Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Crafting an obituary: Emmett “breathed John Deere” March 5, 2024

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A row of John Deere tractors at the 2022 Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show, rural Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

AS A WRITER, a storyteller, I read obituaries. Doesn’t matter if the deceased is known to me or not. I find obits interesting for the stories therein.

Stories weren’t always part of obituary writing. Obit style has evolved since I graduated in 1978 with a journalism degree from Minnesota State University, Mankato. And that is a good thing. Today’s death notices are not just summaries of facts, but rather personalized in a way that helps the reader understand the person as a person. That holds value to those who are grieving and to those of us who hold no connection to the individual.

I need to backtrack for a moment and share that writing an obituary was my first writing assignment in Reporting 101. Although I’ve forgotten details about that long ago college course, I remember the professor stressing the importance of spelling names correctly. That carried through to all types of newspaper reporting. First reporting job out of college, I learned a source was Dayle, not Dale.

Emmett Haala (Photo source: Sturm Funeral Home)

That MSU instructor also imprinted upon me the importance of obituaries. As I age, I find myself drawn more and more to reading obits. Too often now, I know the deceased. Recently, I found a gem in the obituary of Emmett Haala, 87, of Springfield (that would be Springfield, Minnesota), who died on February 28. His funeral is today.

Hanging out by a John Deere tractor at the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

It wasn’t the basic facts about Emmett that captivated me, but rather his interest in John Deere tractors. He, according to his obit, “lived and breathed John Deere.” Now to anyone with a rural connection, the idea of fierce tractor brand loyalty is familiar. This retired mechanic began his career at age 14 at Runck Hardware and Implement in Springfield, eventually opening Emmett’s Shop in 1970. He was a trusted mechanic who serviced all machinery brands, but favored John Deere.

“Nothing runs like a Deere” is the John Deere slogan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

That tidbit got me reminiscing and also contemplating the importance of open houses in rural Minnesota. Events that continue today. Emmett, his death notice read, shared many memories of John Deere Days at Runck Hardware and Implement. He “…enjoyed making hot dogs and coffee for the throngs of people attending and showing the newest John Deere movie.”

To this day, I remain a fan of John Deere. Here Randy and I pose aside a vintage John Deere at Bridgewater Farm, rural Northfield in October 2023. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

That was it. I was hooked. I attended John Deere Day at a farm implement dealership while growing up in southwestern Minnesota. While the event was a way for machinery dealers to get farmers inside their shops, the open houses were also a social gathering for rural folks. My siblings and I piled into the Chevy aside Dad and Mom for the 20-mile drive to Redwood Falls and John Deere Day.

Free food—usually BBQs, baked beans, chips and vanilla ice cream packaged in little plastic cups and eaten with a wooden spoon—comprised dinner (not lunch to us farm types). Maybe there were hot dogs, too, like at Emmett’s place of employment. Memories fade over the decades.

A worn vintage John Deere emblem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

But I do recall the John Deere movies shown post meal at the theater in Redwood Falls. Sure, they were nothing but advertisements for “the long green line” of farm machinery. But to a kid who seldom set foot in a theater, the promotional films held all the appeal of a box office hit. Plus, there were door prizes like bags of seed corn and silver dollars. I never won anything. A cousin did.

At the Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2017)

And so all those John Deere memories and more—including the distinct pop of my dad’s 1950s John Deere tractor—rushed back. Putt, putt, putt. Emmett belonged to the Prairieland Two Cylinder Club. Nostalgia is powerful. So is the art of crafting an obituary. Many of today’s obituaries feature detailed personal stories, not simply superlatives. Stories that reveal something about the individual who lived and breathed and loved. Stories well beyond life-line basics. Stories of life. Stories that resonate, that connect us to each other. Stories like those of Emmett, who “lived and breathed John Deere.”

(Book cover image sourced online)

FYI: I recommend reading this guidebook to obituary writing by retired The Wall Street Journal obit writer James R. Hagerty: Yours Truly: An Obituary Writer’s Guide to Telling Your Story. Hagerty is the son of Marilyn Hagerty, columnist for The Grand Forks Herald. In a March 2012 “Eatbeat” column, Marilyn reviewed her local Olive Garden and gained instant internet fame.

 

Two Minnesota authors talk craft, share insights in Faribault November 3, 2023

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Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2022)

I DIDN’T INTEND to write a follow-up about an author event Thursday evening at my local library. So I didn’t take notes initially. I planned to just sit back, listen and maybe ask a few questions. Turns out I asked a lot of questions of Jess Lourey and Nicole Kronzer. About then I decided I best start taking notes.

I found kindred spirits in Jess Lourey and Nicole Kronzer, in the commonality of needing to write. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2012)

What energy, knowledge and passion these writers brought to the Buckham Memorial Library Great Hall. It’s clear they love the craft of writing. I could feel, as much as hear, their passion.

