In Periculo Mortis

Day 6:

This morning I said that I would let Fr. Doug sleep late. He said to me, "you are the one who gets up late." He was right. Like most of the mid-west Iowa has been plagued with dry weather. I remarked as we drove over the Iowa River it put me in mind of the American humorist Will Rodger's description of the Rio Grande in that it was "the only river that needed irrigation." Iowa made up for it today as it rained all day. I slept inside on the couch, Fr. Doug slept on a futon (Japanese for unwanted guest) on the screened-in porch. He woke up to the deluge.

Fr. Doug, just like Old Yeller

We spent most of the day at the farm. It is on a small dirt road with little traffic. Our friend Kevin, who is always good for a good story (all of which are 100% true - seriously) told us a story about breaking down on that road. No cars came past until the mailman passed by. Kevin asked if he would give him a tow. The mailman said he didn't have a tow rope, luckily Kevin had one in his vehicle. The mailman agreed to help, however he said he would need to make a few stops along the way. I can imagine the scene on that dirt road with the mailman delivering the mail and towing Kevin and his jalopy behind.

Most of the day involved great stories and some reminiscing about our days at St. Vincent. Kevin told us stories about cleaning out a warehouse without a garbage can, watching basketball with Jesse Jackson, and a story about Iowa winters. That story is worth repeating here. Snow has a tendency to drift in Iowa. One afternoon Kevin and his father-in-law Larry decided to take a drive out onto the back roads to see if anyone needed help and was stuck in the drifts. When they went out they got their truck stuck. They went back to the farm and got the tractor in order to pull out the truck. The tractor ran out of gas on the way there. Frustrated Kevin decided to attempt to get back to the original truck with his truck in order to pull it out. He of course got stuck. All told they had three vehicles in the snow at the same time. You will have to travel to Atlantic, Iowa to hear the rest of the story.

After attempting to play a fishing game with Kevin and Bri's daughter Lyla we found ourselves humbled. Lyla barley lost (Fr. Doug said he was casting out his steelhead lunkers). In the afternoon we drove about ten miles to Elk Horn, Iowa, Danish capital of Iowa. I never really knew any Danes, so I was pretty excited about visiting the epicenter of things Danish in the Hawkeye State.

Elk Horn is the home of an authentic Danish windmill. Built in 1848 in Denmark, the windmill was brought to the United States and completely rebuilt in one year from the fall of 1975 until the fall of 1976. Since this time Denmark has outlawed this practice. It was the brainchild of Harvey Sornson, a Danish-American from Elk Horn who really loved windmills. While visiting Denmark he lamented the fate of many windmills which were slowly decaying. Harvey inspired people to bring over the old windmill and after funds were raised, it was reassembled by volunteer labor. His grandaughter gave us a tour (she is, and looks, 100% Danish).

After taking in the greatness of being a Dane we came back to the farm and packed our things. With gratitude to Kevin, Bri, and their family for their hospitality we left the farm and headed for a tourist attraction I heard about in nearby Manning, Iowa. Many of the residents of Manning are the descendants of people who came from the Schleswig-Holstein region of Germany. While it may or may not be a copycat attraction, the people of Manning (about 20 miles from Elk Horn) bought a hausbarn (a structure wherein people and farm animals live under one roof) built in 1660 in Schlewig-Holstein and rebuilt it in Iowa. The place closed before we got there; I guess I will have to visit the next time (I want to figure out how to build a thatched roof for the shed of my dreams).

When we left the farm I was determined to visit the Father Flannagan museum in Omaha. After driving to see the German hausbarn we were unable to go to see the home of the legendary Boystown founder. After departing Manning we headed for Omaha to get a bite to eat. We had supper at Piccolo Pete's, a good steakhouse in a town known for good steaks. The table next to ours was full of Polish-Americans who were celebrating their Father's birthday. Their dad tired to get them to sing Sto Lat, but the kids didn't know the words. I couldn't take it so I chimed in and sang part of it with him.

The meal was good and was not too pricey.

After a good dinner we headed to our hotel in Wilber, Nebraska. Wilber, located about two hours from Omaha is the Czech capital of the United States. It is a very small town. In town there is a very, very reasonable hotel (hence the reason I checked, or czeched in). I think we are the only people in the entire hotel; I even think the staff left for the evening (seriously).

If you note in the picture above the television (it has 18 channels - for the price of the room that is better than I expected), and a sink in the room (the toilet is down the hall).