Thomas Wolfe certainly thought it was difficult. I know that I have tried to return home a number of times before.  Each time, these attempts have met with an important realization – the realization that the place where I once belonged, the place that had been central to my existence, was no longer home.

Yet, a couple of weeks ago my wife and I tried to return to one of our former homes.  You know what?  It felt much more like home than either of us expected.

Other than my hometown, no place has been as central to my life as Iowa City. I lived there for nearly 11 years.  It’s the place where I met my wife, got married, and made a number of lifetime friends.

In some ways, the importance of Iowa City to my life has been evident for some time.  Yet, it’s influence on my life, on my identity, has also been questionable.  After all, I had a love/hate relationship with the town while I lived there.  There was so much to like about it.  It was an easy place to live.  There was good music, good restaurants, and a myriad of interesting people.  Yet, it was never home.

During the time I lived in Iowa City, I always planned to live somewhere else.  It was supposed to be a mere stop in my life, the place where I completed my PhD.  Yet eventually, as dictated by the tenure track, I was going to leave.

Yet, even after I decided to jump off the merry-go-round of academe, I still didn’t plan on being there forever.  For all of the great qualities about Iowa City – and there are many – I wanted to live somewhere bigger, somewhere more exciting.  For years I wanted to live in St. Louis, or somewhere similar.  I wanted the feel of the neighborhoods, the multitude of restaurants, the music venues filled with artists regularly playing.

That’s why I was so surprised by how comfortable it felt to return for the weekend.  I love living in St. Louis.  It’s home.  But, perhaps for the first time in my life, I could also see how easily Iowa City could’ve been home for us for a long period of time.  Maybe even the rest of our lives.

I’ll admit that freaked me out a bit.

Yet, it hasn’t been home for nearly four years.  That time away has given me the time to reflect on life there.  I’ve had the opportunity to get a lot of perspective on Iowa City during that time.

After taking a few weeks to mull over our visit, here are a few of my random musings on Iowa City.

I didn’t appreciate New Pi Co-Op nearly enough while I lived there.  Ok, I’ll admit it.  I first joined the co-op in Iowa City because of peer pressure.  I didn’t join because of some larger commitment to worker justice or more sustainable farming practices.  I didn’t even join because of the selection of products available there.  Nope, I joined simply because my friends were members and wouldn’t stop talking about it.

Over time, I started to buy more food from the Co-op.  I started to love the eclectic product selection, especially in the grab-and-go case.  At different times, we even verged on being regulars at New Pi, especially when we needed a fix of their Kung Pao Tofu!

No, it took moving away for me to see what a treasure New Pi is!  After two years of driving around Wisconsin & Minnesota, I found a number of great small co-ops in Duluth, LaCrosse, and Viroqua.  But none of them had overall ambiance or supply of products of the New Pi.  We also became members of the Willy Street Co-Op in Madison.  Yet, after a couple of years occasionally shopping there, I gave up on the store.  There was no comparison between the two stores.  New Pioneer simply was better.

Now that we’re out of the Upper Midwest, there are no nearby co-ops.  Sure, St. Louis has it’s share of interesting grocers/farmers markets/CSAs.  But there’s no place like New Pioneer.

The titles many change.  The coffee is different.  But Prairie Lights still feels the same.  A marriage between an English major and a PhD is bound to result in a household full of books.  We’re no different.  Our most recent move contained well over 30 boxes of books.  Most of these books come from one place – Prairie Lights.  Separately – and then together – Laura and I spent too much time and money in the esteemed Iowa City independent bookseller.

It was such an integral place to me that I even had a routine for shopping in the store.  And I’d rarely walk out without purchasing something – a book, a magazine, or even a cup of coffee.

Walking back into Prairie Lights felt like I was returning to my personal library.  And it should.  I probably spent more time there during my Iowa City tenure than I did in the UI library.  Yes, the cafe is different.  It does feel strange – almost sacrilege – to not have the Java House upstairs.  Yet, it remains one of my favorite bookstores.

The Java House can still pour a great cup of coffee.  Sometimes I’m asked what is my favorite cup of coffee?  Geez, what a tough question.  I’ve never been able to narrow the list of favorite places for coffee down to just one.  Shops like Kaldi’s, Northwest, Alterra, Intelligentsia are all amongst my favorites.

The Java House is where I first learned to drink coffee.  Not the bottomless cups of bland, diner-style coffee that kept me going during my all-night study sessions in college.  No, the Java House is where I became a coffee snob.

