It’s become a tradition for John and I to return to his hometown in Iowa to ring in the new year. During our winter visits, we usually do our first photowalk of the year, sliding around the ice-covered streets and crunching through knee-deep snow.

Winter 2009-2010 in Iowa

When we arrived this time around, we were welcomed by some very Vancouver-ish weather instead and while we haven’t gone on a winter wonderland stroll just yet, we did drive over to the Mississippi today with our cameras ready to fire. I wrote the following post on my iPhone as John took the driver’s seat:

Summer’s thousand shades of green are muted as winter paints the patchwork countryside with a dim and faded brush. Hills roll by capped by farmhouses, silos, cherry-red barns, and groves of bare-limbed trees.

The odometer drops as we enter river towns that share names with other places. Each has their own gas station, food mart, and bubbled water tower. Steeples on main street churches are the closest thing to heaven around until you pass another network of industrial silos.

After about hour of heading East, the Mississippi appears at the foot of the highway exit. The water reaches right up to land, appearing to lack any type of bank or slope.

We explore antique shops, have some lunch by the river, and stop at the gas station for a pit stop — and to soak up some free WIFI from the car.

The highway slips under us once again as we make the slingshot trip home, chasing the fiery orange sunset as it dips behind hills and bends in the road.

While it lacks majestic peaks and sea-sprayed shores, Iowa is full of heartfelt beauty in January – even without its usual white blanket.

Beat the Cougars the poster-sized sign read. It was pasted to the front of the supply store on Main Street. I was heading to my first high school football game and it was homecoming no less. John and I spent ten days back in his hometown in Eastern Iowa and although we mainly worked and spent time with family, it was a perfect vacation. I pulled my sleeves over my hands and sipped $0.50 hot chocolate while the marching band performed a Beatles medley under the lights at half time. The first frost of the season crept closer.

During our visit we drove the limestone-coloured highway to Iowa City and back a few times. The first to catch an Iowa Hawkeyes game at Kinnick Stadium and the second to visit with John’s co-workers at his old radio station. We rolled down the windows and instead of the evergreen-filtered, salty sea-air of the West Coast our noses tickled with the scent of grass and earth (and occasionally the less-pleasant aromas of dairy farms along the route).

Garrison Keillor spoke words of inspiration on the AM radio like a true Prairie Home Companion as we wound our way over hilltops and between a quilted pattern of corn fields. I got my usual kick of out of the American Gothic sign when you enter or exit Jones County, which is indeed Grant Wood country.

Our last full day in the Hawkeye state was spent at the Pumpkin Festival. We admired gourds as long as Cadillacs and watermelons the size of hogs. The real jaw-droppers were the 1,000-1,400lb pumpkins on parade.

Community organizations, school bands, and local businesses marched along with the compulsory convoy of classic John Deere tractors.

We waved to the Pumpkin Prince and Princess, children chased down candy that was being lofted from the floats, and I wolfed down my first festival funnel cake. Ten days were up too soon.

Within 24 hours we were rolling across the Granville Street bridge, flanked by familiar neon as the lights on Cypress Mountain sparkled in the twilight. The pavement smelled like rain even though a drop had yet to fall from the plump grey clouds above. No matter how bittersweet, there’s always comfort in coming home.

This afternoon I grabbed my new Nikon D90 and we bundled up for our third annual ‘first photowalk‘ of the year in Anytown, USA – otherwise known as my husband’s hometown in Iowa.

The sun peeked out and began to melt piles of snow that quickly re-froze as solid puddles, causing my less-than-adequate soles to slip and skid. We walked by houses with frosted tire swings, porches laden with piles of firewood, and flags waving proudly on the front lawn.

Next we strolled past main street’s salons, boutiques, and hardware stores before making our way to the park down by the river.

The pond was solid, covered in snowmobile tracks and footprints, and we crunched along buried paths trying to chase the sunset’s light.

While I have much to get used to using a DLSR camera, I have hit the ground running and look forward to trying out my new toy on the streets and beach-side strolls of Vancouver upon our return.

During our trip to Iowa this time around we made it to the Field of Dreams movie site in Dyersville. Tour bus loads of baseball teams, families on picnic blankets, and old friends playing a round of catch all flock to this site made famous by Hollywood.

Although it was the first time I felt the green velvet of left field between my toes like Shoeless Joe this place has had a special meaning to me for some time.

To warm myself up for our slow sizzling days in Iowa I have been reading the book Shoeless Joe, upon which the film Field of Dreams was based. We played catch in the outfield as occasionally the ball would skip past us and disappear into the corn. WP Kinsella does a far better job of describing the simple magic of an Iowa cornfield than I ever could.

“The fading sun was a rich orange; the shadows of the tall light standards reached across the field like long black arms. Yards away, the mysterious green and gold corn rustled like delicate guests in conversation.”

