There's a Reason Why People Suffer through Iowa Winters

Each year, as summer approaches I get more and more nostalgic about Iowa summers. There is something so spectacularly wonderful about an Iowa summer that I’m struggling to find the words to completely capture the essence of what I love about it. This is my third attempt at writing this entry, and I think only those of you who have also experienced an Iowa summer will truly appreciate this post.

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The heat begins to roll in around mid-June, but the stifling humidity usually doesn’t set in until July if you are lucky. Once it does, you know it will be sticking around until at least September, so you really appreciate the brief period of beautiful warm weather and the cool nights where you can leave the windows open and fall asleep listening to the sounds of leaves rustling outside or a gentle rain falling.

These early summer evenings are made for grilling. You sit on the patio with friends eating, drinking and talking as the sun sets. Burgers, sweet corn bought from a roadside stand, and fresh fruit afterwards. A cool breeze carries with it the scent of freshly cut grass as twilight falls and fireflies begin to appear. Soon twilight gives way to a deep blue sky pierced with millions of stars. Off in the distance the cicadas’ song mixes in with the deep croaking of frogs.





The air begins to cloud with haze and as you walk in flip flops through the grass back to your car at the end of the night, your feet become wet with dew. A slight breeze blows through and you shiver, but it’s that weird feeling of being cold and yet hot at the same time, similar to the way you feel after an intense workout in the winter.

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On the days that come later in the season it’s sometimes so hot by the time you wake up that you know taking a shower is essentially pointless. You watch the morning sun come up and gradually burn off the haze of humidity that has fallen overnight.

Everything is so green and lush as you drive to work. Wild roses and tall prairie grasses line the ditches of the highway.




You spend the day working in an extremely air conditioned office and, for a few minutes, the blast of heat that hits you as you walk out of the building to the parking lot at the end of the day feels good. You can hardly breathe in the thick air and you can feel the heat radiating up off the pavement in waves. You get into your overheated car and immediately crank on the AC and roll down the windows.

You know a day like this is going to bring in violent weather and you watch the sky change as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Gray clouds swirl about as the sun begins to disappear. By the time you get home, the sunshine is a distant memory. It’s now as black as midnight and you hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. The sky lights up as bright as day when a bolt of lighting streaks across the sky. A few sprinkles fall on your windshield. You briefly consider rushing into the house before the sky opens up completely, but you wait, because you know that getting wet on the walk from the car into the house will feel refreshing.

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And, in these moments, you are once again reminded of why people put up with Iowa winters.

You Can't Go Home Again....?

I appreciate small city life. Sometimes the inconveniences of living in the city make me long for the simpleness of the life I used to live. I miss having a backyard and being able to invite people over for a cookout. I miss taking my car out for a long drive on a nice day.

But more and more I realize that I need to live in a city, or at least very near one. My dream from last night that woke me with tears. To be honest, I am still a little unsettled by the intensity of this dream and I think it is trying to tell me something.

My recent feelings of discontent and unhappiness have caused me a lot of contemplation. I am at the point where I am struggling with the decision of whether or not to stay in New York City. I go back and forth in my mind on this daily.

My dream last night found me back in school at Iowa State. I had decided to go back for another degree in a two year program. I said goodbye to everyone here and moved back to Ames. In my dream, I was ok with the idea as I packed everything up. I kept telling myself I could just move back to a city when the program finished. I was fine throughout everything that came next in the dream until it came to registering for classes. I was standing in the registrar's office at Iowa State and everything hit me. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to have to wait two years to be back in the city.

I started to have a breakdown and that was the moment I realized I was awake and crying. It took me a few minutes to calm down and completely understand that it was just a dream and not reality, but even now, I still can't forget exactly how unhappy I felt.

I love so much about home and appreciate so much about the simplicity of my life there and the pace of life, but I realize that I am definitely not ready to leave a different life at the moment for that...and I may never be. It will always hold a place in my heart, but at the moment my heart is telling me that it's not my place.

"How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. You can never go home again." - James Agee

Slow Seduction

My friend Emily and I always laugh when she says the Boston Red Sox seduced her, but lately I've been giving a lot of thought to the concept of seduction:
Seduce: 1. to persuade to disobedience or disloyalty. 2. to lead astray usually by persuasion - Merriam Webster

When I first moved to the East Coast I had no intentions of staying out here. My plan was to complete my Master's program and then return back to Des Moines and find a job.

