How quickly things change

I was driving from Grundy Center to my house in Conrad when I heard what at first seemed completely unbelievable: a tornado had smashed through downtown Marshalltown and left millions of dollars worth of damage in its wake. People I knew were directly affected, but the best news came through when it was reported that there were no serious injuries.
           
It still doesn’t quite some real. Tornadoes happen—as we’ve learned in the last decade, often right in our own backyards—and yet the images of destruction hit home, both for their proximity and their immediacy. Before I’d had time to sit down and eat dinner, I’d watched at least 10 viral videos on Facebook (including one in Bondurant that showed a dad urging his family to take shelter while he got the perfect shot of the storm), seen hundreds of photos and realized that this wasn’t just another run of the mill funnel cloud that touched down in the middle of the country and took out a few rows of corn. We were dealing with the real thing.
           
But almost immediately, I had a good feeling that the people who were trained to respond to these sorts of situations would do what they do best. They did, and even though Kellie didn’t end up having to go back to work, I know she would have.
           
I heard stories of doctors from Conrad and Grundy Center dropping everything and getting to Marshalltown despite an increasingly restricted amount of excess meant to keep out the vultures who only wanted to drive around and take photos and videos for social media. I saw photos of the Iowa State football team cleaning up the wreckage (from a Hawkeye fan, respect), and everywhere I looked, there were good people helping each other without expecting anything in return.
           
Still, difficult days lie ahead: when the initial rah-rah community spirit dies down, it will take massive amounts of money both public and private to restore the infrastructure and businesses along Main Street. Hundreds of workers at one of Marshalltown’s oldest employers will have to wait weeks before they can resume their jobs.
           
There are no easy answers, and PR campaigns and feel good sentiment can’t fix everything. But Marshalltown is a tough place: it’s changed a lot over the last few decades, and it continues to grow. Most communities in Iowa can’t say the same for themselves.

           
So, to everyone who helped, know that your actions won’t go unnoticed. And to everyone with a stake in deciding the future, good luck. It’s an unenviable task, but the work won’t stop anytime soon.

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I think I’ve been at The Grundy Register long enough and been to enough of the fairs here that I can safely admit I wasn’t a fair kid growing up in Buena Vista County.
           
When we moved across the state from Maquoketa in 2000, we left the acreage where I fondly recall chasing cows around and trying to hit a baseball at the barn, settling in town in Alta. I drifted away from the old life and relished the opportunity to walk to the pool, hang out with friends without planning it three days in advance and have access to more than three television channels.
           
And of course, there was the hardly kept secret that our county fair—held right down the road from my house—was the ugly stepsister compared with our neighbors to the north in Clay County. If you haven’t heard, it’s the largest one in the world, and they love to remind you of that.
           
Nowadays, fair week is long, and I’m usually exhausted by the end of it. But even if I’ll never understand exactly what a judge is looking for in a heifer or a production chicken, I’ve gained a ton of respect for the kids and parents who put so much of their time and effort into preparing for the big showcase in hopes of advancing to Des Moines in August.
           
It’s a labor of love and a series of special moments for the dedicated participants, whether they walk home with a blue ribbon or red. But in light of the circumstances, I want to make sure I shout out one of the kids I’ve seen so frequently over the years who didn’t get to be there last week.
           
When I think of the Grundy County Fair, I think of Trent Greiner. He’s been showing for as long as I can remember, and as most of you probably know, he was involved in a horrible accident that sent him to Iowa City. As I said of the tornadoes earlier, however, the most important fact is that he’s alive.
           
I don’t know Trent on any sort of personal level, but just by watching him during my time here, I know how much the fair means to him. It must’ve broken his heart not to be there, and I’m hopeful and optimistic that he’ll be back next summer.
           
To the Greiner family—and especially Trent’s twin Bryce, who showed his brother’s animals—thanks for reminding me what the fair is all about.