No matter how you view the words…
from whatever distance…
or angle…
the message remains unchanged.
Photographed Sunday afternoon at Harvest Time Church along busy State Highway 3 on the north end of Faribault.
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
IF YOU’RE GONNA BARBECUE, you better have beer.
And, if you’re a novice at barbecuing ribs, then the bible helps too.
Not that my husband turned to God’s Word Saturday night during his first-ever attempt to make barbecued ribs. But he did refer to The Barbecue! Bible by Steven Raichlen.
My husband checked out The Barbecue! Bible from the local library to find a recipe for grilled ribs. I don't know why he chose a Memphis recipe.
Flipping to the Book of High on Hog, the second to last chapter, “Memphis-Style Ribs,” he read not of sweet, flowing honey, but of cumin and cayenne, pepper and paprika. Apparently the tribe of Memphis prefers spicy to sweet.
Following the written word, he mixed a dry rub of mostly spicy spices with a bit of brown sugar tossed in for a touch of sweetness. But because we were missing an ingredient for the mop sauce—namely yellow mustard—he substituted Sweet Baby Ray’s Barbecue Sauce for the homemade sauce. What can I say? Sometime we obey; sometimes we commit sins of omission.
But he certainly didn’t omit the beer. Apparently when you barbecue, you need beer, so says the Book of, well, uh…
While my husband grilled, he drank beer and did a sudoku puzzle.
After fueling up the Weber grill with charcoal, he grabbed a slab of wood from an oak pallet and axed the piece into wood chips. I watched and uttered, “Thou shalt not cut off thy fingers,” or something similar.
Next he baptized the wood—total immersion style—and later tossed the sticks inside the hot-as-you-know-where grill.
Flipping the ribs, adding wood for a smoked flavor...
Some two hours later, after more stoking of the fire, tending of the pork and imbibing of beer (for me a strawberry margarita) we feasted on savory ribs, fresh baby red potatoes and corn-on-the-cob, in a meal fit for royalty.
And if gluttony is a sin, then on Saturday I sinned grievously.
Grilling pork ribs over charcoal and wood made for a savory meat.
Fresh baby red potatoes and sweetcorn, purchased at the Faribault Farmers' Market, rounded out the meal.
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS.
Remember that segment by Art Linkletter on his 1950s -1960s television show, House Party? He would interview kids who responded with “the darndest things.”
Well, recently my 8 ½-year-old nephew Christian produced a comment that would be Art Linkletter worthy.
Here’s how the scenario played out. When Christian’s mom, Jamie, went to do the laundry, she discovered that her son had dropped only one pair of socks and three underwear into the basket of dirty clothes for the week.
For illustration purposes, please pretend that these dirty socks belong to my 8 1/2-year-old nephew instead of the two big-footed guys in my household.
“I knew he wore socks (and hopefully underwear) every day, so I asked him about it,” she says.
Well, Christian had it all figured out. He explained that he would only change his socks and undergarments on bath nights (Wednesdays and Saturdays) to help save the environment. But that’s not all. His mom wouldn’t have to do the laundry as often.
Now how can you argue with a thoughtful environmentalist like that?
Clearly, when you’re the mom, you can. Jamie instructed Christian that he needed to change his socks and his underwear daily.
Well, I have a little secret, which you probably shouldn’t share with my sister-in-law and certainly not my nephew. When I was growing up, I did not change my underwear and socks every day. It just wasn’t done.
And, get this, my siblings, parents and I bathed once a week—on Saturday night in an old tin tub in the kitchen—whether we needed a bath or not.
Isn’t that just the darndest thing?
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
A marker honors soldiers and citizens at the Birch Coulee Monument near Morton. White men and Native Americans fought in the battle at Birch Coulee on September 2 and 3 during the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.
IF EVER A WAR suffered an identity crisis, it would be the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862. I’m not stating that lightly or in any manner that would indicate disrespect to anyone.
But, in all honesty, I sometimes don’t know how to label the battle between the Dakota people and the white people. I’ve struggled for years with that issue, most recently while writing an essay “Strong Words on Strong Stone at Birch Coulee,” published in Hidden History of the Minnesota River Valley by Elizabeth Johanneck.
The Loyal Indian Monument at Birch Coulee Monument honors Native Americans and features strong, uppercased words like HUMANITY, PATRIOTISM, FIDELITY and COURAGE.
Back in the 1970s, when I wrote a high school term paper on this conflict, I tagged my research as “The Sioux Uprising of 1862,” the accepted designation then. Prior to that, the word “massacre,” which seems entirely too biased and accusatory, denoted this event in Minnesota history. The conflict has also been termed as an “outbreak,” to me a tag more fitting of a disease.
