A Field of Dreams story, as told by Dad.
I could live in Iowa.
I drew this conclusion after the 6 hour drive from Kansas City to Dyersville, Iowa. No trash on the roadsides, decent roads, 50 miles between billboards. The state is one big cultivated field, corn and beans, green and beautiful. No dilapidated farm buildings. Everything clean, well managed.
I could live here.
Ethan asked me to accompany him to the Field of Dreams, setting of the 1989 movie. He can tell the stories about playing catch with me, with Bob the columnist, and Stan the elder statesmen ball player from Akron, on Ray Kinsella’s diamond in the corn. What surprised me was the field itself, more beautiful than in the movie.
Only a few cars were in the parking lot as we arrived, only a few people on the field itself. Parents, a couple of kids, and it was quiet. More visitors arrived. A pickup game between oldsters and youngsters began, and even though there was laughing and conversation, it was quiet, respectful. Mojo the pit bull and Ranger the shepherd/chow mix decided not to notice each other, maintaining silence as their owners roamed the field. Most of the visitors were from states other than Iowa, smiling at each other, openly friendly as they entered this baseball church.
At the end of the movie John Kinsella asks his son Ray if this field is heaven. Ray replies, “No, it’s Iowa.”
Wrong, Ray. It’s heaven.