To be in their presence, to recognize that I was among wordsmiths who deeply love the written word, writing and reading, energized me.

The promo for Thursday’s event. Author John Lee Clark was unable to attend.

I actually pulled myself away from Lourey’s riveting crime thriller/mystery The Taken Ones to attend the author event, Moving Words: Writers Across Minnesota. It’s part of The Friends of the Saint Paul Public Library’s program to bring Minnesota Book Award-winning authors to communities like Faribault. I, for one, appreciate this programming, which included a Friends moderator. She asked questions of Lourey and Kronzer and invited the seven audience members to do the same.

Lourey has 28 books to her credit, mostly fiction, but also nonfiction and children’s books. Kronzer has published two young adult novels. I’ve read many of Lourey’s books and will soon read Kronzer’s. She’s a relatively-new author.

Yet, they share similar experiences and didn’t sugarcoat the difficult process to publication, which starts first with an idea, then outlining, then writing and research and rewriting and rewriting some more and editing and… They struggled to find agents, had their queries and manuscripts rejected by publishers, Lourey some 400 times. But she persisted. And today she’s an accomplished award-winning author. Kronzer holds the same determination to get her work in print. Her best work. They both acknowledged some of their writing hasn’t been all that good. Lourey even went so far as to steal her master’s thesis from her university’s library…until her Minnesota guilt kicked in and she returned it.

Book cover sourced online. This is Kronzer’s second young adult novel, published in January.

Both have taught/teach writing. Kronzer draws on her interactions with teens as a high school English teacher and her theatrical experience in shaping her books. She enthuses about today’s teens, noting she feels hopeful in this generation. In response to a question, Kronzer said the take-away from her books is a sense of belonging, the theme in Unscripted and The Roof Over Our Heads. She was, she said, bullied. I can relate. We write what we know.

Book cover sourced online. The cover is similar to the real-life scene of abandoned bikes found in a rural road ditch at the site of Jacob Wetterling’s abduction.

Lourey, who is inspired by dark true crime, centers her fictional books on secrets. She grew up in Paynesville in central Minnesota, where eight boys were attacked and assaulted in the late 1980s. (Secrets.) Authorities investigated a suspect who later pled guilty to the 1989 kidnapping, assault and murder of Jacob Wetterling in nearby St. Jospeh. Lourey’s fictional book, Unspeakable Things, is based on what happened in Paynesville. Her experiences as a pre-teen and teen at the time weave into Unspeakable. Write what you know.

Even though her books theme around secrets, Lourey wants readers to take away the importance of community. “Find your people and tell your truth,” she said.

This was posted in a recent display on banned books at my library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)

And for Kronzer, her stand-out statement of the evening, at least for me, was this: “Reading makes you nicer.” In saying that, she referenced the diversity of characters found in books. (Both authors emphasized character development in their writing.) Kronzer’s statement really resonated with me as I thought of a recent banned books display in my library. Not books banned from Buckham Memorial Library, but rather books that have been banned elsewhere. I chose one from the shelf, Lawn Boy by Jonathan Evison, and read it. It’s not a book I would otherwise have chosen. But I needed to read it, to learn, to widen my world, to put myself in the shoes of others.

We can learn so much by reading, by writing, by asking, by listening. And sometimes we are validated. When I asked Lourey and Kronzer whether they eavesdrop (specifically in grocery stores), they admit they do. Some of what they’ve overheard has made it into their books. Just as some of what I’ve overheard has woven into my writing. Write what you know. And sometimes, write what you hear.

Book cover sourced online.

FYI: Lourey and Kronzer suggested two must-read books on the craft of writing: Save the Cat! Writes a Novel—The Last Book on Novel Writing You’ll Ever Need by Jessica Brody and Stephen King’s On Writing—A Memoir of the Craft. I’ve read King’s writing guide and highly-recommend it. I also highly-recommend attending author events, whether you’re a writer, a reader or both.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A look back, a look ahead: How school shapes us, expands our world September 6, 2023

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A bus follows a back country road near Morgan in southwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2018)

SHE WANTS TO SAVE the earth. It’s a lofty and noble goal for my granddaughter, who started second grade on Tuesday. Each year, on the first day of school, her mom documents basics about Isabelle on a small chalkboard. That includes a response to “What I want to be when I grow up.” This year Izzy aims to be an environmentalist. As a first grader, her professional goal was becoming a game designer. And on the first day of kindergarten, she wanted to own a toy store and also be a mom.

It’s interesting how Izzy’s interests evolve as she ages, as she grows her world and knowledge and connections with others. The possibilities are endless for her generation. I hold such hope in these young people, just beginning their formal educations.

