The other night, Myque’s mom Carole asked me what I would tell people was great about Iowa. At the time, I didn’t really know what to say, because I think just about everything is great about Iowa. But thinking about it more I realized I should say what I couldn’t verbalize to Carole the other night: for her, for all of them, and for you, my readers who might not understand the appeal. So without further ado, please enjoy
What I Did on My Summer Vacation, or Why I Loved Iowa (Other than the Obvious)
Every morning, sipping coffee at the same table Myque’s family has sat around since he was a child, I could look out the back window at the big tree on the edge of the yard and watch the sun rise. My first morning, the sunrise was so beautiful behind the corn, barn and tree that I couldn’t help but tiptoe, barefoot, out onto the dew-heavy grass to photograph it. Yesterday morning a blood-orange sun captured my eye so thoroughly that I didn’t even manage to reach for my camera. Then in the evening, I could peer out the front door at the sunset, sinking below the beans and subtle hills of the surrounding farmland. The other night, as Myque and I relaxed with his sister and brother-in-law in town, he received a call from his dad encouraging us to get in the car and drive to where we could enjoy a postcard-perfect evening sky. On the way, we ran into some people they knew and ended up talking right through the sunset, but that was okay. That’s Iowa.
And Iowa, especially where Myque’s family lives, is a tight-knit community like that. Ever since I set foot in the Franz household, I have greatly enjoyed being allowed to help. This past week I did bait, cooked, helped set up and tear down a wedding reception, cleaned, hauled tables and chairs, planted grass seed, herded first graders, and socialized a kitten. I learned how to drive a skid loader, a riding mower, and a four-wheeler. I watched Myque’s dad at this farm or that farm, bailing or raking or exterminating rodents, helping neighbors, getting help from neighbors, and not thinking twice about it. That’s just how things are. Myque and I didn’t go anywhere in town without running into someone he knew, and stopping to talk is par for the course. Sure, sometimes you miss sunsets, but the closeness felt between members of the community makes everything worth it.
And then of course there are the little things, the things that are so obviously awesome that they could go without mention but I’ll do it anyway: Fresh Iowa beef (and cousins who grill it perfectly), sweet corn from the family’s garden, pulled pork sandwiches so tender they melt, fresh air whipping through your hair from the back of a motorcycle, exploring Iowa wildlife with first graders. Birthday parties with castle cakes. Card games with old friends. Favorite coffee shops. Wild kittens. Lightning bugs. Watching a couple’s first wedding dance and later impromptu dance recitals. Journaling as the sun inches over the barn and the dog and cat snooze at your feet. Morning dew. Being included on the growth chart wall with amazing people you’ve only known for a few days. Accomplishing something, learning something, loving everything.
That’s Iowa. Or, at least, that’s my Iowa. All of these things, I’m sure, can be found just about anywhere. But I was lucky enough to find it all in the middle of the country in a little state most people confuse with the state famous for potatoes. No matter if I go back once or (more preferably) a million times, I will always love these things about Iowa. And I’m excited to find more!
