away, that winter isn’t forever, that we will get through this cold spell. We always do.
Photographed at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour garden in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
But as I wait and (mostly) shelter indoors, I find myself drawn to floral photos I took during the spring and summer. Images which visually remind me that the snow will melt, the earth will thaw and warm, seeds will grow, flowers will flourish and these frigid days of winter will be only a memory.
Coneflowers, Rice County Master Gardeners’ Teaching Gardens, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2024)
It’s a bit of a psychological endeavor, this convincing myself that spring will be here “before we know it.” Some days, especially during a cold snap, that seems almost laughable. I admit, my appreciation of winter has diminished as I’ve aged. I’m not alone in feeling that way among my Baby Boomer friends, which is likely the reason many flee to warmer climates for a week, or even months, during winter. I say good for them if that’s a feasible option. It’s not for me.
Dreaming of summer days at Horseshoe Lake in the central Minnesota lakes region. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2023)
So I find ways to cope. Read more. Write more. Walk indoors at the mall instead of outside. And when I do go out, bundle up, clamp a stocking cap on my head without care that it flattens my hair. Eat dark chocolate. Drink tea. Cook soups and chili. Pull out my warmest sweater to layer over a tee and flannel shirt. Connect with friends more. Remember hot summer days Up North at the cabin.
Tulips, one of the first flowers of spring in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2020)
And never forget that the flowers will unfurl in the sunshine and warmth. Bold, beautiful, vibrant blooms. Lovely. Filling my soul and spirit in a poetically beautiful way that winter can’t.
Bring out the cold weather gear like this photographed at a vintage snowmobile show during a past Winterfest. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WITH AIR TEMPS DIPPING into the single digit subzero range and windchills at around minus 25 degrees on recent mornings in Minnesota, we’ve been in a bit of a cold snap. We’ll get a several-day respite of 30 degrees before temps plunge again, dipping to even colder early next week when an arctic front moves in.
All this cold got me thinking about ways to define a cold snap. It’s not only about the way it feels, but also how it sounds and looks, yes, looks.
Here’s how a cold snap feels: Like a slap on the cheeks. Biting, bitter, unbelievably cold. Exposed skin can freeze in 10-15 minutes.
The cold of a cold snap also feels like ice on bare feet during a night-time trip to the bathroom. But even before that, cold feels like I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed-from-under-these-warm-covers-because-the-house-is-cold. Our thermostat is set at 62 degrees at night. Comfortable, except during a cold snap when outdoor air seems to infiltrate the indoors.
Legendary lumberjack Paul Bunyan has made wearing buffalo plaid flannel fashionable in Minnesota. Here he’s depicted on an ice machine outside Thurlow Hardware and Rental, Pequot Lakes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
These are the days of layering, of pulling out the warmest flannel or fleece. I wear a tee, topped by a flannel shirt, topped by a sweatshirt or sweater. Randy has pulled out his heavy duty quilt-lined flannel shirt that visually widens his girth. Who cares about fashion? Not me. The goal is to stay warm.
In the evenings, with the thermostat set at 68 degrees, we find additional warmth under fleece throws or, whoever grabs it first, under an especially warm fleece-lined denim quilt. We opt not to crank up the heat in an effort to keep our energy bill down. Even with that, heating an old house with natural gas gets costly.
Chicken Wild Rice Soup, one of my favorite soups, served at a fundraiser in St. Peter years ago. I made a batch of this soup earlier this week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A cold snap feels like dry, itchy skin; aching joints; a parched throat. I’m drinking more water and tea. Water flowing from the tap first thing in the morning is ice cold. I’m cooking more soups and comfort foods like Chicken Wild Rice Soup and lasagna.
These deeply cold mornings, Randy warms the van before leaving for work. The sound of tires on the street past our house carries a sharpness and, if snow layers the pavement, tires crunch. Bitter cold holds a distinct, almost indescribable, sound.
Frost art on an upstairs window during a past winter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Inside and outside, a cold snap is visible. I see it in the line of frost edging the bottoms of exterior doors. I pull a rag rug snug against the lower edge of the front door to block the draft. I see cold in the intricate frost patterns painted on bedroom windows upstairs.
These cold winter days have me dreaming of summer days at a central Minnesota lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)
And when I look outside from my relatively warm house, it simply looks cold, the sky clear, the bright sunshine only an illusion of warmth. For many Minnesotans, though, warmth is a reality as residents escape to warmer places like Arizona, Texas and Florida. Whether for a week, a month or the entire winter, these vacationers and snowbirds seek a break from the bitter cold and snow of a Minnesota winter.
