Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Remembering the Edmund Fitzgerald 50 years after it sunk in Lake Superior November 10, 2025

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PBS did a documentary on the Edmund Fitzgerald. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)

SHORTLY BEFORE 8 THIS MORNING, I listened to “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot pulse from my radio. It was an auditory reminder that today marks the 50th anniversary of the sinking of that freightliner on November 10, 1975, in Lake Superior some 17 miles from Whitefish Point, Michigan.

Some 26,000 tons of taconite pellets, like these, filled the cargo holds of The Edmund Fitzgerald as it journeyed across Lake Superior on November 9 and 10, 1975. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2014)

This shipwreck holds great interest in Minnesota as the Edmund typically left loaded with taconite from Silver Bay, on the Minnesota side of Lake Superior, headed for the steel mills of Detroit and Toledo. But on this last fateful trip, the Edmund departed from Superior, Wisconsin, aiming for Detroit.

My husband’s copy of Gordon Lightfoot’s greatest hits, which includes “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The ship sank in the gale force raging winds and waves of a November storm claiming the lives of all twenty-nine aboard. That tragedy has been forever immortalized in Lightfoot’s 1976 ballad.

Today, in ceremonies both in Minnesota and Michigan, those who perished in this disaster on an inland “sea” will be honored. At 2 pm, the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Whitefish Point, Michigan, holds a public remembrance service. At 7 pm, a memorial service is set, but for Fitzgerald family members only with the museum closing at 5 pm in preparation for that event.

Here in Minnesota, the 50th anniversary focus today happens at the Split Rock Lighthouse Historic Site located along the shore of Lake Superior southwest of Silver Bay, which is north of Duluth and Superior. The Annual Memorial Beacon Lighting ceremony, beginning at 4 pm, is sold out.

For those able to secure tickets, the Minnesota ceremony is sure to be emotional as the names of the twenty-nine crew members are read aloud to the tolling of a ship’s bell. Lighting of the lighthouse beacon follows with the light shining for two hours.

Many years have passed since I’ve visited the lighthouse. Decades have passed since I first heard Gordon Lightfoot’s ode to the Edmund Fitzgerald as a young adult. Despite the passage of time, this tragic story remains imprinted on my mind, as it does the collective memories of Minnesotans old enough to remember this November 10, 1975, tragedy on Lake Superior.

FYI: I’ve previously written about the Edmund Fitzgerald. That includes a 2014 blog post about a presentation at the Rice County Historical Society by a diver who explored the wreck of the freightliner. Click here to read that story. The presentation coincided with the opening of the play, “Ten November,” at the Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault. Click here to read an introspective piece I also wrote.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Expecting severe weather in parts of Minnesota, maybe even “strong tornadoes” April 27, 2025

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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.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

From Wisconsin: A book about food, friendship, family, love, trauma & place April 2, 2025

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(Book cover sourced online)

I FOUND THE BOOK in the new fiction section of my local public library, the place where I discover reading materials that grow me, stretch me, teach me, and, yes, entertain me. The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County by Claire Swinarski fits all four of those categories. I love this book. Underline love.

I did not expect this reaction when I randomly pulled the novel from the shelf, drawn by its catchy title printed in a colorful font, drawn by the simple cover art of a lakeside Northwoods cabin. I do, indeed, judge a book by its covers, front and then back synopsis. These covers hit all the marks for me, someone who appreciates stories rooted in rural. Stories that are simple, yet complex. Stories that make me think, that tap into my empathy, that move me. Stories that are strong in place.

(Book cover sourced online)

In some ways, this book reminds me of the writing of Minnesotan Lorna Landvik, author of the popular Patty Jane’s House of Curls, The Tall Pine Polka, Once in a Blue Moon Lodge and more, most of which I have read. But the author of The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County hails from neighboring Wisconsin, which is similar to Minnesota, but different.

