Home Care In Glencoe, MN

A phone call telling Stephanie Beesing she was being cut off from her doctors and clinic was the last thing she wanted in month eight of a high-risk pregnancy.

Yet that happened last month, triggering a frantic effort to maintain access to her care through Glencoe Regional Health in Glencoe, Minn. The organization was taking the action because Beesing was far behind in paying $4,100 in medical bills.

"I love my doctors and nurses I work with," she said, "which is why this is frustrating."

Beesing's fight shows that the denial of care to patients with unpaid debts is a practice that goes beyond one health care system in Minnesota.

Allina Health's cutoff policy gained national attention in the New York Times earlier this month, prompting the Minneapolis-based health system to suspend it. Other providers have used it to confront increasing financial challenges. Glencoe is an independent provider in central Minnesota.

Beesing persuaded Glencoe to delay the loss of medical access until after her scheduled baby delivery on Thursday and at least two postnatal visits. After that, Glencoe will remain a resource for emergency care but not for clinical care for Beesing or her husband or newborn, she said.

"If I haven't paid the debt in full or set up an automatic withdrawal for $100 per month, then they are dismissing me from the clinic," she said. "I don't want to shirk the debt or anything. I'm willing to pay. I can't do $100 a month right now. I could do $20 to $30 a month."

Cutting off clinical access is a last resort used intermittently in Minnesota by providers such as Allina and HealthPartners. Kaiser Health News reviewed 500 U.S. health systems in 2022 and found 90, including Mayo Clinic in Rochester, that also used the practice.

Management of bad debt has always been a challenge, with Minnesota hospital providers writing off $473 million in 2020 when patients couldn't pay what they owed. The pressure to minimize that amount has increased, though, with hospitals reporting leaner finances following the COVID-19 pandemic.

Even before that event, 29 of 128 Minnesota hospitals were considered financially distressed, meaning they had lost money on operations in four recent years. Glencoe lost money on the operation of its hospital, clinics and other facilities in 2017, but has seen positive and improving margins every year through 2021, according to state data.

While Glencoe had written off debts that Beesing had accrued before her bankruptcy filing, it was unwilling to waive a new stack of bills resulting from her pregnancy and other medical needs. The health system said in a written statement that it encourages patients to seek financial assistance and reaches out frequently to discuss payment options before taking drastic measures.

"It is always our goal to avoid dismissal," the statement said. "We are an independent healthcare system here to serve our community — our patients are our friends and neighbors."

Beesing and her husband landed in bankruptcy two years ago through the combination of unexpected joblessness and costly chronic health problems. The couple had moved from Wisconsin and bought a house in Glencoe on the promise of a job that disappeared at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic.

"We ended up having to use credit cards and things like that," Beesing said. "It got out of hand and we couldn't keep up with it anymore."

It is a common refrain; one 2019 study estimated that medical debts factor into two-thirds of U.S. personal bankruptcies. Beesing's attorney, Margaret Henehan, said she has filed bankruptcy for an increasing number of clients to prevent them from losing access to their doctors.

"We know what to do with bankruptcy," she said. "So that ends the fight."

While bankruptcy protection set up a payment plan to help Beesing resolve old debts, it couldn't shield her from new bills when she became pregnant and required additional prenatal monitoring because of her diabetes.

Beesing, 35, works at a local library and her husband is in management training at a restaurant. They had a high-deductible health plan through the state's MNsure program, and qualified for a modest discount on premiums, but were still left with copays and out-of-pocket expenses that they couldn't afford.

The family is facing new pressures. Beesing wants to keep working to pay down the family's old and new debts, but child-care costs could exceed her salary. She is looking out of town for doctors, perhaps 20 miles away in Hutchinson or Waconia, but some aren't taking new patients or scheduling appointments anytime soon.

Beesing said many Glencoe officials have been sympathetic, and her doctor helped delay her loss of clinical access. She is hopeful of at least working out discounts to her debts. Meantime, the overdue notices keep coming.

"I actually just got another one today," she said.

A city to the west of Minneapolis has been named the ugliest city in Minnesota.

ALOT Travel recently published a list of the "ugliest cities in each state," and named Glencoe Minnesota's least-attractive municipality.

"Whether it's from lack of maintenance or just poor design choices, these fifty spots are more than an eyesore. They may be great places to live, but these cities won't be winning beauty contests anytime soon," the website states.

Glencoe, Minnesota, is about 3.17 square miles and is the county seat of McLeod County. It's about 54 miles west of Minneapolis.

And Alot's reason for naming Glencoe as the state's ugliest is ... interesting. A lot of it appears to be based upon reviews left by parents on the school finding website Niche, focusing on the city's apparent insularity as opposed to its infrastructure.

Here's how Alot Travel describes Glencoe:

"Let’s be honest: every small, neglected town in America looks practically the same, and this lack of uniqueness makes these places rank even lower on the beauty scale. As for this tiny Minnesota town — on top of looking generally ugly — Glencoe suffers from the worst kind of small-town syndrome — exclusivity. Sitting at barely 5,600 people, you’d think these residents wouldn’t act so high and mighty!

