Summer in Iowa
It had been six years since I last felt an Iowa summer kiss my cheeks.
Six years since I had felt that intense Iowa humidity, where my hair never quite dries. Six years since I had sat back in a camping chair and watched fireworks shoot through the intense summer air with a cold drink in my hand.
Six years since I had felt that feeling that only an Iowan summer can give me.
Upon arrival in June, therefore, I was eager to soak it in while I could. It did not take long for me to open a Dr Pepper and pick a snack from the garden. I then moseyed on over to the neighbor’s porch to “shoot the bull.” In summer, everyone is outside, doing everything and doing nothing.
That’s the pace of Iowa.
This time around, I had my friend Nienke come with me. From the Netherlands, it was her first time in the U.S. Because of this, we made sure she had a very American time: s’mores, baseball game, town festivals, and of course, fireworks.
We spent a lot of time at the farm:
We spent a lot of time doing as little as possible. Some days are just so hot, you have to siesta. You have to give into the heat, the pace, and just relax in the cool air conditioning.
Evenings, then, were spent on whatever random events were happening. In nearby Amana, the German-influenced cluster of villages, was the Bratwurst festival. We made it just in time for the first annual Dachshund Dash. Entertainment on a level that no city pace could appreciate in quite the same way, I would argue:
Of course, time does keep ticking, and all-to-soon, my time in Iowa was over. It was nice to get back to my own routine in Oslo and be my busy self again, but damn, there’s nothing like a good summer night’s thunderstorm to put me in my happy place.