Haybales for days!
It’s early November, and I’m driving around the eastern half of Iowa visiting local bookstores and trying to convince them that they should carry my travel guides and host a book signing. I’m not the only one with a busy agenda. Farmers in combines are racing through the last harvest of the season (mostly corn), filling trucks that are clogging these normally quiet country roads. Our work has a sense of urgency to it: record rains in October delayed the fall harvest, and I’m trying to sell books before folks lose the Christmas spirit and quit buying stuff.
Fall can be a great time of year in the northern plains, as heat and high humidity yield to temperate days and crisp nights, and the smell of burning leaves scents the air. Color slowly drains from the landscape, as vibrant greens and yellows and reds are replaced by dank browns and tans, giving the landscape a uniform dullness not unlike a Republican convention.
I realized a while ago that marketing my books was going to require a lot of time on the road, networking with bookstores and book lovers one-by-one. I started by calling Barnes & Noble stores that are carrying my books to set up book signings (look for me in Cedar Rapids on December 5), then I searched the ‘net for independent bookstores in the eastern half of Iowa. With a list in hand, I pulled out a map and plotted a course.
American Gothic house; Eldon, Iowa
I’ve driven around Iowa many times, although, honestly, I’ve mostly driven through it. I realize quickly how little I really know about the state, except for the narrow strip that borders the Mississippi River. On this trip, I drive past a number of tourist attractions that surprise me: John Wayne’s birthplace, American Gothic House, Herbert Hoover’s boyhood home, the Amana Colonies, and a toy museum. The American Gothic House gets my attention, and, because it is still early in the day, I feel like I have the spare time for a quick visit, so I detour and take a few self-portraits in front of the iconic house.
Most of the places where I stop are small to mid-sized cities. My first stop, Fairfield (population 9,509), is deep in the farm belt and an unexpected pleasure. This is Sarah Palin’s America—the real America, with real hard-working folksy folks; where local farmers and old hippies circle the town square in beat up old pickups (at least they have something in common); where an Indian Vedic sage can set up a college (the Maharishi School of Management); where I can choose from restaurants serving Thai, Pakistani, Indian, and American vegetarian fare; and where I can gay marry my long-time boyfriend.
Self-portrait at American Gothic house; Eldon, Iowa
I stopped for lunch at the Indian restaurant and dug into the buffet. The names of the dishes were familiar (dal makhani, vegetable korma) but the food itself looked different. It dawned on me that these dishes were probably made without the cream that is ubiquitous at most Americanized Indian restaurants. The buffet choices were all vegetarian, except for two small warming trays containing curry chicken and tandoori chicken hidden in a dark corner behind the buffet—the corner of shame—just like your own corner of shame where you hide that John Denver album everyone knows you have.
Other Iowa towns impressed me nearly as much. Decorah, Grinnell, Cedar Falls, and Iowa City each had considerable life along its historic Main Street. Each also happens to be a college town. I had another terrific lunch in Decorah (population 8,172), this time at a Mexican cantina. I ordered pork with salsa verde and was surprised by the flavor of cloves and a sauce that had enough kick to trigger red alert for the standard Midwestern palate. Vegetarian food in Fairfield? Authentic Mexican cuisine in Decorah? Welcome to the real America, Sarah.
© Dean Klinkenberg, 2009
