I can still remember what I would call an idyllic upbringing as a young boy in this most beautiful state buried in the depths of the Midwest. To this day, I have never understood those lines in the movies where someone says, with much emphasis, that so-and-so Neanderthal person lives in Des Moines. I always take offense.
Or when some distant highfaluting coworker says they’ve been through Iowa on 80 and, of course, sighs when they say it. I hope they pop a tire.
It’s probably a good thing in the long run, I suppose. If it were any other way, I wouldn’t be able to wander the deep, rolling hills of southern Iowa empty of another soul for miles or stand on Pikes Peak after a day of trout fishing with nary a soul around, looking on that most mighty of all rivers.
The history of Iowa is no less intriguing if you know where and how to look. It has its share of murder, adventure, and wild exploration just as much as any other state, perhaps more.