And I hold hope, too, when I see a photo of Izzy and three neighborhood friends waiting at their urban bus stop. “Smart, Brave, Beautiful” banners Bethel’s tee. What a reaffirming message. For all of them. And how reaffirming that they are of differing ethnicity, their skin tones varied and, indeed, beautiful.

My elementary school, circa 1960s, located in Vesta in Redwood County. The school closed decades ago. (Photographer unknown; photo sourced from my personal photo album)

Sixty years have passed since I was a second grader in a small southwestern Minnesota elementary school, where my paternal grandfather served on the school board. My classmates and I were mostly farm kids, all white. We wrote in “Big Chief” lined tablets which today would not, should not, fly. Attitudes differed in the 1960s. Words like diversity, respect and environmentalist were not part of our everyday vocabulary.

A serene country scene just north of Lamberton in southern Redwood County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2013)

But words, overall, held my interest all those decades ago. I have Mrs. Kotval to thank for sparking my love of words, of reading, and eventually of writing. Each day after lunch, she read to her third and fourth graders from “The Little House” and other chapter books. Through the writing of Laura Ingalls Wilder, who lived many years earlier in nearby Walnut Grove, I began to appreciate the nuances of the prairie. And I learned the importance of descriptive, detailed writing. Wilder engaged all of her senses to describe the prairie and life thereon in her series of wildly popular books. With her love of the natural world, this writer unknowingly documented the environment for me, my children and for my second grade granddaughter, today an aspiring environmentalist.

Early on, I aspired to be an elementary school teacher. But that changed as I grew my world, my knowledge, my connections. Words focused my passion. Unlike most of my elementary school classmates, I loved penmanship—letters and words flowing in script across the pages of my penmanship book. I loved spelling. I loved reading, even in a school and town without a library and thus with limited access to books. And by high school, that love of words expanded to writing.

Fifth and sixth graders at Vesta Elementary School in the late 1960s. I’m in the back row, far right, next to the windows. (Photographer unknown; photo sourced from my personal photo album)

I want to pause here and stress the importance of passionate teachers in fostering students’ interests. From Mrs. Kotval reading to her students after lunch to junior high English teacher Mrs. Sales teaching me all the parts of grammar to high school teacher Mr. Skogen requiring students to keep journals, their influence on me and my eventual career was profound. I would go on to earn a college degree in mass communications, leading to a career as a journalist, writer, poet and photographer.

That brings me full circle back to Laura Ingalls Wilder, who early on influenced my detail-rich writing and photographic styles. In 2017, I became professionally connected to the author via “The World of Laura Ingalls Wilder—The Frontier Landscapes That Inspired The Little House Books.” Author Marta McDowell chose three of my photos (including one of prairie grasses at sunset) to illustrate her 396-page book documenting Wilder’s life and relationship to her environment. Perhaps some day my granddaughter will open the pages of McDowell’s book and find the photos taken by her grandmother. Whether Isabelle becomes an environmentalist or something vastly different, I expect she will always care about the earth and her role in saving it.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

About greeting cards & why I value them May 17, 2023

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Among the many retirement cards Randy recently received. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

I’M OLD SCHOOL. I like to give and receive greeting cards. Why? It’s personal. Much more personal than anything sent electronically.

All of the cards in this boxed set are verses I wrote. (Source: Warner Christian Resources)

I also happen to write freelance greeting card verses for a faith-based publishing company in Anderson, Indiana. I’ve done that for years, so long I can’t recall when I started. But I appreciate that Warner Christian Resources (formerly Warner Press) prints the writer’s name on the back of each card. Currently, all the cards in the boxed set, “Sympathy—Classic Condolences,” are printed with verses I penned. Order a box of these 12 cards, four designs (click here), and you’ll read my verses and see my name on the backs of the cards. I have one other card in a 2023 get well collection.

Typically I sell a handful of verses during each annual submission period. So while not particularly lucrative, writing greeting card verses for Warner challenges me. It’s not easy coming up with new ways of delivering a message. Kind of like writing poetry, every creative word counts.

Now back to greeting cards in general. I value them. They require time to choose or craft. They require putting pen to paper to sign and/or add a personal note. They require a stop at the post office or a mailbox if mailed. In other words, greeting cards take time and effort to send or give. And to me, that says something. That someone is thinking about me or I of them. That they care, that I care.

A downward view of some of Randy’s retirement cards. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Recently, we’ve received an influx of greeting cards, starting with congratulatory wishes for Randy upon his recent retirement (well, sort of retirement as he eases into it by working fewer days each week). When I posted about his retirement, I encouraged you, my readers, to send cards. The many greetings that filled our mailbox humbled us. For Randy to receive cards from blog followers who took the time to choose or craft, sign and send greetings shows me what kind and caring hearts you have. Thank you.