These are what we call bars (the kind you eat) in Minnesota and Wisconsin. Maybe elsewhere. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

At the heart of this story are the funeral ladies, a group of long-time friends who prepare meals for mourners at St. Anne’s Catholic Church. Casseroles—not hotdish as we call casseroles in Minnesota—concocted with canned cream soups. Shredded beef. Peanut butter bars. Pies made with Door County cherries. Food for the body and soul. This reminded me of the Reception Committee in my childhood home church on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. That group of Lutheran women prepared funeral hotdishes comprised of hamburger, pasta, a vegetable and assorted canned cream soups with salt and pepper for seasoning. The recipes are published in the 1985 St. John’s Anniversary Cookbook. The covers of that cookbook have fallen off my tattered copy. A cookbook is central to Swinarski’s novel.

The point here is that The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County is absolutely relatable for me. I felt comfortably at home with the story initially, even when I learned of a heartbreaking scam involving main character Esther Larson. That shapes the story. Then the story-line focus shifts from friendship, faith and family to tough topics after a Food Network star and his children arrive to bury his estranged wife in her hometown.

Mental health gets attention in this book. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Without revealing too much of the plot, know that family relationships, love and trauma weave into this novel. That trauma is post traumatic stress disorder, experienced by paramedic Cooper Welsh after participating in a holiday parade interrupted by a deadly shooting. In real-life, six people died in November 2021 when a driver plowed his SUV into a Christmas parade in Waukesha, Wisconsin, killing six and injuring many others. I expect Swinarski patterned her fictional tragedy loosely after this event or the many other mass shootings this country experiences.

I appreciate that the author, even in this fictional account of such violence and its personal aftermath, writes with authenticity. As a reader, I felt emotionally invested. I was rooting for Cooper and for those who love him. Swinarski doesn’t just touch on PTSD. She dives into it head on, writing in her acknowledgments that she talked to individuals dealing with PTSD to craft Cooper’s life story. That research shows.

A sign along the interstate advertises Ishnala Supper Club in Lake Delton near the Wisconsin Dells. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

She writes, too, in an authentic Wisconsin voice with a strong sense of place. Noodles in chili (yes, it’s a thing in Wisconsin). Beer not wine. Brandy old-fashioneds, Wisconsin’s signature drink. Supper clubs. And eating at the popular Wisconsin-based fast food chain, Culver’s.

There are so many reasons to love The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County. Even if you’re a Lutheran from Minnesota who eats hotdishes, not casseroles.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, sweet baby boy, how I love you March 26, 2025

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A banner in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, shows the state capitol. I love Madison with its lakes, green space, bike trails, etc. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

FOR WEEKS, RANDY AND I wanted to drive the four hours to Madison, Wisconsin, to visit our second daughter and her family. But each time, one of us was sick with or recovering from a cold. We were not about to make the trip until we were both fully healthy. Last weekend we were.

Friday morning we packed, loaded the van, then hit the road, crossing the Mississippi River into Wisconsin at La Crosse. That marks about the half-way point from Faribault to Madison. By early afternoon we’d arrived at our daughter and son-in-law’s home in the capital city.

Holding Grandpa’s finger. This is not Everett’s hand, but that of our eldest grandson, now in kindergarten. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I couldn’t exit the van fast enough. I wanted to see my grandson. Everett was born in mid-January and I’ve only seen him once in person since then. Video chats and photos filled the gap. But they are not the same, as we all know.

That sweet baby boy, who was an even 10 pounds at birth, now weighs nearly 17 pounds. He’s filled out. He’s smiling, cooing, interacting. And this grandma couldn’t have been happier. I watched him, cuddled him, played with him, read to him, talked to him, kissed him, rocked him, fed him, burped him, rubbed his tummy… Randy and I sent the parents out on a dinner date so they could have time alone together and we could have time alone with our grandson.

There’s nothing quite like spending time with a baby, especially a dear one, to make you forget about all the craziness happening in the world. And we know there’s plenty of chaos and reasons to feel concerned on multiple levels right now. I needed to be with Everett…to calm my spirit, to distract me, to remind me of love, of peace, of hope for the future.

In the days I spent with Everett, we bonded, grew our love for one another, gazed into each other’s eyes. Precious precious moments that I hold now in my memory, in my heart. I miss him so much already.

I called him sweet baby, darling boy, my love, all terms of endearment that carried a heart full of love.

(Book cover sourced online)

When I read It’s Hard to Be a Baby, a picture book written by Cheryl B. Klein and illustrated by Juana Medina, to Everett, his mama and I laughed. Babies have no idea, none, how difficult it is to be an adult sometimes. I’m thankful they don’t. But I suppose babies do struggle occasionally when we adults can’t figure out why they’re crying. Are they hungry, cold, tired, in need of a diaper change, bored…? None of us have quite figured out why Everett is so enamored with the living room ceiling fan. It’s not even turning. Yet he smiles broadly and coos every time he sees that fixture. It makes him so happy.

I love watching my second daughter with her son. Miranda’s a natural. So loving and tender, deeply in love with this baby who nearly cost her her life. She experienced severe postpartum hemorrhaging after Everret’s difficult birth. He was big; she is not. Miranda needed blood transfusions. A team of doctors and other medical staff at UnityPoint Health-Meriter Hospital in Madison worked to stop the bleeding and save her. I shall be forever grateful to them. This was a reminder that, yes, there can be complications and women can still die during childbirth.

Located at the entry point to Minnesota near La Crosse, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Since Miranda became a mom, I feel, too, a strengthening of our relationship in this shared experience of motherhood. I’m the mother of three, the grandmother of three. Two of my grandkids live only 35 minutes away. But not Everett, and that’s hard. So I whispered in his ear, “Move closer to Minnesota.” Then I turned to ask my daughter, “Did you hear that?” She did.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Regarding the latest school shooting: “Enough is enough,” says Madison police chief December 16, 2024

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I’ve been to Madison, Wisconsin, many times, taken many photos there. This is one of my favorites, taken along a bike trail in the Atwood Neighborhood on Madison’s east side. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

SHORTLY BEFORE I SAT down to write a blog post earlier this afternoon about not mailing Christmas cards this year, I checked my local newspaper’s website and read this headline: “5 dead, others injured in a shooting at a private Christian school in Wisconsin.” Then I clicked on the story.

In the second paragraph, I read that the shooting happened in Madison, Wisconsin, where my second daughter, who is eight months pregnant, and her husband live. A moment of fear pulsed through me. Miranda delivers mail in Madison. In reality, the likelihood of her working a mail route near Abundant Life Christian School at the time of the shooting seemed slim. Yet, I didn’t know where the school is located or where her routes take her. And it is a lack of information that can lead the mind to places you don’t want to go.

So I googled and found that the school sits on Madison’s east side, an area familiar to me since my son lived and worked on the east side of the capitol city for awhile. Next, I texted Miranda on a family group thread. Yes, during her work day. She had just learned of the shooting. And, yes, she was OK, and delivers mail on the west, not the east, side of the city. But, she noted, a co-worker’s child attends Abundant Life.

My heart broke. Not only for that child and parent, but for all the children, families and staff connected to this K-12 school along East Buckeye Road. They have been forever traumatized.

The initial report of five dead, as shared by law enforcement, proved incorrect. As I write this, a teacher, a teenage student and the teen suspect are dead. Six other students were injured, two with life-threatening injuries. My heart hurts for those families, especially.

As I watched an afternoon news conference led by Madison Police Chief Shon F. Barnes, himself a former teacher, tears trickled down my face. Grief rose. And the words of the chief and other officials who stood before the media sounded all too familiar. Just different faces, different voices in a different city on a different date in time.

“Enough is enough,” said the police chief in three succinct words that likely summarize how many of us are collectively feeling. Gun violence in our schools, anywhere, is unacceptable.

On this day, answers to many questions about the shooting in Madison remain unknown as the investigation begins. But I think we can all agree that something needs to change. I don’t have answers on how to prevent this from happening again in some other school. And it seems no one else really does either as these shootings continue. But it’s not for a lack of trying—by controlling access to schools, by offering more resources to help troubled students, by pushing for gun reform…

On this Monday, only 10 days before Christmas, the people of Madison are experiencing the unthinkable tragedy of a school shooting. They are a community collectively reeling and grieving, searching for answers. I feel for my daughter’s co-worker, for her child and for every single student, teacher, staff and family connected to Abundant Life Christian School.

Suddenly the fact that I’m not sending out Christmas cards this year just doesn’t seem all that important.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Love in a bouquet of lilacs May 18, 2023

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Wisconsin lilacs from Randy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

IN 41 YEARS OF MARRIAGE, Randy and I have always been together on our wedding anniversary. But this May 15, he was 583 miles away in Lafayette, Indiana. Monday didn’t feel at all like a celebratory day with my husband gone. But I understood. He left southern Minnesota on Friday to attend our son’s graduation with a master’s of science degree from Purdue University. My vestibular neuronitis symptoms made travel and attending the Sunday evening commencement unmanageable. This was one of those moments in life when I experienced profound disappointment.

And so our anniversary passed on Monday with a phone call and loving text messages exchanged. I knew Randy would be home the next day, which was a gift in itself.

When he rolled into the driveway at 1:15 pm Tuesday after an overnight stay with our daughter and her husband in Madison, Wisconsin, my heart filled with gratitude for his safe return and overflowed with love in his presence. One long embrace later, and we were unpacking the van.

And then Randy said, “I have one more thing.” This dear dear husband of mine reached into the back of the van and pulled out a bouquet of lilacs. I stood there, overwhelmed with emotion at his thoughtfulness. I cried. We embraced again. Each May Randy cuts a bouquet of lilacs (usually at a city park) and brings them home to me. It’s part of our history, our story.

This May that story began in Madison, 271 miles to the southeast of Faribault, about a half-way point to Lafayette. When Randy stayed with Miranda and John en route to Indiana, he noticed lilacs blooming on the next-door neighbor’s bush. So on the return trip and his second overnight stay, he remembered those lilacs, asked for permission to take some and then cut two generous branches. John found a vase. Randy added water and then the lovely lilacs.

Some 4.5 hours later, Randy was pulling that clutch of lilacs from the van. I smashed the woody ends with a hammer for better water intake, added more water to the vase and then set the bouquet on a vintage chest of drawers. Soon the heady scent perfumed our living room.

Now each time I pass those lilacs, breathe in their intoxicating sweetness, I think of my dear dear husband. I think of his love for me and me for him. And I think of how something as seemingly simple as a bouquet of lilacs gathered in a Madison yard bring me such joy. Randy’s unexpected gift compensated for his absence on our 41st wedding anniversary. I feel so loved and cherished.

Thank you, Randy, for your thoughtfulness and love.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Memories of sundaes, wood type & more in Two Rivers November 14, 2022

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A strawberry sundae served in a heavy tulip glass at the replica Berners’ Ice Cream Parlor, Two Rivers, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

EVERY DAY IS NATIONAL something or other day, right? Typically I hear or read about a national whatever designation and then promptly forget. But not National Sundae Day, which was Friday, November 11. Not wanting to detract from the really important designation for that date, Veterans Day, I delayed posting about this.

Signage marks the entry to the birthplace of the ice cream sundae in 1881. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

When I heard about National Sundae Day, I was also reminded of the soda fountain owner who invented the sundae in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, back in 1881. I’ve been inside the Washington House, where Edward Berners first topped a dish of ice cream with chocolate sauce in a treat initially sold only on Sundays.

The historic Washington House in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

Today visitors to The Washington House Museum and Visitor Center can still purchase sundaes and other treats inside this former 1850 hotel with replica ice cream parlor. I did in 2011, when Randy, our daughter Miranda, our son Caleb and I visited this charming Lake Michigan side town. At the time, Miranda lived in Appleton about an hour to the west.

The sprawling Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

While the rest of my family headed to the ice cream parlor, I lagged behind at the neighboring Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum. The working museum houses the world’s largest collection of type. For someone like me, with a journalism background and past employment at a weekly newspaper that used old typesetting equipment, this museum held great interest. I love old type. I love letterpress. I love the artsy look, the craftsmanship, the hands-on passion in creating. The ice cream sundae could wait.

A glimpse inside the working museum. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

Eleven years after my tour of the Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum, I remember the joy I felt in being there. I remember, too, how the tour guide chided me for taking photos. Apparently he found my photographing intrusive, even though I lingered at the back far from other visitors. Despite his reaction, I still delighted in the smell of ink, the slim drawers holding type, the chunky blocks of wood type, the artsy results inked onto paper.

Beautiful Lake Michigan at Two Rivers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

A snippet of the historic Rogers Street Fishing Village. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

A simply bucolic scene of Two Rivers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

And I delighted, too, in the community of Two Rivers. I recall its quaintness and beautiful natural setting along Lake Michigan. I recall, too, the historic Rogers Street Fishing Village. Just thinking about this eastern Wisconsin community makes me want to return. To view the expansive lake and follow the sandy beach. To take in weathered fishing boats and learn of lake lore. To meander through a museum that smells of ink with camera in hand. And then, finally, to step inside the Washington House ice cream parlor, the birthplace of the sundae, to savor a sundae served on more than just Sundays.

My second daughter and my son order ice cream sundaes at the replica Berners’ Ice Cream Parlor during a 2011 visit to Two Rivers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2011)

TELL ME: Have you been to Two Rivers? What’s your favorite sundae flavor? Do you share my interest in wood type and printing? Yes, lots of questions today.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Observations in Atwood February 23, 2021

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Randy walks through the SILLY ZONE on his way to Garver Feed Mill. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

IT PROVED A FIRST. A walk through a SILLY WALK ZONE near the Garver Feed Mill in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Wisconsin. I still am uncertain whether the words painted on the sidewalk are intentional art or graffiti.

Leave your money here. Or maybe a stone. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

But when Randy and I spotted the directive to PUT ALL YOUR MONEY RIGHT HERE with an arrow pointing to a circle, we laughed. And then Randy pulled a quarter from his pocket and deposited it in the circle.

A view of the neighborhood from the son’s apartment balcony. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2020.
There’s still industry in this neighborhood, here Madison-Kipp Corporation. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.
Art photographed through the window of Wine & Design, a ground level business in an apartment complex. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

I documented the deposit with my camera as I did several other noteworthy scenes from that walk in the neighborhood near our son’s apartment building. Yes, I carry my camera most places when I’m out and about because, when I don’t, I regret leaving it behind.

Lots of pedestrian, bike and vehicle traffic in this neighborhood. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.
We paused to read this warning sign near the creek. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2020.
Into the woods… Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.
One of the aspects I most enjoy about Madison is a deep appreciation for the natural world. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

During this early September 2020 morning outing, Randy and I came upon a narrow dirt path leading into woods along a creek. A sign warned us of contaminated water, something our son has shared as an industry-related issue on Madison’s East Side. We followed the path for a distance before retracing our steps and crossing the street.

Humor in this sign, if you change the spelling. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

Randy noticed street signage of DEAD END, Daley Dr, which he found amusing if you change the spelling to Daily. We walked along the dead end street, noting sandbags, a clear indication that the contaminated creek sometimes floods this neighborhood.

You’ll notice many signs in the Atwood Neighborhood addressing current day issues. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

I noticed, too, the BLACK LIVES MATTER sign posted at a V in the sidewalk. Such signage is common in this area, a clear indication to me that the folks who live on the East Side care about issues and people.

The roadside sign marking the entrance to Garver Feed Mill. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo September 2020.

After I composed a few photos, we recrossed the busy street, aiming for Garver Feed Mill, a 114-year-old restored complex of buildings that now serves as a community hub for businesses and gatherings. It’s worthy of a solo post. So check back as I focus my camera on this gem in the Atwood Neighborhood of Wisconsin’s capital city.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

In praise of the art, gardens & messages in an Atwood Neighborhood September 24, 2020

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BE KIND.

Two simple words painted, along with three red hearts, onto a block of wood. And then set on the front steps of a home in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Wisconsin.

 

A section of the Atwood Neighborhood I walked.

 

On a recent trip to Wisconsin’s state capital, I retraced a route I previously walked through this east side neighborhood near my son’s apartment. I found in that residential area many uplifting and positive messages that show those who live here care. Deeply. About others. About issues.

 

One of the many inspiring signs posted in the residential neighborhood where I walked a square block. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

 

And, in times like this with such chaos and turmoil and hatred in our country, I need to immerse myself in positive and hopeful words that uplift, rather than anger or sadden me.

 

An example of a front yard mixing plants and art.

 

Up close in a front yard I spotted this sprawling cactus which adds interest to the landscape.

 

Besides the messages, I appreciate the art placed in front yards overflowing with plants, including flowers. Not manicured lawns. I welcome that alternative to grass. It’s lovelier and better for the environment.

 

 

And in one yard, by a boulevard tree, I once again found a mini garden, a magical world of fairies and rabbits and gnomes. Making music. Dancing, Reading. Waiting.

 

 

I paused to photograph the scenes, inwardly praising the efforts of the homeowner who created this fantasy world for passersby to enjoy.

 

 

This offers, too, a momentary escape from reality. Something I need now, more than ever.

 

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Portraits honor laborers on Madison’s East Side September 22, 2020

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Portraits grace window spaces of Madison-Kipp Corporation, founded in 1898, and located in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, Wisconsin. The company produces precision machined aluminum die castings and subassemblies for the transportation, lawn and garden, and industrial markets, according to its website.

 

WHEN I VIEWED PORTRAITS set into former window spaces in an aged industrial brick building on Madison’s East Side, I saw strength.

 

This portrait exudes strength.

 

Strength in the bulk of bodies. Strength in the machines depicted. Strength in the hands and arms and faces of those who labored inside. Strength of work ethic and determination and skill.

 

Portraits of industrial workers stretch along the building.

 

Pride surged, not because of a personal connection to those employed by Madison-Kipp Corporation, but because of the blue collar connection. Too often, society dismisses as secondary those who put hands to machines, hands to tools, hands to steering wheels…

 

That each mural focuses on one worker highlights their individual value to the company.

 

But I recognize their value, for my father and his father before him and the generation prior worked the land. Farming. To feed their families. To feed others. Dirt and grease and backbreaking hard work defined their days. So I honor these men in the history of my life, including my husband, Randy, an automotive machinist for 40-plus years. A customer recently called him “an institution.” That seems fitting given his career longevity and the rarity of his skill set. I have no idea what Randy’s customers will do when he retires because no apprentice waits in the wings.

 

It takes the hands and skills of many to run a company and produce product.

 

Even with a renewed interest in the need for hands-on skilled workers, I don’t expect young people to necessarily embrace these jobs. The four-year college degree mindset has been too long embedded in our psyche. Yet, the need for mechanics, carpenters, electricians, plumbers, factory workers, etc., will only grow as Baby Boomers retire.

 

I appreciate that women are among those featured in this public art.

 

I am grateful for those who work with their hands. They keep our vehicles running, our houses repaired, our grocery store shelves stocked, our factories running…

 

Strong, determined, skilled…

 

When I studied the portraits on the Kipp building along the Capital City State Trail, I noticed, too, the drab shades of brown, grey, blue, green, no single person standing out in flashy colors. Too often those employed by manufacturers, warehouses and more go unnoticed, blending into the landscape of our lives.

 

Credit goes to these groups.

 

So to see this art, this very public art, recognize the often unrecognized pleases me. I value these men and women and the work they do. And now this art which honors them.

 

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling