Orange City, Iowa

Jill's Journal: Nestled in the Northwest corner of Iowa is the teeny-tiny little Dutch town of Orange City, best known for its annual Tulip Festival. Named after William of Orange (part of the Dutch royal house) when it was founded in 1870, Orange City today sports a population well under 6,000 people.

On the edge of this little town is one of my favorite places on earth, a very special, honest-to-goodness farm.

My great-grandfather built this farm from rich earth nearly 100 years ago. My grandfather was born in this home in 1924, grew up here, and didn’t leave until he retired, unless you count time in the military serving our country during World War II. My father also was born here and grew up here, although he left the day he turned 18 to seek adventure out West. He too served in the military, but the farm must have had a great pull for him also, as he returned with his bride in 1969. I was born a few years later and most of the memories from my first seven years of life are from this very farm.

This is where my grandmother picked strawberries from her garden with me, much to an uncle’s consternation (at 10 years older than me, apparently he wasn’t allowed to pick those same strawberries). This is where I’d urge my pony, Flash, to full speed – as fast as her short little legs could carry us (which in hindsight must have been a dawdling pace but at the time felt like I was riding Secretariat) – and leap off in front of my grandparents while they sat on their front deck. My grandmother would feign a heart attack and chide me, while my grandfather would grin from ear to ear and give me the “thumbs-up” sign behind her back.

This is where my father milked his cows and let me feed calves. This is where my mother and my aunt spent countless hours while my cousin and I played. On cold days, if I had happy news while at my grandparents’, my Mom would call my Dad in the cow barn – which is in sight of the house – and he would pause from his milking and come out to “jump for joy,” much to this little girl’s delight. Oh, good memories indeed.

And now a very beloved uncle and aunt live in this wonderful old home and farm this land, the third generation to do so. Three generations. In this world where people move so much more than they used to, I find the constant of this farm and this small town very special. Only the sophistication of the farming equipment has changed over the last century. And the people, both then and now, are surely some of America’s finest.

I used to make it a point to visit about once a year, even early in our “child years.” But December of 2006, with a 34-month-old and a 12-month-old in tow, was the last time I went for fun. The next year the third child arrived and it got more difficult to travel, so our last trip to Iowa was out of necessity and sadness in December of 2007, when Alzheimer’s disease completed its thievery and stole my grandmother’s body as it had her soul.

My grandfather is 86 now, my only surviving grandparent and one of the girls’ only two surviving great-grandparents. He has been a central figure in my life and I know the years where I can cherish him and not just his memory are growing short.

So, while our original plan was to head to Florida following our Northeast tour, we decided to make a detour. If we didn’t do it now, it could easily be a couple of years before our loose “itinerary” brought us to these parts. I’m so glad we’re here.