If every one of us has a past, then there have to be stories within all of us. So why not pause our speedy routines once in a while and actually speak to one another?
Such was my experience, yesterday, as I was returning from Dundee, Iowa. I had driven to Backbone State Park with my kids for an impromptu hike. For many years, I had been planning to explore the park but life always got in the way. And to be honest, when the kids are young and you have no one to share the child-rearing responsibilities with, going on a hike could very well be the last thing on your mind.
So, I plugged the address into the GPS and started our trek from Waterloo. About an hour later, I exited on IA-187 towards Lamont/Masonville. Soon after, the vehicles ahead came to a complete standstill. I craned my neck to see what was going on. I noticed a man in construction garb chatting away with one of the truck drivers. A five-minute wait later, the cars started to move again. The three-mile stretch of road towards the park is being resurfaced, currently, so traffic in both directions have to take turns and share one lane.
Once I turned right on 135th Street, scenic views awaited. We enjoyed the sudden change in terrain. Unlike the flat land that is dominantly found around Eastern Iowa, the hills peppered with huge farms offered a brilliant sight under the bright blue sunlit sky.
We passed the town of Dundee, which had my children demanding answers to questions such as ‘Do these people have iPads?’, ‘Do they own televisions?’, and ‘Is there a Chuck e Cheese here?’
A sizeable billboard was inscribed with the words: ‘Tiny in Size, Mighty in Pride!’
My response was, naturally, “No Chuck e Cheese… Most likely iPads… Definitely, an abundance of happiness, although you might disagree.”
They didn’t buy that, of course.
We did not see a single soul out and about even though it was a little past 1 p.m. Could everyone be snoozing?
A short while later, we were at our destination. Backbone State Park turned out to be an incredible experience. My children are old enough to try new things, now. We drove into the vicinity and were soon navigating a narrow road that snaked around throughout the park. At various points, I found myself overlooking deep ravines which reminded me so much of the northern areas in Pakistan. I looked over at my kids and proudly said, “My boarding school was located in an area such as this one.”
Their response was less than thrilling, however. The hairpin bends had them quite anxious.
Our hike did not last beyond five minutes. The terrain was a little challenging for their little feet so we returned to the car. Driving around, we came upon a sign pointing towards a cave. So, I parked the car and set off on foot with my kiddos.
The cave was a short walk from the road. A series of natural steps made of rock led to a very dark entrance. My children, again, looked worried. I decided to take a peek, you know, to make sure it was safe enough to navigate. The roof of the cave was very low. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. My middle child gets claustrophobic and does not appreciate tight spaces but she was not the only one retaliating.
Once we returned to the car, we drove over to a stream where kids and their parents were swimming in shallow water. That was a welcome sight! My children joined in the fun. As I took a break from photographing their antics, I noticed a group of eagles circling the sky a short distance over. My attention span broke off when the kids pointed out a deer prancing by. Being away from the city offered this great opportunity of experiencing and appreciating the wild in it’s purest form.
We left early enough because I wanted to make it home before dark. The thought of being stopped again on IA-187 had me concerned. I had noticed that the road was not lit with even a single light post.
As I inched closer to the intersection of 135th and Washburn Avenue, I caught sight of a construction worker who motioned with his hand. I came to a complete stop and rolled down the window. The man, named Ron, informed me that we had to wait for our turn to get on the highway. I noticed his burned red arms and the sweat on his brow so I offered him a cold bottle of Perrier. He politely declined.
“Thank you, but I have a box full of water,” he smiled. “Working in the summer heat all these years has taught me a thing or two.”
A truck turned to drive past us in the opposite direction. It kicked up a dust storm as it emerged out of a stretch of farmland. I rolled up the window to protect the kids and myself from inhaling the unpleasantness. Once the air cleared, I lowered the window again to speak to this man.
“Doesn’t the dust bother you? You should wear a mask.”
Ron shook his head, “Na… I’ve eaten a ton of dust during all these years out on the road. Dust does not bother me. These crazy birds, however, do.”
He pointed in the direction of a red-winged blackbird that pranced around in an indecisive manner. “This little guy over there thinks he owns the road! He’s been poking around and picking at my hair ever since I arrived here. With all the hair he’s picked off my head I’m sure he’s managed to build a nice little nest.”
The man took off his hat briefly before wearing it again, “Can you imagine a nest made of red hair?”
