Exploring my roots in rural Iowa.....Part I

I often think about how my life has come to exist in the present.  I look back at all of the crossroads I've come to and consider how different my life would be if I had chosen another path.  Of course, I also sometimes kick myself and think, "Why did you do that?"  But I have to laugh.  I've definitely not taken the easiest path at times, nor the smartest.  Am I overanalyzing?  No, I don't think so.  I prefer to look at life as one huge Choose Your Own Adventure story.  It's interesting to think that one different decision at a crossroad could have led to an infinite number of present lives.  I've always had a vivid imagination and frequent still get lost in daydreams.  But no matter how fascinating an ending might be, the story must always have a starting point...

I grew up in small town rural Iowa.  As a child, my friends and I were able to run around town most of the day riding our bikes, thinking we were pretty tough, without having to check in with our parents.  They weren't too worried.  We knew the dangers of the highway that ran through town, how to make sure you weren't too close when the 18-wheelers drove by, and as long as we occasionally dropped in to grab lunch or a snack, we knew a freedom that is now impossible for children to experience.  My parents both had to work early in the mornings, so I was responsible, even at the age of six, to wake up with an alarm clock and get ready for school (frequently after they had left).  Then I'd wait for my best friend to meet me at the door so we could ride our bikes to school, which was on the other side of town.  I treasure the memories of those days. 

Our antics weren't always without some mischief.  Small towns don't have the resources to adequately provide activities for children, and in the early 80's it wasn't considered a necessity in that kind of rural environment.  After all, what could possibly happen?  One of our favorite activities was to use the public park benches and tables as a set of giant building blocks.  We would create forts with the picnic tables and use the benches for slides from the top to the lower levels.  We'd create "rooms" with benches for beds and have a grand time, all the while unaware of the how destructive we were being.  We were finally told that our use of the benches in this manner destroyed them much sooner than normal wear and tear would have done.  Althoug the fort building decreased, the town eventually had to lock up all of the tables and benches in a storage shed until they were really needed, such as for the fall festival.

The fall festival, appropriately called "The Corn Show", is another fond memory.  Blue ribbons would go to the farmers who could grow the biggest ear of corn, the largest-kerneled ear, the best indian corn, and so forth and so forth.  Corn not being a topic of interest to me at six, I only entered the agricultural room once and couldn't figure out how they could have so many blue ribbons for what seemed to be an entire wall full of corn, all nestled in their own boxes with little labels and ribbons hanging out.  I was more interested in the giant pumpkins.  Now those were impressive!  The best part of the festival were the games, the ring-toss, coin-toss, dunking for apples (or were they numbered plastic ducks?), etc.  Later came the small carnival rides and those machines in which you lose a ton of change just to "bulldoze" a prize over the edge.  I think I won a plastic spider ring once.  I'm not very good at those games.

Not too long after that, my parents moved to a very rural farm at the end of a dead-end road (just across the line into Missouri) and my life changed drastically.  Having grown up as a "townie" prior to that, a farm was a terrifying place.  The night sounds were different with the familiar roar of 18-wheelers and traffic on a main highway through southern Iowa being replaced with crickets, owls and coyotes.  Who knew crickets could be so LOUD?  I adjusted to the change in pace, boredom and solitary playing taking over the time I used to spend with friends, but I wasn't happy there.  Not really.

Along with the change in residence came a change in schools....my first of several "you'll make new friends" pep talks.  Since we officially were living in Missouri, my mother enrolled me in a school that I was able to attend for an entire one day.  A stunning record.  Why?  Because way out in BFE (a.k.a. our house), most of the roads were local graveled roads with bridges that were coded to safely bear small-ton vehicles.  Unfortunately, the bus I would have to ride to my new school weighed more than the bridges could safely hold.  The driver refused to cross it and, because of her work schedule, my mother couldn't meet the bus on the "safe" side of the bridge.  Oh well, I never could figure out where the bus was going to turn around anyway, with that bridge being nowhere near a house or driveway.  Thus began a transition to another school, which fortunately did not have an issue with (or just didn't care about) country bridges. 

I was blessed at this school.  I still recall my first day on the bus as I climbed aboard, looking for a seat to hide in, and hearing a shy voice say "you can sit with me"....it was friends at first sight.  Over the years I taught her how to shuffle cards and she showed me how to "play dolls", which I had never really figured out prior to that.  (It's boring to play dolls as an only child.)  We spent several happy years on that bus, squabbling with the boys when they stole our Monchi-chi dolls and tried to put permanent dents in their heads by beating them against the bus seats, or having debates over the best Saturday morning cartoons -- the usual kid stuff.  It was always girls vs. boys, but it never mattered who won or lost.  It was just fun.

(to be continued)