DOWN THE ROAD

I drove up to Small-Town Iowa the other day. Iowa is one story and small towns are another but they do go together. Wonderful place to spend the day; don't think I want to live there. Three hours on the interstate, then another half an hour on a two lane blacktop before I saw church steeples and a water tower. Chariton, Iowa is Mayberry without the mountains. My destination was on the square, a bicycle shop in the old movie theatre building. An extra layer of parking took up the space where the old court house lawn had been. I suspect when they built the tan brick and field stone court house, parking space was not an issue. Sometime in my lifetime they sacrificed the lawn for the sake of progress. When I got out it felt like Barney Fife should be coming up the sidewalk. 

The bike shop wasn’t really a bike shop. They specialize in trikes, three wheelers. Three related issues had brought me to this place; I crashed my go-fast bike and broke bones, I want to keep riding and I’m not getting any younger. I was interested in a recumbent trike, one wheel in back and two in front. You sit down low with the crank out in front. The technology is high tech and riding one was a new experience. After a couple of hours test riding three different models, I settled on one. He didn’t have the color I wanted so he had to order it and I’ll have to make the trip again. 

Well into the afternoon. Dave, the trike guy, gave me a coupon good for a meal at a restaurant on the other side of the square. The three story, red brick, Chariton Hotel was old on the outside but fitted out with the latest black and white and chrome decor inside. The BLT was good as any city sandwich. Across the street, another old, red brick building bore a big sign over the window that read, Piper’s Grocery, Meats & Chocolates. The store was old on the outside and just as old inside. Must have been 12 ft. up to the old tin ceiling tiles. The lady who owned the store recognized me as a stranger and gave me a 15 minute tour of the building and their inventory. 

Built in 1888, the board floor may have been replaced at some time but then it looked worn enough to be original. The place was a combination grocery, candy, meat, gift, antique store. Since it was built it has always been a grocery and owned by different generations of only two families. One section was for Amish products; jams and jellies, chutney and canned vegetables. I recognized Amish names on the labels, Troyer and Bontrager. I asked if there were any Yoder labels but no. She was impressed by my familiarity with the Amish. They make their own chocolate candies right there in the store, all displayed in a glass front case. I asked if they gave samples; in New Orleans they give samples. She said “Not usually, but you can sample any candy in the case if you like.”  I passed and went on through the gifts and antique section. The meat counter was full of red meat and sausage, what else in rural Iowa? I bought a quart jar of Amish pickled eggs and an antique Prince Albert tobacco can. She invited me back when I return for my new trike.

In all three places I shopped I couldn't miss cultural markers that I associate with rural, small town, midwest America. If it wasn’t evangelical plaques with come-to-Jesus wisdom it was “Make America Great Again” propaganda on bumpers and windows. I tried hard not to do or say anything that would out me. I think they know anyway, they know by osmosis just like I can tell when they chance into my secular,  progressive domain. But they smother you with kindness anyway; it’s the righteous way. Dave, at the tike shop, probed with some sanctified assumptions and the fact I didn’t affirm them certainly must have set off his “Heretic” warning bells. But he didn’t have any reservations about my credit card; funny how that works. He likes it best right where he lives and so do I, wherever that may be; over a hundred miles down the road, in another universe.