Even though we’ve only been on the Farm for a few days, I can already tell that Saturday May 13 will be one of the best and maybe most memorable days in Iowa. The day started with us getting to sleep an extra 15 minutes; a small victory, but an important one. When we arrived at the Stole house, we were greeted by fancy “hippie” breakfast milkshakes created by HN . These shakes included ingredients such as kale, cayenne pepper, and agave, not what I pictured to be drinking on an Iowa farm. This was the first time I had ever tried anything like that or eaten kale. They turned tasting much better than I expected.
After breakfast and our daily briefing finished, we headed over to the Friest Farm. The Friest Farm is across the road from the Neubauer Farm and is owned operated by the father-son duo of Denny and Brent. I had the opportunity to ride along in a planter with Brent while he planted corn. On the tractor, we talked about a wide variety of things ranging anywhere from windmills to government regulations on manure. The coolest part was being able to watch from every angle as the corn was planted using the precision ag tools we learned about a day earlier. On a side note, Brent was easily the best person I have ever seen at backing up with a trailer.
We then ate a quick lunch and drove into Pella to see “Map of My Kingdom”, a play written by Iowa’s poet laureate, Mary Swander, at the Pella opera House. After the short one-woman one-act play finished, there was a short question and answer session with the playwright herself. Although both were a once-in-a-lifetime experience, my favorite event occurred later that night.
Once we finished our dinner cooked by Morris Stole, we headed off to my first, and hopefully not my last, barn dance. When we first arrived, I’ll admit, I was a bit timid. Everyone was standing around outside or in the hay barn chatting. In typical Iowa fashion, everyone at the dance knew everyone. So, our gang stood out like a sore thumb. When we went inside the barn we sat in our own isolated corner. Although in hindsight nobody was looking at us, I felt like everyone was staring at the out-of-towners sitting alone. However, once the band began playing, the entire place transformed. The dance floor was instantly flooded with people of all ages, and everyone knew exactly how to dance. Joined by Hagan, I went onto the dance floor, and we gave our best effort at dancing the two-step.
After a few songs, the “waterfall” began. This dance put men in one line and women in another, and we were randomly paired with partners. My first partner was an older woman, probably in her early 80s, who was an amazing dancer. She taught me the steps as we went along, and even though I didn’t catch on until the very end, she said I was a great partner. I tried another partner, but it had an equally bad outcome. Having felt like I embarrassed myself enough, I went outside to use the outhouse. While in line, I began talking to a woman. After some small talk, our topic moved to dancing. Little did I know, her and her husband, who had been married for about 40 years, had been going to barn dances together since they were in high school. She gave me some words of encouragement and was able to persuade me to go back onto the dance floor.
She gave me enough confidence that I didn’t leave the dance floor for the rest of the night. I danced with anyone from old women to teenage girls. As the night drew on, I even became better at the two-step. However, I think the most important thing I learned from the dance is how important community and friendship is to the people of Central Iowa. The same people go to dance after dance and have developed close ties. While walking around, I overheard men talking about their latest corn planting and politics, while the women talked about who brought what “snackies” and freely chatted about the upcoming week.
The culture in Iowa is very different from my neighborhood in South Carolina. My parents and my neighbors rarely talk. Once a year there is a block party, but nobody really wants to be there, it’s more of a chore. They tend to just sit around and talk about how people have let their yards go. Here, it is completely different. Neighbors are friends. These friends are treated like family. They genuinely care about each other and are there to help whenever it is needed. In small towns, such as the ones we are scattered across now, people tend to view their lives differently. Farming has no room to take anything for granted. Everyone really appreciates the little things. Being able to have a carefree night of dancing and friendship after a hard day of planting seems like a perfect Saturday night in Iowa.