It’s funny how we (humans) think we live in the age of enlightenment, have learned our hard lessons from our forefathers, and swear never to make the same mistakes again. But history would prove us otherwise. It seems like we learn something for a moment, but you know that old saying about history repeating itself.

I like to think there is something special about the time we are living in that causes these obvious mistakes to be made, but that’s not true. Money, power, Big Agriculture, corruption, and misused government bodies have wreaked havoc since Roman times. Here we are again today, in the Year of our Lord 2025, staring down the barrel of absolute destruction of our natural resources while the average person goes about their life without a clue. I’m not blaming them.

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It’s hard to under emphasis the importance of Iowa’s Driftless region from both a historical and current ecological perspective. It feels like 3/4 of the state simply doesn’t know it exists, or has never taken the time to get to know it.

Yet it is the home, no the heart, of Iowa at its finest I would argue. Most of Iowa as we know it today has been plowed into oblivion, there is little left to recognize of what Iowa once was, or could be, is most of the State, save for the gentle rolling hills of corn that never ends. If you close your eye’s you might be able to envision the tall grass and beauty that once was this landscape.

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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.

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If there is one thing we can say about the upper Midwest, it’s that we’ve had our fair share of Pinoeers come through and settle these fair lands. Unlike other parts of our beloved country that were settled hundreds of years earlier, it took those explorers some time to explore the extent of the Mississippi River and look upon those fair wooded hills with rolling plains running off into the distance.

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It’s been a very strange winter so far in the upper Midwest. Tomorrow is February, and instead of fighting snow and freezing cold temperatures, we are in the midst of the perfect Indian Summer. It felt like spring today in the woods, with the sun shining bright and birds chirping. The only thing that gave winter away was the frozen winter.

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I couldn’t believe my very own eyes; it really couldn’t be true, could it? For once, I was working on some research totally unrelated to the Iowa DNR, digging into the lesser-known but wonderful Rolling Prairie Bike Trail of North Central Iowa. There are 21 miles of paved bike trail in Butler County and 7 miles of crushed limestone, with most of the trail abandoned and unfinished in Franklin County.

I happened to be pursuing the Franklin County Conservation meeting minutes for the past year, looking for discussions related to why they abandoned this thriving trail that extends through neighboring counties. That’s when I came across some text I had to read, re-read, and then call contacts up in Hampton, Iowa, to confirm if this was actually true.

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It’s clear that Iowans, as proud Midwesterners, are starting to wake up to the fact that there is something strange in the water, both physically and metaphorically. I was recently having a conversation with a friend via text, someone who I would call an average Iowan, someone who camps at Ledges State Park and rides a bike on the High Trestle Trail.

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It’s been a long week at work; kids have been driving you crazy, and the weather has not been too cold; what would you do? I will tell you what an Average Flatlander does. Call up a buddy and head for that river valley for some Bushcraft Taco Time.

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The Driftless Area is one of the very few unspoiled places to explore in the upper Midwest. The rolling plains run into the wide open valleys and drainages that surround the Mississippi. The landscape is speckled with beautiful oak forests and dotted with trout streams; small quant towns are hidden down inside the recesses of these deep valleys.

It’s almost like the Driftless has been able to escape the hands of time, it’s the perfect place to escape for the weekend, to forget the worries of the hustle and bustle of life. Sitting in a hot tent next to a warm fire with coyotes howling out their songs in the cold winter night, you get the same feeling those French trappers and traders had when a few hundered years ago the paddled down that big river and first laid eyes on those giant wooded hills.

You could say there forever. I almost did.