Bruised Idealism

After countless mentions by Mom of my inattention to food on our trip down to Arkansas, I made certain this time to include meals in our travel plans. So, our first stop on this second leg was the renowned loose-meat diner (infamous according to the Lemasters who have told me about stopping in on almost every trip to Iowa). Taylor’s Maid-Rite in Marshalltown, Iowa, I’ll admit, definitely did not disappoint, even though we thought we might never find it in the little town. Thanks to the guys at the hardware store between 3rd Street (where we thought the restaurant was) and 3rd Avenue (where the restaurant actually is), though, we finally found the joint. We got a nice taste of what might be considered traditional American fast-food heaven – you know, the stuff that makes everyone at least hopeful every time they drive-thru Wendy’s – but we were pleasantly surprised by the flavor of Iowan hospitality. The timidity of the wait staff was astounding; perhaps it was because Mom and I were out-of-towners incapable of properly ordering a Maid-Rite (a failure that we didn’t realize until we overheard two locals spit out “I’ll have the special low and dry” – in Maid-Rite terms I assumed that “dry” meant without mustard, but “low”…well, I’m still baffled). This is hardly something to complain about, though, since we never sensed any rudeness, only stuttering timidity. We left Marshalltown almost in silence, but when I finally brought up the awkwardness of the whole meal, Mom whole-heartedly agreed. We remain unclear, however, in being able to pin-point exactly what it was that made Marshalltown such an odd experience; so, I’ll try to do better in describing the rest of our day which deserves much more clarity.

Taylor's Maid-Rite in Marshalltown, Iowa

Without getting lost once, we drove to Amana, Iowa, the first “utopia” of our return trip as well as the first of the seven Amana colonies that we planned to visit today. As expected, it was a quaint village nestled, as all other mid-western utopias have been, in a green, lush river valley. Unlike the other utopias that we’ve seen, however, a feeling of complete contradiction thickened the air. While it is not strange that commercialism has settled comfortably into all of these once thriving communes, the conversion of Amana into a promenade of antiques and folk arts and crafts was unquestionably disturbing, and I hesitantly admit that Mom and I participated almost whole-heartedly in Amana's new identity of the twentieth- (and now twenty-first-) century.

Streetscape in Amana

I clarify with "almost" because I felt the tinge of hyprocrisy creep up as I added the fifth bag of small purchases to my collection. Only when the triumphant haze of the satisfaction of finding the "perfect gift" thinned did I take a moment to reflect on the former reality of Amana and, consequently, the cause of its dissolution and the creation of the present Amana. Established by German Pietists of the Community of the True Inspiration in 1855, the seven colonies of Amana boast the longest-lived communist experiment in the United States, only to dissolve, ironically, in the wake of economic hardships of the Great Depression. For almost eighty years every resident of the seven colonies was provided with housing, food, clothing, and tools by the collection of communal apartment houses, communal kitchens, the woolen factories, and the various tradesmen's workshops. The new Amana, however, divided the properties and locked the doors to many of these facilities changing not only the lifestyle of the residents but, likewise, the space of community. While I did not collect these thoughts in time to ask the current residents of the Amanas, such as the amazing Amanan descendent who oversaw the muesums of the cooper's workshop and one of the communal kitchens in Middle Amana, where the space of community is defined today, I could reasonably assume that it remains strongest in the churches, which maintain the religion of the original colonists, and I would even add that community is found in the daily operation of these museums and various shops. Certainly, we witnessed such sharing in both the Kitchen Sink in Amana (quoted as offering a collection of 'original' Amana crafts as well as gourmet kitchenware - both of which were difficult to determine amongst the clutter of knick-knacks) as well the High Amana Store. In both shops, day long exchanges of gossip that one might expect to (or hope to, I might add to be the case if you were a local) hear continued as customers (ignorant of the names, faces, and histories under discussion) streamed in and out.

High Amana Store, built 1857

Grape trellis along the Cooper's Workshop with the Communal Kitchen in the background (Middle Amana)

Bakery in Middle Amana, still in operation, once standing between the two acres of vegetable gardens and the communal kitchen

Wash House near the Historical Museum, Amana

Yet, as I collected that fifth bag of goodies at the register, I found disappointment hard to resist. Disappointment not just in the conversion of these spaces into their present contribution but disappointment in myself for encouraging this conversion, which could be so reductively represented by my growing collection of bags. A phrase that I had heard in the museum's beautifully compsed introduction video kept ringing and repeating in my head, "...setting aside their bruised idealism ..." Of course, the narration continued with optimistic tones of the success of Amana since the distribution of property and shares, but the combination of "bruised" and "idealism" stung in its relevance. Even as I salivate at the thought of such prolonged beautiful cooperation among a group of people, I realize the difficulty of maintaining it, and this realization stings like a punch in the thigh or a table corner to the hip. Regardless of these thoughts, however, I have come away with a nice collection of treasures crafted in Amana including material goods, an exercised idealism, and let's not forget the tasty treats from the Chocolate Haus.

At the Chocolate Haus you can watch the candy makers dip caramel apples and make fudge among many other goodies

We ended the afternoon driving through the plains of Iowa and crossing over into Illinois so that I might catch a sunset view of Eero Saarinen’s cor-ten beauty in Moline. The John Deere Corporation Headquarters was relatively easy to find along John Deere Road where one might find John Deere Credit Union, John Deere Farm Supplies, or even the John Deere Gas Station. We arrived just in time to catch the last glints of sun as they reflected off of the tinted glass onto the velvety red surface of the patina-ed steel and, I kid you not, a doe grazing on the nice complimentary greens. Does John Deere Corp. plan this for visitors? Probably just coincidence, but I’d rather imagine that it’s a feature of the ride.