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.

The Road To Iowa

“Ya know you can’t spend the night here? Are you moving on?” The flat upper Midwest vowels grated on my ears as much as the contempt in the tone. I said nothing . 

She went back to weed whacking with a glare at me the idler, so I stopped sipping tea, got Rusty back in the van and put his leash away. I looked around. 

It’s true: we had been here when Mz Personality showed up for work and yes we had overstayed the three hour limit by probably nine hours but there seemed no pressing need to vacate the space. Even the night before the place was mostly empty. 

We only ended up in the rest area by accident. I had tried to book a campsite at Vermillion Lake State Park off I-90 but the website didn’t allow me to complete the transaction. South Dakota strikes again! I have some experience using websites and I know online idiocy when I see it… so rather than risk not finding a site by the lake where I had been yearning for a swim we stopped at the rest area to sleep. Which we did, and apparently lingered too long and broke all sorts of obscure rules by excessive resting. 

Our drive across South Dakota was marked by our crossing of the Missouri River which splits the state roughly in two. It took us a moment to figure it out but the river marks the time zone change and in this modern era the van clock and our cellphone clocks all switch automatically. It seemed unnaturally  late to us at one point and we had to glance at the microwave clock which is set to ship’s time and sure enough it was on Mountain Time while our electronic impedimenta were marching to Central Time, an hour later.

Round the back of the supermarket in Chamberlain I found the parking lot filled with powerful four wheel drive trucks. Winter struggles only hinted at. 

The Missouri also marked a decided change in scenery. Gone was the ranch land of endless dry yellow grass. Now we found ourselves on the edge of the cornfields of Midwest fame. It was Iowa before Iowa. 

I had not been looking forward to droning across the Great Plains so the plan was to try to split up the drive into feasible segments, to pull over and rest and try to stop and check stuff out. We did well with the Badlands and the corn palace. Now we were looking for a pleasant rest stop, a break from driving  and not in a rest area as they are too stressful in this state.

We entered the park and paused to salute this fine Midwest institution, below, free use of a sewer dump and a water hose. Often found in rest areas it helps make cruising in an RV very simple. Florida and the western states haven’t yet figured this out. 

We had found Union Grove, a state park with a campground and a day use picnic area. I confidently stepped up to the unstaffed automatic payment machine with my credit card. No dice. The machine was broken of course. I pressed the green button yet no message appeared on the screen. I stood staring at it idiotically. 

The spot was lovely and quiet. There was a park ranger’s residence up the street but no sign of other users or rangers or anyone.

So we had lunch. We were scofflaws but I couldn’t see how we could pay the stupid eight dollar day pass. No cash accepted, credit card only and total electronic failure on their part. 

Rusty was okay with it. I wasn’t; I don’t like taking advantage. 

We drove on out of South Dakota, the difficult state. 

Corn

“Ernie just sent me a text not to miss the corn palace.” Layne looked quizzical. Neither of us had ever heard of the worlds’s only corn palace. We were in eastern South Dakota in the central time zone and we were driving through corn fields alongside I-90 and it all looked like it might be Iowa. 

A billboard popped up shortly thereafter advertising a hotel near the Corn Palace. With a knowing glance between us I aimed for the exit. 

I don’t know about you but we make it a habit to see the odd and the offbeat as we travel, no matter how corny. We’ve stopped at the worlds largest gavel, and teapot and something else that I can’t recall. Add the corn palace to the list. 

It was evening when we arrived and there was a clutch of visitors lurking on the sidewalk taking selfies alongside others walking around the building doing the same. 

This year’s theme is the circus but it changes every year. 

Mitchell is a nice enough town with an ice cream parlor I could spend some time in and a rather nice patio attached to a pub offering some intriguing drafts. But herself had a cousin to meet in Chicago so we had to press on. 

They call it a “Moorish Revival Building” and they stick grains on the exterior to create the design. 

Inside it’s a 3200 seat arena. Visitors sho went inside came out and told us the exterior was far more interesting so we stayed outside. 

It’s a bit like Mount Rushmore; once you’ve seen it you’re a bit stuck as to what to do next..take pictures. 

Layne bought a bag of mixed popcorn which was so burningly salty I couldn’t eat it. 

And that was pretty much that. We drove on to a rest stop for the night not anticipating the morning round of drama. Ah, South Dakota.