Our Little Town of Winterset

In Winterset, each Friday morning from 8:15 to 9 a.m., a member of the Madison County Chamber of Commerce hosts coffee for fellow members. Thirty or forty people generally show up to enjoy a cup of joe and socialize on the last morning of the work week.

This past Friday, Winterset Parks & Rec hosted at the new, nearly-complete dog park on the east edge of town, out near our primary soccer fields. The compound includes spacious areas with beautiful gates and fences for both small and large dogs and will have doggy water fountains, benches for people, and of course clean-up-after-your-dog baggie dispensers.

My dog Scrabble weighs about eighteen pounds, which would qualify her for the small dog area, but, we probably won’t be going. As a puppy, the opportunity to make dog friends just didn’t happen, and when she was older she was twice(!) jumped by other dogs, and bitten, both times while attached to her leash.* At a dog park, Scrabble, who’s never met a human she didn’t adore, would undoubtedly want to hang with the owners.

A couple of years ago, on a day Scrabble had been to the hairdresser, I took the opportunity to wash the little harness she wears as a collar. Her license and rabies tag, with our phone number scratched on the back, hook to the clip at the top. While the harness was drying, she barked to go out, and as I opened the door for her, she looked naked to me without her harness. “Oh dear, she doesn’t have her ID!” went though my mind.

The thought of an actual dog ID card seemed hilarious, so I decided to fashion one for her on my computer, using my Iowa Driver’s License as inspiration. I included date-of-birth, eye color, and restrictions (leash).

Scrabble doesn’t actually need an ID card. She has an embedded chip, plus she doesn’t carry a purse.

*Loose dogs are rare in Winterset. We were simply unlucky.

Living next door to the post office isn’t so great at 5 a.m. when the mail truck with its back-up beeper delivers Winterset’s mail, but other than that, my home’s location less than five minutes’ walk from the town square is a constant joy.

If I need a greeting card, for example, I can scoot up the alley (I think of it as my alley) to Montross Pharmacy, enter through the back door, select and address the card, and mail it on my way back. If I need a box of paper clips, a curtain rod, a lightbulb, or a jigsaw puzzle, Ben Franklin, on the southeast corner of the square, is only a few paces farther. If I need fabric for the quilt I’m working on, Ben Franklin (co-owned by a quilter) or Piece Works (in the storefront that was once Fons & Porter) will have just the thing.

This past winter, Mark and I refurbished two upstairs bedrooms, changing wall colors, shifting beds from one room to the other, making the first updates in over a decade. The first one, once the flowery wallpaper was stripped and walls repaired and repainted, came together easily. My mom’s walnut four-poster, a pair of repurposed sheers, an area rug we owned already—all worked just right.

The other room, however, once the new bed and dresser were in place, lacked coziness. The creamy white we chose for the walls felt cold instead of inviting. Putting one of my quilts on the bed was a good start, but accessories were needed. Lucky for me, not one but THREE terrific home decor stores occupy the west side of Winterset’s square, so up the alley I charged. At Pine Creek Ltd., I found the Windsor chair, the footstool, the lamps, everything we needed to make the room just beautiful.

And, since this is Winterset, owner Bill Moody simply jotted down what I took away to try rather than have me purchase and return each piece of merchandise. He even let me out the back door to carry home a neat wood bench that turned out to be too short. I brought it back and exchanged it for a longer one.* And, since this is Winterset, I left my purse behind the counter with Bill so I didn’t have to haul it back and forth along with everything else.

*Bench not in photo—it’s under a window to the right of the quilt rack.

At age twenty-five, holding my newborn infant in my arms, I discovered a remarkable truth, almost as if Hannah were speaking to me.

The more you give, the more you get back.

I had given myself in marriage and in childbirth, but oh, what I had received in return—a precious child!

In those days, all I had to give were friendship, energy, time, and love, but the truth of Hannah’s lesson was continuously confirmed. For example, if I had two friends I liked a lot, I found a way to connect them. The result was more friendship rather than less friendship. Connecting friends in the quilting industry was one of my greatest joys.

In terms of energy, especially in my 40s and 50s, it seemed the more I expended on my various projects, the more I had at my disposal. This paid off tremendously in my career. More recently, when I was asked to explore the possibility of a quilt museum in Winterset, I resisted at first, then poured myself into it. That undertaking reenergized me in ways more satisfying than I could ever have imagined. The Iowa Quilt Museum project reconnected me to my own home town and the people in it, huge gifts.

Financially, I didn’t have much to give until after my children were educated and my business succeeded, but I have found Hannah’s truth applies in this area as well. Generosity enriches you, manyfold.

A sentimental but beautiful poem my mother Dorothy Graham published in the newspaper she owned and operated in Norwalk, Iowa, for more than twenty years perfectly expresses how giving works. I’ve kept it posted on various refrigerator fronts and bulletin boards over the years. “The More You Give, The More You Get” may be tattered, but its message is solid gold.

The Friday evening after Thanksgiving, families who’ve been working on leftover turkey and pie all day gather downtown for Winterset’s Festival of Lights. They drink hot cocoa, warm their hands at sidewalk burn barrels, and stroll around the square admiring lighted store windows, buying their first Christmas gifts, and greeting friends and neighbors. Here, children make their wishes known to Santa not at a shopping mall, but inside our native limestone courthouse.

Meanwhile, decorated floats queue up at the old high school to be judged for prizes before the parade begins. At 7:15 Santa comes out and down the sidewalk to his sleigh (secured to a wagon pulled by a firetruck), and the long strings of lights that reach all the way from the corners of the square to the courthouse dome are magically lit. As the procession goes around the downtown block (twice), young adults visiting from the far off cities where they now live experience nostalgia for the past. Kids gather memories for nostalgia of the future.

“Elf” (free with donations of food items for a local pantry) begins at the Iowa Theater at 8:00. We print the 150 tickets in advance and hand them out until they’re gone. Last year, down to just one ticket, two junior high age girls, obviously best friends, appeared at the door, horrified as they grasped the one-seat-left situation. “Oh please, please, please, can’t she just sit on my lap?” one asked. They scooted in as we taped the “Sold Out” sign to the door.

Someday, one will be a bridesmaid in the wedding of the other. They’ll be standing together before a mirror and one will say, “Remember that time you sat on my lap for ‘Elf’ at The Iowa?”

(Photo by Charlotte Underwood for The Winterset Madisonian.)

Independent filmmaker Jack C. Newell* (who happens to be my son-in-law) rolled into town late Monday night, en route Chicago from Boulder, CO, where he recently wrapped filming on his latest project, a dark romantic comedy titled “Monuments.” The story involves a road trip-heist-chase, so he and two crew members were capturing scenes along the way, getting “journey footage” on their way home. They were driving two vehicles—a car, and the beat up old pickup featured in the movie.

Earlier on Monday, a text from Jack asked if I might be able to organize some cows in a field along a highway close to town. They wanted a shot of the pickup truck barreling down the road . . . from the point-of-view of the cows. I called Peggy Casper.

Jack and crew also requested a marquee-change at the Iowa Theater, so Monday afternoon manager Scott Smith got on a ladder in a frigid, cutting wind, removed the current letters, and put up the movie titles Jack asked for (“The Searchers” and “The General”). Around midnight, the “Monuments” team arrived on the square, turned on the marquee, and got their night shots, one of which involved temporarily replacing the pickup’s legal Illinois license plates with fake Colorado ones.

Mark and I were fast asleep by the time Writer/Director Jack, Director of Photography Stephanie, and Production Designer Matt let themselves in the back door to occupy our guest bedrooms for one night.

The next morning, north of town on Hwy. 92, Peggy’s grandson Zach Bruett helped Stephanie and Matt hoist their large, bulky, and incredibly expensive (rented) movie camera and tripod over the fence and onto his truck bed, and then coordinated the movement of the cows (coaxing them with tasty corn) between camera and fence, while on the highway Jack drove the movie truck through the shot for two or three takes.

