Gary Thelen embodies Minnesota's cohesive economy, although he'd likely dismiss that honor with a shrug. Thelen is an unassuming 55-year-old ex-farmer who sports a bemused gaze, a St. John's University baseball cap and a thin layer of fine white dust. He owns Swany White Flour Mills Ltd. in Freeport, Minn., some 100 miles west of the Twin Cities. Granddad Thelen bought the mill and started producing flour in 1903. Thelen makes flour with the same equipment that his father and grandfather used.

"Now it's antique," he admits. "But, hey, it still works."

Freeport, population 482, is in the heart of Minnesota's dairy country, surrounded by rich pastureland, solid silos, picturesque barns and plenty of cows. It's also the town Garrison Keillor used as an inspiration for the mythical Lake Wobegon.

Swany White mill stands across the road from Charlie's Café, the model for Lake Wobegon's Chatterbox Café. The mill is housed in a three-story brick and metal building, off-white with a bit of red that marks the shop entrance. Looming over it is the town's water tower, prominently decorated with a smiley face.

Thelen's office is up some stairs from a counter that serves as retail outlet. An empty Folgers coffee can is perched behind Thelen's creaky chair. The milling itself takes place in a cramped space behind the office. The equipment includes a series of rollers stamped Nordyke & Marmon Co., Indianapolis, Indiana. They date from around 1911.

Thelen grinds 1,000 pounds of flour an hour, or approximately 500,000 pounds a year. Although General Mills Inc. declines to provide specific data, previous reports indicate that's about what a single large Pillsbury flour mill produces in one day. "Not exactly Pillsbury, but my flour is better," Thelen says with a trace of a smile. "No matter how modern the technology is, you still have to ground it and sift it." He pauses. "Maybe it's all the TLC I put into the equipment."

Swany White Flour won't make or break the economy. Thelen and one assistant do everything from bagging to deliveries. Thelen says he sticks with the mill because "after working for Dad for 20-some years, I couldn't see it going to someone else."

As he explains the operation, an older cousin, Tom, comes in the shop, dragging his son and granddaughter behind. Tom Thelen launches into an extended yarn about the days when his grandfather's partner had a dog who would carry in its mouth an oilcan through the mill each day at appointed times to lubricate the machines.

"People these days don't know where bread comes from," Gary Thelen sighs.

Thelen says business is "OK." What's saved him, he says, is the production of organic flour. He mills organic wheat procured from such locations as Sacred Heart, Minn., and Page, N.D. "It's a good niche," he says, adding that he's become a real believer in the benefits of organically grown crops. "We're fertilizing and spraying ourselves to death."

With none of his three children interested in the business, Thelen fears he's the "end of the line," although he says he doesn't anticipate retiring anytime soon. "I don't know what I'd do with myself." He also takes solace from the fact that his grandfather worked the mill until he was 93 years old. Thelen's father, Walter, retired last year. He's now 82.

See related story, "Roots"