The Winter That (So Far) Wasn’t

I’ve been saving a particular topic for a while now. It’s something that is definitely cool in northeast Iowa. Downright frozen, in fact. I’m referring to the Iowa winters, which hold the record as the coldest winters I’ve ever gone through, and I’ve gone through northern Michigan winters. For those of you not accustomed to northern Michigan winters, you learn to get used to having three to four inches of snow dumped on you during the average snowfall, and temperatures below zero degrees Fahrenheit are pretty much a way of life until about April. I thought I knew all about cold and blowing and feeling as though you were lost in the Antarctic.

Then came Iowa, and Minnesota for that matter. Both places manage to get just as cold as northern Michigan, but northern Michigan has trees. You don’t know just how important trees are until you’re in a place where trees aren’t vast forests that spring up around you, but little clumps that occasionally appear on the horizon. Trees are the best windbreakers ever, and it’s only when you’re in an area with no trees do you realize how nice that is. Out here, windchill is a thing to be feared. I used to laugh when I would get email notices at my job telling us that schools were closed due to windchill, and then I tried walking from my apartment to the Cresco Fitness Center in the winter. I won’t say the decision almost killed me, but by the time I arrived at the gym I was praying that the weather would warm up at least a degree or two, or that the wind would stop blowing for five minutes. Admittedly, during the walk back the wind did stop blowing for a second or two, before starting right back up again. You may not believe me when I say the wind was consciously taunting me, and if you don’t you have never lived in Iowa.

Windchill takes a day which is only normally damned cold and turns it into weather you more commonly found in the Antarctic. It’s actually hazardous to go out when the windchill drops the temperature below -30, and after you’ve spent, say, five minutes having below freezing air cut through your lined pants as though they didn’t exist, you’ll develop an appreciation for the Great Indoors.

By itself the windchill would be bad enough, but then there are the blizzards. Northeastern Iowa attracts blizzards like cigarettes attract welfare queens, and once a blizzard comes through, all you can do is stay indoors. Granted, I say this as someone who has gone out during blizzards twice, and both times I’ve been confronted by snowdrifts that close off all but the middle of the road, miles of sheer ice and whiteout conditions that limit visibility to maybe ten feet in front of you if you are lucky. An Iowa blizzard can force pretty much all businesses to close for the day, and that includes fast food restaurants and gas stations.

So this winter, I was ready. I was going to document all the Iowa winter in its snow-filled, ice-coated business-closing glory. I was going to talk about the awful majesty nature can sometimes call forth, and how it makes me feel just a little less safe than I usually do, as though I’m at the mercy of what may be a capricious, random climate. I’m telling you all this information so that when I say that for the past month the weather has been absolutely beautiful you can get the full force of the irony. Most of the time, the weather has been in the 40s, which is positively balmy compared to your average winter. There has been some snow on the ground, which left the day after it came, and most people are out and about enjoying this weather.

If you were to ask most people how they feel about this weather, they’ll tell you they are relieved. Most people in Cresco look upon winter the same way Cinderella looked upon her evil stepmother—you have to live with her, but it’s always such a joy when she doesn’t show. On the other hand, people don’t seem to have altered their winter habits any, either. People are still cooped up inside, watching TV, and most people take care not to be outside for longer than they can help it. It’s like they’re on autopilot somehow. They know they don’t have to stay inside this winter, but they still do anyway. I have two theories about this.

The first theory is that everyone knows the weather is supposed to be colder and nastier, but no one really wants to come out and say so. We all know the weather’s doing all it can do to be winter around here, so why not just dress warmly and trundle to and from our cars everyday anyway? It’ll make the weather feel like it’s done its job.

The second theory is that, for all its inconvenience and pain, there are a lot of great things to do when you’re cooped up indoors. You can catch up on DVD and TV watching, for instance, or you can read that book that you’ve just never had the time to pick up. Winter is perhaps the best season for forcing people to relax, and while we could all just go about doing things outdoors and trying to get all the projects on our ever-present to do list done, it’s nice to have a season that forces us to relax for a bit. No one really wants to give that up. So we’ll gladly go to our homes, dressed warmer than we need to, and then kick off our shoes, pull up a chair and just relax. Some people will turn on the TV and watch the game. Others will fire up that new video game. Still others will finally watch that movie they’ve been wanting to for years. Others may also surf the web for a few hours, grateful that for a few weeks they have an excuse for spending so much time on it.

The Caucus Comes to Town

I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say Iowa is known for two things. One of them is corn. The other, of course, is the state’s position as first among the presidential caucuses. There has been a lot of discussion about whether or not Iowa deserves this position, but currently if a man or woman wants to get elected president, they have to go through Iowa first.

Personally, I’m okay with this. I know many people to consider Iowa a “kingmaker” state, as it were, even though NPR spent almost the entire day explaining why having the first presidential caucus means absolutely nothing and no one should be attaching any sort of significance to this other than to say this is how people feel now. That was either the most ironic or most Zen thing I believe I will ever hear in 2012.

What the political experts don’t seem to realize is that they’re the only ones smart enough not to care  that the Iowa caucuses don’t mean anything. They also don’t realize that this is where it all starts. It’s like the beginning of a race. The debates and the pressing of the political flesh on cable television networks were practice laps, that’s all. It was a chance to get the kinks out of the presidential candidates’ positions and let everyone see whose views were right for them. Now the race begins, and everyone wants to see who pulls ahead of the pack early.