That brought on a chuckle.
Ron paused for a second before hesitantly adding, “I can sort of hear an accent…”
I thought, ‘Oh, boy… How do I answer that without potentially getting into trouble…? A Pakistani-born woman in the middle of small-town Iowa – Dundee, to be precise – in judgmental times?’
“India,” I responded, feeling a little guilty. But common sense had to prevail. Why risk getting into an unnecessary race war on an intersection where the wait could be as long as ten minutes? And if this good man’s mind was already made up about minorities, why even bother?
“Uh-huh! I know a couple of gals in Waterloo… They’re from India. Actually, they’re from England but are of Indian descent… They insist they’re English-English, though… Not Welsh or Irish, but English-English.”
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Dunkerton,” he responded. “Although my ancestors were Irish, Scottish, German, and Native American.”
“Wow, that’s a rich ancestry right there.”
He nodded. “My great-grandfather came from England on the boat and stopped over at Ellis Island. Somehow, he made it to Iowa where he married a Native woman.”
Ron’s great-grandfather worked on a farm and regularly sent money back to England to support relatives, there. Along the way, he was able to buy more land and even build a church.
“From what I hear, he did well… But, with excesses comes trouble, too.”
His great-grandfather was murdered which put an immediate stop to the cash flow overseas. “I’m sure the folks back in England thought he deserted them, when in fact he was no longer alive.”
I asked him if he still knew of family members back in England.
“We tried to locate them but my great-grandfather’s name was very common… There were three other men by the same exact name in the town he was born in. So, nothing transpired.”
I’ve been watching the hit TLC series, “Who do you think you are?” for a while now. The show follows celebrities who, with the help of historians and resources such as ancestry.com track down relatives across the world. I mentioned the website to Ron and he told me that he was considering finding out more about his heritage.
“We all come from somewhere,” he said. “Throughout time, people have travelled for money or for love – sometimes both… If you look back, you might find you’re from everywhere just like I am. But the quick answer to the question, ‘where are you from’ – for me, especially – is Dunkerton, Iowa. I live in Waterloo, now, but my family is in Dunkerton.”
The conversation got more interesting.
“Have you seen the movie ‘Country’? My family is in it.”
I was baffled. “You mean it is about your family?”
“Yes, but my family is actually featured in that movie. After the church scene, the people you see in the movie are my relatives in Dunkerton. The movie was based on the lives of farmers, there, who were struggling during the great farm crisis in the 80’s.”
That was an a-ha moment for me. It took me back to the time I had to compose a white paper on the crisis for my Anthropology class. I had been in the United States a little over a year and had no idea how the farm system was, let alone the crisis. In my mind, America was a land of skyscrapers and Hollywood. Before touching down on American land, I had no idea that there were farms here!
Looking back, I laugh at the absurdity of it all. I used to feel surprised at questions from classmates who would ask whether I used elephants for transportation back in Pakistan. Well, I was just as ignorant as they were… but I didn’t realize it until I found myself in the same exact position.
And in case you were wondering how I dealt with the white paper, well that’s quite another story… Those were the days when research over the internet was a relatively new concept. So, I walked out of the library, one day, with ninety-nine books in hand – all dealing with the subject matter of farming in America. I could’ve picked up one more book but ninety-nine books were the limit, explained the librarian who had kindly helped me load the car up box after box.
The flagger stopped over and shouted to Ron that our lane was finally open. I thanked him for taking the time to speak to me and for enlightening me when I had least expected it. He tipped his hat and waved me off.
Yes, there are stories that live in each and every one of us. We look at television sets and tech media for stories, now that they’ve become freely accessible. Books beckon those who are devoted to the written word but time constraints keep our shelves dustier than we’d like to admit. Even so, there is no richer medium of communication than looking someone in the eye and striking up a conversation. I do not consider myself a great conversationalist, mind you. I am not too fond of small-talk. Formalities are like red tape – they restrict the flow of information. But once we get past the weather updates, great things can happen… The sort of things we might read about in books or view on the history channel, but the unique voices and facial expressions bring it all to life.
So, get out there and look for folks who you perceive to be ‘different’… Step out of your comfort zone and open up your mind. If you speak to someone who isn’t alike in any way, particularly, then surely you will learn something new.
Nazneen says
You are my mommy pie