The name evolved next to “The Dakota War of 1862” (still used by many) and then to the prevailing current-day usage, “U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862.”
Apparently, though, that label isn’t set in stone. Recently, while touring the Rice County Historical Society Museum in Faribault, Director Susan Garwood and I discussed the title while standing next to a recently-restored Civil War battle flag carried by Co. C Sixth Minnesota Volunteer Infantry.
Today the word “rebellion” has even been tossed about in defining the conflict, Garwood says.
Right or wrong, I find it interesting that, 148 years after this “war” or “conflict” (or whatever word you choose to define it), the discussion continues. To me, the identity seems to switch with new insights, changing attitudes and/or political correctness.
Garwood also shared that more and more, historians are leaning toward viewing this conflict between the Dakota and the white people as part of the Civil War. After all, Minnesota soldiers, like the Sixth Regiment, fought against the Confederacy and defended the settlers against the Dakota. I suppose in many ways this makes sense since the wars between the North and the South and between the Dakota and the white men occurred simultaneously and were intertwined in defining the history of Minnesota and of this country.
Two Minnesota sites, Fort Ridgely and the location of the Battle of Wood Lake, are among nationally-designated Civil War battlefields. Both have been ranked by the Civil War Sites Advisory Commission of the National Park Service as “needing additional protection.” A Wood Lake Battlefield Preservation Association is working to preserve the battleground that marked the end of the U.S.-Dakota Conflict.
Dakota beadwork displayed at the Rice County Historical Society Museum in Faribault.
I expect that differences in opinion will always exist regarding the “correct” terminology and historical connections for the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862 just as differences exist among people.
I grew up within 15 miles of the Battle of Wood Lake on land that lies between the Upper Sioux Community and the Lower Sioux Indian Community, so I am well aware of the differing perspectives and, yes, even prejudices and discontentment, that lingered when I left the area 36 years ago and which continue today.
Now as the 150th anniversary of the 1862 U.S.-Dakota Conflict approaches in 2012, I wonder, even worry, that deeply-rooted bad feelings, misunderstandings, bitterness and misconceptions will roil to the surface.
I hope that respect, rather than disrespect, define this remembrance.
Already, some efforts are underway to assure that the 150th commemoration includes reconciliation. According to an article in the New Ulm Journal, German polka dancers and Lower Sioux Community chanters, drummers and dancers performed earlier this week at a joint concert in New Ulm, site of several major clashes during the U.S.-Dakota Conflict.
A 150th Anniversary Steering Committee of the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862 has formed and launched a Web site, http://BrownCountyDakotaWarCommemoration.com. Currently, a contest is underway for a logo that represents the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862. The winning design will be used to promote commemorative activities planned for August 2012.
Although nothing has been finalized, committee member Kim Janke tells me her group is planning battle site tours; marker dedications; symposiums; a banquet; dedication of a Brown County Museum exhibit on the War of 1862, “representing the pioneers, Native Americans and what happened during the war;” and more.
All of this gives me hope that someday, perhaps soon, all of us, no matter our differences regarding the U.S.-Dakota Conflict of 1862, can stand together, reconciled, in an unbroken circle of peace.
Dakota beaded moccasins exhibited at the Rice County Historical Society Museum.
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
AREN’T FAWNS CUTE?
Yup…until one dashes in front of the car your 16-year-old son is driving.
Fortunately, I wasn’t in the car when Bambi decided that crossing the highway would be a grand idea.
My husband, Randy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, shared the details, out of earshot of our boy. I didn’t want to inquire in our teen’s presence. He’s logging hours and practice time to try for his license. Why unduly upset him?
Rather, we praised him for his quick, and proper, response. No swerving, just braking.
By some miracle, the deer and car did not collide. Randy still can’t figure it out, says the car was as close to hitting the fawn as a vehicle can be.
But the deer wasn’t his only concern. No sooner had our son braked than his dad barked, “OK, go!”
He feared that a tailgating car would slam into the back of their car on this winding, hilly back county road between Faribault and Northfield.
That, of course, led to a discussion about distracted driving, bad driving habits (like texting and talking on cell phones) and the fact that too many people are in too much of a hurry. We ranted for awhile.
And then we pondered, or at least I pondered, what could have been if Bambi and the Brainless Driver had collided with the car driven by our son, our precious, precious son.
