I feel a little like a “Fake Midwesterner.” Although I have lived in Iowa now for 21 (almost 22) years and was born in the quaint city of Oshkosh, WI, my roots run deeply in Massachusetts. To add more fuel to the “fake” fire, I spent a number of years living in
California. I know, I know—I really MUST be a fake.
While moving to California was solely my Dad’s dream, I am glad that I met my husband there. But in 1989, with crime increasing and freeways clogging, we were looking for a safer place to raise our family. So despite the difficulty of moving to the Midwest with a carload of kids, a nervous Dachsund, and a Country Squire station wagon that broke down in Arizona, it was still the best thing our family could have done. We had moved to the “calm” after the California “storm.”
Iowa was (and is) our new home. At least by Iowa standards, I think we are still considered newcomers!
But that’s OK. We’ve made many forever friends here, even Carl and Becky who own a real John Deere tractor! I know it looks like we’re driving it…but not exactly. My husband Steve and I just know how to pose—not plow. (Is that what tractors do?)
Anyway, I try desperately to cover up my lack of farming skills. The best I can do is work in my perennial garden. That’s a joke in and of itself. The year we put Round Up all over our front lawn to make way for the English country garden I had long dreamed of, I’m certain our neighbors were having heart failure. I could just imagine my lawn-loving friends all over the block whispering about the crazy people down the street killing their grass off. Once word spread that we had lived in California, they probably nodded their heads knowingly and remarked, “So that’s why they’re so misguided…”
(See picture above of my "Field of Dream" Flowers!)
So fake our not, I am a Midwesterner by adoption. Just don’t let native Iowans know that I really don’t like football. They might disown me.