Winterset, Iowa

As I write this, I look out my window at a busy Chicago street. People pass by with groceries, bikes whiz past honking cars and shouts and laughter float down from the El stop not two blocks away. This view is vastly different from the one I had while I was growing up in Winterset, Iowa. I love my new urban life, but there are things I miss about my little hometown in Madison County.

If you drive into Winterset from the north or east, I recommend you keep your eyes on the road and refrain from taking in too much of the scenery—it’s not much to look at. A Hardee’s and a Pizza Hut squat on the outskirts of town and the John Deere tractor center is the most exciting building in the area—that’s not saying much. The senior center is across the way, as well as an Amoco station and a Godfather’s Pizza, a new acquisition. But take heart: if you’re able to ignore the Gold Rush bowling alley, which looks a lot like a couple of enormous shoeboxes glued together with a neon sign out front, you’ll earn what’s coming next—the road to the square.

This street turns into John Wayne Drive, named for Mr. Wayne himself. For such a small town, Winterset’s had a fair amount of excitement. Marrion Michael Morrison (no wonder the man changed his name) was born in Madison County in 1907. We’ve got the tourism trade to prove it. This stretch of The Duke’s namesake street is the nicest part of the whole “loop,” as it’s called by locals. Oak trees line the street and in spring, summer and fall, the leaves form a canopy over the drive and as you go, you get a little deeper into the heart of the little town.

Winterset is a three stoplight town, if you don’t count the four-way stop on the way out. I don’t. The first stoplight you hit, coming southbound on John Wayne Drive is smack dab on the town square. You see the courthouse in all it’s off-white glory, the old Iowa Theatre that was rehabbed while I was in junior high, much to my excitement, as well as the shops, the pharmacy and the restaurants that make up the square. It’s pretty classic, pretty Norman Rockwell. On the north side of the square sits the Northside Café, the quintessential small-town diner where I had my first job when I was 14. Many a Sunday of mine was spent cleaning up the restaurant after the lunch rush, mopping the floor and singing along to Dolly Parton. When I say “classic small town,” I’m not kidding.

My mother has a quilt shop on the south side of the square and the place is pretty busy. This community is one of farmers, quilters, teachers and city council men and women. It’s a productive community, one that prides itself on its students high test scores and decent basketball team. For better or worse, the roles in Winterset are clearly defined—men are men, women are women, athletes are superstars and your parents have a lot to do with your social standing.

My friends and I weren’t athletes, so we found other ways to amuse ourselves after school. We would drive out on the Level B roads deep in the country, past the egg farm and the radio tower. We’d smoke cigarettes and play Kenny Rodgers on the stereo. A lot of times we’d drive out to the fjord and wade in Middle River, even though we knew it was full of fish hooks, the occasional snake and any number of disgusting farming by-products, but we didn’t care. We were country kids and this country kid hadn’t been spoiled by city life at that point. I was fearless.

Sometimes I miss the security of Winterset and the 17 uninterrupted years I spent there. Problems I have now seem to be so monumental, but I know that I went through a lot back in Winterset, too. The book, The Bridges of Madison County was written about my little town and the movie was filmed there while I was in high school. I remember wanting to be in the movie so desperately and when I was passed up for an extra part, I was crushed. When you live in a small town, drama is magnified ten times and when you’re 14, everything is more dramatic. I realize I went through life then the same way I do now, relatively speaking—good times and bad times happen and that’s life, though now I can take the subway to an art museum any time I please and can order Thai takeout. That usually makes me feel better.

There are things we trade in our lives in order to make ourselves as happy as we can be. Stability and solitude come with small town life, but for me, so does cabin-fever and mind-numbing prejudice. Life in the big city promises excitement, but things can get a little creepy from time to time. I’m happy with my big city choice, but thinking of Winterset always makes me smile.

Mary F

Submitted: Wednesday 28th April 2004, 12:14 AM

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