This was why I found myself heading for the northeast Iowa Community College outreach center in Cresco on Tuesday night. I’d driven twelve hours more or less straight the day before, going through hell and blizzard-like conditions to get from Michigan to Iowa, and I kind of wanted to just kick back and relax a bit. Massaging my aching accelerator foot sounded like a good idea, too.

To be fair, the Democratic Caucus was also going on, albeit in a small town about ten miles to the north, but that was kind of boring. We all know who they’re going to elect. I mean, it’s not like Al Sharpton is going to get the surprise nomination. But the Iowa Republican caucus? This was going to be fun, especially given how extreme some of the candidates’ views are. Who would lionize Rick Santorum, for instance? Who was going to get up and speak on behalf of Michele Bachmann? Would anyone speak up on behalf of Mitt Romney?

Before we go on, I want to give a brief overview of how the Iowa Republican Caucus works. First, everyone gathers in a room where they are given the names of the presidential candidates. Each presidential nominee then has someone speak on his or her behalf. Sometimes, these people are specially sent by the nominees. Other times, someone who fervently believes in the nominee stands and delivers a quick speech. I was told by my contact who informed me about these caucuses that some of these speeches could be very moving.

The first thing that struck me about the Iowa Republican Presidential Caucus crowd was that some of them either don’t know how to park, or are simply jerks when it comes to parking. Listen, if you are going to an event that will be popular and there is limited parking, PARK BETWEEN THE LINES. Don’t nudge your car or truck just over the yellow line a bit, and if someone does that, then the person on the other side of the parking space shouldn’t nudge their car just over the yellow line to create a parking space between them that is only suitable for someone whose vehicle is an anorexic snake.

The second thing that struck me is the caucus was a very polite crowd. In the small lecture hall, people were talking and laughing, and while I did see one or two presidential stickers, for the most part it was low key. There weren’t any signs or banners, and at no time did a chant break out for one of the candidates. I hate to make this comparison, but the banality of it all reminded me of the Shirley Jackson story, “The Lottery.” Small town folks were cheerily talking amongst themselves, and in minutes they would make a decision that could potentially affect the direction of the United States. Yet here they were, treating it as though it were an ice cream social. This comforted me. These people may hold different beliefs than I do, but underneath it all they were still people, and at the end of the night it was pretty likely everyone was going to cast their vote and go home friends with everyone else.

The chairman of the Howard County Republican Party started things off. He got in a few digs at Barack Obama, which was to be expected and a lot less harsh than they could have been. He also welcomed everyone to the caucus, saying he was pleased to see such a large turnout. He also told the entirely Caucasian crowd that the Republican Party was a “Big Tent party,” with plenty of room for different beliefs and ideals. I think the irony escaped almost everyone in the room.

After that, he invited any designated representatives of the nominees to come up and speak. No one stood, and I have to admit I wasn’t that surprised. I have no idea how many votes Howard County is worth, but I suspect it’s not a lot. Besides, that meant that whoever got up to speak on behalf of the nominees would actually genuinely want them to be president!

I have to admit, I’ve followed the Republican debates and seen the rise and fall of pretty much every GOP nominee, followed by the same thoroughly predictable news story. From my point of view, I haven’t been impressed with the GOP candidates, and I’m worried that one or two of them might be certifiably insane. Then again, I don’t talk a lot about politics with people whose views are vastly different than mine. So this was not only a chance to see how presidential election politics worked, it was a chance to hear what the other side thought, so to speak.

So how were the speakers? All right. None of them were accomplished public speakers, except for the reverend who stumped for Rick Santorum. They all got to talk for about five minutes as to why they liked the candidate they liked, and all the candidates had someone willing to stand up for them except Newt Gingrich and Jon Huntsman. I was kind of expecting that Jon Huntsman wouldn’t be supported all that much, but Newt Gingrich not having anyone to support him? I almost wanted to raise my hand and volunteer, which was when it hit me—I could volunteer to speak for Newt Gingrich! I could volunteer to speak for Jon Huntsman! Not that I actually did. As much fun as it would have been to do five minutes of insulting Newt Gingrich, I’m pretty sure I would have gotten lynched. I’m also known to hold liberal views, so even doing a serious five-minute support speech would have drawn suspicion. Still, I could have done it if I had wanted to. That’s what really made me hold my tongue.  Imagine being able to get up and speak to a listening audience about why you feel someone should be elected President of the United States! That kind of power, accessible by anyone, deserves some respect.

During the speeches, I learned one or two interesting things, the most interesting of which was that Rick Santorum had visited the Cresco restaurant Su-Z-Q’s during his tour of the state. Personally, I think that’s a political gaffe that puts the whole Herman Cain adultery scandal to shame. If a man is so lost and lacking in judgment that he visits Su-Z-Q’s when he’s feeling hungry, then I don’t think he can possibly make a good president.

Finally, the speechifying was done, and it was time to vote. As I walked out of the caucus, I thought about what I’d seen. This is what the millions of dollars poured into presidential campaigns come to—a bunch of people sitting down and trying to make up their own minds. Some of them are smart, some of them are stupid, some are rich, some are poor, but all of them get a say and all of them get a vote. A flash of pride surged though me. As I drove home I passed Su-Z-Q’s. I thought I saw Rick Santorum in there, but I couldn’t be sure.