It Could Be Michigan, But It's Not

Along Hwy 30 east of Mt. Vernon

Have you ever had one of those moments when there's something is different but you can't quite put your finger on it? This happened to me when I was driving to Mt. Vernon on Wednesday. It's a cute small town about 15 miles east of Cedar Rapids. I drove along Hwy 30, a scenic road that passes through farmland and along one stretch you can glimpse through the trees the Cedar River as it winds its way south toward the Iowa, toward the Mississippi. Along Hwy 30 are barns and fences and wooded copses in the cornfields.

It's late winter and everything is in shades of brown, from a pale gold to a dark taupey shade. But it was so beautiful — the shades and textures of corn stubble, grasses, thistles, bare branches. And there was a big blue sky.

"This is so lovely," I kept saying to myself.

And yet it felt strange, as though I had been dropped down into a foreign place. It's Iowa, so how different can an Iowa cornfield be from one in Michigan? Not so much, not really. Still, something was different.

And then it hit me: It's the light. Sunlight. Lots of it. And a big sky.

In late winter/early spring, you don't see a lot of blue skies. It's damp and cloudy. Coming to Iowa, we have simply emerged from under the permacloud of West Michigan.

March 10-11 Birds at Cedar Lake in Cedar Rapids

A juvenile bald eagle perched above the path at Cedar Lake.

Mallards landing on Cedar Lake.

Here's what I've seen the last couple days at Cedar Lake.

Bald Eagle, adult and juvenile, a dozen total on the ice and in the nearby trees. Juveniles do not have their white heads or tails.
Bufflehead
Canvasback
Common Goldeneye
Hooded Merganser
American Coot a.k.a. Mudhen
Mallard
Redhead
Ring Necked Duck
Herring Gull, immature
Ring Billed Gull

Iowa Nice

Last week, I baked cookies and sent the rest with Mr. Darcy to his office. That night, he reported that the pile of cookies quickly reduced to just one. And that lone cookie remained for hours.

“Well, sure, no one wanted to take the last cookie,” I said. You never take the last piece of fried chicken, or cornbread, the last biscuit. You just don’t.

Somewhere between sugar cookie and shortbread.

“It’s more of that Iowa thing,” he replied, shaking his head.

Before we moved here, we were told by two different people with Iowa roots—in almost the same words—“Iowans are a people absolutely without guile.” They talked about the friendliness, the trusting nature, and the civility.

It is called Iowa Nice. When caucus time comes around, Iowa expects the politicians not to act ugly.

One explanation given for Iowa Nice is that, because Iowa has relatively sparse population, “every person is precious.” You want to be pleasant because you don’t know when you’ll see another human being.

Yesterday the massage therapist I saw put it another way: Iowa is a land of small towns and it doesn’t pay to be disagreeable with people you have to live with for the next 60 years. “It’s how you’re raised,” she said. “Treat people how you’d want to be treated.”

The Golden Rule in the land of golden corn.

The man who became our landlord said he liked us and was going with his gut rather than undertake credit and reference checks. Iowa Nice is noticeable in the attitude of store clerks and bank tellers. They’re just helpful and cheery. In my previous state, I encountered too many people in the service industry who were either downright surly or nearly comatose. No amount of charm had any effect.

So perhaps we’ve moved to a land of congenial people. We’re told that some Iowans who move away become so wearied by the world that they just come back home.

And what of the solitary cookie? Mr. Darcy finally ate it.

About the Eagles

Bald eagles at Ellis Park, Cedar Rapids

Bald eagle sits above the street in Ellis Park

There are eagles in Iowa.

Long before Iowa was even a glimmer in our eyes, I watched a fascinating program about bald eagles on PBS's Nature. Just because one has a 6-7 ft. wingspan and eyes five times more powerful than a human's does not mean life is easy. It takes a lot of energy to carry that body around. If it cannot grab a fish in open water or find a nice dead something, even the national bird will start feeling poorly.

The Cedar River is not five minutes away and it has become my daily escape from unpacking boxes. Sometimes I go more than once a day to Ellis Park and drive along the shore looking for eagles or other birds. Last week, I saw eight of them all gathered in trees near the water, their white heads shining brightly in the afternoon sun. I could hear them calling, a high pitched, almost chipping sound.