WHY IOWA?

Libby K. Hanaway

8 hours ago

12 min read

Twice in my life, "Why Iowa?" has been a central question, and I'm with you today to offer my affectionate answers. The first time was my own rhetorical "Why Iowa 🤗?!" in my (successful!) 1987 bid for a college transfer; the second was the flummoxed "Why Iowa 🤔???" when friends (and most plaintively E + C) learned we were moving from snazzy Seattle to Iowa City, IA in 2007. Both times, I was prepared with earnest, enthusiastic bullet points extolling the virtues of this smart, neighborly, do-right, rolling-vowel land.

Iowa is often a corn-y punchline, a flyover diss, or a question mark, especially if you're talking to someone who lives on a coast. Ohio? Iowa? Idaho?? For some, it hardly seems worth differentiating. In December 2007 — just before our family's first Iowa Christmas — I started my annual holiday letter with, "Io-WHAT?!", so maybe I was part of the problem. But even 15+ years after we traded our IA license plates back to WA and now CO, I'm still a loyal booster of the Hawkeye State and its college-town heartbeat, Iowa City.

💛🐦🖤

IOWA CITY, PART 1

My story of Iowa begins with an identity crisis in college. Our family's tight finances meant I wouldn't follow my older sister and brother to private-tuition TCU, or to the niche Midwestern liberal arts colleges my guidance counselor recommended, or to Clemson, which — I have no idea why — had caught my fancy. Nope, as an 18-year-old suburban Chicagoan, I would be part of the masses of above-average IL high school graduates headed to the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana. I made the best of it for two and a half years — Illini/sorority rah-rah and a campustown job I loved — but the combination of U of I + me was always a mismatch. I was a liberal arts searcher, dog-paddling in a sea of driven, goal-oriented accounting and engineering majors. Me: all long and winding stories / them: all tidy fixed formulas. I felt adrift, and at the start of my junior year I realized my life raft was three hours west on 1-80. Not for the last time, Iowa City and the University of Iowa became a glowing beacon of hope, corn, possibility, and something — like a comfy sweater — that might just fit better.

This is where my full-bore lobbying effort came in, and when my parents said I should consider a career as a professional lobbyist. I am still trying to locate the seven-page, white-paper-style presentation (on stapled notebook paper, written in alternating gold and black marker) I cautiously offered them. Adorned with color-coordinating doodles, it was titled

WHY IOWA?!

I recall soberly emphasizing the University's highly respected School of Journalism and highlighting that Rick — who just happened to be a Hawkeye himself — would be studying partway across the world when I transferred, meaning I could not possibly be transferring to be with him. Bless my parents: they let me forfeit a full-ride scholarship at U of I to pay full price at the other U of I. It was the most generous gift that kept on giving.

I was already smitten with downtown Iowa City after earlier visits to see Rick; all that old, walkable, brick-y charm was just across the street from the campus; what's more, the Iowa River curved through the area, completing the trifecta of town, campus, and swooshing nature. In icy January 1988, I settled into my new apartment, started classes, and found a part-time job; then I used my spending $$ to walk to Bruegger's Bagels for breakfast, to Freshëns frozen yogurt for (girl)dinner, and — barely knowing a soul — to single-ticket ballet and theater performances; I felt as energized and independent as a starry-eyed young NYC-er, only not. But somehow Iowa City gave the very same effect!

The part-time job funding my food and entertainment habits was the shining peak of my first Iowa era. I worked in the elegant, hush-lit cafe at the university's famed Hancher Auditorium, pouring wine and serving canapés and desserts I had never heard of to fancy patrons. Perched above the banks of the Iowa River, beautiful modern Hancher was our very own star-studded Lincoln Center, with annual visits from the Joffrey Ballet, world-class symphonies, Broadway plays and musicals, jazz quartets, and more. I later read that it was considered "the pearl of Iowa City's oyster." I so loved Hancher that I wrote a piece pumping it up for The Daily Iowan.

(DID NOT WRITE THIS CREEPY HEADLINE 💀)

At Iowa, Rick and I were both journalism students, with top-notch training in thorough reporting, reliable sourcing, solid questioning, bias analysis, succinct language (a personal challenge), and always, always drilling down to the who, what, when, where, why, and how of any story. We still say it was the best schooling possible for both work and life.