But somewhere along the way I've fallen in love. I've fallen for the Boston Red Sox, the way the East Coast works hard and plays hard, leisurely weekend brunches, beach weekends, train travel, and laying out in the park. It was a combination of all these small things that, over time, got me.

A good friend of mine just today told me that she is moving back to the Midwest after living on the West Coast for two years. She has bittersweet feelings about it and I know exactly how she feels. It's something no one else can completely understand unless they've left home and fallen in love with something else.

I still miss so very much about home and will defend it endlessly, but a part of me is now starting to realize that I may never be truly content there ever again.

It took awhile, but Em, I think I'm ready to admit the East Coast has seduced me.

Attempting to Make the Midwest a Little Less Terrifying

As I've mentioned in this blog before, I get all kinds of responses when I tell people where I'm from. They range from off the wall to incredibly ignorant. I would then get upset and spend too much time and energy trying to correct their misconceptions. Eventually I grew tired of this and stopped. It turns out someone was listening...and that someone was someone I would have never expected.

One of my roommates is a native New Yorker. From the day we met, he declared the midwest to be "terrifying" and just "fly-over country". I continually tried to educate him on the midwest in general and Iowa in particular, but three years later it still hadn't seemed to matter. I assumed it was going in one ear and out the other.

But I was wrong. He came home from work the other day and proudly told me he had spent the afternoon telling his boss all about Iowa. What?!

Yes, it was true. They had just signed a new licensee from the Southeast corner of my state. His boss had the same typical reaction everyone does when they hear the word Iowa and, to my surprise, my roommate said he started telling him all I had shared with him in the past.

I guess someone was listening while I felt I was just talking to hear myself talk.

For anyone else who cares to listen:

Iowa is not flat:
"Despite popular perception, Iowa is generally not flat; most of the state consists of rolling hills. Prior[13] divides Iowa into eight landforms based on glaciation, soils, topography, and river drainage. Loess hills lie along the western border of the state, some of which are several hundred feet thick.[14] In the northeast, along the Mississippi River, is a section of the Driftless Zone, which in Iowa consists of steep hills and valleys which appear almost mountainous."

We do not all live on farms...and no one lives in a teepee:
"Iowa's population is more urban than rural, with 61 percent living in urban areas in 2000, a trend that began in the early 20th century.[45]"

"While Iowa is often viewed as a farming state, in reality agriculture is a small portion of a diversified economy, with manufacturing, biotechnology, finance and insurance services, and government services contributing substantially to Iowa's economy."

We do set some trends...the important ones:
"In the 19th century Iowa was among the earliest states to enact prohibitions against race discrimination, especially in education."

"As with racial equality, Iowa was a vanguard in women's rights in the mid 19th century.." "In 1847, the University of Iowa became the first public university in the U.S. to admit men and women on an equal basis.[92] In 1869, Iowa became the first state in the union to admit women to the practice of law, with the Court ruling that women may not be denied the right to practice law in Iowa and admitting Arabella A. Mansfield to the practice of law."
(all facts came from the great Wikipedia..my roommates' most trusted source of knowledge.)

There's much more, but I'll stop now just in case no one is listening.

Feeling "home" less

Ever since my visit home for the holidays I have been contemplating the meaning of home.

The place where I grew up will always be home, yet I no longer consider it home in the sense that it is where I belong, if that makes any sense.

Flying back into Logan last Christmas I found myself feeling at peace when I saw the Boston skyline. It surprised me to discover that I felt as if I were coming home.

Boston is technically the first city I had lived in without having to be there for some reason. I wasn't living there because I had to be there for school (Although that is why I first moved there. I made a choice to stay there afterward). It had become home to me because I had developed a great circle of friends, my job was there, and in essence, I had created a "home" there.

Flying into LaGuardia this Christmas was weird. I found myself not all that excited to return as I boarded the plane in Illinois and the sight of the city lights below as the plane descended did not give me the same warm feelings the skyline in Boston does when I see it. I know it's probably because I haven't had the time to make NYC a "home" but part of me wonders if it will ever feel like home.

All I know is that I have been gone from my real home long enough that I didn't feel at home in the quite the same way this year and I also didn't feel like I was returning to a "home" in coming back to NYC either.

I just hope that when I decide to return to Boston my "home" there is still there.