I wish I had a beautiful picture to illustrate my trip back to Iowa this week with my daughter. I meant to open the window and get shots of the rolling hills on the western side and then the beautiful flat plains of good rich black soil, now huge tan fields of small even corn stalks. The bare black trees frame fields and roads, beautiful in their rest, seen against the blue sky.. As we drove along we saw more and more huge white windmills scattered over the hills and the plains churning out energy for communities
It was a road I had driven so many times in my life, always excited to be going home to where I had grown up. In a few hours we were there and after the last small town I soon saw from a distance the red barn, the silos, the trees of our farm. We turned at the corner and drove up our lane. The outer buildings were still there. The house was beautiful. The owner had built an enclosed porch around two sides, installed new windows. The small building nearby that was once our laundry, later a coal bin and a place to wash the cream separator equipment, and later my mother’s rug loom shop where she wove beautiful rugs for gifts and church bazaars. It is now a chapel, as the current owner is a minister who I heard had come from Europe and looked for a property until he found this one and knew it was the right one.
We didn’t linger. We didn’t disturb anyone, but drove on in into the town. It had changed little, but the store fronts advertised something different and the Methodist church on the corner was gone. the one where I was baptized,, where I was married, and where I had cried all my funerals My grandparent’ s beautiful home on the edge of town the hedged lot with the perfect house and gardens, now a run-down nondescript residence with a junkpile in the yard. I said I will not cry. I will not cry.
We didn’t linger but drove on to the county seat , Webster City, and straight to the Kendall Young Library, the most favorite place of my childhood. I had discovered it early and went there as often as my father needed farm supplies from the city. I always left with an armful of books.. This day I was not disappointed. The library was just as grand as I remembered, with gold pillars, tile floors. beautifully arranged shelves of books in room after elegant room.
I had called ahead and talked to the Librarian the day before. She was very welcoming as I told her how exciting it would be to visit. She failed to tell me she was on vacation and would not be there. So it was awkward as I explained to a desk person that I would like to gift my two books to the library that I considered my ;home. She basically said “Sure. Okay. Put it there. No I don’t need your little hand-outs you stayed up late to print. ”
We went on to drive through this county seat, the small city that was big city to me as a child. We checked into a motel and then called a local attorney I had hoped to meet. He was a distant cousin. He was in and said he would be free soon to join us for a visit. He came within half an hour and we had a great visit. He and I shared the same great grandfather, the one who had come west from Virginia with all his family and his horses. He established farmland, raised a large family and when his wife died he arranged for a new one from Pennsylvania, She was to be my great grandmother.
As it happened this half-relative was on the board of the local county museum. He was glad to accept for the museum two items I had brought. One was a brick from our Stanhope consolidated school, saved when the school was taken down, and a local artist had painted perfect pictures of the school on the bricks. I was able to leave two for the county museum.
Then I gave him my most precious collector’s item. It was a tiny pair of mittens, knit by a lady who was my great aunt and his great aunt as well. The mittens were perfectly knitted on toothpicks and I had framed them carefully to keep forever.
Not content that we had accomplished everything for my farewell visit, my daughter and I drove back to Stanhope and there we discovered a library we had not been aware of. It was late afternoon but the library was still open and the librarian was delighted to receive my books, although of course she also had never heard of me. A local lady minister came by and I had a chance to say this spot is where the Methodist church was, the one my father helped build, the one that was so much a part of my life, that I was married in and where I said goodby to all my family members. She was excited when she saw my books and wanted to read them immediately. Bless her heart. It helped to close the day with good feelings and good memories.
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mymarkland 
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