As seniors together, Rick and I wrapped up Iowa life with a bang. In the two sunny summer months before our August 1989 graduation, we took our final classes in the mornings, swam at the Iowa City Park Pool in the afternoons (where my mom swam as a kid one summer!), played tennis (together) and golf (Rick alone) in the evenings, and walked to the local movie theater for a summertime feast of action flicks. It now sounds weirdly country-clubby, but we experienced it as student-discounted, college close-out fun. In retrospect, the Summer of '89 was like an ideal retirement; it was (presumably) our last — and lasting — memory of Iowa City.

IOWA CITY, PART 2

Given our mid-adulting PNW location, it was hard to fathom even a quick memory-lane visit back to Iowa City. But life can surprise you! In 2007 we were deeply settled on Seattle's Eastside, with 9-year-old E and 6-year-old C. Seattle had been a great, eight-year rainy adventure, but a few circumstances made us consider a change. I was very sick for much of 2006, with our parents flying from the Midwest to take over everyday Libby parenting; "Wow," we thought over the hacking of my never-ending, entrenched pneumonia, "having this kind of extended time with our family is really nice!!" We also considered how a downshifted corporate life for Rick, one that didn't involve flights across America nearly every week, could revolutionize family life. We thought and thought, and then EUREKA💡!! IOWA CITY!! IC would put us within driving distance of family and spin our college years in a different, family-centric way. College towns were awesome for all ages!

We would:

Take the girls back to Hancher Auditorium with every new event! Exposure to the finest arts, just minutes from home!
Sit in Kinnick Stadium to watch Hawkeye home football games in optimal weather! This would be a surprising first for Rick, since his main college job was hawking football programs up and down the stadium steps, fending off heatstroke or frostbite, depending.

Flourish with Iowa's long-celebrated commitment to public education!

Ice-skate INSIDE the Coral Ridge Mall! Swim OUTSIDE at local pools!!

Walk the downtown Iowa City streets I carefully mapped for a favorite history course in 1988. ("The Dubuque Street Dealers: Representatives of the Gilded Age." In hindsight, the 1980s seemed like their own kind of Gilded Age 💸.)

Plus (and Primarily): We could drive to see our families, with Goldie lounging/panting behind the girls in the back-back seat ... and our families could drive to see us! And we could trade high-priced Seattle for a more reasonably-priced region! And Rick would have a calmer, local-life job!

THIS WAS GETTING BETTER BY THE MINUTE!

DID ALL OF THIS COME TO PASS?

Well, some did and some didn't, which is usually how it goes. The things that didn't work involved exceptions to the rule and unforeseen circumstances. Also, disclaimer: we lived in Coralville, the more suburb-y town next to Iowa City. Close enough!

WHAT WAS AWESOME:

This does not pertain to Iowa specifically, but being geographically closer to our extended families exceeded our expectations. The proximity felt like the easiest comfort. And Rick's folks, with both Rick and his sister as Hawkeye alums, were already big fans of the university and area; in fact, Judy still proudly wears her very durable gold IOWA sweatshirt from an undetermined era 😀.

As for Iowa City, it still ranks among the very best college towns in America, near the top of most actual lists and #1 in our hearts. It has buzzy black-and-gold school spirit // big-time D-1 sports // top-tier academic research // top-tier arts // a stellar hospital system and excellent university medical and dental schools // youthful energy // all that old-fashioned local business downtown charm // a UNESCO City of Literature designation, anchored by the seminal Iowa Writers' Workshop and Prairie Lights Books // and more!

Sure enough, many of our hopes came to pass: I could drive to the historic Englert Theater to hear a weeknight talk by über-gifted author Marilynne Robinson, one of Iowa City's most revered residents. E danced ON THE HANCHER STAGE for her first ballet recital. Rick led the annual Sand in the City event to raise $$ for the arts and became an Elk (🫎) just so we could join the popular local swimming pool. C went to nature-y summer day camps sponsored by the University. I mean, this felt like the local-life dream.

And there was more:

We saw the (very vein-y 😬) Butter Cow and more at the Iowa State Fair (where E's flip-flop fell off mid-Sky-Glider chair-lift-ride and we had to search the fairgrounds to find it — WHICH WE DID!!).

