Still in Iowa

Iowa is a beautiful state with rolling hills, corn fields, small towns with little church steeples all dressed in sparkling fall colors. The sky looked like winter coming and drizzle fell on and off all day. We ended up in Nodaway Valley Park 2 miles north of Clarinda, where my father was born. The park is heavily wooded and overlooks the West Nodaway River and the Nonaway River. I can't help but wonder if my Dad roamed these woods, but, of course, I know he probably didn't. He was pretty young 8 or so. I haven't been to Clarinda yet and I can't help but wonder how I will feel. My plan is to park on the town square and walk with Foxy around town. Perhaps I will run into some Morgans or Hindles. Wouldn't that be amazing? This would have been such a pretty place to grow up and makes one think of perfect little families in perfect little towns in a perfect and simple time. Such is the dream but certainly not the reality. My grandfather, Harry, had a reputation for drinking. He left my grandmother, Pearl, my Dad and his little brother, Don, for Arizona and without benefit of divorce, married again. How hard it must have been for my grandmother to provide for her young sons. If time permitted I would do a little research at the courthouse in hopes of digging up more info about the Morgans. Sounds like another trip is in the offing.
It is only 6pm and I am longing for bedtime. Foxy got me up at 5:40am and I surely was not ready for that. Fall is here and I am in my cuddle up, read and sleep mode. More tomorrow.