We arrived at the same time as two young men from New York who were heading west to Yellowstone. We took their photo and they took ours. That's a pretty touristy experience right there.
I was tickled to see the Jolly Green Giant immortalized. Who among you can show your age and sing the jingle? Apparently, Green Giant vegetables are out there again so keep an eye out. Like he says, there are no bad vegetables, just misunderstood ones.
I had no idea so much corn was grown in southern Minnesota. I can't help but wonder, how much of it goes into the Green Giant's cans and how much gets made into the devil high-fructose corn syrup?
This part of the country is a barn lovers delight. There are wonderful examples everywhere, and since Evan drove all of today, I got to rubberneck to my heart's content. Sigh...I hope there are barns in heaven.
Our jaunt southeast across Iowa (taking I-35 for you mid-westerners) started with a visit to the most amazing rest area/visitors center I've ever seen. Of course, the fact that it was fashioned after an iconic red barn may have had something to do with my enthusiasm. Upstairs was a dizzying array of brochures and maps, and lovely ladies who looked like everyone's Grandma roaming around to answer questions. There was even a gift shop full of locally made crafts!
So, Iowa is kind to visitors, and the part where we were was devoid of pig farms and feedlots. Actually, it was devoid of almost all creatures with four legs and cloven hooves. I saw about 10 cows. But lots of corn...
By the time we were about two-thirds of the way across I was getting grumpy because there didn't seem to be any incentives to pull off the highway. No enticing natural wonders or historical markers, and the exits to the one town we picked out to visit were closed due to roadworks.
The day was saved when we spied a sign, at last, for a National Historic Site. It was West Branch, the town where President Herbert Hoover was born. He's the pres who ended up in Newburg, OR, after he was orphaned at age 11 and sent west, with ten cents sewn into his pocket, to live with an uncle. (We learned all this from the very helpful ranger who was counting visitors to the cottage where Hoover was born.)
Those helpful interpretive signs...
We gravitate to that which we know. Me at the hitching post...
Evan in the schoolhouse.
At the end of the day, it was over the mighty Mississippi River to IL and our blessedly air-conditioned cabin near the town of Rock Island. The sign said the population is over 40,000 but we wonder where they all are. We drove around for a while and ended up in a whole other town and never found Rock Island.
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