With all the talk in politics this week about "small town America," I was interested to read this article this morning in the New York Times. It's about the changing face of Iowa farms. (Be sure to click on the interactive map when you read that article; several small towns are spotlighted with 2 minute video clips and the pictures ARE Iowa - they are gorgeous).
One reason it caught my eye is because Steve is from Iowa and his family has been farming in Iowa for years. Steve's brother now runs the family farm that Steve and his brother and sisters grew up on in Grand River, Iowa; Steve's parents ran it before him and the grandparents before that. But farming is not what it used to be. I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on farming or even know much about it, but I know that Iowa is beautiful country.
The first time I went to visit Iowa I was thinking "This is just going to be flat cornfields as far as the eye can see." I don't get out much. Not well travelled. I was stunned when I saw Iowa. Rolling hills. Every shade of green in the crayon box. Cows, gravel roads, Amish people, and barns. Barns of all types, styles and ages. There are preservation movements for many of the old barns because barns today are not what they used to be either. Equipment is different; needs are different.
One of the many things I love about Iowa is that midwestern, all-American way of life. Sure, you get into Des Moines or one of the other cities and you can be just as big-city as Dallas or anywhere else. But I like the small towns. I love Lamoni with its little shops, its public library and everybody-knows-everybody else way of life. I love Villisca with its town square with the war memorial and the tornado siren. I love Mount Ayr with its old movie theater and friendly people. Everywhere you go Ameican flags are proudly waving in the breeze. I haven't spent lots of time there, but there's something about Iowa and those small towns that makes you feel safe and like you are at home.
I know that lots of people who would never consider living in a place where there was no huge art museum or did not have a huge concert or sports venue. And we need those things. But in Iowa, I'm more than happy to sit around the fire pit in Sheryl's back yard cooking hotdogs over the open fire. I'm more than happy to light the citronella candles as the fireflies come out and the evening air holds a perpetual chill; listen closely and you hear the clip clop of the Amish heading home from selling baskets and jelly on the side of the road. You feel every nerve ending in your body relax as you sit there and listen to the low voices visiting, talking over fences, recounting their day while you gently rock back and forth in the patio swing.
Each and every year I think more and more about my decision to move away from Iowa, and the older I get I feel like I made a big mistake. However, I also know that God had other plans for me.
ReplyDeleteHad I not moved to Louisiana I wouldn't have my son, whom I am very proud of, and I wouldn't have met Pat, who is the love of my life.
I left Iowa, when I enlisted in the Air Force. I was stationed in Germany, when I got out of the service, and the economy in Iowa was struggling, and I couldn't find a decent job. I was contemplating on returning to the Air Force, but the oil boom in Louisiana was strong, and some wonder people I had met here in Shreveport while I was stationed at Barksdale AFB, helped me get a job at a local steel foundry, and the pay was very good. So, that's how I ended up back in Louisiana.
I have very fond memories growing up in Iowa. It seemed like the summers were just one big 4th of July. Flags were prominently displayed on businesses and homes. It seemed like patriotism was the theme of the day, every day, and I remember hearing stories from the WW II vets, and the WW I vets who were dying off at that time. They earned the respect that I showed them, and it was because of values of love of country instilled in me, I knew from a small age I was going to serve in the military, because it was not an option, but a duty to those I respected.
I remember driving for what seemed like endless miles of fields that contained crops of every kind. I especially thought it was fun to drive along a road that ran perpendicular to a field of row crops. It was as if the rows of crops were legs running to keep up with the car, truck, or TRACTOR you were riding on or in.
I hated working in the hay fields, cause it was hot, sweaty and nasty. The hay would scratch your arms, back, and legs while you handled it. It seemed like hay season was an etenity in hell.
We had a baler that automatically shot the bales into a large wagon, so Dad would bale the hay, while us kids would stack it in the barns. If we were lucky, we would get in a little baseball, before Dad returned with another wagon load of hay.
Winters, were rough, COLD, I MEAN COLD. But they were fun, too. I looked forward to the Grand River Lion's Club weenie roast that was held on the Saturday closest to Halloween. You could eat all the hotdogs your belly could hold and all the pop (that's Iowan for cokes)you could drink. Then, after that, you walked across the street from the park to the school gym to the Lion's Club sponsored dance. The dances were every other Saturday night and went up until about late March, when it was time to start planting crops. These dances were a big thing and would draw what seemed like thousands of people. Maybe not thousands, but to a young Iowa farmboy, a couple of hundred people seemed like thousands.
I remember just walking out of the house to go for a walk, climbing neighbors fences, who lived about 1/4 to 1/2 mile away (so you had to know where the bulls were)and walking along the creek beds, looking at the trees and animals that lived in the woodlands we called the timber.
It was fun to spend the cooling of the evening, after a hot summer day, on the bank of a pond while pulling in Moby Dick, which was actually a 2 or 3 pound bass.
Hunting was fun, too. After a cornfield had been picked, it was prime for pheasant.
I'm just sitting here letting my mind run wild with what I remember about growing up in Iowa, and I could go on and on and on. I haven't even begun to scratch the surface.
I do miss it, and when I happen to see an episode of Green Acres on tv, I watch it, because there is a little truth behind a little satire.
a couple things i can add to the haying experience story...once i was stacking bales and as i picked up a bale, i saw a dead snake sticking up out of the top of the bale. i hate snakes!!! i also remember the itching and sweat and heat. not only did we play ball between loads but we also liked to jump from the highest stack of hay in the hay barn to the lowest stack. i hurt my knee once but never told mom because she would have stopped the jumping game. we also pretended we were entertainers on the andy williams or ed sullivan show when we took turns singing or dancing on the hay wagon to our audience members of our 3 siblings and a dog or two.
ReplyDeleteI remember the dead snake. It had been cut in two by the baler and wasn't going to hurt anyone. A chopped up snake or two was quite common.
ReplyDeleteThey say farmers don't know their "stuff", and I beg to differ. Depending on what animal a farmer was raising, you can tell by the animal "stuff" in which direction the wind was blowing. If a farmer to the west of you raised hogs, and the farmer to the east raised cattle...enough said.
But the smell of a freshly cut hay field, or the smell of an open pasture made up for the other smells of a farm.
A couple of years ago, we went to an Amish family's farm to visit and to buy baskets and other items they had for sale. Had the little Amish Chihuahua (it wasn't dressed in Amish garb) was for sale, we probably would have bought it, too.
The Amish family were friends with my brother-in-law, and they were very nice people. They had just built a huge barn, and one of the sons wanted to show it to us. I have to admit the Amish technology was quite impressive. Everything (water and feed) was based on the use of heights and gravity. And the young Amish man was proud of the barn and was impressed that I was impressed.
I was too busy asking questions about the barn, so I missed the part where my sister Sheryl told Pat to turn on the lights. Pat looked at her and said, "You're going to Hell!"
Actually, I think they are both going to Hell, because Sheryl asked Pat to take pictures of the house and barn,while they weren't looking.
Well, Pat took the pictures. And to make things worse, she posted them on the internet.
Not only that. The last time Pat went to Lamoni, she hid behind my son Josh to take a picture of two Amish women selling their wares in front of the library. Look for it on the internet, too.