A funeral led us to North Central Missouri this past week, so we decided to take a few days and visit relatives in Iowa and Minnesota. Most of our trip was on US 63, almost in the center of the three states.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that this area of the country was also the place where the folks lived that East and West Coast elites, along with denizens of Washington, D. C, dismissed. In the recent past, former President Barack Obama claimed these Americans would “cling to their guns and religion,” and Hillary Clinton asserted they were “deplorable” and “irredeemable.”
Perhaps those who show contempt for middle Americans should just ride along with me as we see what the heartland really looks like.
The land is mostly rolling prairie, and, with the exception of Northern Missouri, the soil was dark, almost black, signifying the fertile ground the farmers tilled. As we drove along the highway, we saw farmhouses near and far, with silos and outbuildings close by well-tended houses and lawns. Cattle dotted the pastures, both beef and dairy animals, with flocks of sheep thrown in for contrast. Hog farms also were in the mix, lending a variety to the landscape.
Along the way one of the most striking features of life in the “flyover country” was the small towns. In these villages and cities, ranging from 300 in population to 10,000 or so, the skyline was dotted with the spires of churches. Most sported multiple houses of worship, with some interesting variations of structure and denomination. In one small town we saw a church simply named “Ripley Church” across the street from a United Methodist house of worship. Yes, people do cling to their religion, and I imagine a good many of the good citizens have their firearms at home and maybe on their persons. Yet crime in these towns is at a minimum and many people still don’t lock their doors. A couple of times, a tiny town nestled at the base of a small cliff, and as we descended the hill the spire of a church highlighted the view. Crosses adorned these buildings, but I imagine those of different faiths would find a warm welcome from the congregants there.
Big cities have their houses of worship, too, of course, but many times people see only the concrete jungle there, with the steel and glass high-rises dominating the skyline and people hurrying to make a buck. You see a different attitude toward life with the emphasis on faith and community as you drive through the farmlands and small towns of the states in the middle of the country.
Other scenes here emphasis the simple life in a rural community. Going past an elementary/middle school toward the end of the school day, we saw children and adults gathered for a track meet; it looked like a good slice of the townspeople were there to cheer on their favorites. An elementary school, grades K-5, had their recess as we passed by. Kids of this age were playing on the swings and slides, several classes by our estimate, and only a couple of teachers were needed to supervise them. In this town, no police presence was needed to keep the peace.
Several of the towns we traveled through were the county seats of government. Each of these sported an impressive courthouse set in the center of the town and the focal point of the downtown area. One of these was notable for its looks; I would call it elegantly ugly, with garish painting and highlights. Others were more traditional, but all had monuments to honor the sacrifices of the county’s soldiers, with names inscribed in stone. World Wars 1 and 2 were usually represented, with a few honoring those fallen in the Korean Conflict and one honoring the Vietnam War casualties.
Along the highway as we traveled north, we came upon the occasional cemetery, usually behind a church. These were well-tended, showing an appreciation of the past and the remembrance of those long gone.
Very little litter was scattered along the roadside. This was made possible not because the citizenry zealously wanted to protect the environment, but because their civic pride in community and highway caused many to commit to cleaning up the refuse others tossed out. Signs proclaimed that a section of highway would be cleared of litter by civic organizations, schools, and private individuals. One was marked “In memory of __”, and another simple read, “Adopted by the Cannon Falls Freethinkers.” On one small stretch of highway, we observed several people with trash bags picking up paper, pop cans and all sorts of litter, with a pickup truck along to haul the garbage off to the local landfill. Those who look down their noses at the “common” people of the heartland would do well to emulate the care shown to the environment by those who simply clean up without needing accolades to validate their worth.
One of the constants of the trip was the presence of convenience stores in the small towns. Casey’s General Stores, headquartered in Iowa had a store in almost every village we passed through. Dispensing gas and snacks and providing bathroom facilities, these stops would break the monotony of hours of driving. And in each one we visited, one other constant was seen — the people. Without exception, we were greeted with a genuine friendly “How are you?” and given a “Have a good day!” as we left. When we needed help, our needs were met with a cheerful smile and quick solution to the problem. One stop yielded a slice of local history. Southern Minnesota has a small town named Sacred Heart. We stopped to take a break, and in the local convenience store, I asked the origin of the name, thinking this was a community proud of its religious heritage. Nope — according to the gracious lady behind the counter, one of the original settlers in the area had called the small hamlet “Sacred Hat”, for reasons no one could ever ascertain. Someone mercifully changed that by adding the two needed letters, she explained, making it “Sacred Heart.” Her next comment was, “There isn’t even a Catholic Church in town.”
Earlier that day, we passed one small village dominated by more grain elevator buildings than I had ever seen in one place. Evidently the local farmers had formed a co-op, for every sign on the multiple buildings read “Clara City Farmers’ Elevator”. Other interesting sights were scattered along the highway. Near one Missouri town, a huge vertical sign simply said “TRUMP”, with no defacing since it stood on private land. We wondered about another sign in a small town named Morton that proclaimed “Mama’s Massage,” one of the establishments that supposedly catered to the locals. A “Live bait!” sign lured the fishermen in the area to another local business. The number and variety of small enterprises was eye-opening, and gave proof to the claim that these are the backbone of the economic life of most of the country.
A tribute to the cooperation and comity in rural America was the sign urging people to “Come to the community Bible School.” Doctrinal differences were put aside to come together to teach the younger generation how to live according to the precepts of Christianity.
And then there were the flags. The landscape was peppered with American flags flying in the wind. These were seen at government buildings, where one would expect to see them, and many businesses had the flag prominently displayed. But most were in front of homes that we passed. We even saw one barn painted with Old Glory.
In Iowa we saw a small chapel, just completed, by the side of the road, with an electronic sign scrolling an uplifting message. This was just down the road from a unique building with links to the past — a general store. It was called Sheridan Store, and had wares that were as varied as one could imagine, an image of an earlier time, when such stores were the staple of small towns and were vital to the needs of a rural population.
If you believe that middle Americans disdain the renewable energy industry, you would be disabused of that idea as you traveled with us. Especially on the prairie of Southern Minnesota and Northern Iowa, the wind farms were impossible to miss, as windmill after windmill, their giant blades slowly turning, dotted the landscape. In addition, solar energy was produced from some rather large installations of the panels. From time to time, we saw an individual windmill for a house or farm, and a few buildings that had solar panels for their own personal consumption of power.
Perhaps if those who disdain rural and small town America could drive US 63, or any of the other highways in the center of the country, they would find those who live here are not “deplorable” or “irredeemable,” but are a kind, generous and helpful people who are not the enemies of those who dwell in the concrete jungles.
They also might appreciate where their steaks come from, where the milk for the lattes they enjoy is produced, and where the bacon for breakfast originates. Where would they be without middle America?