DAYS 91-94 - Griswold & Creston, IA - 1810 miles from home
- Esther Lisa Tishman
- Oct 6
- 5 min read
Iowa has greeted us with luscious rolling farmlands and terraced fields. And with wind. And with weather. But we'll get to that in a moment.
Early on Day 91, outside of Macedonia, IA - one of the oldest towns in the state - we met Gary. Gary is a retired farmer and engineer with an easy laugh and a broad smile. He told us about the history of our route - Pioneer Trail road, the old Mormon Trail. Later I visited the old Macedonia graveyard, and saw the grave of the first Macedonian settler, Levi Graybill - who died in 1912 at age 98 - and the crumbling gravestones of little ones like Elsie, age 1 year, 6 months, 24 days.
Gary told us:"That's my land over there." He pointed up the hill, telling us about his son and daughter-in-law and 5 grandkids who now live in the old homestead. "My wife and I built another house and live up there." He pointed further up the hill.
Why did I think Iowa would be flat?? Iowa is HILLY. As Bob has been saying: go east, west, north or south - it doesn't matter. You will go up and down, up and down the hills. And along the way there will be kind folks like Gary, and the calmest cattle, and the mellowest dogs you've ever met. On Day 93, a sweet old grizzled farm dog trotted along after Bob and Chris - Oh bow wow WOW - we're going for a walk! They finally had to stop a truck and ask the driver to hold the dog for a few moments, so that they could disappear down the hill. Later that day, a different old grizzled farm dog followed me ... but he had sense to stop at the top of a hill - standing there bowlegged, tail slightly drooping with disappointment - just watching me walk away with sweetly vague interest.
Back to Gary. 26 million acres of Iowa is cropland - and 65% of that land is leased. In other words: two-thirds of Iowa farms are no longer worked by the families that traditionally owned the land. Gary is among that majority of farmers, leasing his fields to be worked by an outside company.... And we pilgrims can sense the impact of Big Ag as we walk through the rolling hills. A seamless expanse of corn. Enormous combines and grain bins standing shiny and tall, like agrarian smoke stacks. We're walking these roads during peak harvest time, and we can feel that too - as we walk up and down gravel roads, with fine white dust kicking up around us as the harvesters and tractors and trucks rattle by. One concerned couple stopped by me, as I walked Pioneer Trail, to warn me about safety. "This is not the time of year to be walking along here!" I told her I'd be careful and was used to worse (flashback to 275 outside of Omaha....)
We pilgrims are now three - Bob Hall, myself and Chris Kellow, who joined us in Omaha. Next week, Elijah will be joining us. My husband, Ezra, will be with us for a week at the end of the month. In November, we will grow even more... Each new pilgrim that joins the Walk utterly transforms this little world we are creating, step-by-step through the land. I keep saying, perhaps somewhat nonsensically, the microcosm is the macrocosm -- meaning that the community we walkers are shaping among us, and the efforts to give and receive grace as we carve this path together - that community, those efforts are no different from the endeavor of the pilgrimage itself. This "act of faith in 'We the People'" begins with us people, right here.
First and foremost, the "We" starts with those close at hand.
Chris is a world traveler and an adventurer. She has had some of the most extraordinary experiences of her life getting lost on the way to somewhere - or spending a few hours in a bus station meeting strangers - or getting to a dive bar, just as it opens for the evening, when people are ready to chat and not yet fully in their cups. On Day 92, she and Bob had one such beautiful time at 411 Bar in Griswold, meeting the owner and her partner - millennials who had chosen to remain in the small town that they'd known all their lives - and having an engaged discussion about the sweetness of the "Iowa bubble." (Here's Bob's post about that meeting.) That same evening, I realized I needed something else - meditation, writing, quiet - and so in our little pilgrim community we found slightly separate paths for the evening. "Individual results may vary," as they say.
The Central Church of Christ generously hosted us in Griswold. A spacious and deeply comfortable home for three nights. We pushed ourselves with mileage on Days 92 and 93 so that we could take another "zero" day in Griswold: an opportunity to join worship on Sunday, meet Pastor Tony and his wife Monica, as well as the vibrant church family. Special shout-out to Julie Brandt (and her cutie-pie pooch Abigail). Julie is the Church administrator, taking good care of us during our stay - joking with me about the Iowa wind and windmills - "when they are running in the winter, and it's twenty below, we say that we need to shut off the fans because it's cool enough!"
And then we drove to Creston - some sixty miles away. We'd already walked there over the previous two days, back-tracking to our church home in Griswold, so this drive was much longer than our usual jaunt. And, yes, the Iowa winds. Sixty miles (well, longer, because I missed my turn) - driving up hill, down dale, again and again, with the Iowa winds whipping the rig. Our plan in Creston was to hook up at the Green Valley State Park - and the setting was lovely. But the forecast was rain for the next two days.
Rain and a small rig and three pilgrims means wet campers, wetter gear, and no way to dry anything.
And this is where someone named Penny comes in - and the magic of Airbnb. We booked Penny's three-bedroom house in Creston, got cozy, and let the rains come.
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