Later in the day, after lunch at Montross Pharmacy (involving Stephanie’s introduction to the Iowa Pork Tenderloin), as the crew headed out of town, Jack sent a text saying they had forgotten the fake license plates and Matt’s drill near the theater late Monday night. Would someone maybe have turned them in to City Hall or perhaps the police? Shortly, I made two of the weirdest phone calls of my life, with no results.

The next day, Winterset Utilities employee Jay Gibson delivered the lost items to my back door. He’d been installing Christmas lights on the square at 5 a.m. Tuesday morning and noticed the drill and plates on the sidewalk under The Iowa’s marquee. Later in the day, he showed them to the facade crew working on Jim Smith’s building next door. “Not ours,” they said. Jay next contacted the police department about running the plates. That’s how he found me. “It looked like a pretty good drill,” he said. “I knew someone would be wanting it back.”

That’s Winterset, Iowa, my home town.

*Check out Jack’s fantastic documentary, “42 Grams,” about a Chicago restaurant that goes from a popup to the talk of the town, available on Netflix and ITunes.

One of my community’s joys is welcoming visitors to our picturesque little town. Collectively, we love to share the uniqueness that is Winterset and Madison County. Annually, in May, we embrace hundreds of guests for the John Wayne Birthplace Celebration, thousands in October for the Madison County Covered Bridge Festival.

We open our arms every day in smaller ways as well, whether by giving directions to tourists looking for our covered bridges, pointing out our beautiful gift shops and other independently-owned retailers that line the square, or greeting quilters and quilt lovers who enter the Iowa Quilt Museum.

Soon, my town will be opening its arms to a special, limited group of quilters. The September 13–15 event, titled “At Home with Marianne Fons,” has been organized by my longtime friend Marlene Ingraham, who waxes poetic about Winterset and the event here. Personally, I’ve been describing the weekend as a “quilting spa,” because once participants hit town and check into their accommodations, everything else is provided—fabric for my full-size quilt, “Darling,” (plus an additional project) sewing machine, special tools, instruction, snacks, lunches, dinners with local wines, and, of course, camaraderie. Mega quilters Paula Nadelstern and Victoria Findlay Wolfe will be in town for the kickoff. Iowa’s own Linzee Kull McCray, Tony Jacobson, and Diane Tomlinson have much to share as well. The whole thing will be like a soothing quilt massage.

For years, in the popular “Tip Table” segment of “Fons & Porter’s Love of Quilting” on public television, I invited viewers to send their tips to a PO box in Winterset, Iowa. I encourage anyone who’s curious about the place I call home to come experience my stomping ground in a very quilty way.

Nothing’s prettier than my town square on a national holiday. Sponsored by individuals and businesses, crisp, bright American flags line the perimeter of the courthouse on the lawn side and wave in front of storefronts on the retail side. The local Lion’s Club and Optimist Club, assisted by the Boy Scouts, place the flags early in the morning and remove them in the late afternoon. People sponsor flags on the residential streets as well, so on this Independence Day, our country’s beautiful flag waves gracefully all over town.

I walk my dog Scrabble around the square each day, and this morning, while she and I were admiring the flags, we bumped into local friends I hadn’t seen for a while. The three of us stood under a shade tree to catch up, and in the course of our conversation I learned their daughter now has a dog, a mutual friend is moving, and other bits of social news.

My friends happen to know I’m a moderate Democrat, and I happen to know they are moderate Republicans. Together, we bemoaned the extremism we observe—not in our community, but beyond—every day. We expressed nostalgia for moderation, when we really didn’t know what party anyone belonged to or what church they went to unless we went to that church, too.

When parting, Craig said, “I’d like to start a new political party, the Equalitarian Party. Its core value would be equality for people of every stripe. Basic equal human rights would make up the planks of our platform.” I reached out and shook his hand before continuing my walk, and as Scrabble trotted along at my side, she wagged her tail, so I think she approved. Of course, Scrabble’s tail is pretty much always wagging, and she loves all humans, whether they have a party affiliation or not, so it was just a guess.