"A few former residents shared their experiences on Niche, saying, “If you haven't lived here your entire life, you're not accepted,” and, “Moved away about a year ago. Best decision ever. You either need to be born here or know someone born here to be accepted. The residents are very self-absorbed and the schools are horrible. The kids treat new people terribly and the schools do nothing about it."

Another small place in Minnesota that was famously dissed several years ago by then-Washington Post reporter Christopher Ingraham was Red Lake County, which he called "the ugliest county in the United States" and the worst place to live. He later moved here.

It's unclear if the author of Alot's ugliest list will make the same decision.

It was a normal Friday on Sept. 6, 1907, in Glencoe. Men went about their business, women tended to their homes, and kids did what kids do. Little did anyone know that it would be a day to remember in the little town of Glencoe.

Later in the afternoon, sometime between 3 p.m. and 4 p.m., residents on the street began taking notice of fire at the brewery that sat about a mile south of the city limits. Flames were engulfing the third-story cupola and growing fast.

The brewery outside of Glencoe was owned by the Glencoe Brewing Co. and a prized possession of the town. The company was established in 1875 by Edward Lemmel. He had a unique recipe for his beer. A news snippet from 1876 reads, “What makes his productions superior to those of other brewers, is that he uses less hops and more barley, giving the liquid richer and more nutritious properties. Our German fellow citizens pronounce it the best, and they ought to know.”

Lemmel owned and operated the business until 1895. That year it was sold to Peter Eickmann for $9,000. Eickmann made several improvements to the business and greatly increased sales during his six-year stint of ownership. In 1901, he turned over controlling interest of the company to the newly formed corporation of Eickmann, his two brothers, Frank and Henry, and Gustave Zimmerman. The new company then built a large brewery south of Glencoe.

The building was large. It housed a 100-barrel mash tub, a 50-barrel brew kettle, large cooling racks, a new boiler, and it even had its own bottling department. All these improvements increased sales and made the Glencoe Brewing Co. one of the largest and most successful in the region.

In 1906, a new set of owners came into the fold. Fred and Max Jumer, brothers and employees at the brewery, purchased Peter Eickmann’s share of stock when he retired.

For all the success of the company, it had one flaw — being outside of Glencoe, the brewery had no immediate access to water and paid the price in 1907 when a fire engulfed the building in flames.

Once the fire was reported, firefighters rushed to the scene in horror. The fire was growing rapidly, and they had little means to put it out. Without access to the city waterworks, an old-fashioned bucket brigade was formed and all available water to be found in the vicinity was utilized.

Citizens from town rushed to the aid of the firefighters, making runs into town or anywhere they could to find water and transport it back to the fire. Citizens and firemen desperately fought against the flames, but in the end, the building was gutted, save for the coolers, kettles and mash tub that were targeted by firefighters who kept up a continuous spray from their chemical wagon.

The fire caused a setback, but the brewing company kept on. The brewery was remodeled and work commenced. A new beer, “Uncle Sam Beer,” was added to the company’s repertoire and became an instant hit. The beer and the remodeled brewery would be short-lived, however, as in 1918 prohibition swept through the country and the bottom dropped out of the company and many like it.

The Glencoe Brewing Co., as it were, became defunct. It was the end of an era, one that is now just another part of history.

GLENCOE, Minn. — A big change has been taking shape in Glencoe during the past year.

The central Minnesota town has been home to a feed mill since 1948. On June 1, representatives from owner ADM Animal Nutrition were in town to cut the ribbon on a state-of-the-art facility that gradually is ramping up production as the previous mill winds down.

With new regulations around many aspects of feed creation coming into effect during the coming years, ADM took time with its design to address issues from handling to dust management to including safeguards to ensure the right ingredients are going into the right mix. Much of the facility is automated, including robots "Sven" and "Ole" who help bag and pallet feed.

"Safety is No. 1, quality is No. 2 and production is No. 3," said Lyle Highland, Glencoe plant manager.

The Glencoe facility processes crops and additives into bulk and bagged animal feed for farm animals as well as for game birds, deer, fish and pets. It started out as an independent feed mill but changed hands many times, ending up with ADM in 2003. It serves customers across the upper Midwest.

ADM representatives would not disclose the capital investment they put into the mill. They have, however, increased capacity significantly. The 1948 plant could turn out about 25,000 tons of feed per year. Once it's fully operational, the new mill will be able to attain about 100,000 tons in production annually. Representatives are hard at work to get that extra feed sold to new and existing customers to keep the division growing, said Ryan Goldie, ag services operations manager for ADM.

The new mill has 21 different dry ingredient towers. Infrared sensors can let mill staff see precise inventories at a glance. The facility also has 28 finished bulk bins and eight packing bins. In addition, there is more than 30,000 square feet of warehouse space.

The facility has more unloading capacity than it needs right at this moment, but that was done by design, Goldie said.