Leaving Iowa this afternoon I reflected back on our trip as though I was a school-child writing a report about “what I did this summer.”

I watched a 4th of July parade pass by the front of the house while a flag snapped above us in the wind. I strolled the banks of the Mississippi and climbed up to watch boats dance in its flow from the bluffs above. And well, I walked down the dusty streets of John’s hometown to buy a bottle of tequila from the grocery store so the family could make margaritas with dinner.

Through all of these experiences, John would lean in to me and say, “this is my Iowa,” and I’m pretty thankful that he’s let me into his world and his family to explore this wonderful place.

It’s hard to describe the beauty of the rolling hills covered in hundreds of hues of green that smell of freshly cut grass and sweetcorn here in Iowa.

I wasn’t able to snap photos of every piece of scenery but heading from the freeway the asphalt gives way to limestone concrete that covers dusty yellow byways. It contrasts against the bright blue sky and puffed-up marshmallow clouds. Black and white dairy cows are like polka dots in the grass as silos and apple-red barns break up the smooth, continuous landscape. The horizon isn’t flat with earth mirroring the sky in two lines on top of each other. It rises up and down, leans and curves around overflowing rivers.

This is the Iowa that I have been introduced to through the eyes of my husband, and it’s absolutely beautiful.

Monday turned out to be far more productive than anyone thought given the previous day’s festivities on the Fourth of July. We hopped in the car and headed East into Dubuque for lunch at the Dubuque Star Brewery.

Located along the Mississippi and heavily populated by mayflies (aka fishflies) the old brick building that once housed the brewery is now home to a restaurant, winery, bar, and offices. It was kind of like Milestones’ lobby meets Steamworks or Yaletown Brewing. While our server didn’t know the difference between a Stella and a local wheat ale, the food and brews were delicious.

Photo credit: John Bollwitt on Flickr

From there we headed over to Eagle Point Park where you could sit for hours on the bluff watching Mississippi river traffic flow up and down through the locks.

Even though it is mighty, from this vantage point the Mississippi was also peaceful and calm — almost mesmerizing as we peered down on the legendary waterway. The murky water churned as pleasure craft and river barges made their way through the locks with eagles circling above.

In the evening we drove to Cedar Rapids for a Kernels game. They play single “A” ball in the Midwest League and are affiliated with the LA Angels.

Photo credit: John Bollwitt on Flickr

$2 hot dogs, “the best ballpark pork tenderloin”, ice cream cups the size of soccer balls, and every type of light American beer you can imagine was on tap at the stadium. Little boys would run down to the top of the Kernels dugout after every play and call for a player to toss them a game ball while a few inning in we had the “pizza slice” mascot races.

Photo credit: John Bollwitt on Flickr

The air was thick and coated your skin as the puffed up rain clouds overhead sporadically released their bounty. Umbrellas and ponchos appeared in the stands while some spectators just packed up and left. The Kernels won 13-5 over Milwaukee.

Today we head to Illinois and then we round out the week in one of my favourite places, Iowa City.

Yesterday I experienced my first Fourth of July in Iowa. The skies teased with raindrops every few minutes but luckily by noon, when the parade began, the sun had peeked its way through the grey blanket of clouds above.

We sat along the side of the road in John‘s hometown as other families with tarps, canopies, blankets, and lawn chairs lined the same route. Children ran outside with plastic bags that puffed up and danced in the wind. I was unclear of their purpose until the parade began to pass our way.

The Color Guard marched through first, firing off rounds of blanks as the crowd stood at attention. “These were hot items when I was little,” said John as he scooped up a bullet casing and presented it to me proudly as a souvenir.

Tractors, classic cars, ATVs, dirtbikes, and rollerblades carried proud business owners, sports teams, and elected officials in a loop around town that began and ended at the fairgrounds.

Every cub scout troupe, farmer, and “little miss” tossed out candy as they passed (except for the local dentist’s office that lofted toothbrushes into the crowd). Children scurried to pick up the Tootsie Rolls, bubble gum, licorice, mints, lollipops and chocolate coins from the road, loading up the bags which had been waiting anxiously in the breeze.

One farmer tossed out whole kernels of corn, while another handed out foil-wrapped pork sandwiches.

Restored tractors with placards announced the make, model, year and owner of the machines as they chugged by. Farmall, John Deere, New Holland, Ford. My brother-in-law asked me not to blog about the tractors but, how could I not?

Over in Bellevue, Iowa their parade was far less scenic as tragedy struck when two horses with a carriage went on a rampage. The news has since reached far an wide, prompting several people to message John and I to see if we’re okay.

Our parade lasted about an hour and on the tail end came the horses, which all seemed well-behaved. Braided tails, flag-covered saddles, and saddlebags stocked with chilled canned beverages.

