Simple Scenes
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Simple Scenes
A workshop friend once told me he loved to hear my writing about Iowa. This surprised me because my Iowa writing feels so familiar and simple to me, as it’s all I knew growing up. Yet what feels common to our own experience is not common to someone else’s. I am reminded of the power of place in our writing and how much we can invite readers and listeners into those spaces through our words. Here are a couple of my recent Iowa writings, as well as one I loved (that happens to remind me of Iowa) from a workshop participant, Susan McChesney. Susan is also a beautiful visual artist and you can find some of her work at her website listed under her piece below. In the words of Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams. Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa.
When it Storms Over Iowa
it’s good to have a covered porch to watch
the performance
the sky is wide and open and you’ll want to see
how the silver lightning illuminates
everything around you alternating
with the low growl of surround sound thunder
it will rattle your coffee cup filled with decaf after dinner
and you will lean over to the closest person and touch their hand
there won’t be words to say in a moment like this
but its comforting to have someone else nearby
there is a feeling that will settle over you next
as the rain starts to splatter on the roof above
call it smallness or humility or awe
the hair on your arms will stand up and you’ll reach
inside the screen door for a blanket
sit down, if you aren’t already
pull the blanket over your knees
and when the darkest clouds are overhead
and the trot becomes a gallop
this is when I suggest
giving thanks
Penny the Cow
I see Penny the cow is loose again, grazing peacefully in my yard. I used to call when I saw her loose.
"Your cow is loose again", and the kindly old man would come down to gently but firmly guide her back in.
"She is something, that cow. She finds the smallest break in the fence; she'll kneel with her head sticking out through the wires to get that one bit of green she wants. I can't keep her contained." He'd shake his head sadly.
I watched this morning as he headed towards her, his walking stick advancing ahead to let the cow know she was to head a different way.
I looked at her, looked into her eyes, and could see her resentment at being corralled, her disappointment at being redirected, her resistance to the rules.
"I love seeing her in the yard," I say. "I love that she is adventurous and takes the risks associated with her breaking out. I love that she has such a strong will to provide for herself as she sees fit to do so. I love that cow."
I knew I was speaking of myself too, a reminder.
-Susan McChesney
Rainy River Days
There was an excitement to the sunshine, a rushing out the door and “Did we grab the sunscreen? How about a football?”. Yet, it was the rainy days I loved the most. We would be piled into every sleep-able corner of my grandparents river cabin and waking up to clouds meant there was no clamor to get to the boat before all the best sand bars were taken. The older cousins would already be starting a game of cards on the screened in porch and I would pull on my warmest sweatshirt and smile at Grandpa, King of the Cabin in his blue lazy boy. I would walk over to him for a snuggle and he would lean over from his newspaper and push his warm wrinkled face to my cheek.
He was a man of few words and I loved him for that. Even at a young age I sensed there were oceans of life we humans had no words for, and sometimes it's comforting not to try. The women of the family filled that void eagerly and I would move on to the kitchen next, where a roast was already being prepared for the crock pot and the smell of coffee, toast, and onions would make me hungry.
Later, we would all go in to town and sift through the maze of collected items at the dime store, finding nail polish and crossword puzzles to entertain our afternoon. If the rain slowed down enough some of us would go play tennis at a nearby park. I always wanted to like tennis but after a few failed rounds of play, would instead find myself happily hopping along the wooden posts that lined the parking lot.
The slowness of those rainy river days is what captivates my memory the most, calling me back to the net that caught our plans and held them, like Grandmas carrots and potatoes cradled in a broth.