The Hawkeye State

Iowa is shorthand for all that is boring in the middle of the country, not exactly a negative stereotype but a place taken for granted as worthy but not really cool. At election time the presidential caucus is dismissed as not representative and rather too white to represent modern America. And yet…

Call me sentimental but I really quite like Iowa. We were on our way to meet Ron and his parents for lunch literally among the corn in a family compound. We met them last winter when they were camping on the beach in Mexico. Ron persuaded his parents they would enjoy it more than Arizona, their normal snowbird hangout and indeed they did. 

Iowa isn’t flat. There’s that stereotype to knock down.  Driving the Interstate is stressful because this is an industrious land and truck traffic is plentiful and traveling at speed.

Driving the back roads reveals a state filled with neat homesteads, and tidy fields bulging with crops.

We stopped to buy corn snd tomatoes and when eventually we cooked the corn I ate mine without butter or salt or anything so sweet and plump was the cob. The farmer said summer was over and he was shutting his roadside stand the next day to begin the farm work of autumn.

Layne was born in Iowa because, she is fond of pointing out, there was no suitable hospital across the river where her family lived in Rock Island, Illinois. She never lived in Iowa but her birth certificate has this odd salt of the earth look with her birthplace listing. Especially as she grew up in whacky California. 

We put Ron’s address into the phone and Google maps put a wiggly blue line across the corn fields. Oddly enough many of the roads are gravel a slightly old fashioned touch. We also saw evidence of Amish farmers. 

Over lunch we got a lesson in grades of Amish life. Ron’s parents got a deal on their house as the Amish owners who built the place had got too friendly with the “English” ( you and me) and were banished. No Amish could buy the place as it was now unclean. So when Ron’s parents decided to move from Oregon, his fathers home, back to Iowa where his mother is from, they found a solid house that needed electrical wiring.

That, it turns out was a job of some difficulty as the Amish home was solidly built and not ducted for modern conveniences. Apparently time has passed for some Amish too who now allow the use of electric bicycles and flip phones (but not smart phones) all charged, not off the grid but by solar panels. 

When I mentioned to Ron I had seen an Amish tractor driver his comment was a question: Did he have rubber tires? I must have looked puzzled as I hadn’t noticed. The harder core Amish have tractors but they run them on iron wheels. One gets the feeling the 21st century is not making life choices easy for these 19th century hold outs. 

It seems an odd set of choices but I’d be sorry to see them disappear. I like electricity, my van is full of it, and pneumatic tires seem essential to me but I’m glad there is room for these eccentrics in our consumer driven world. As long as they get to farm their way there will be room I hope for nomads like me to live our way. Amish photos by my always observant navigator  and her Lumix ZS200 camera. 

Lunch was spiced with conversation and reminiscence but after we finished our hamburgers and ice cream and cookies in the serenity of Ron’s corn field we had at some point to leave for more appointments. I’d have loved to take them up on their offer of an overnight spot. There is something profoundly reassuring about the Iowa farm life and I’d have liked to be immersed in it for one night. To the world outside, America is Hollywood or Manhattan but for me continuity is assured here where the food gets grown.  I don’t belong here but I’d like to get a feel for it. 

We wound our way back to Highway 22 through the farmland. 

Taking the time to enjoy the unusual street signs…

…while letting Rusty enjoy his own Iowa experience. 

We happened upon the town of Riverside:

Which announced with some considerable  pride it was the future home of the birthplace of Captain Kirk of Star Trek fame and they were about to let passersby forget it. 

An unremarkable country town making the most of what it’s got. Back in the metropolis, in this case Davenport on the border with Illinois we stopped for cheap gas. It was my first encounter with 15% ethanol, unleaded 88, and I had to check the manual to make sure it was okay for the Promaster. 

Apparently Iowa gets its income from registration fees while Illinois prefers to tax gas so as we crossed the Mississippi the cost of a gallon was going to go up a buck. I noticed no difference burning high ethanol gas.

We met friends who used to live in the Keys and came home to fulfill their family obligations in Illinois. We ate catfish on the banks of the Rock River and talked until darkness and insect bites cut us short. 

A diner at a table next to us on the terrace remarked on Rusty’s good behavior curled up next to me. “Is he a service dog?” He asked. He could be I said. He’s just my buddy.

We left Nan and Jan at their tropical turquoise accented home all of us brimming with memories of our time in turquoise tropical waters. We had some miles to go to reach Chicago. We had a rest stop to find for the night.