No, it's Iowa.

As you may recall, I wrote earlier this month about wanting - no, NEEDING - to go to The Field of Dreams. I had hoped for a thin space there where the present and past might intersect. And so they did, but not as I had expected.
Then again, this trip has been all about plans not going as expected. I think my blonde roots still exist deep in my scalp, even though I appear to be a brunette. But that's not for here and now.
No. This is all about The Field of Dreams and what I found there and did there and saw there.
So, let's make the last first, shall we? I saw corn, walls of corn, acres and acres of corn, standing taller than me, in the morning sun and the high noon sun and the sun setting toward the Pacific. I saw freshly mowed green, green, grass, lush beneath my feet, checkerboarding the outfield. I saw a baseball diamond shimmering in the afternoon sun, under a blue, blue sky and angelic puffs of clouds.
I smelled ripe corn and aging silk melding together with the warmed grass and the tang of red clay.
What did I do?
I walked out to centerfield, the heart of the outfield, and kept walking straight up to that surrounding wall of corn. And I stood in the arms of the cornstalks, breathing in their aroma, basking with them in the warmth of the afternoon sun. After driving for hours through the lifeblood of the midwest, it was good to finally be this close to the real thing.
I listened to the rustling of the corn in the light breeze, listening for something else, a sign of other life stirring. Just me and the breeze and the golden ears.
I came back infield, cutting over the first base line toward the bleachers. One of my goals had been to sit in those bleachers, drinking in the sight of the diamond and the afternoon sky and the closeness of space and time.

And so I did sit in the bleachers, two rows from the top, with the house behind me. And I relished the contrast between the red clay of the infield and the lush green of the outfield, with the blue sky beaming above all. And I did see an angel, out in left field, dancing across the sky, trailed by a flock of fluff. Very nice!
Then I climbed down from my perch, heading toward home plate. A quick - no, make that leisurely, please! - stroll around the bases, making sure to JUMP onto each bag as I neared it. First! Second! Third! And safely back to home!
Sweet. And quite satisfying.
I signed the vistor's log, made a donation, and decided to head for the Windy City, to ease my travel time to the Motor City.
But I must have turned in the opposite direction and ended up not quite where I had intended, but where I needed to be.

The tiny town before me was bedecked with the Stars and Stripes. In front of every business and house on the main street. In front of every establishment and residence on the side streets. American flags fluttering before and behind, to the right and to the left. What a grand sight!
And I realized that THIS was where I was meant to be, what I was meant to see here in Iowa. I know my stepdad was thrilled.
Miss you, Frank.