I wear many hats as senior editor of The Iowa Source magazine. I am editorial writer, events wrangler, local news herder, proofreading princess, and queen of the classifieds, not to mention the end-of-month invoice slinger. A hearty thanks to our awesome advertisers, who serve as the steady wind without which this miraculous ship called The Iowa Source couldn’t continue to sail.
The variety of tasks on my plate unfold in a satisfying monthly rhythm that suits me to a T. I am fully aware what a gift it is to love my job. And that there are still plenty of people who love to read something on actual paper.
In 2020, one of our regional delivery guys retired, so to cover the gap, I offered myself up for a new duty. Now, around the first of every month, my head pops off the pillow a little earlier than normal. I fill my tank, check my tires, and rendezvous with our editor, Claudia; our Fairfield distribution hero, blues-guitar god Randy Walker; and P&P Press’s dedicated delivery man, Mike, who’s been on the road from Peoria, Illinois, since the wee hours.
With cars loaded up and coffees in hand, we tip our hats and peel off and away into the day.
Toward the outskirts of Jefferson County, my local 1980s-heavy radio station begins to crackle, so I crank up the volume on my audiobook, typically something by David Sedaris, until the Iowa Public Radio signal is clear or when the jazz kicks in on KCCK-FM.
Day one of my mission takes me on a zigzagging path through pretty cornfields, with stops at the libraries and coffee shops of Washington and Kalona, then to Iowa City, where I off-load 25 bundles into the cherry-red Jeep of the ever-cheery Craig Schrader of Community Racking Service. For years, as a side hustle, Craig has expertly handled Iowa City-area distribution for a multitude of print publications, including Little Village, attentively checking and rebalancing his stacks throughout the month across Iowa City and its neighboring towns. What a godsend.
Each time we meet and heave magazines from my car to his, Craig and I take a few minutes to chat. With conversations now totaling upwards of 70, Craig knows me better than most of my friends at this point. It will be a sad, sad day when that man decides to retire.
My route out of Iowa City carries me along on a gorgeous little stretch of Scott Boulevard that’s lush with forested areas, parks, and unexpected public art. The Buddha-like Sitting Man limestone sentinel on the hill. The giant red barn adorned with playful clothesline cutouts.
After a quick leg up to hilly Mount Vernon (and in the warm season, past a charming row of colorful zinnias somebody plants each year in the crack between the sidewalk and curb), one of my stops brings me face to face with the lovely Ann Booth, who bakes shortbread for her Perfect Blend Gift Shop on 1st Street. She gets a short stack of magazines, but the stop is well worth it for lively conversation and shortbread samples. The lavender shortbread is exquisite (I like to eat my flowers), and, whenever she lets me pay for it, I buy a pack of candied ginger, too, which is to die for.
After a few drops in Marion and a fresh, Hawaiian-inspired poké bowl at the Ohana Poké Shop, I turn off the radio for the next pretty part of my drive. Finally looking verdant and beautiful again post-derecho, a winding, shady route takes me down Cottage Avenue, then Linden Drive, past the Brucemore Mansion grounds and a myriad of other stately homes with stunning gardens. A left turn onto 3rd Street shoots me downhill in a loooooong straight path that shifts in architectural tone, block by block, as it reaches toward the heart of downtown Cedar Rapids. I park near the ever-impressive Greene Square, whose contemporary sculptures and immaculate lawn serve as a focal point between the handsome Cedar Rapids Museum of Art (originally the Carnegie building) and a modern downtown library. The plaza’s metropolitan verve is most welcome after a morning of small towns and soybeans.
Every time I pass through Cedar Rapids’ Czech Village and New Bohemia neighborhoods, I have the impulse to book a room and stay for a few days. Exploring the area’s excellent bookshops, boutiques, restaurants, and museums would easily fill a long weekend. So many of the events I list on The Iowa Source calendar happen right here in this cultural hotspot, from costume balls and comedy at the Ideal Theater to concerts and arts events at CSPS Hall (including an upcoming Dia de los Muertos performance by local dance company Fuerzas Culturales). And then, of course, there are exhibit openings and community celebrations at the beautifully renovated African American Museum of Iowa and the National Czech & Slovak Museum & Library.
Speaking of the Czech, this world-class museum has a new feature that recently took my breath away. A few months back, I pulled into the circle drive to make my drop just before the clock struck 1 p.m. As I opened my car door, a stream of symphonic music floated down from on high.
The museum’s newly restored Buresh Immigration Tower, a skyward structure that houses an astronomical clock fashioned after the centuries-old Orloj in Prague, now features a dozen wood-carved figurines that awaken on the hour and dance, overhead, on rotating carousels to the music of two iconic Czech composers. There I was with ink-stained fingers and a sweaty-pit tee-shirt getting absolutely swept off my feet by the drama and the majesty(!), the strife and the triumph(!) of Bedřich Smetana’s Moldau and Dvorak’s New World Symphony. While the rotating figurines—the coal miner, the humble farmer, the woman with child—played a stoic peekaboo game high on the tower, string instruments and powerful bass drums pulsed through the air, bringing tears to my eyes.
It is a powerful reminder. We were, almost all of us, immigrants once. Whenever possible, I now time my Czech Museum drop at the top of the hour.
My monthly route ends with a final, picturesque stint parallel to the Des Moines River from Indian Hills Community College in Ottumwa to the steamboat Gothic-style Hotel Manning in Keosauqua, a name derived from a Sauk and Meskwaki word that means “bend in the river.” If time and weather allows, I’ll clock out and put my inflatable kayak on some of the water down there.
My day-and-a-half sojourn reminds me that Eastern Iowa comes in many colors and is made ever richer by the variety of cultures that have collected here—something that’s easy to forget if you stay too long in your own little pocket. Or behind your desk.
I’m grateful for this monthly feast of Iowa flavors. And to work for a publication that celebrates Iowa’s richness every single day.
