Road Trip to the Field of Dreams -- Our Return Trip Back to Pasadena

On July 4, we said goodbye to the Hancock House.  To this point, we had carefully planned every day of our road trip. But we had absolutely no plans for how to get home. It was pouring rain as we made our way down to the Wayfarer in Dubuque's historic Millwork District .  We sat down with our coffees, Road Atlas and iPad expecting to plot a route back to Pasadena.  

Predictably, we spent far too much time at the Wayfarer.  Instead of planning a route home, my attention was diverted to an excellent exhibit around the corner from the Wayfarer.  The exhibit, titled Millwork Portraits, consisted of photographs and biographies of men and women who worked for decades in Dubuque's Millwork District. From roughly 1900 to the 1960's Dubuque was the nation's largest producer of windows, doors and other millwork.  After the '60's the plants started shutting down with the last company closing in 2014. The exhibit told the stories of the people who lived and worked in the city and of a once nationally prominent industry that was now gone.  The stories lent a context and history that made me appreciate Dubuque all the more.   

Still without detailed plans for our return home, we left Dubuque heading head south. We would figure it out along the way.  Fortunately, we already had tickets for that night (July 4th) to see the Cedar Rapids Kernals play the Quad City River Bandits and had reservations at an interesting Cedar Rapids BnB (Belmont Hill).  

At the Kernals game (photos above) we got our first real introduction to Midwest humidity.  Hot with some light rain, the temperature was a real feel of 100 degrees.  The heat didn't deter us or the capacity crowd that was there for Class A minor league baseball with fireworks after the game.  Mr. Shucks, the Kernal's mascot did a great job entertaining the crowd with the typical corny minor league mascot gags.   

 

While in the Cedar Rapids area, we visited the town of Olin, which was my grandfather's hometown.  The cemetery, where several relatives are buried, was on a hill which provided a sweeping view of the farms below.  The view of the surrounding farmlands was spectacular.  I recalled a few things my grandfather had said about growing up in Olin - about his work in a store, fishing on the Wapsipinicon River, and the "two-seater" they had as an outhouse.   

We had a great breakfast at Belmont Hill where our hosts regaled us with stories of the 2020 derecho that destroyed half of Cedar Rapids' tree canopy.  We left Belmont Hill later than expected but enjoyed visiting with the hosts and other guests. We were completely without plans. So we visited the Amana Colony which was on the way to Des Moines.  I suppose seeing the woolen mill was the highlight.    They had a couple of interesting coffee and pastry shops, but the seating was closed off apparently due to Covid concerns.  In retrospect, I wished we would have gone to the living history farm instead.  

I was a bit weary as we got to Des Moines.  We had gotten a late start, it had rained all day, Amana Colony was disappointing, and we had travelled all of 120 miles. It was getting dark and raining so hard we could not read the street signs.  We needed a hotel and desperately needed a laundromat too. We headed south on highway 35 and somehow found a hotel in West Des Moines.  As the day's luck would have it, the hotel was nowhere near a laundromat. After some searching and driving, we felt our way to a laundromat and something to eat. The day ended in more than a little frustration. 

But, the morning was a new day.  Skies had cleared.  We stopped at Caribou Coffee and hopped back on highway 35. Of course, we never did plan our route home.  Maybe part of my resistance to a plan a route home was that I wasn't yet done with Iowa.  I enjoyed the green countryside, rolling hills and streams.  I wanted to explore the Mississippi north of Dubuque, tour farms, visit the Herbert Hoover home, check out Iowa City and there was more to do in Dubuque beginning with the Tiffany windows at St. Lukes.  

Alas, more Iowa would have to wait for another time.  We pointed the car south and hoped to make it to the Eisenhower Presidential Library in Abilene, Kansas.  But our next stop would be someplace I did not expect: 

   

Road Trip to Field of Dreams -- Day 8 - at the Field of Dreams

The day started with breakfast in the dining room. The Hancock House is a true mansion.  Elegant and richly appointed, the dining room instantly transports you back to the late 1800's and way up in social class. Simon is the perfect host and a captivating storyteller.  Once all guests were seated and had coffee, he regaled us with a very lively history of Dubuque and the Hancock House.  

At the table, my big surprise came to life as our two kids walked in to join us for breakfast.  They had caught a flight from Dallas to Cedar Rapids (how many can there be?), rented a car and drove out to Dubuque.  Near midnight they had knocked on our door and in a sleepy groggy state, I opened the door.  They were so out of context, and I was so sleepy I did not believe what I was seeing.  Did they know they were in Iowa?  Or was this some kind of dream?  Well, the next morning in the Hancock House dining room, the dream became real.  All four of us were together in someplace we had never been.  We were in Iowa, having breakfast at the Hancock House mansion.  And we were going to the Field of Dreams.  Crazy!  

 After breakfast, our family headed west.  It felt good to have all four of us in one car.  That's a routine thing when they were young.  I am probably speaking just for me, but I loved those family road trips.  Once the kids grow up, those trips together are but warm memories.  Getting the whole family in the car is not so easy.  

We drove up and over the Dubuque bluffs.  Now, with the Mississippi River behind us, green farmland all around and the Field of Dreams ahead, in many ways my trip was complete.  More than I could have imagined.  