I can’t help but think about those experiencing homelessness, including right here in Faribault. Where are these individuals living, sleeping? Surely not in the tents I’ve seen pitched along the river bottom. In the metro area, facilities are opening as warming centers. So, yeah, even though I’m not fond of this cold snap, at least I have a home.
Parched, cracked earth by the Turtle Pond, River Bend Nature Center. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2021, used for illustration only)
The invitation to the 2012 “It’s All One Water” reception and group show in Zumbrota.
The winning entries were printed in a beautiful 55-page booklet that paired the writing with submitted photos, all themed to water. I opted to pen a poem personifying Autumn as a woman searching for water upon the parched land. To this day I still love that strong visual, inspired by my long ago observations at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault.
And if I were to tap further into my visual memory, I would also see a semi trailer full of hay parked in a southwestern Minnesota farmyard in the summer of 1976. That was a year of severe drought, when my dad bought a boxcar full of hay from Montana so he could feed his cows and livestock. It was the year that nearly broke him as a farmer.
A REALLY DRY & WARM SEPTEMBER IN MINNESOTA
Here we are, 48 years later, settling once again into drought/abnormally dry weather conditions in Minnesota after a winter of minimal snow followed by an excessively wet spring, a dry-ish summer and now a record warm and dry September. This September, the Twin Cities recorded only 0.06 inches of rain and the most days of 80-degree or warmer high temps in any September. It doesn’t feel like fall in Minnesota, more like summer. But at least temperatures cool overnight.
Areas of western and central Minnesota are under a Red Flag Warning today, code words for a high fire danger, due to dry, windy conditions and dropping relative humidity. We are experiencing “near critical fire weather conditions” here in the southern part of the state.
AND THEN THERE’S TOO MUCH WATER
Contrast this with the weather my friends in western North Carolina and other areas affected by Hurricane Helene are experiencing. One is OK (as is her house). But she expects to be without power for a week and is relying on limited cell service at the local firehall. Another friend, a native Minnesotan, lost his car and may lose his home in Hendersonville after a creek swelled, flooding his garage (with four feet of water) and house (30 inches of floodwaters). A foundation wall “blew out” of his home. He is currently staying with family in Florida.
So, yes, even though the lack of rain and abnormally warm weather in Minnesota concern me, I feel a deeper concern for the folks dealing with loss of homes, businesses, infrastructures and, especially, deaths of loved ones. The devastation is horrific. It will take months, if not years, to recover.
RESPECT FOR WATER & MY POEM
In 2012, the following statement published in the intro to “It’s All One Water”: It is our hope to inspire respect, protection, preservation and awe in honor of water, our most precious of Natural Resources. How one views water right now depends on where they live. But I think we can all agree that water is “our most precious of Natural Resources.”
Autumn leaves in the Cannon River, Cannon River Wilderness Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2021)
In which Autumn searches for Water
Water. The wayward word rises in a faint rasp,
barely a whisper above the drone of buzzing bees
weaving among glorious goldenrods.
I strain to hear as Autumn swishes through tall swaying grass,
strides toward the pond, yearning to quench her thirst
in this season when Sky has remained mostly silent.
But she finds there, at the pond site, the absence of Water,
only thin reeds of cattails and defiant weeds in cracked soil,
deep varicose veins crisscrossing Earth.
She pauses, squats low to the parched ground and murmurs
of an incessant chorus of frogs in the spring,
of Water which once nourished this marshland.
Autumn heaves herself up, considers her options
in a brittle landscape too early withered by lack of rain.
Defeat marks her face. Her shoulders slump. She trudges away, in search of Water.
In this cellphone photo from the Second Avenue bridge, you can see the boulders piled across the north edge of the dam, excavator to the right. That’s the Faribault Mill to the left on the Cannon River. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 3, 2024)
WHEN I LEARNED late Wednesday afternoon of serious river bank erosion by the Faribault Woolen Mill Dam following recent flooding, one word crossed my mind—Rapidan. Last week the Blue Earth River skirted the Rapidan Dam, eroding the earth and creating a new river channel that eventually claimed buildings, trees and more.
Barricades block access to the area along the river where crews worked to stabilize the bank on Wednesday. The Faribault Mill is across the river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 3, 2024)
Right now I don’t see that happening in my community. The dam, the river, the landscape differ. In Faribault, crews worked to mitigate further erosion by piling boulders on the north side of the mill dam. That’s a temporary fix until water levels drop and officials can check for damage to the dam.
The second dam next to Father Slevin Park is not showing serious erosion, although water is flowing over the bank on the south side. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 3, 2024)
I stopped briefly Wednesday evening to see firsthand what is happening at the two dams on the Cannon River. Water levels remain high, although lower than they have been. But more rain is predicted in the next several days. Exactly what we don’t need.
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NOTE: I did not have my 35 mm Canon camera with me so I had to use my cellphone to shoot these photos, thus I could not zoom in to take better, clearer images.
