The Writer's Pen

When I first drove into Iowa to visit my son and his family, I was puzzled by the terrain: vast, flat farmland with little islands scattered at what seemed to be about half-mile intervals; islands of trees, in clumps, in every direction, as far as the eye can see.

I asked my son how these huge trees grew in clumps all around the farmland. He explained that each clump of trees was surrounding a farmhouse, because without the trees, the winds could roar across the fields and the homes would have no protection. Each group of trees was a farm!

It still fascinates me – even driving simply from Esth...