My friend Valerie colored this postcard for me and wrote a get well message on the back. She knows how much I like to hang laundry on the line and how I colored when my vestibular symptoms were the worst. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Recently, I’ve also received get well cards as I deal with the difficult symptoms of vestibular neuronitis. Anyone who’s ever faced a health challenge understands just how much a card means when you’re not feeling well. Such cards uplift, encourage, show that someone cares about how you’re doing, how you’re feeling. I understand that and try to always mail cards to friends and family who need encouragement.

Lastly, Randy and I celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary on Monday. We’ve received a few cards. Early on in our marriage, we got lots of anniversary cards every May. Now? Not many. Maybe after you’ve been married for as long as us, the thought is not even there to send a card. I have a sister-in-law who considered it weird that I would mail an anniversary card to her and her husband. No matter her opinion, I still send them a card each year.

How about you? Are you old school like me and still appreciate greeting cards? Do you send them, receive them? Or do you prefer to convey wishes in another way, or not at all? I’d like to hear.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The Weekly Phone Call May 11, 2023

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My sweet mom, featured on the Parkview Facebook page, Mother’s Day 2020. (Photo credit: Parkview Senior Living)

IN EVERYTHING I WRITE, truth rests. In creative nonfiction, more than any other genre, truth writes the story. In poetry and fiction, life experiences, observations and emotions weave into poems and stories. Not necessarily the full truth, but based on reality. The adage “write what you know” rings true for me.

In 2017, I wrote a short story, “The Weekly Phone Call,” and entered it in the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc annual competition. That work of creative nonfiction along with two poems, two fictional short stories and another piece of creative nonfiction were chosen for publication in Fine Lines, The Talking Stick Volume 26. It marked my most successful year with TS, an annual anthology featuring work by Minnesota writers or those with a connection to Minnesota.

Five of my works (poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction) published in Fine Lines. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2017)

The book title, Fine Lines fits my selected entry, a story about the Sunday evening phone calls I made to my mom. Every. Week. I looked forward to them, as did Mom. My short story is one of raw emotions, of grief and pain. And today, days before Mother’s Day, seems an appropriate time to share this piece of my writing.

I hope it sparks an understanding that simple connections linking us to those we love are to be valued. When Mom could no longer hold or talk on a phone in the years before her January 2022 death, I felt a deep loss. I missed her voice. I missed her stories. I missed sharing my life with her. And today, I miss her, as I try to recall her voice, the words she spoke, yet always remembering the love we shared.

Parkview Senior Living in Belview, where my mom lived for many years. While 120 miles separated us, Mom and I remained connected via our weekly calls. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The Weekly Phone Call

It’s 6:30 p.m. on Sunday when I punch the green phone icon.

“Hello, Arlene speaking,” she answers, the indiscernible dialogue of a television blaring in the background.

“Hi, this is Audrey,” I say, then wait while she turns off her TV. “How are you doing?”

Her answer never deviates. She is tired and blames the weather. Already sadness threads through my thoughts. Inside the sheltered walls of a care center, she can’t feel the bite of a winter prairie wind, the drench of rainfall, the smothering humidity of a July afternoon. She feels only artificial heat and cold while sequestered in her over-sized dorm style room.

My mind drifts as Mom laments an in-house obsession with BINGO, recounts an escape attempt by a friend—big and exciting news—and complains of failed jets in the whirlpool tub. I listen, insert appropriate responses, and await the usual repetition of information.

When she repeats herself, I say nothing. There is no point. My love prevails in silence. But inside, my anger rises at her declining memory. I want the mom who never forgot a birthday, who remembered what she ate for lunch, who knew names. I miss her undeniably kind and positive spirit. I am grieving.

But I tell her none of this. Instead, I end our conversation with “I love you” and a promise to call her next Sunday, at 6:30 p.m.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Original 2017 publication credit: Fine Lines, The Talking Stick Volume 26

 

Mother’s Day gratitude: In her words, my mom’s gift to me May 10, 2023

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Mom’s journals stacked in a tote. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

DAYS BEFORE MOTHER’S DAY, I slide a clear plastic tote from a closet in the bedroom where my daughters once slept. I unlatch the lid. An overwhelming musty odor rises from the spiral-bound notebooks layered inside.

These are my mom’s journals. The story of her life recorded on paper from 1947 until her final entry on March 4, 2014, with a few years missing.

Mom died in January 2022. She left this handwritten documentation of an ordinary, yet extraordinary, life. As her oldest daughter and as a writer, I cherish the words she penned. They are not flowery poetic or personal entries, but rather a record of life as a farm wife and mother to six. Days that revolved around family, faith and farm life.

The only photo I have of my mom, Arlene, holding me. My dad is holding my brother, Doug.

With Mother’s Day only days away, I chose Mom’s 1955 journal, the year she became a mother, to begin reading. Mom invited her parents over for a Mother’s Day goose dinner that May, about two months before she gave birth to my oldest brother. I flipped ahead to July, reading her entries in the days right before Doug was born. Even at full-term, she kept working as hard as ever, freezing 24 boxes of green beans, canning a crate of cherries, pulling weeds in the garden and ironing clothes within days of delivering an 8-pound baby.

A page in an altered book crafted by my friend Kathleen. This page honors me and my mom. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Fast forward to May 1956. Mom notes in her Mother’s Day and subsequent entries that her mom went to the “Heart Hospital” on May 10 and came home May 17. Some six months later, Josephine died of a heart attack. She was only 48. And I was only two months old. I cannot imagine the grief my mom felt in the unexpected death of her mother. But she never put those emotions on paper. Rather her diary entries are straight forward, almost of journalistic detachment. Notations of her mom’s December 1 death, a funeral and writing thank yous.

My mom saved everything, including this Mother’s Day card I made for her in elementary school. I cut a flower from a seed catalog to create the front of this card. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

On the next Mother’s Day in May 1957 and through 1961, there are no references to any special way in which my mom was honored. No gifts. No special meal. Only that I had a bad case of the measles as a nine-month-old. In May 1962, my brother had the mumps. But I did give Mom a paper flower at a school Mother’s Day program.

In entries in the years that followed, Mom always wrote of attending the Mother’s Day programs at Vesta Elementary School. I hold vague memories of standing on the stage, reading a poem about lavenders blue dilly dilly in verse that now eludes me.

And although I don’t remember, I gave Mom plants and, in 1967, “a fancy flower,” whatever that means. But most meaningful to me, a writer, was the gift of a writing pad to Mom in 1964. Now, in return, I have the gift of her words written in perfect, flowing penmanship.

In May 1963, Mom got a Whirlpool dishwasher. In May 1968, she redeemed Green Stamps for two lamps. She also got an automatic Maytag washing machine with suds saver for $300 from Quesenberry’s Appliance in Redwood Falls. I can only imagine how these Mother’s Day gifts of dishwasher and automatic washer eased her workload.

A section of a family-themed photo board I created for Mom’s January 2022 funeral. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)

I wish I’d realized while growing up on the farm just how hard my mother worked. That would come later in life, when I became a mom in 1986, raising three kids, not six like her. In her final years, I thanked Mom many times for loving and caring for me, for raising me to be kind, compassionate, caring and a woman of faith. I hugged her and held her hand and cried whenever I left her care center, each time wondering if it would be the last time I would see Mom.

One of my favorite later photos with Mom, taken in 2017. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

Now, as I mark my second Mother’s Day without the mom I loved, still love, tears edge my eyes. I read page after page after page of her writing. Gratitude rises for this legacy she’s left, this story of her ordinary life on a southwestern Minnesota farm, this story of a mother who loved, labored, and lived a full and beautiful life.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

With gratitude on May Day May 1, 2023

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A gift to me, with a note written in clearly disguised handwriting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

THIS MORNING A PACKAGE landed on my front steps. Unexpected. A sweet surprise on this first day of May, a day typically reserved for May baskets left by someone who rings the doorbell, then runs away. I’ve previously received such May Day drops of treats and lovely wishes. But today, oh, today, I got a book dropped by the United States Postal Service.

Fed Up! A Feast of Frazzled Foods by Rex Barron was exactly what I needed. This ABC children’s picture book, which is really for any age, made me laugh. Laugh because it fits how I feel right now. Fed up. Not with anyone, but rather with my recent diagnosis of vestibular neuronitis. The nerve which controls balance in my right ear has been inflamed, leaving me with multi-layered issues. Basically, because of a roadblock in the interconnected pathways in my brain, I need to retrain my brain to navigate along different paths. I’m doing that via vestibular rehab therapy.

Someone among my blog readers latched onto that and found Fed Up!, a vivid and humorous book so fitting of how I feel and what I am attempting to accomplish—retraining of my brain. I have no idea who sent this to me. But thank you!

I also want to take a moment to thank all of my readers. When I started blogging in July 2009, I did so because I am passionate about writing and photography. I’d just ended a blogging gig with a Minnesota magazine, no longer in circulation, and wanted to continue blogging. So I launched Minnesota Prairie Roots. But blogging grew into much more than an outlet for my creativity. It grew into a community. A community that I’ve found incredibly kind, caring, compassionate and more. Friendships have formed. I’ve always felt encouraged, supported and appreciated, whether I’m writing about a day trip discovery, a new book or personal challenges. Likewise, I appreciate that readers share their stories so that I can reciprocate. We are, after all, all part of this family of humanity that ought to care about one another.

Fed Up!, the ABC book gifted to me today is just one of many examples of the kindnesses extended to me through my years of blogging. That an anonymous reader took the time to find this fitting book and then pen an appropriate note touched me deeply and reaffirms my belief that much good still exists in this chaotic world.

How could I not laugh at “Cabbage Crying over Coleslaw” or “Impatient Ice Cream” (with a graphic of a melting ice cream cone) or “Radishes Relax by a Radio”? I laughed in the humor of it all—images and word. But, even more than that, I feel gratitude on this May Day to this anonymous friend and to my wider community of caring readers. Thank you!

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

March 1965, a harsh Minnesota prairie winter documented March 13, 2023

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This huge snowdrift blocked my childhood farm driveway in this March 19, 1965, photo. I’m standing next to Mom. (Photo credit: Elvern Kletscher)

SHE WAS NOT QUITE 33 years old, this young mother of five living on a southwestern Minnesota dairy and crop farm in March 1965. It was an especially harsh winter, documented in a spiral bound notebook she kept.

She filled page after page with several-line daily entries about everyday life. She wrote about crops and household chores and kids and food and the most ordinary daily happenings. And, always, she recorded the weather—the wind, the precipitation, sometimes the temperature.

Arlene Kletscher’s journals stacked in a tote. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

This keeper of prairie history in rural Redwood County was my mother, who died in January 2022 at the age of 89. I am the keeper of her journals, which she kept from 1947-2014, from ages 15 to 82. Sixty-seven years of journaling. Several years, when she met and fell in love with my dad, are noticeably missing.

Recently, I pulled the tote holding her collection of writing from the closet. This snowy winter of 2022-2023 in Minnesota prompted me to filter through Mom’s notebooks from 1964 and 1965. That winter season of nearly 60 years ago holds the state record for the longest consecutive number of days—136—with an inch or more of snow on the ground. We are closing in on that, moving into the top ten.

Mom’s journal entries confirm that particularly snowy and harsh winter on the Minnesota prairie. From February into March, especially, many days brought snow and accompanying strong wind. Two photos from March 1965 back up Mom’s words. Her first March entry is one of many that notes the seemingly never-ending snow falling on our family farm a mile south of Vesta. She writes of the weather:

March 1—What a surprise! Snowing & blowing when we got up & kept on all day. No school.

March 2—Still blowing & started to snow again. Really a big drift across the driveway. Mike came & opened up driveway. No school again. Milk truck didn’t come so Vern has to dump tonight’s milk.

Entries from my mom’s March 1965 journal document a harsh Minnesota winter. My Uncle Mike had to drive from his farm a mile-plus away to open our driveway. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)

Let me pause here and emphasize the hardship referenced in Mom’s March 2 entry. My dad had to dump the milk from his herd of Holsteins. That was like pouring money down the drain. I can only imagine how emotionally and financially difficult that was to lose a day’s income. But if the milk truck can’t get through on snow-clogged country roads to empty the bulk tank, there’s no choice but to pour away milk.

My dad planted DeKalb seed corn (among other brands). (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2015)

On March 3-5, Mom writes the same—of snow and blowing snow and efforts to keep the driveway open and no school. Then comes a respite from the snow. Dad was even planning ahead to spring, receiving a delivery of DeKalb seed corn on March 15. But then snowfall resumes on St. Patrick’s Day in this land of wide open spaces, where the wind whips fierce across the prairie.

March 17—Snowing & blowing. Got worse all day. Good thing the milk truck came. No school.

March 18—Quit snowing, but is really blowing. Huge drift across driveway & in grove. Almost all roads in Minn are blocked. No school. Cold, about 10 degrees.

Our southwestern Minnesota farmyard is buried in snowdrifts in this March 19, 1965, image. My mom is holding my youngest sister as she stands by the car parked next to the house. My other sister and two brothers and I race down the snowdrifts. (Photo credit: Elvern Kletscher)

March 19—We all went outside & took pictures of the big drifts & all the snow. Mike came over through field by gravel pit & started to clear off yard. Clear & cold.

Mom’s March 19 entry is notable for multiple reasons. First, my parents documented the snowdrifts with their camera. They didn’t take pictures often because it cost money to buy and develop the film. Money they didn’t have. That is why I have few photos from my childhood. That they documented the huge drifts filling our driveway and farmyard reveals how much this snow impacted their daily lives. In the recesses of my memory, I remember those rock-hard drifts that seemed like mountains to a flat-lander farm girl. That my Uncle Mike, who farmed just to the east, had to drive through the field (rather than on the township and county roads) to reach our farm also reveals much about conditions.