"We kept in mind what we hope to do in the future," Goldie said. "We also engineered in the Food Safety and Modernization Act. Our goal is to minimize the number of touches for safety reasons."

Part of FSMA compliance surrounds containing any contamination that may enter feed, including dust. That means dust collectors everywhere. The place was in pristine condition for the June 1 open house and Highland hopes to keep it that way.

More scales will make the operation efficient. The new mill has three instead of just one. That's one reason production capacity between the two buildings jumped so much.

Employees at the mill have been very involved in getting the new facility off the ground. Highland worried a lot of computer training would throw some of them off, but instead they're learning together and asking each other questions to make sure they understand procedures correctly, he said.

Vendor partnerships, many of which came together with companies also from Central Minnesota, have been crucial to the project moving along smoothly, Goldie said. Planning for the project started two years ago and ground was broken for the new mill just last year, so a lot of hard work and good luck went into it being completed on time, Goldie said.

The new mill isn't up to full speed yet. ADM is transitioning work this month. Goldie expects the 1948 facility will be demolished sometime in 2017, and it likely will be replaced with a parking lot to serve the mill's growing employee base.

Buffalo Creek. What can a man say about Buffalo Creek without having been there first. It’s not a large river like those famous landmarks that cut through North America. Rather, it’s a simple stream — a peaceful flow of water that gently ebbs and flows through the heart of Minnesota. For all that Buffalo Creek lacks in fame and renown, it makes up for in historic significance, at least in terms of the communities that rose around it — if not for Buffalo Creek, the story of McLeod County might have been told far differently.

The year was 1855. It was spring, and the frontier was in full bloom. From the east came a party of settlers, explorers, and investors who emerged from the west side of the great forest called “The Big Woods.” The prairie they came upon glowed with wildflowers and brilliant green grass. It can’t be ignored that these men were speculators, bent on developing the region and deriving a profit from their labors, yet the vast expanse of land, which was diversified with lakes, rivers, groves, and wildlife was sure to make an imprint on their industrious souls.

At the border of the Big Woods was a creek, one that was commonplace for thunderous herds of bison to water themselves. The party’s leader and principal guide, Martin McLeod, was familiar with the creek and the site from his days as a fur trader — it was here that the camp of Anpetutokeca (John Other Day) was once situated, and it would make a perfect place to lay the building blocks of McLeod County’s first settlement. McLeod named the town Glencoe after his ancestral home in Scotland, and the stream was called Buffalo Creek, so aptly named for the bleached bison bones that littered its banks.

Of the two principal streams that cut through McLeod County, Buffalo Creek is the southernmost. The creek begins in Renville County and flows in a general direction, northeast, to the South Fork Crow River and again into the Mississippi River.

For years, fur traders and explorers traveled along the creek in search of game. In 1853, a famed incident occurred when three “mixed-blood” hunters were camped along the banks and met with two immense black bears that attacked the hunters who were forced to fight it out with the bruins. The story gained regional attention and was re-told in several publications in St. Paul.

In later years, when the “wild frontier” era of Minnesota was coming to an end, Buffalo Creek became a lifeline for the early settlers living there. It not only provided drinking water but acted as a guiding landmark for those traveling west of Glencoe. In 1856, another band of settlers followed the river west to Lake Addie where they, too, erected the settlement to later become Brownton.

During the infant stages of McLeod County history, it was common for traveling bands of Dakota natives to camp along Buffalo Creek near the settlements and intermingle with the settlers living there. They visited the communities of Glencoe and Lake Addie often to exchange venison for flour, meal, or tobacco.

In November of 1856, there was a violent encounter along the creek near Glencoe between a band of Dakota and a band of Ojibwa. A small band of Ojibwa had traveled south, far from the border of their northern territory, to hunt along the edge of the Big Woods. A large hunting party of Dakota had come into the country from their reservation along the Minnesota River. They met the party of Ojibwa, chased them out, and took one of them prisoner. After retaining him for a few days, it was decided to burn him at the stake — the sentence was carried out in the presence of 200 Dakota hunters and a handful of settlers from town.

In 1858 the first dam was built across the stream. In Glencoe, a water-power flouring mill was built in the community. There was plenty of water in the stream at that time and for years afterward. Eventually, however, with the plowing and loosening of soil, and the consequent absorption of rainfall and snowmelt, the volume of water in the stream began to diminish.

That same year, a post office and small settlement was built along the stage route that ran between Shakopee and Glencoe. The town was to be named after the stream, “Buffalo Creek,” but the postal service rejected the name and instead the settlement was known as Plato. The community was scarcely more than a settlement during the early years but expanded greatly when the Dakota Railroad passed through Helen Township.

Buffalo Creek would remain a significant part of southern McLeod County in the decades to follow. Today, the stream is as much a part of the region as any historic landmark. To preserve its natural beauty, a county park was established east of Glencoe along the banks of Buffalo Creek. A small path leads from a clearing into the wooded banks where viewers can, if for only a moment, take in the tranquility of the stream as it was over a century ago.