We’ve always thought of Iowa as a series of cornfields. We've never been to any big cities there. Don’t know of any theme parks, famous music venues, or famous people from there. I’m sure there are some. But there is definitely corn.
Some friends of Jacob’s family own a farm in Danville. They grow corn, soybeans, and have facilities for pigs. It’s a peaceful geography. Fields and open sky. Flowers around a grand farmhouse. Even the barn is content.
We’ve come at a quiet time. The crops are growing, the family is away except for patriarch Russ, who is happy to have us. We intend to stay one night, but each day Russ tells us, “You know you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. No hurry.” So we stay another night. Then another.
On the second day he gives us a tour of the farm. Shows us soybeans that are just finding the surface and a tractor that uses satellites to steer itself, planting near-perfect rows at planting time.
He lets us sit in his combine.
We go look at the pigs and the smell is like outhouse chloroform. “Your clothes will probably carry it with you,” he warns. And also, “if you see anything that looks like mud around here, it’s not.”
Russ takes us to his grain elevator, and asks if we’d like to climb it. Jacob says “sure” with more confidence than he feels. Leighann opts to be photographer.
A lovely view of the farm and a downward climb, then Russ and Jacob head up a shorter grain silo to inspect corn. Even though there is enough to bury you alive, walking through it you only sink to your knees. It is a dry and dusty workout.
We eat fresh produce for dinner and amazing chicken soup made by Russ’ wife Diane. He tells us there’s a four-wheeler we’re welcome to ride.
Maybe we’ll stay for one more night…
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