Once the parade wrapped up it was time for food. John’s parents had visitors in from all over, from Iowa City to just down the block. Their house was a hub of activity with pot luck dishes, BBQ, margaritas and good cheer.

The rain decided to pick and festivities moved indoors. The evening fireworks were canceled due to the weather as we all hung out around the dining room table playing cards and catching up.

I know that we could have selected pretty much anywhere as our summertime vacation destination however we’ve always meant to come back either for the Fourth or for the county fair (which takes place at the end of July).

No matter how often he now says “eh” or quotes hockey scores, John’s an Iowan through and through. Spending time here, in the place where he grew up, only brings me closer to him and the proud and loving family whose name I am so lucky to bear.

Update Here are some of John’s photos from the Fourth of July.

You may view all photos from our trip in this set on Flickr

Just like last year, we rung in the New Year with John‘s family in Iowa. Yesterday he took me out for a bit of a drive and we went on a wintery photowalk — our last of 2009.

You can view all photos from our trip in this Flickr set & John’s are also online.

When you think of baseball you think hotdogs, warm summer afternoons, caps, cheers, and more often than not, America. However one of the most cherished baseball films of all time was actually based on a book written by a Canadian, who spent time bouncing between the Lower Mainland, and Iowa.

I began writing this post while snuggled up on my in-laws’ couch in Iowa and I figured now was as good a time as any to publish it.

One of our first days here was spent traveling to a neighbouring town because John’s mom heard they had a new Mexican grocery store. Along the way, we saw a sign for Dyersville, which I knew immediately as being home to the actual Field of Dreams (from what John had told me years ago).

Photo credit: Prairie Robin on Flickr

For baseball lovers and movie-goers alike, Field of Dreams is a classic American tale, even though it was based on a book written by a Canadian.

W.P. (William Patrick) Kinsella was born in Edmonton, Alberta and attended the University of Victoria before making his way to Iowa for their legendary (and world-famous) Iowa Writers’ Workshop. He was based in White Rock, then Vancouver, the Fraser Valley and now the Fraser Canyon.

In 1982 he wrote Shoeless Joe — you can read a post John wrote a few years ago about the real Shoeless Joe for more info on this very real player.

Kinsella’s works go far beyond the field, with dozens of books published along with hundreds of short stories, he was awarded the Order of Canada in 1994 as well as the Order of British Columbia.

However, it was his tale of Shoeless Joe that touched most, across many borders. The book was adapted for screen and became Field of Dreams as we know it, coining classic movie lines such as, “Is this heaven?…. No, it’s Iowa.” While also being known to make “95% of men who watch it, cry.” It’s also a Fourth of July classic for John’s family.

Photo credit: Prairie Robin on Flickr

The actual setting of the film is a real farm, with a real baseball field over in Dyersville, Iowa. It’s open to the public from April to November, and is free to visit and play.

Great efforts are taken not to over-commercialize the Movie Site and to make it accessible to tourists. As a result, we cannot reserve, or rent out the Field for any organized activities, individuals, or events. We feel the property is best served in its original and pristine condition. Our aim in having these policies is to present the property as it was so well-depicted in the movie. We hope you can “go the distance” and enjoy the Field of Dreams. [Field of Dreams Movie Site]

The next time we head back to John’s home turf, which will hopefully be during the warmer months, I’m looking forward to stopping by and playing some catch because even though I was raised on frozen pond shinny, there’s nothing like a round of catch in the lazy summer sun among the sweet corn.

January 3, 2010: I made it to Dyersville, Iowa today and saw the Field of Dreams.

Hopefully I’ll be able to come back in the summertime and be able to play baseball without the need of boots, mittens, and seven layers of clothing to protect from the cold.

I’ve celebrated 28 birthdays in the Greater Vancouver Region so turning 29 (for the first time… for real) while in Iowa is a new experience for me. Mom won’t be there when I wake up with a stack of pancakes on the table pierced by a single celebratory candle. I won’t be able to answer my phone all day because my roaming charges are obscenely high. I also won’t be sitting around a big TV screen watching the Canucks play a hockey game, secretly hoping they win in my honor.

However, I will be surrounded by a loving family, I will wake up next to my husband/best friend, and I will be thankful for everything and everyone in my life.

This past year has taught me a lot and even though each day I have moments where I worry, stress, or wonder just what the heck I am doing, I take a look at those who surround me, support me, and inspire me, and I know that I must be doing something right to be blessed in this way and to have them all at my side.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me and this site over the last year and here’s to a great 2009 (because next year I’ll be turning 29… again).

In honor of my birthday, I encourage everyone to do something nice for someone else… no matter how big or small the task. Open a door for someone, leave the waiter a big tip, call your mom, let your friends know you appreciate them, or take out the trash/recycling. There’s also the UGM, and the Food Bank, which are two of the causes I’ve supported this year.