The Dam Store in Rapidan, photographed in 2010. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO, I wrote a magazine feature story on The Dam Store, a rural southern Minnesota business serving up food, bait and tackle. People travel for miles to buy a burger and a slice of homemade pie here. It’s the kind of place that appeals to me—unpretentious and welcoming. Cozy, homey and comfortable, with great food.
The calm Blue Earth River, photographed in 2010, looks nothing like this today. The raging river has taken out trees, a house, a county shed, and electrical substation as it cut a new path around the Rapidan Dam. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The small eatery is located by the Rapidan Dam, a dam which has been in the news all week due to its possible imminent failure. Thus far, the dam has held. But the roaring, overflowing Blue Earth River carved a path around the dam to the west, eventually claiming the Hruska family’s riverside home. They run the nearby cafe.
This shows the short distance from the dam walkway to The Dam Store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The Hruska family, including Jenny Barnes, has run The Dam Store for some 50 years. Her nearby childhood home fell into the raging river Tuesday evening. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The Dam Store has been written about often as shown in this wall of feature stories. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The Dam Store sits a short distance away, close enough that it could possibly be overcome by floodwaters. At least that’s my non-professional opinion. And if that worries me, I can only imagine how the family feels.
Delicious burger and fries. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
Notebooks full of praise for The Dam Store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
Homemade rhubarb pie. The Dam Store is known for its fruit and cream pies. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
This place is a treasure. A destination. A slice of Americana run by folks who care deeply about their customers. People rave about The Dam Store. I read that in comments filling a notebook when I was there back in 2010. I feel the same. To dine here is an experience, a step back in time to days when life seemed simpler.
Public officials are now concerned about the integrity of this bridge as the river is no longer flowing over the Rapidan Dam but cutting a path to the west. This 2010 photo shows a low, calm river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The Dam Store was packed with diners during my 2010 stop. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The dam, built in 1908-1910, is 475 feet wide and measures 87 feet from the top to the streambed. This 2010 image shows a section of the dam and the nearby bridge, now in jeopardy due to river bank erosion by floodwaters. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The scene unfolding today in Rapidan is decidedly one of concern and watchfulness. And for many, one of hope. Hope that The Dam Store will remain standing, untouched by floodwaters. The building has been there since 1910, the eatery in the Hruska family for more than 50 years. This is their history, their life, their livelihood. Their home. Their place.
The main dining area of The Dam Store with booths and lunch counter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
The Rapidan Heritage Society has established a relief fund for the Hruska family with donations accepted at MinnStar Bank offices in Mankato and Lake Crystal. Click here for more information.
These guys ordered burgers at the lunch counter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo 2010)
Now, until The Dam Store reopens—and I’m being optimistic that this will all turn out OK—enjoy these photos taken in 2010. I think you’ll understand why this place is so popular, so loved.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Raging blizzards March 5, 2025
Tags: America, analogy, blizzard, commentary, Minnesota, opinion, snow, weather, winter storm
AS I WRITE this Tuesday afternoon, a sense of foreboding looms. Grey, with a tinge of otherworldly light, defines the sky. Branches of bare trees lean. Unbalanced. Darkness encroaches, presses upon the earth with an anticipatory heaviness. By the time you read this, my area of southern Minnesota will be under siege with a full-blown blizzard. Unless the weather forecasters are wrong.
But this time the forecast of up to eight inches of snow with wind gusts topping 55 mph seems likely. I’ve already asked Randy to stay home from work because driving 24 miles in white-out conditions would not be smart. Or safe. The National Weather Service warns of treacherous travel, potentially life-threatening conditions. Power lines and trees laden with heavy wet snow could snap.
The weather rather matches my mood. I feel a sense of foreboding on so many levels. I struggle sometimes to see the light for the grey skies, for the oppressiveness that prevails. I wonder what will happen next. What storm is brewing?
During a weather event, I can prepare. Take precautions. Buy bread and milk (note I didn’t write, “buy eggs”). Stay home. Shelter in place. Face whatever comes. I’ve lived through blizzards, wind storms and even a tornado. I am a hardy American who happens to live in Minnesota, next to our wonderful Canadian neighbors.
And so that is the approach I must take. Stand strong against the negative forces. Speak up. Continue to show compassion, care, kindness, love. Hold hope. Understand that blizzards don’t last forever, although this one seems never-ending.
Every single snowplow matters in removing burdensome snow from roadways. Imagine what a fleet of snowplows can do against the deepest snow drifted by raging winds. I’ve seen the results. Roads are cleared. The snow melts. The sun shines. Winter ends. The trees bud green. That is my visual hope during these grey days tinged with an otherworldly light.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling