Dexter Iowa Community Site

Consider this quote from Abe Lincoln

"America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves."

In the crisp cool morning I drove along a little used gravel road. It was one I’d been down before, mostly at night on those drives to clear my mind, but I remembered a place there, a special place and I pulled in and parked and got out of the car and stood quietly in that chilly air.

I closed my eyes listening to the sounds that rose from the hills and valley’s, the lonesome sound of a covey of quail as they scurried under the brush, the soft rustle of the wind as it cascaded through the shimmering leaves and the gentle whir of the sound of a grain dryer far off in the distance.

I looked around and realized how still and peaceful this place was, although today it holds little but sad memories for me. A place that gave me life, and yet killed me a little more every time I visited it.

I got back into my car and drove on, farther down the dusty gravel road as the morning sun began to rise shining through the dew on the foxtails as they leaned close to the ground from their long summer of growth, until I found another spot that I remembered, here a first kiss. The nervousness of that embrace, and the beginning of a new chapter in my life. It was here that I learned to love with all that I had, and here where I returned looking for the answers as to where that love had gone.

Farther on I drove until I reached the crest of a big hill and I pulled over slowly into the soft dirt of the shoulder. I turned off the car and got out once again and watched the arms of windmills on the far hills as they turned and turned in their never ending battle to harness the winds. I remembered here that life changes…that like the wind sometimes letting go is the only way, and yet the wind continues to blow.

Looking towards the new hills I saw the slow movement of a large green combine as it made its way back and forth upon the golden blanket of corn, watching the dust as it rose as the machine ate its way through harvest. Harvest! Yes, a memory from long ago and one that carries with it joy. Growing up harvest was an exciting time. I closed my eyes and pictured that boy, in his blue and white stripped coveralls standing in the cornfield with his Great Grandma. I remembered the big red International Harvester combine, and climbing up the stairs and riding next to Dad a time or two. I remembered sitting in the small John Deere wagons as the corn came cascading down into a golden pile of cold kernels that filled our pockets and shoes as we ran our fingers through it.

Soon the fields would open up giving me the chance to look far across the land, the once tall green corn that built barriers keeping our little part of the world boxed in like corporate office cubicles, giving way to wide wind swept stubble. Seasons change, life changes, and sometimes all were left with is the memories of those places, and questions that can never be answered.

See you next week…remember, we’re all in this together.