If you would take a map of the United States and draw a line around the outside of this region, you would notice there is a state in the middle of The Heartland that your line doesn’t touch. That state is Iowa; it is the very Heart of The Heartland. Iowa is my state and when we get bad weather, I don’t care much for her. The heavy rains of spring, (that have continued into summer, this year), require many trips to the basement to check the sump pump, making sure its doing its duty to keep the water out of our house. Frequent tornado warnings necessitate even more trips to the lower level, arms burdened with emergency gear ‘just in case.’ The frequent rain also means Hubby having to drive his gas guzzling pickup back and forth to work instead of being able to ride his budget friendly and testosterone boosting motorcycle.
But when the rains finally cease, I love Iowa’s beauty. From the sky one can look down and see the patchwork quilt of nature with its multiple shades of green showing off the straight rows of crops which have burst forth from planted seeds to break through the soil, reaching for the sun. New baby calves, colts, sheep and rabbits frolic and play, reveling in the pleasures of new life. Riding around the lake, or past small pools of water left behind by rain, the throaty and unmistakable sound of the bull frogs' mating calls fills the evening air.
The clean fragrance of newly blossomed flowers rides the gentle spring breeze, delighting the senses; and before I know it, the landscape is covered with every imaginable color and scent. Fruit trees are already dropping some of their fragile petals, fences of colorful peonies beckon brigades of ants, the spirea bushes overflow with cascades of ‘bridal wreaths’ and there’s the promise of continued beauty for at least a few months. While holding a freshly cut sprig of dainty lilacs to my nose, I breathe in deeply, trying to inhale the entire essence of a flower that too soon will be only a sweet memory.
Sitting on the deck, I watch baby rabbits scurrying around the corner of the garage and young squirrels, leaping from branch to branch in our trees; I hear a saucy Blue Jay’s unsuccessful attempts to drown out the cheerful songs of its fine feathered neighbors. This is springtime in Iowa; the time when I feel the strong pulse of the Heart of The Heartland, as she throbs with the energy of rejuvenation; another growing season; another cycle of life. And now, we're already six days into summer. God is good!