We passed through the farm towns of Peosta, Epworth and Farley, then turned off 20 and headed north on Jamesmeier Rd., then left on Prier and north on Black Hills. This was rural Iowa.  Endless corn fields.  A few farmhouses and silos. Signage is thankfully spare.  Black Hills dead-ends into Lansing Road and a left turn takes you to the Field of Dreams.  The Field is on part of the old Lansing family farm.

We turned up the driveway and found a parking place among rows of cars on a bumpy dirt lot.  I saw license plates from many states.  Cars parked and families piled out.    

The four of us unloaded from our car.  We grabbed our lawn chairs, gloves and baseball.  Along with everyone else, we headed out to the Field.    

As in the movie, the baseball field is framed by rows and rows of green corn.  Marcia and I had just travelled through Nebraska and most of Iowa so we had seen a lot of corn.  Nothing particularly special there.   As for the baseball field -- it's basic, just a backstop, dirt infield and grass.  I've seen hundreds.  It is all so ordinary, I thought. But, somehow magical too. I watched as parents and kids, brothers and sisters, old and young, played catch out on the field.  To my southern California senses, the sky was more blue, the white of the clouds more brilliant and the grass and corn greener than anything I was used to.  To me it was unmistakable.  There was a mysterious beauty about this baseball field - this Field of Dreams.  

The four of us found a spot along right field, put down our chairs and walked out onto the outfield to play catch.  We had brought our gloves -- one borrowed from Uncle John, a used one from Play it Again, a new softball glove and my ancient Wilson.  The four of us spread out across right and center, throwing and catching the ball as we moved.  

I suppose, I've played catch thousands of times, with hundreds of people and in countless places -- backyards, front yards, streets, schools and fields.  But, never on the Field of Dreams. And never with my whole family.  Although it felt good to catch and throw the ball.  This catch was not really about the catching and throwing.  This was about the people -- my wife and kids - who journeyed with me to this place.  

It's not just me. For more than 30 years, the Field of Dreams has been home base for the Ghost Players, which is a troupe of local baseball players who have travelled the globe with a baseball comedy show and more.  We had planned our Field of Dreams visit to see a Ghost Players performance.  They did not disappoint.  Wearing replica 100-year-old White Sox jerseys, they recreated the movie scene where White Sox players of long ago come out of the corn and jog onto the field.  There was an inspiring speech from the Ghost Players' catcher, then they entertained the crowd with cornball skits.  After the show, we took a picture with the team.

Last August, baseball writer extraordinaire, Benjamin Hill, wrote about the Ghost Players. He interviewed longtime Ghost Player Larry Shieltz, from Peosta.  Larry talked about why they still carry on after 30 years: "What we do mirrors the movie.... It's about redemption and second chances. And the message to take the time to say, "I love you." or to thank somebody.  That's what we really preach in our daily routine and what the Ghost Players are about."   

Before I end this historically (at least in the annals of east of allen) long post, I want to revisit the movie's story line.

In Field of Dreams, an Iowa farmer (Ray Kinsella) is prompted by a mysterious Voice to do the exact opposite of what a farmer is supposed to do.  Moved by the Voice and at the risk of losing his farm, he plows under his crop of corn to build a baseball field.  The farmer's obedience to the Voice results in a baseball field where dreams come true.  Initially others' dreams come true. Shoeless Joe Jackson gets to play baseball again. Moonlight Graham, who played one inning in the majors but never got to bat, gets to bat.  A tired old writer named Terrance Mann, who dreamed of playing in Ebbets Field, recovers his passion for writing and is invited to join the players in the corn.  

As for Ray, the Voice had promised, "If you build it, he will come," and "ease his pain."   In the movie's closing scene, we find out what the Voice meant.  We learned earlier in the movie that Ray's greatest regret was telling his father that Shoeless Joe, his father's hero, was a criminal and then refusing to play catch with his father.  The regret was sealed when his father died before Ray could make things right. In the final scene, Ray's father appears at the Field and father and son play a game of catch that heals the decades-old regrets.  The story has come full circle as we realize that the catch is healing to his father, but pain the Voice really spoke of was Ray's own pain.     

But that's not all of it.

When Shoeless Joe first comes to the Field, he asks Ray, "Is this heaven?"  Bemused, Ray responds, "No, it's Iowa."   In the closing scene, the same question is asked.  Just before the two have their catch, his father asks Ray, "Is this heaven?"  Ray again says, "It's Iowa," but then asks his father, "Is there a heaven?"  His father responds, "Oh yeah, it is the place dreams come true."  At this point, the music rises and Ray slowly turns to scan his farm with his eyes finally resting on his wife and daughter who are sitting on the porch swing.  Ray smiles as he realizes that maybe his dreams are coming true and maybe his little farm and family is, for him, heaven. 

Is it any wonder there is a line at the Field for pictures on the porch swing?   As we finished our house tour, we waited for a family photo on the porch.  There is nothing formal about it, but one family takes the photo of another and so on.  The family ahead of us was down from Minneapolis and I took their picture.  In turn, they took our family photo. 

So, these posts of our road trip cross country to the Field of Dreams ends with a family picture on a porch, which is really the whole point of the matter. We travelled 2,000 miles to Dyersville, Iowa.  But, it was never about Iowa.  It was about dreams and, most important, it was about family. In a wonderful way, our big road trip ended exactly where it started months earlier at our home in Pasadena when, with my family around, Marcia gave me that extraordinary birthday gift.