In the two days following, Mom writes of a neighbor coming over with his rotary (tractor-mounted snowblower) to finally open the driveway. But when the milk truck arrived at 4:30 am, the driveway was not opened wide enough for the truck to squeeze through the rock hard snow canyon. The driver returned in the afternoon, after Dad somehow carved a wider opening.

The weather got better in the days following, if sunny and zero in the mornings and highs of 12 degrees are better. At least the snow subsided. On March 23, Mom even notes that they watched the space shot on TV. I expect this first crewed mission in NASA’s Gemini Project proved a welcome diversion from the harsh winter.

In her March 27 journal entry, hope rises that winter will end. Mom writes: Sunny & warmer than it has been for days. Got to 45 degrees. Minnetonka beat Fairbault (sic) in basketball tournament. I almost laughed when I read that because Minnesotans often associate blizzards with state basketball tournament time. I also laughed because Faribault would eventually become my home, the place I’ve lived for 41 years now.

So much for optimism. On March 28, snow fell again. All day.

But the next day, Mom writes, the weather was sunny and warm enough to thaw the snow and ice and create a muddy mess. I stopped reading on March 31. I’d had enough snow. I expect Mom had, too.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Focusing on gratitude from family to creativity November 23, 2022

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A reason to feel grateful, hung on a Gratitude Tree outside the Northfield Public Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2019)

EVEN IN A DECIDEDLY DIFFICULT YEAR, as 2022 has been for me, many reasons exist to feel grateful. I fully realized that upon putting pen to paper to compile a gratitude list during this, Thanksgiving week.

Me with my mom. Oh, how I miss her. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020 by Randy Helbling)

The year started with the death of my mom on January 13, during the height of Omicron. It was, undeniably, a challenging time to lose her, not that any time is easy. But COVID compounded the situation, affecting my grief process. Memories from her funeral will always be really hard for me. Ten months later, my focus is one of thankfulness for my mom. She instilled in me care, compassion, kindness…and left a legacy of faith. What a gift. I will also forever feel grateful to the staff at Parkview, who so lovingly cared for Mom for many years like she was family. I am thankful, too, to the many friends who sent comforting sympathy cards and memorials and to my friend Kathleen, who created a memory book honoring my mom.

Wedding guests toss rice at Randy and me as we exit St. John’s Lutheran Church in Vesta following our May 15, 1982, wedding. (Photo credit: Williams Studio in Redwood Falls)

May brought a milestone wedding anniversary for Randy and me. Forty years. I don’t recall how we celebrated, but nothing splashy. I feel thankfulness every day for this man who loves me unconditionally, supports me and still makes me laugh.

Randy and our grandchildren, Isabelle and Isaac, follow the pine-edged driveway at the lake cabin in one of my all-time favorite family images. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)

My immediate family means everything to me. That my two young grandchildren live only 35 minutes away is not something I ever take for granted. From celebrating birthdays and holidays to picking strawberries and apples together to overnights at our house to being there in a crisis, this grandma is grateful for the geographic nearness. There’s nothing like the joy I hold in being a grandmother. The hugs. The snuggles. Reading books. Baking together. Getting down on the floor to play. Scooping the almost four-year-old off the floor and into my arms, little lips pressing a moist kiss upon my cheek.

Twice this year I also embraced dear uncles and an aunt whom I haven’t seen in awhile. I hosted Aunt Rachel and Uncle Bob, visiting from Missouri, for lunch. And I met Uncle John and his son Justin and family for lunch in Northfield. Oh, goodness, the happiness I felt in those hugs from extended family I love dearly.

Flying into Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2015)

Soon my son, who lives in Indiana, will be back for a short Christmas stay. I cannot wait. I haven’t seen Caleb in a year and I miss him so much at times that it almost hurts. But before then, my second daughter and her husband arrive from Madison, Wisconsin, to celebrate Thanksgiving in Minnesota. You bet I feel grateful for the time we will have together. I miss my girl.

Randy and Isabelle on the dock at the lake cabin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2022)

As I write this thanksgiving list, I realize that most gratitude centers on family. That includes time together at a lake cabin owned by a sister-in-law and brother-in-law who open their guest cabin to extended family. Their sharing of this blessing shows such love and generosity of spirit and I feel forever grateful for this place to escape, to enjoy nature, to rest and relax, to rejuvenate, to make memories.

