When the company of Vaudeville comedian Herb Williams arrived at Sioux City, Iowa, in 1926, sisters Eunice and Nelle Adams were at the front of the line to buy tickets. After the first show, a performer named Robert Q. began flirting with them. Robert asked Eunice for a date, followed by another one or two before the troupe left for its next booking in Chicago. Then Robert wired Eunice, "The show is headed for Europe. If you want to come along, let's get married."
Eunice, a 19-year-old with deep Iowa farm roots, was ready for adventure. She accepted the proposal, despite the 10-year age difference and the prospect of a vagabond lifestyle. The European tour was followed by a few years of setting up housekeeping in Brooklyn, NY and later, Long Island. Then Robert's brother wrote him about the wonderful opportunities he had found in California. Eunice and Bob packed up their two young sons, Bill, and Bobby, and headed for San Diego in 1937.
They were in good company. Eunice, my mom's first cousin, joined the Iowa diaspora in the Golden State. Her move there launched a century-long, four-generation, cross-country circuit between our place-bound Iowa family and our transplanted Iowa cousins in California.
In fact, a tradition called the Iowa Picnic originated in Long Beach in 1887. Attendance peaked in 1932, with 125,000 Iowa expats. They boiled corn on the cob, played the "Iowa Corn Song," highlighted famous Iowans in history, and enjoyed traditional Iowa picnic fare. Every now and then, when Eunice was homesick, she ventured there to meet other former Iowans.
By 1940, Mom, her sister, her sister's two children, and Grandma wanted to see what all the fuss was about. They left Sioux City on July 14, with my aunt at the wheel of her green Studebaker. They saw the sights throughout South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Utah, Nevada, staying at camp cabins along the way. They reached the California coast, and arrived at San Diego on July 29. Eunice was waiting for them, with her sons. They visited Balboa Park and the San Diego Zoo, and crossed the Bay on a ferry to Coronado Island. Robert arrived home later after work. "When we all gathered round the table, we looked like a bunch of Iowa threshers and think we ate as much," wrote my mom in her travelogue.
Eunice may have left Iowa for good, but she cherished her Iowa roots and the loved ones left behind. She returned through the years, at first with her sons, and later with her grandchildren. Sometimes she brought hand-me-downs from Lois, her daughter-in-law-- colorful, stylish, flowing ensembles and gypsy skirts. My sister and I loved playing dress-up in them. Eunice and her siblings inherited Iowa farmland, renting it to the same family for decades. In the early 1950s, son Bill attended the University of Iowa for a couple of years, and he would make visits to the family farm.
A collection of vintage postcards sent to us by our California cousins, as well as postcards mailed by visiting Iowa relatives, are a testament to this enduring family connection. Many feature the Spanish-style Exposition architecture at Balboa Park, the Naval Air Station on North Island, the San Diego Zoo, the Missions, and Hotel Del Coronado. These postcards offered us Iowa farm kids a glimpse of a larger world, and far-away, exotic places.
The years turned into decades of revolving visits. My 89-year-old grandma flew to San Diego to see them in the late 1960s. By that time, both of Eunice's siblings had retired to nearby Escondido. After Grandma and Mom died in the late 1970s, Eunice's newsy letters continued, preserving a shared link to our departed loved ones.
Iowa, Here We Come!
When Bill's brother drove across Iowa on a cross-country trip in 1988, he posed for a photo with the Belgian Draft Horses at Stan's folks' farm. Two years later, I had the opportunity to attend a San Diego conference while writing for Successful Farming. I stayed one night with Eunice at her home, and Bill and his wife Judi drove me to Escondido where I picked a few backyard oranges to take home.
Eunice passed away in 2000, at the age of 94. Later that year, 11 California cousins returned to Iowa to lay her to rest in the family plot in Sioux City, beside her husband, parents, and brother. We picnicked near the Smithland homeplace in Woodbury County, climbed the stairs to the bedroom of the farmhouse where Eunice was born, and visited the pioneer cemetery. We had fun debating whether we were second cousins, third cousins, or once or twice removed!
Six Californians, including Bill's granddaughters drove over two hours from there to our farm in Boone County. They wanted their granddaughters to experience farm life. Daughter Michelle took videos of the girls with our pigs, lambs, cattle, and goats, and they watched the oats and hay being harvested. We obliged Michelle's husband, Tony, a native Australian, who asked to play a game of horseshoes (he had heard it was a common Iowa pastime). Our cousins were awed by the power of a June thunderstorm, and captivated by the nocturnal debut of fireflies. On the way home, Bill's daughter Michelle recorded her daughters' best Iowa memories on a paper napkin, and filed it away at home.
Two years later, at our cousins' urging, my family traveled there, and our daughters enjoyed the same postcard-perfect sights as earlier generations. We visited another cousin, Steve, and reminisced about how he had brought his accordion during his Iowa farm visit as a youngster. We went swimming in his backyard pool, and extended our kinship one more generation.
In 2014, Bill and Judi planned a driving trip to the Midwest, and arrived on a perfect July day at the outdoor wedding of our older daughter.
20 Years of Change
After weeks of rain and floods in California, my husband and I and our daughters caught a break and flew to San Diego last week. We were delighted to see Bill, now 91 years, and his wife Judi, along with their daughter Michelle and her husband, Tony.
Bill gave us a driving tour of his boyhood haunts, and regaled us with stories that underscored the changes in San Diego over the decades. As young teens, Bill and Bobby delivered newspapers by bicycles for several years. "On weekends, we'd use our neighbors' bus passes to ride the trolley, jumping on and off, ending up on Orange Avenue at Coronado," he recalled. "San Diego was such a safe town."
We strolled through Balboa Park, and stopped at the Starlite Theatre, where Bill and Judi first met. She was a dancer in the summer musicals. Bill, an aspiring actor, had returned from the Army that summer, and needed to buy a car. He took a job helping his stage-technician dad there. Judi went on to dance in the chorus for a 1957 Mitzi Gaynor show called The Joker's Wild, as well as with Gene Kelly in "The Big Circus." Bill acted in local theatre, including a show at The Old Globe with Ginger Rogers. We ended the day at sunset at Coronado.
Along the way, we discovered unexpected connections. A few years ago, Michelle was convinced by a good friend to become a Green Bay Packer fan; our daughter's husband is a diehard fan. Ole, a friend who sings in the church choir and works as a physician, peppered me with farm questions when he learned I had been a writer for Successful Farming. He wants Michelle and Tony to partner with him to start a truffle farm. Michelle and my sister's daughter both are small animal veterinarians. My sister and Michelle both have daughters who are vegetarians.
But we also found that over the years, in some ways, we Iowa farm folks have traded places with our city cousins. They gather fresh eggs from two chickens in their backyard shed, and raise a small garden with Bok choy, carrots, lettuce, spinach, onions, and herbs. On the other hand, we buy ours at the store. Unlike us, they shop for organic products at Trader Joe's.
Not surprisingly, over the past 35 years, Iowa natives living in California have passed away, moved away, or shockingly, become Californians. The Iowa Picnic has been shrinking. In 2020, it only drew 160 former Iowans (although Covid-19 could have been a factor). Today they no doubt rely on Facebook to keep in touch. Bill never attended the Iowa Picnic, and Michelle wasn't aware of it. Both of her daughters are currently finishing graduate school or working a state or two away. One is being married this spring, and Michelle and Tony are unsure if they'll return to California.
"Our neighbors across the street are Iowans," Bill told us. "Lovely people."
Challenges amidst the Charm
Although it's still a beautiful city, San Diego in 2022 is a far cry from the sunny paradise that lured Iowans in the 1930s. California, once the destination of dreamers and strivers, is experiencing its own exodus. In 1960, half of California residents were born in another U.S. state; it dropped to 18% in 2014. Our trip illustrated the state's looming challenges:
·      We visited the Mission Trail Regional Park, one of the largest urban parks. It features hiking trails on Cowles Mountain, only 12 miles from downtown. Packed with people late that afternoon, we snagged the last parking spot. One attraction was the sight of water running over the Old Mission Dam historical site for the first time in several years.
·      Bill and Judi drove us past the home his brother had purchased in the early 1960s for $25,000. Our daughter checked on Zillow -- it's now worth $1.2 million.  We saw granny flats (with rent restrictions) being built in backyards in response to limited affordable housing. Some neighbors want a moratorium because of the fear it'll destroy single family neighborhoods.
·      I read several editions of The San Diego Union-Tribune, and noticed a Letter to the Editor asking where the city will find water for new homes? News articles quoted critics who say that $10 million from the federal government to cull and burn forest undergrowth on the front lines of climate change won't stop fires; other stories suggested the health risks of small smoke particles from wildfires; one called out the number of Californians who lack of flood insurance.
·      Two days after we returned, we received a text from Michelle reporting that the Santa Ana winds had arrived, and an 80-foot eucalyptus tree had fallen where they had parked their car while we were strolling Balboa Park. The Park was closed for a day and a half because 30 other trees had been blown over. The ground, saturated with rainfall, had loosened the roots.
Facing Iowa's Critical Future
It's our cousins' turn now, along with their two daughters, to visit us. They, too, will find that the state of Iowa has changed dramatically over the past two decades. Agriculture and family farming is at the forefront of significant change, along with public school reorganizations and closures, the decline of small towns, small churches, and traditional department stores. However, we still have the cold winters that Iowa expats were happy to escape!
Eunice instilled a love of Iowa in the hearts of her sons. In turn, they breathed life into her memories of a farm heritage as their legacy to the next two generations. My brother and I are the last cousins to own farmland, although now it's rented to others. We have a small cow-calf herd, grow hay, and sell beef quarters and halves.
When we gather again, no doubt our family landscape also will have shifted, leaving empty seats around the farm table.
I'm not sure if it's common for families separated by 1,800 miles to maintain their ties for almost one century. But we hope that someday our children and grandkids may meet again in Iowa and introduce a new generation of family members to one another, share memories, and stories about farming. "Your farm is my idea of everything a farm should be," Judi told us during their visit here in 2000. I hope during their next visit, the Iowa they remember, and the family farms they know and appreciate can be found.
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Unfinished Business
What a delightful read and such a lovely story of family history and connections. Thank you!
I enjoyed reading this story so much, Cheryl. Thank you.