Over many hours of studying in their cafes, I started to develop my coffee palate.  I understood that difference in taste between different roasts.  And I started to establish my favorites.  It opened my eyes to the possibility of how a great roast can make an outstanding cup of coffee.  It was the Java House that made my love of artisan coffees possible.

While Iowa City might remain the cultural hub of the south end of the “corridor,” the economic engine is moving to Coralville/North Liberty.  In August, 1998, Iowa City changed forever.  Sure, that was the month I moved to town, started my PhD program, and became familiar with all too many downtown restaurants and bars.

More importantly, it was two weeks before I moved to Iowa City that the Coral Ridge Mall opened in the bedroom community of Coralville.  While there was plenty of angst at the time about the impact of the mall on downtown Iowa City, I don’t recall even the rosiest of predictions about how this would change the area coming close with the reality of how the Coral Ridge Mall changed the economic geography of the “corridor.”

When it opened fifteen years ago, Coral Ridge was, for all practical purposes, situated on the edge of a field.  There were some factories/warehouses nearby, but there was no other retail – and very few offices – in the area.  North Liberty was a small town, clearly separate from Coralville and disconnected from the interstate.  Iowa City was the dominant economic center of the southern portion “corridor,” home to not only the University of Iowa and its attendant functions, but also home to most of the economic activity in the area.

Fast forward fifteen years and not only has Coral Ridge attracted more retail to the area, but it is seemingly remaking where people work .  As we drove along the interstate between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City, the area was slowly filling in with commercial and office space.  Most notably, a new facility for the University of Iowa Community Credit Union located near the Heartland Express headquarters caught my eye as we traveled along the interstate.

While the addition of new auto-oriented suburban shopping in Coralville and North Liberty doesn’t surprise me as much, the presence of new office space caught me off guard.  Maybe I was naive, but I always figured that Iowa City would keep many of the office functions. And, as the area grew, I thought that much of the growth would occur along north Dubuque Street – not along the interstate.

When coupled with the slow, but apparent success of the Iowa River Landing, it seems increasingly certain that while Iowa City will likely remain the cultural center of the area, the momentum in Coralville/North Liberty is likely going to have a long-term impact on not only where people live and shop, but where people work.

The infatuation with soulless highrises is destroying the character of downtown Iowa City.

Ok, maybe that’s a bit of hyperbole.  Or maybe I’m just becoming a middle-aged curmudgeon.  Either way, I find the continued Moenization of downtown Iowa City to be a sad phenomenon, a development trajectory that is destroying the fabric that once attracted me to this great college town.

It’s not that I have a problem with the construction of high-rises in Iowa City (though I do find a fourteen story, postmodern glass tower juxtaposed with a one story office across the street to be a study in issues of urban scale).  In fact, there are several historic high rises – most notably, the Jefferson Building – that fit well into the downtown landscape.

Rather, I have two issues with the proliferation of highrises built in downtown Iowa City.  First, much of the construction (with the Moen developments being the obvious exceptions) are a great example of homogeneous banality that characterizes much of the design permeating downtown Iowa City.  Many of the student apartments built over the last fifteen years seemingly have come from the same bad book of design.  There’s little creativity in what’s built and many of the ground level commercial spaces seem added only as a way to meet zoning requirements.

Without a doubt, the greatest crime to aesthetics and common-sense development in downtown Iowa City is the monstrosity that has been built in the former location of the Red Avocado.  Not only did the developers destroy a unique, pedestrian friendly local business that helped keep Iowa City weird, but what they built in its place is a horrible, misfit of a building with no spaces for effective street life.

While an aesthetic critique of downtown Iowa City is possible, my second issue with much of the downtown development of the last decade is more substantive.  Namely, I’m critical of the trajectory of development in downtown Iowa City, a trajectory exemplified by the plans the Moen Group has made and executed in the downtown area.  And while I do applaud the Moen Group for their aesthetic concerns and for their attempts to create spaces for social interaction, the spaces they are creating are homogenized spaces, playgrounds for the wealthy that have scrubbed the eclectic, unique, and even weird entities that otherwise fill college and university towns.

Sure, it’s great to see that his newest project will include a small, local art house theater.  That’s surely one way to keep some of the weirdness in Iowa City.

Yet, Iowa City – at least the place where I spent a significant portion of my life – is not supposed to be a hamlet filled with glistening skyscrapers containing fashionable condos/hotels and shops peddling the latest in wealthy middle American status symbols.  No, Iowa City – like all college towns – is supposed to be a place that moves beyond the fancy trends of the day; a place where experimentation is not only encouraged, but it is possible.  It’s the type of place where artist collectives can start, co-op groceries begin and thrive, and bands are able to play live music in sketchy bars.