Following a gravel road in Rice County, near Dundas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo autumn 2022)

I am thankful also for (in no particular order), country drives with Randy; gathering around a bonfire with friends; writers and journalists and poets and artists; vaccines; medical professionals who provided emergency and extended care this year for those dearest to me; democracy…

My two poems, far left, and center, in an exhibit at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2022)

Lastly, I am grateful for my creative abilities. To write and photograph bring me incredible joy, and some side income. I appreciate that my creative work is valued, published. My creativity came full circle this autumn when I traveled back to my native southwestern Minnesota to view an exhibit, “Making Lyon County Home,” at the Lyon County Historical Society Museum in Marshall. Two of my poems, “Ode to My Farm Wife Mother” and “Hope of a Farmer,” are posted in the exhibit along with a four-generation family photo and my mom’s high school graduation portrait. After touring that exhibit, I visited Mom’s grave site in my hometown. I stood there atop the hillside cemetery surrounded by corn and soybean fields under a spacious prairie sky feeling overwhelmed by sadness, yet grateful for the love we shared.

TELL ME: What are you especially grateful for this Thanksgiving? I welcome specifics, especially.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Expressing my creative voice in “The Talking Stick” October 11, 2022

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I’ve been published in 13 volumes of “The Talking Stick,” most recently In “Volume 31, Escapes.” (Photo by Colton Kemp)

AS A WRITER, getting published adds to the joy of the craft. I write because it’s my passion, one which I want to share.

I laid the latest copy of The Talking Stick atop a page in a Minnesota atlas to represent escape in a sense of place. Reading and writing also provide an escape. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2022)

The newest opportunity to share comes via The Talking Stick 31—Escapes, the latest anthology released in September by Park Rapids area-based The Jackpine Writers’ Bloc. The Talking Stick, published now for 31 years, features a collection of creative nonfiction, fiction and poetry by Minnesota writers or those with a connection to our state. This year, editors chose 83 poems, 28 creative nonfiction stories and 18 fiction stories for publication from 82 writers. More than 300 submissions came from 140 writers.

The beginning of my story, “Barbershop Prompt.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited and copyrighted photo October 2022)

I’m delighted to announce that three of my submissions are included in Escapes. My story, “Barbershop Prompt,” won second place and a cash prize in creative nonfiction. “Plans” earned honorable mention in fiction. And my second fictional piece, “Between Sisters,” simply published.

My writing has published in all 13 of these “The Talking Stick” volumes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2022)

To have my work selected and honored by peers is, for me, reaffirming. This marks the 13th year my writing—a total of 13 poems, eight creative nonfiction stories and nine fiction stories—have published in The Talking Stick. I’ve earned seven honorable mentions and two second placings through the years. Every year I’ve entered this competition, my writing has published. That proves personally validating.

When I first ventured into penning fiction, I did so with hesitancy. My journalism education, background and experience rooted me in gathering information and reporting the facts with no bend to fictionalize. I didn’t know I could write fiction until I tried. And I found I rather enjoy this type of writing. It stretches my creativity in a way that traditional factual writing doesn’t. Yet, even when I write fiction, there is some truth within. I weave into my writing (often in subtle ways) that which I know or care about or which has touched me. I expect most fiction writers would say the same.

Partial winning credits in fiction and the judge’s bio. (Minnesota Prairie Roots edited and copyrighted photo October 2022)

My award-winning short story, “Plans,” focuses on abuse within a family. Abuse has not been my personal experience. But it runs rampant in society. “Plans” focuses on abuse from the perspective of Henrietta, or Henri as her father calls her. He wanted a son, not a daughter. I’m not revealing more except to say the story leaves the reader wondering. And that’s exactly as The Talking Stick editors intend. Submission guidelines call for focusing on short forms, on compressed creations which hint of a longer, more complex story. You get that in my 457-word “Plans.”

Here’s, in part, what fiction judge Bonnie West said about my short story:

What a good story. Very clever, but also very poignant and surprising! Thanks for this delightful and entertaining revenge story!

Bridge Square Barbers, the inspiration for my award-winning story. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2022)

I definitely appreciate West’s comment and that of creative nonfiction judge Marge Barrett. She evaluated “Barbershop Prompt,” praising the energy and cleverness of my story. A sign I spotted in the front window of Bridge Square Barbers by Bridge Square in Northfield prompted me to write this. I am an observer, someone who notices details. That often inspires. Like my winning fiction story, this fact-based story leaves the reader wondering, wanting more. The same can be said for “Between Sisters.”

The Talking Stick is an incredible collection of outstanding writing and I’m honored to be included with so much other Minnesota talent. Each year I see familiar names repeated, but then new voices, too. The small editorial team from the Jackpine Writers’ Bloc deserves recognition also for their hard work. This anthology truly is a labor of love. I’m grateful for their appreciation of Minnesota writers and for their dedication to the craft of writing.

FYI: I encourage you to support Minnesota creativity by purchasing a copy of The Talking Stick 31—Escapes by clicking here.

Colton Kemp, a reporter for the Faribault Daily News, wrote a feature on me which published in the Saturday, October 8, edition. I encourage you to read that also by clicking here. I am grateful for Colton sharing my story and for the opportunity to connect with him, another individual passionate about writing.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling