By place

Category Archives: Iowa

Solitude and I-80

And then—after all that hectic activity—all I had to do was drive. For five hours. On the same road. Beside a repeating pattern of corn and soybeans.

A Book for Christmas

It’s really a reflection on what it means to be part of anything, both by birth and by choice, something universal, but told with a strong Dutch-American “accent.”

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatheads

If you are reading this, congratulations. You received this from the past. You have the benefit of hindsight, recaps, twenty-four-hour news cycles.

Sweat and Candy Apples

I was a freshman in high school when my mom lost her mind. By that time, my mom and dad no longer called each other “honey.” Due to a shortage of money, we’d downsized to an apartment, meaning my dad no longer smelled of lawn mowing.