Instead, what’s being built through these glistening high rises is a spit-shined, managed downtown landscape.  With these structures, Iowa City is building an urban theme park, a place that privileges certain types of businesses and activity – namely, those that can afford the significant rents of these structures.  Oftentimes, these are chains.  And while a superficial examination of downtown seemingly shows a place that is thriving, much is lost.  In its place, Iowa City slowly becomes another quasi-hipster playground that looks as much like Lincoln Park as it does Iowa City.

Though it’s not the fanciest place in town, by far the best restaurant addition to IC is Oasis the Falafel Joint.

Over the last fifteen years, many restaurants have come and gone in Iowa City.  The Red Avocado.  126.  Pizza on Dubuque. Josephs.  Other places such as the Breadgarden and Motley Cow Cafe have relocated and expanded.  Yet, there’s no other place I’d rather visit when visiting than Oasis the Falafel Joint.

By far the best hummus I’ve still ever had is what they make at Oasis.  On top of the hummus, Oasis uses fluffy pitas from Chicago’s North Shore Kosher Bakery, they make their falafel fresh daily, and they allow you to douse your falafel in a mango curry sauce.

Hmmm, wonder if they deliver to St. Louis?

A 15 minute drive across town with little traffic feels crazy.

I hadn’t realized how much I’ve adapted to life in St. Louis until we spent two days scurrying around Iowa City.  After spending the last eighteen months navigating the daily demolition derby of the St. Louis rush hour, a sprint across Iowa City seemed easy.  It hit me as I turned onto Riverside Drive from Burlington – there was no traffic!  This realization occurred at one of the intersections I used to avoid because of the traffic!

I’m sure rush hour is worse that what I experienced on a Saturday afternoon.  But it no longer compares to what I see on a regular basis.

Why do people keep building new structures along the Iowa River?

As I compose this post, the Iowa City area is under the threat of another flood.  It doesn’t appear that it’s going to reach the levels of the 2008 floods that put much of eastern Iowa under water.  Yet, it marks the third time in 20 years that the Coralville Reservoir has been topped (or, with the latest projections, it will nearly be topped).

In 2008, flooding in the Iowa City area swamped the Coralville Strip.  It destroyed neighborhoods along the river, inundated buildings on the University of Iowa campus, and made it nearly impossible to get across town.

Imagine our surprise to not only see a completed new Staples built between Riverside Drive and the Iowa River, but to also see a brand new Hampton Inn constructed next door.  On the river.  In an area that has flooded twice in 20 years and is flooding again.

On top of that, it’s in an area that, as far as I can tell, hasn’t seen any significant flood mitigation projects since the floods of 2008.  Given the efforts in Cedar Rapids to recognize the risk of future flooding as they’ve worked to rebuild since 2008, it’s surprising that Iowa City hasn’t taken a similar approach to their flood-prone regions.

The neon Tiger Hotel sign shines over downtown Columbia, MO with the Mizzou campus in the background.

It sure seems like eons since I last stumbled around a town at night, taking pictures.  Parenthood (and winter) sure changes your priorities.  Yet, as the cold weather lingers in St. Louis, I’ve been enjoying perusing the collection of photos that I’ve shot over the past 5 years.

The night I took this shot was memorable.  After driving to Columbia in a driving rainstorm, I took my camera out in the remnants of that September storm to relive my college years and traipse around the Mizzou campus.  It had likely been 2 years since I had last set foot in my favorite college town and much longer since I’d had the time to walk around the city.  While the Columbia I found only resembled the place I had left 15 years earlier, it still felt like home.  Many of the icons that marked my Columbia remained.  Some were weathered and were showing their age.  Others soldered on, continuing to mark the Mizzou experience for successive generations of college students.

One of the icons of Columbia that seemingly solders on is the neon sign atop the Tiger Hotel.  It’s been standing watch over downtown for as long as I remember, weathering changes to the building and the surrounding town.  Imagine my glee when I walked down Broadway and caught sight of this sign on an especially eerie night, a night when the rain  covered streets and low clouds conspired to create a classic noir image in this midwestern college town.  For just a moment, I expected Sam Spade to walk out of the shadows.

Surfing the Nations, Honolulu, Hawaii.

On our last morning in the islands, I got up early to watch the sunrise one more time over Diamond Head and Waikiki Beach.  Of course, who am I kidding – I never fully adapted to the time change, so I was up early every morning, listening to the sounds of a city waking up.

On our last morning, though, I decided not to watch the sun rise from our lanai.  Instead, I traipsed over to the beach via the Ala Wai parking lot.  Very quickly, I realized that watching the surfers head out that morning was even more interesting, so I spent more time skulking around the parking lot than I did walking down the beach.  After most of the surfers were out, my eyes were drawn to a light post in the parking lot and the collection of bumper stickers lining the post.  Not being a surfer, I have no clue what this sticker is about, but I found this image to be one of my favorites from that morning.

Sunset at the Gateway Arch on a late fall afternoon

Yet here I was on a cold December day in Iowa, outside trying to shoot pictures before frostbite set in on my hand.  I wasn’t prepared to be outside very long, yet while sipping coffee my father-in-law noted how pretty the frost was that morning on the grasses around their home.

Looking up from my coffee, I realized that this would be a great opportunity to get a few shots of the sun rising – at a reasonable hour – across the many beige fields of Iowa in December.  So I grabbed the camera, threw on my jacket and out I went.

What I didn’t realize is that I would be capturing a hoar frost.  Very quickly, I realized that time – and the rising sun – was not my friend that morning.  In my haste, I also neglected to grab any gloves that allowed me to shoot photos and also stay warm.  So, I needed to move quickly if I was to get the shots I wanted before frostbite set in.

The sunrise sparkles on the Hoar Frost, December 2012

Hoar Frost covering the grasses in rural Iowa, December 2012.

Hoar Frost covering a dried thistle plant.

Fresh Donuts on a Fall Evening

Ok, I’ll admit it. I like donuts. Really, though, who doesn’t?

I don’t know if it’s some sort of familial predilection towards the doughnut, or if it’s just a love that’s been cultivated through years of careful nurturing aided by a dose of familial folklore.

Who knows, maybe my love of the doughnut comes from memories of heading into my grandfather’s doughnut shop when I was little, or memories of always having doughnuts at my grandmother’s house after the family sold the business. Or maybe my fate was sealed the day I watched either my uncle or grandfather – at this point, the memory is hazy – cut and prepare the next days delights.  Either way, I’ve been hooked ever since.

But not any doughnut will do. Sure, the “Hot Now” sign at Krispy Kreme precipitated a sort of donut awakening for me, but now I’ll avoid them and their fellow behemoths in favor of a small, local doughnut shop any day of the week.

One of my favorite doughnut shops in St. Louis is the Donut Drive In, located on Chippewa just down the street from Ted Drewes.  I’m not sure they make the best doughnuts in town.  In fact, I’d rank them 4th on my list of favorite doughnuts in STL, behind Ray’s, World’s Fair, and Plaza Doughnuts.  For me, the draw of this shop is their amazing neon sign.

But don’t take my word for it.  Look at it for yourself.

A neon beacon welcoming doughnut pilgrims in south St. Louis

I love it.  I love the simplicity of the text – “Fresh. Donuts. Drive-In.” But, perhaps most importantly, I find myself drawn to this sign – and shop – because of the ways it still captures an ever-fading slice of Americana, a sign that serves as a visual reminder of my past.

I rarely make it back to St. Joseph anymore to visit the family doughnut shop.  Heck, I’m not even sure I should call it the family doughnut shop since we haven’t owned it for 30 years. Now, whenever I walk into the shop, I’m no longer greeted as “Robbie,” “Donnie’s son,” or even “Bob’s grandson.” Very few people remain that even remember the days when a wide-eyed 5 year old would watch his grandpa and hope for a fresh, hot doughnut hole or glazed doughnut.

One of the travesties of life is that so many of the experiences we have are fleeting.  I would love to bottle the innocence and awe I remember from my childhood visits to the donut shop.  Yet, every time I walk into a place like the Donut Drive In, I’m momentarily transported back to my childhood, back to the days when my dad would take me into the shop and get me a dose of sugar for breakfast.

I hope the Donut Drive In and other shops of their ilk remain well into the future. I look forward to passing on these memories with my daughter, bundling her up on a Saturday morning to trek down and stare as the cases of pastries, each one offering the possibility of a momentary sugary nirvana.  I’ll tell her about her grandpa and her great-grandfather.  But I secretly will hope that what she remembers are those moments between us, those times where we share a love of life over the simple joy of bread and sugar.

Despite a hot day and drought, water continues to flow from Meramec Spring.

It’s nearing the end of January in St. Louis.  That means we’re currently experiencing the weather roller coaster that gives credence to the old Missouri adage – “If you don’t like the weather, wait 5 minutes.”

While this saying is apparently not unique to St. Louis or Missouri, it feels particularly relevant given the temperature swings we’re currently experiencing.  This past week we saw days that didn’t make it out of the teens for the high temperature.  Next week we’re expecting high temperatures in the 60s.

Yet, summertime – at least this past summer – was different.  We experienced one of the longest stretches of heat that I remember.

During a cooler part of the summer, where the temperatures only reached the 90s, my wife – no, make that my increasingly pregnant wife – decided we needed to get out of the city.  After much deliberation – and a wonderful breakfast at Southwest Diner – we packed up the car and headed west.

Eventually, we reached our destination of Meramec Spring Park.  After walking around for a while and feeding the fish, Laura had enough and needed some air conditioning.  But before we could leave, I had to get a few pictures.

As I was looking through my pictures tonight I stumbled across one of the shots I took on that great summer day.  As the winter freeze/thaw continues for the foreseeable future, I can’t help but look forward to summertime and hopefully more trips like this one.

As I trudge my way to the 198th metal stair that marks the top of the Compton Hill Water Tower, my eyes slowly adjust to the dimly lit room and the cool breeze coming through the open windows.

Whew. There were few visitors up here tonight.  I get to enjoy one of the best views of St. Louis on this October evening and don’t have to jostle for space along the row of windows or worry that I’m overstaying my welcome.

At the top of the tower, it’s a night for breathing the crisp fall air and listening to the din of the city.  So much of the city is visible from this vantage that I hardly know where to start.

Yep, this is finally my town.

I love the sound of that. My town.  After years of wanting to move back to St. Louis, I could finally claim this city as my home.

One of the many landmarks that came to exemplify my new home was this odd tower just south of the freeway on Grand.  Slightly removed from the urban grid, this tower is creates an imposing landmark in this stretch of south St. Louis.

View of the Compton Hill Water Tower in St. Louis

During my year of living in the heart of south city, I passed this tower nearly every day.  Most days, I’ll admit I hardly paid attention the landmark. Instead, I was focusing on the maniacal drivers intent on playing bumper cars along this stretch of Grand.  And while that was good for my safety, aesthetically it was my loss.

Yet, twice during my first twelve months in St. Louis I managed to climb the 198 stairs to the top and enjoy the view over the surrounding cityscape. In October, this was a magical escape, a chance to float above the busy city for just a few minutes.

My second visit – during the dog days of one of the warmest summers in St. Louis history – was different.  While the views were still spectacular, the stifling heat and dozens of other visitors meant I was jockeying for position at each window, waiting for my turn to snap a picture and grab a breath of fresh air.

While not everyone can climb to the top of this tower, it’s one of those magical St. Louis experiences I wish everyone could have at least once in their life.  But don’t let me convince you.  Instead, look at these pictures and imagine yourself enjoying the view.

View of the sunset over the high rises of Clayton, MO

View of downtown St. Louis from the Compton Hill Water Tower

Night detail of the top of the Compton Hill Water Tower

Occasionally I browse my collection of unexamined/unprocessed photos and see something that I’ve missed.  These are rarely my favorite shots of that day.  Often they are shots that I couldn’t get quite right – they were too dark, were a bit blurry, didn’t show enough detail, or I just didn’t find them interesting at that moment.

If I’m lucky, I see something later on and start playing around with the image.  Maybe I capture more detail by shifting the brightness or contrast.  Or perhaps I play with the colors and capture something I enjoy.

That’s what happened with this photo.

It was taken along Washington Avenue in late March.  I went downtown because it was the night between the Sweet Sixteen and Elite Eight. For some reason, I expected to find a lot of people gallivanting around downtown, hitting the bars and nightclubs along Washington Avenue and watching basketball.  I figured it was a prime people-watching opportunity.

Instead, I found somewhat empty streets and patios and instead turned my attention upward, looking at the Washington Avenue cityscape.  Pretty soon, I found a steam vent and started shooting around it.  A quick look down the street – and away from the steam – brought me this shot.

A view down Washington Avenue on a beautiful March evening.

While I was walking between my car and my setup for shots of the Pevely Building, I noticed a decent view of some of the warehouses between Chouteau and the railroad tracks that dissect St. Louis.  One building in this area – the Steelcote Building – has always caught my eye when driving by.  I suspect my intrigue with this structure is due to the various paintings that cover the brick.  This intrigue not only includes the obvious graffiti on the building, but also lies in the weathered corporate logo and sign for Steelcote Manufacturing still perched on the highest reaches of the structure.

A quick shot followed by some Photoshop manipulation…and voila!

Graffiti on the Steelcote warehouse just off Chouteau in midtown St Louis.