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
“I THOUGHT I SHOULD let you guys know that right now I am sick…”
This is not the e-mail news I want to read from my 22-year-old daughter who is living in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She has a fever, runny nose and a cough, all the symptoms of H1N1.
Unfortunately, I am well aware that a year ago Argentina suffered a major outbreak of the illness with a death rate (1.6 percent) more than three times the world average, according to a July 3, 2009, New York Times article. Yet, those deaths ran behind Mexico and the United States. Currently the World Health Organization reports that Argentina has “low activity and only sporadic detections of both pandemic and seasonal influenza viruses during the early part of winter.”
Yet, this provides little reassurance to me, a Minnesota mom with an unvaccinated daughter nearly 6,000 miles away who is exhibiting H1N1 symptoms.
Didn’t I tell her to get the H1N1 vaccine last winter at the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, where she was finishing her senior year of college? She didn’t and I didn’t push the issue. Now I regret my lackadaisical attitude.
“Please don’t worry about me; I’m sure I will be better soon,” my daughter writes. “I’ve been drinking lots of water and tea. Also, my roommate Lucas has been taking really good care of me, bringing me soup, Kleenex, tea, water etc. Later today when he gets home from work he is going to go w/ me to the doctor.”
OK then, she tells me not to worry, but she feels sick enough to see a physician. This is not good.
But I am here, she is there and I can’t exactly bring her chicken soup. So, as any responsible mom would do, I worry and await her next e-mail.
The next morning she updates me. She doesn’t have H1N1, but a viral infection that should clear up in three days. My daughter relays that the doctor was nice and seemed competent, checking her temperature, blood pressure, heart, throat, symptoms, etc., “all the normal stuff they do in the States.” Alright then, that’s good.
But then she tells me about the free public clinic. “The clinic was probably the worst clinic I’ve ever been to. We had to wait forever to see the doctor, and they only had super-uncomfortable wooden benches in the very cold waiting room. After a while, I decided it would be more comfortable to sit on the floor b/c I could at least put my head against the wall, and Lucas covered me up w/ his jacket. This was a good idea b/c it was indeed more comfy and then 2 different doctors came up to us and tried to get us in sooner b/c I probably looked like crap. Also, the bathroom there was EXTREMELY disgusting! I don’t think any of the toilets flushed, there was no toilet paper (thankfully I had some Kleenex w/ me), and the sinks weren’t working.”
OK, up until that revelation, I was feeling better.
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
OK ALL OF YOU nature-loving entomologist types out there. I need your help.
A swarm of larvae has descended upon my potted fuchsia and I would like to identify these invaders.
At first I thought the caterpillar rather cute as I observed an ant scoot across its back and back. Note the singular word “caterpillar.”
An ant about to embark on a journey across the back of this unidentified larva on my fuchsia.
The larva squirms, reacting to the ticklish feet of the ant and that amuses me.
That was day one.
ON DAY TWO, the singular became plural as I counted some 25 larvae feasting on my fuchsia. Did the scout report back, “Hey, this way, over here, look what I found!” followed by “Forward, march!” from the commander? The powerful army had stripped away the leaves, decimating the unguarded plant.
The larvae stripped the leaves from one fuchsia and were working on the second plant in an adjacent pot.
Munch, munch, munch. The fuchsia leaves quickly disappear.
Then I stood by as a caterpillar consumed an entire leaf, just like that. Now you see it, now you don’t.
They were entertaining, but certainly no longer cute.
I am determined to determine what type of infestation I have in the pots on my driveway. I consulted a master gardener who works at the library and sent me home with Butterflies and Moths, a Golden Guide, published by St. Martin’s Press. She thinks I may be dealing with White-lined Sphinx larvae. Maybe.
But I am confused because these creatures differ in appearance. Are some male, the others female? Does their maturity or size—some are skinny and others are, well, chubby—change their look?
See how this larva differs in appearance from the one in the image above?
Just a different shot of the same larva. FYI, I'm told the pointed "horn" is the tail. Right or not?
Online research confuses me even more.
So, if you are in the know, please give me your two or three or five cents worth. Heck, I’ll even take a dollar’s worth of knowledge.
And, as long as you’re answering my questions, I would like to know why these creepy crawlies prefer fuchsia to the untouched Diamond Frost, non-stop begonia, Wandering Jew and impatiens planted in the same two pots.
From my female perspective, I’m pondering, “Could fuchsia be the equivalent of chocolate to these larvae?”
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Moland Lutheran Church, rural Kenyon, Steele County, Minnesota.