I'm just now seeing these State Fair contests as I look over an old guide ⬇️. Missed opportunities!

I'm also reminded that 4-H is a truly outstanding youth program — a 120-year-old Head-Heart-Hands-Health national treasure. Were you a 4-H-er 🐂🐥🌱🥇?

We picked apples at Wilson's Orchard each September, an all-time favorite place and tradition. When I heard that one of the now-grown-up girls from our neighborhood held her wedding there a few years ago, I shrieked: SENTIMENTAL IOWA PERFECTION 🍎!!

Btw, while Johnson County, IA, does have some flat cornfields, it's mostly beautiful rolling forested hills like above. We had an actual forest in our backyard that C loved to roam in her wood-sprite stretch!

We searched for fossils 11 minutes from home at Coralville's prehistoric Devonian Fossil Gorge, dragging all out-of-town guests in any season to see underwater treasures from 375 million years ago. In case you never make it there, you can enjoy a virtual tour 🐚.

We traded the PNW's 1/4 summer and 3/4 rain for all four seasons! Many snow days! On the downside, our not-infrequent tornado warnings always sent C into an anxious tailspin, and during one frozen winter, school was called off because the school bus diesel turned to frigid gel. Still, all the classic seasons!

We had close access to farmland and forest creatures:

We learned the convoluted art of political caucusing in a hot, crowded local high school gym. It was a very old-fashioned, persuasive-skills, vote-with-a-scrap-of-paper-in-a-bucket process; Rick double-majored in Political Science, and all the candidate stops, rallies, and communication overload served as extended education. My favorite memory of that season: my dad was a tried-and-true conservative, but he good-naturedly joined us for an Obama rally in late 2007 — he was curious and amused! Alas, Iowa's long-held first-in-nation presidential nomination status fell apart after the fiasco of 2020. This high-profile debacle went so against type — incompetence is extremely non-Iowa 🧐.

We spent lots of time on campus and at Hawkeye sporting events:

(Fyi, Kirk Ferentz has been the Iowa head football coach since 1999 (💥), a record tenure. That steady, nonproblematic longevity is Iowa in a nutshell. And basketball's three-point-wonder Caitlin Clark hit the court long after our time, but her demonstrably effective Caitlin Clark Foundation is also pure Iowa.)

There was much to cheer about in our Iowa years, but when I start reminiscing, I mostly think about the people.

Ferentz and Clark are ideal ambassadors for Iowa, but the very best Iowans were the ones we knew within a half-mile radius: our neighborhood, the school library, and my book club (proudly mentioned here). To this day, the first holiday cards in our mailbox are postmarked from Coralville and Iowa City. Our Iowans are ever-prompt, helpful, hard-working, neighborly, reliable — and fun! The kids built ambitious projects in the open grassy area, and the adults organized Halloween parties, Christmas parties, egg hunts, a kids' book club, a grown-up book club, BBQs, and — my favorite — the annual tradition of kids and parents in our neighborhood meeting at the corner, taking a group pic, and walking down the hill together on the first day of school. Iowans will plow your driveway in a blizzard and bring a casserole when you're sick. If you have lost all the clothes on your back, find an Iowan. She'll know how to knit you a new sweater in a jiffy.

WHAT WAS NOT IDEAL ⚖️

In our Iowa journalism classes, we learned the importance of balanced reporting. You'd lose all credibility for writing only one side or angle of a story. So here's my balanced reporting section, lest I give a 100% rosy — and thus incomplete — account.

First, despite Iowa's historic commitment to education, I'd have red-penned the (pretend) report card of our high-performing neighborhood elementary school with "Needs Improvement" for warmth, joy of learning, and health of culture. To be fair, we left a high-standards WA elem school oozing with love and care, and our IA school still had standout strengths: the fabulous library staff, the committed corps of parent volunteers, and several wonderful teachers, among others. Also, the IA junior high where E thrived for two years was a marvel of function, excellence, belonging, and cultural health 🙌!

Second, our tender-hearted Goldie never really adapted to the harsh realities of the Invisible Fence surrounding our wide-open IA yard. Honestly, I can understand why ⚡️😵‍💫⚡️. So sorry about that. And her self-esteem took a hit when a perfect purebred Golden Retriever named Wrigley moved in down the street. Freckle-nosed Goldie, you were always perfectly perfect to us!!

Third — more seriously and exactly one year after our arrival — came the terrible summertime Flood of 2008, a slow-motion natural disaster that swamped large swaths of eastern Iowa, including Coralville and Iowa City, area farmland, significant parts of the campus, and the entirety of Hancher Auditorium. Rick helped with immediate sandbagging efforts in town ... and the region as a whole worked for many years toward restoration.

Hancher — with its world-expanding possibilities — was a solid 20% of our move to IA. But during the flood, its beautiful riverbank location backfired, filling the building with water and then mold. Can you grieve the loss of a building? Yes.

Jorgensen, Tom. “Aerial photographs of Voxman Music Building and Hancher Auditorium flooding, The University of Iowa, June 16, 2008”. Photographs, aerial photographs. Iowa Floods of 2008. https://digital.lib.uiowa.edu/node/35790.

For the next eight years — long after we returned to WA State — the Hancher staff gamely rescheduled world-class events at area high schools and smaller auditoriums, doing their best with an impossible task. FEMA funding was slow, and the rebuilding plans were complex. The original Hancher was demolished in 2013, and, finally, a stunning new Hancher rose again in 2016, now located seven feet above the 500-year floodplain. The resurrection of Hancher is a remarkable study in commitment, patience, adaptability, vision, and perseverance.

Given the timeline of flood-to-recovery, Hancher was mostly X-ed out of our Iowa years. But it's back in full swing now, and I have to believe there's a college kid currently serving up a cheese board at the cafe hoping to one day return as a Hancher patron. It can happen!

And lastly, after four years in Iowa, the lingering effects of the (not-so) Great Recession triggered our unscheduled Hawkeye goodbye. When opportunity starts drying up, you might need to search for fresh water — or in our case — the steady rain of our very same old Sammamish, WA neighborhood.

From me to Rick, 2011

Enough with the objectivity! Let's end on a good note, and I've saved the very best: The Hawkeye Wave. The Wave originated six years after we left, but it's now at the top of my mind whenever I think of the Hawkeye State.

An Iowa football tradition that kicked off in 2017, The Wave takes place when all action quietly shuts down after the first quarter of each home game. Everyone present — from Iowa + opposing players to Iowa + opposing fans to stadium employees throughout — stops to turn east toward the wide, curved windows of the University's Stead Family Children's Hospital ... and then waves slowly in unison. Network cameras silently pan the full stadium waving to the pediatric patients and their families gathered together behind tinted glass ... and then to the patients and families waving right back. I can barely type this without tears spilling over (oh they just did) because it is the most beautiful halting of what's fun and fleeting to honor and lift what is terrible and terrifying; it becomes an instant emotional recalibration for all.

Watching this mass channeling of energy, hope, and love from the stadium's 70,000 to the brave few in the windows is profoundly moving every single time. If you click just one link here today, make it this one:

If there was ever a definition of Iowa GOOD, this is it.

💛

EXTRA GOOD

ALSO LINKED THROUGH THE EXTRA GOOD PAGE HERE

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2026

1._GOOD SPORTS: Sorry Iowans! A review of one family's four years in one small part of the state cannot do justice to the state as a whole. But here's a quick zoom-out to a defining annual Iowa-wide event that deserves its own spotlight: RAGBRAI.

RAGBRAI stands for The Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa, a state tradition born in 1973. The ride's website describes RAGBRAI (pronounced RAG-breye, rhymes with eye) as the "oldest, longest, and largest recreational bicycle touring event in the world." Its sweaty, sticky mid-July route shifts year to year, but the ride always begins along the state's western border and continues for seven days eastward to the Mississippi River. Hosting towns make each night feel like a festival, and bikers finish each year's ride with 20,000 new friends.

The 2027 route will be announced at a big January reveal party in Des Moines, so stay tuned. If you bike, you should try it one day! Here's a very fun half-hour video recap of 2026's RAGBRAI — a preview of what you yourself might one day do ... or (if you're like me) a chance to comfortably watch from home ✌️:

(You might imagine RAGBRAI as one long, flat, easy ride, but as you'll hear in the video, Iowa is actually "flat like a waffle 😁.")

And if you only have a spare 33 seconds, here's a quick mini-view instead:

RIDE ON // ON IOWA!!

🚲 🌽 🚲 🚲