Transitions

It has been 5 years since my father, Jim Pollock (who wrote a weekly column titled “Transitions” for the Business Record), suddenly passed away from complications from chemotherapy. 5 years since I rushed home from my Americorps job in Denver to get a much needed final exchange of “I love you”, something rarely said between us. 5 years ago he made his final transition, on a cold gray morning, the sound and smell of rain drifting through the screen door. Since that time his family have all made transitions of our own. My brother went to Iowa State, my dad’s alma mater. My sister moved to Chicago, a city that our dad lived in for a few years and always loved to visit. My mom is working but has been great at getting out and traveling more, seeing the world. And I, I moved back to Des Moines.

For those first few years I lived downtown in studio apartments, places that my dad would scratch his head over and wonder why any Iowan would live in 400 square feet. Though, I know all doubts would be erased if I had showed him the view from the rooftop patio of the Des Moines Building. I felt closer to him, being able to walk his streets and skywalks. I wish I could have met with him over lunch during those days. I’ve been keeping a close eye as they turn the old Des Moines Register building, where he worked for 20 years, prior to The Business Record, into apartments.

He always told us that Des Moines was in its “Golden Age”. That was back in 2012 but I can imagine what he would say now: “Geez, two skyscrapers proposed for one location? Don’t they know we have plenty of space?”, “Exactly how many taprooms do you kids need?”and “You put a grocery store where?!”

My father was a man of many hobbies and since returning to Des Moines I do my best to keep up with some of them. He always inspired my photography and I’d like to think he would be proud of how far I’ve come. I try to keep up on my writing and although I’m sure he would enjoy the content, he would question me on some of my grammatical choices. I bike along the Chichaqua Valley Trail, wishing I had done this ride with him when I had the chance. However, his woodshop is still mostly sitting the same way he left it, projects left unfinished and collecting dust; and his tractor from his weekend hobby farming was sold 3 years ago.

So on this 5th anniversary of his passing I plan to take the day off work and celebrate my dad. I’m going to take some photos in his hometown of State Center, wander the streets of downtown Des Moines, and, at the end of the day crack open a cold Mountain Dew (one of his few vices) and read through his Business Record articles.

Those of us he left behind have made transitions: his family, his city, but as he once wrote, “It’s a big, bizarre world, but at least you get to watch from close up.”

Childhood Diagonally

Grass grows up through the cracks in the pavement. The road reaches towards a hilltop, a reach that it used to make but now falls short of, “dead end” signs proclaiming the new state of things. When I lived along this road it was bustling. We lost more family dogs than I care to count to that road. It never mattered how much my dad improved the fence, the allure of car tires always proved to be too much. This stretch of Hubbell Ave, also known as the diagonal for the way it slices through central Iowa, was just two lanes at the time. A nightmare for traffic. My mom was once on the evening news, showing a reporter into her closet where she kept a first aid kit for the many people who crashed outside of our home.

I have good memories of that stretch of road, too. When the flood of 1993 came and washed out a section of the road I got the joy of riding my blue Huffy bike wherever I pleased. A kid on his bike totally unaware of the hardships the flood had brought. The road was all mine, that’s what mattered. On cold school mornings the three of us kids, and usually a few cats, would wait at the end of the driveway for the school bus to pop over the hill and then rush past the fence as quickly as any of our dogs.

The road is a dead end now and we moved away 16 years ago. The state decided it was too dangerous and increased the two lanes to four. It would have wiped out my entire childhood neighborhood if they kept it on its current course. The acreage my parents owned would have been torn up. The small graveyard of family dogs would have been paved over, the road once again taking our poor dogs. It all would have been gone if not for Engeldinger Marsh on the other side of that hill. It was discovered that a number of rare butterfly species made their homes there. So the new road instead swung around my childhood and left it on a quiet dead end road. When people talk about “the butterfly effect” you never expect it to be so literal but here it is, a weird shadow of my childhood, preserved along a cracked and dormant highway thanks to those creatures.

I drive down that road on occasion, though I have no reason to. Mainly I want to reflect, to get a view of the old house, to remember those bike rides and the school bus coming over the hill. To remember those dogs, who would have loved this quiet stretch of nature now but were just born at the wrong time.

Skywalks

A Love Letter from Des Moines to the Downtown Skywalks.

We love you, Skywalks.

You give us shelter during the fridged times of the year. You make sure that we can traverse our grand downtown freely even when mother nature is calling for hibernation.

Even though your passageways are maze-like, we bask in the warmth of your mystery.

Our love is a wavering love, though, dear Skywalks.

Now that warm weather has come many of us will abandon you. We will be cruel in our breakup, calling you things like "complicated" and "stale". We will even wonder why you are there. Surely downtown would be more lively if we didn't have your dark corridors stifling sidewalk traffic.

Do not worry. Come late Autumn and especially Winter, we will all be back in your comfortable embrace.

Coming home

I wrote and submitted this as a letter to the Des Moines Register when I moved back to central Iowa in 2012. I figured this is as good a start to a blog as any.

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I left the Des Moines area 6 years ago for Cedar Falls, IA and the great school of Northern Iowa. When I left I was leaving a metro that I had by far failed to appreciate as a high school student whose idea of a fun time was popping over to Ankeny for a “Fast and the Furious” movie.

 I’ve matured. Thank God, I’ve matured. I enjoyed my time in Cedar Falls well enough. A pleasant college town with enough bars and college atmosphere to appease most students. Yet I was looking for more. A small town in Northeast Iowa was not going to be where I would end up living.

So I took the next reasonable step. A step any sane native central Iowan would take.  I moved to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Hot. Dry. A 30 minute drive to (Old) Mexico. I did my Americorps term of service there at a homeless shelter. I enjoyed the smell of roasting chili peppers and the beautiful culture of the area. If you ever want to find true hippies you should move to Las Cruces. The hipster pretension is gone because people really “haven’t heard of it yet” and that is the beauty of Las Cruces.

My term of service ran up and I was forced to move on to my next step. My next step ended up being a volunteer for another year, this time in Denver. I worked with injection drug users, junkies if you will. During this time I met some wonderful people. People like you an me, flawed but trying to find their way in this world. I would do street outreach with a backpack of condoms and safe shooting supplies and when I saw a groups of people under bridges I would go up to them and say hi. And you know what? They were all lovely!

So now I reach the present, the modern day, the current reality. I can’t milk the volunteering cow anymore. It is time to go forth and make reasonable amounts of money and live in a location for more than a year.

So where shall I head?

Des Moines. Yes, Des Moines.

Because in these last few years I have discovered and learned so much, yet Des Moines has always been in my heart.

A flourishing downtown, a great art scene, and a great economy; what’s not to love for a guy entering his mid-20’s?

Yes, Denver is beautiful, that Rocky Mountain view is breathtaking but the humble elegant beauty of Grey’s Lake or the East Village in Des Moines is my love.

Yes, Las Cruces has a beautiful, vibrant culture. But the honest and kind people of Iowa are what do it for me.. Des Moines is blossoming with a culture of its own and I cannot wait to be part of that, nor would I risk missing it.

So I am soon to return from my 6 year exodus from “The DSM”. I have loved my experiences out west. I have learned a lot about myself and about how I view the world. I have learned that Des Moines is where I want to be able to approach that beautiful skyline and say, “I’m home”.

I’m coming home, Des Moines. See you soon. 

(All photos are taken by the blogger)