Indianola, Iowa

This being a circuit of Iowa I was hoping to camp in a cornfield every night. I succeeded my first four nights, but night five I ended up in a forest. It would have received the Daniel Boone seal of approval as a most genuine campsite other than the constant din of traffic, as I was cocooned in a patch of forest on the outskirts of Des Moines just off a bike path surrounded by bustling roads.  

There were cornfields nearby, but none offered a vacant strip of turf for camping, either between the rows or besides them. Woodlands are always more alluring than pastures, so I didn’t mind bringing my cornfield streak to an end, allowing me more freedom in my camping choices in the days to come. 

My original plan had been to make a late afternoon transit of Des Moines dropping in on its lone Carnegie on the Drake University campus, then escape to the Carnegie and the cornfields of Indianola seventeen miles to the south of the city. But road construction and hills delayed me, forcing me to camp a little early before plunging into the metropolis.

Instead of a four Carnegie day, it turned into just a pair. The first came after a four mile stretch of gravel with some mighty hills, part of a shortcut from Knoxville where I had stopped for it’s Carnegie the evening before. Unfortunately, it was Sunday so I couldn’t get a look inside. An addition to its side had just been completed. It’s former entrance had been turned into a patio. The large addition matched the original brick and roof, at first tricking one into thinking it wasn’t new until one saw the present-day, glassy entrance.

On the way to the next Carnegie in Pella while still on the gravel stretch, I came upon a sign at the summit of its steepest hill that warned “Don’t drown. Turn back if the road is flooded.” There had been rain the day before, but not enough for there to be any standing water. After I returned to the pavement I crossed a dam with a sign warning of crosswinds.

After surviving this treacherous stretch Pella was a welcome oasis. It was a Dutch settlement with windmills and tulips. It’s Tulip Parade earlier in the year had drawn Bernie Sanders. Democratic candidates have descended on the state, but that was the first evidence I’d encountered of their presence other than reading that Elizabeth Warren and Joe Biden had joined striking GM workers on the picket lines somewhere in the state. 

The Pella Carnegie was now its City Hall. As with the Carnegie in Knoxville, it’s original entrance had been transformed into a patio. It was the first of the six Carnegies I had visited so far that had Carnegie on its facade other than the Grinnell College Carnegie that called itself Carnegie Hall. But it wasn’t simply Carnegie Library, but Carnegie Viersen Library. Neither of the women at the nearby Visitor Center knew who Viersen was, but one thought the name might have referred to a women.

A librarian at the new library four blocks away confirmed that Viersen was a woman and that she provided the land for the library in honor of her father and contributed $6,000 to purchase books, a tidy sum, as the standard Carnegie bequest of $10,000 was enough to build the library, pillars and all.

It had had a couple of additions over the years, serving as the town’s library for nearly a century until the new sprawling library opened in 2000 at a cost of five million dollars. It is roomy enough to have a small glassed in home for ten tiny, colorful birds.  

Iowa is famous for a library that was home to a cat by the name of Dewey, named for the decimal system, but I knew nothing of these birds. Dewey’s former home was in Spencer in northwest Iowa, in the library that supplanted its razed Carnegie. It is near a cluster of other Carnegies, so I will stop by, if only to see the statue of Dewey out front.

A best-selling book (“Dewey: The Small-Town Cat Who Changed the World” from 2008), along with a children’s book, has been written about him. He was the star of a documentary on libraries with cats, and Meryl Streep was all set to star in a Hollywood production telling his story until the studio decided to pull the plug on the project. The birds of Pella were endowed by a local with an affection for birds. Their chirping provided pleasant background noise. Two couches were arranged facing their enclosure. 

Des Moines lay just twenty miles to the west, but first I had to angle northwest thirty miles to Colfax for its Carnegie. The town’s population had declined by five hundred to just over two thousand since its Carnegie was built in 1913, so it hadn’t had any additions, though it had the space for it, residing on a grassy block that it had all to itself. I was happy to see Carnegie’s portrait over the circulation desk, just the second I’d seen so far, the other in the entry to the first I visited in Marengo. I arrived shortly before a hoard of students just out of school all coming to use  the computers. Some had to wait. The librarian offered me a cold bottle of water. I asked where I might plug in my iPad. There aren’t many electric outlets in these buildings, but a strip had been added on a window sill beside a table. It would have been nice to hang out for the rest of the afternoon, but Des Moines beckoned.

After my night in the woods I continued on the bike path into the metropolis of 655,000, the 89th largest in the US. The rush hour traffic was minimal until I turned on to University Avenue leading to Drake. The campus was abustle with students. Jeans with slits in them was a popular garb. It’s former Carnegie Library lives on as Carnegie Hall housing various administrative offices including student financial planning.  

The librarian in Pella recommended I include a visit to the city’s former Main Library along the Des Moines River through the center of the city in my library quest even though it wasn’t a Carnegie. It was built in the Beaux Arts style inspired by Chicago’s 1893 Columbia Exposition and served as the city’s library for over one hundred years until 2006. It now houses the headquarters for the World Food Prize, an annual award founded by Nobel Laureate Dr. Norman Borlaug in 1986 to recognize the importance of a nutritious and sustainable food supply. The building was surrounded by well-kept gardens. In the background across the river was the gold-capped State Capital.

When I stopped at a Walmart on the way out of town for provisions, an elderly gentleman handed me a “Suffering from Addiction?” card. He was right about me being an addict, though I doubt he realized my addiction was to the bicycle. He said I could call the telephone number on the card any time and someone could come help me. I was tempted to hand him a twenty to help with his ministry, but just thanked him for his concern.

The Indianola Carnegie was now home to the offices of the city opera. It had a glassy addition to its rear. The new library was two blocks down the street. It distinguished itself with signs on its tables reading “A shared outlet is a happy outlet. Please be mindful of others who may need some power.”

Trying to find an outlet has become a theme of my travels. I had to search all over in a McDonald’s the day before to find an outlet. None of the employees would admit to knowing where one could be found. Finally another customer told me the only one was at an already occupied table. When I took it over a few minutes later, it wasn’t long before someone else asked me if he could connect his cord into the outlet as well.