IF YOU LOOK BEYOND the pews, the altar, and the stained glass windows, if you listen beyond the music and the sermon and the scripture readings, you will find, within a church, a family.
Here’s what I mean. Recently while photographing an old country church in southeastern Minnesota, I began to notice the personal touches that made me feel welcome, like I had stepped inside someone’s home.
Yes, women greeted me at Moland Lutheran Church during the congregation’s annual Strawberry Festival. But no one showed me around. I simply meandered on my own, with my camera, absorbing my surroundings. And that’s what I prefer.
Perhaps because I’m a writer and a photographer, I take note of my environment more than an ordinary person. I am drawn to that which others might simply pass by.
But rather than try to explain all of this to you, I’ll show you the discoveries I made inside and outside this 1884 Norwegian Lutheran church, the discoveries that led me to a family of the faithful.
I photographed a section of a long photo showing Moland church members gathered for the congregation's 50th anniversary celebration in 1930. The image hangs just outside the nave.
The Henry Underdahl family gifted a memorial stained glass window to the Moland Lutheran Church. Such memorials are a common way to honor family members and their legacy of faith.
I discovered this service roll in the narthex listing congregational members called to serve their country. I found this especially touching. Perhaps congregations should revive this public way of honoring those in the military.
Even after family members have departed this life, their memories are as close as the graves that surround Moland Lutheran. I imagine that many of the early members who filled the pews here also worked the land.
FOR MORE INFORMATION and photos of Moland Lutheran Church, please check my previous posts, “They serve the best food in Minnesota church basements” (posted July 1) and “In praise of preserving country churches” (posted July 7).
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
DEAR READER,
Please allow me to humbly boast today. (Can I be humble and boast?)
On Wednesday I won the equivalent of the Oscar or the Emmy in blogging. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but…WordPress.com featured my blog post, “In praise of preserving country churches,” on its homepage, in Freshly Pressed.
Big deal, you say. Yes, it’s a very big deal. You see, among the hundreds of thousands of WordPress blog posts out there in the world—and we’re talking like 330,000 or so published on Wednesday—mine was selected as among “the best.” Only 11, that’s as in 10 + 1, were picked for Freshly Pressed.
I shot this picture of Freshly Pressed on my computer Thursday morning. The numbers change often, reflecting changes in post counts. Go to WordPress.com and click on "Earlier" at the left bottom of the screen to find my post.
So now you can understand why I’m giddy, thrilled, happy, elated, and whatever other adjective you may select to describe a blogger who’s overwhelmed with this sudden rise to notoriety in the WordPress blogosphere.
And here’s the interesting aspect of this whole event. I had no clue, absolutely no clue, that I was in contention for this prize. Until Wednesday, I had never heard of Freshly Pressed. Sorry, WordPress.com. But I expose this ignorance to clarify that I don’t write for the fame.
My first hint that something big was brewing for me came in a reader comment. Jason wrote, in part: “I was glad to see this on the freshly posted category on WordPress!”
Huh? So I googled and discovered that WordPress.com daily chooses about 10 posts that “represent how WordPress.com can be used to entertain, enlighten or inspire.” Five guidelines are listed for writing posts that increase your odds of making Freshly Pressed:
Apparently “In praise of preserving country churches” met those criteria.
The homepage of WordPress.com, as photographed Thursday morning. My "In praise of preserving country churches" blog post is on the lower right and was categorized under "art."
And then I got to the warm and fuzzy part: “Why do we do all this? It’s our way of saying we like you. We really like you.”
Well, Freshly Pressed, I really like you, too. As promised, traffic to my blog has soared. Typically I get about 150 views daily. On Wednesday that skyrocketed to 1,052. The following day my numbers still remained high.
Likewise, more readers than ever are commenting, which is good, but also sucks up a lot of time screening and posting. But, hey, I’m not complaining. I value reader interaction.
This “award” from WordPress.com validates that I can blog, and blog well. Considering that I launched Minnesota Prairie Roots only a year ago, I am truly amazed that I have achieved Freshly Pressed status.
My work also has been noticed here in Minnesota as my posts have been featured on Minnesota Public Radio’s Minnesota Today “Blog Box.” and in MinnPost’s “Minnesota Blog Cabin.”
Yet, I don’t blog for the glory, at least not my glory. I blog because I am passionate about writing. I have to write. I love to write. And if in the process my writing is recognized, then that is just reassurance that I am using my God-given talents as I should be.
Audrey
© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
That fat cat sat,
sat in a chair.
Without a care
sat that fat cat
with his kingly air.
© Copyright 2010 by Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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