Sleeping with Strangers

It's not what you think...

I drove 3.5 hours to Sioux City, Iowa only to arrive in town and pull into the wrong driveway. I was looking for a bungalow and the houses on the street were very similar, but I realized my mistake when I saw the Harris/Walz sign planted in the yard of the house next door. I drove around the block and pulled into the right driveway.

The backdoor was open and I let myself in. I was quickly transported back in time by the period details of the mid-century modern home.

Windows were bathing the small home in natural light. Original hardwood floors and period details like brass pulls on the closets and a newly renovated bathroom with original vanity. I washed my hands in the bathroom and saw a stack of New Yorker magazines. I knew I was in the right place for the sleepover because of the magazines and stacks and stacks of books that I recognized — many I’ve read. There were pictures of Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton and a collage of “I Voted” stickers arranged throughout the home.

This was the home of an activist and organizer.

I found my way to the bedroom assigned to me and I laid down for a little nap. In the house of a complete stranger. This was the second time in two days.

This may sound like a peculiar habit, but it’s pretty common with folks who do what I do. I travel to speak in small and big(ish) towns across the Midwest. I talk on Democratic politics and running everywhere and the hazards of living under the GOP. I often stay the night with other organizers and activists — strangers until they are not. This habit is where I learn the lay of the land and about the communities I travel into.

My hostess, Linda, had arranged for the local Auditor to pick me up from her home and drive me out to the Democratic event. His name is Pat, and he has served as Auditor since 1996. He had never heard of me and asked what my claim to fame is…I’m still trying to think of a witty answer to that question.

On every account, I’m a nobody from nowhere.

It was a long drive. We started in Sioux City and then quickly drove into the country. Miles of cornfields and beanfields broken up by a railroad crossing and a tavern here and there. We passed several grain legs that would put the one in my town to shame. Combines in the fields were making a sort of dusty fog as we drove into Le Mars, Iowa.

I asked about the ice cream cones that decorated every business in town. Pat told me that this town is the ice cream capital of the world, and just to prove it, he turned down a street with a sign saying so. He then drove to the ice cream parlor in town and we both ordered the same mint-chocolate chip cone. Unprompted.

Kindred spirits.

I was scheduled to speak to about 100 folks that night. It was going to be a tight-run show which I appreciate. I don’t know if you know this, but politicians can be long-winded. Very long-winded.

There was an emcee and a timekeeper with yellow and red pieces of paper, shiny with lamination, to flash at speakers when time was running low. The emcee was a teacher and it showed. We had rules and we were going to follow them.

I planned to follow them.

I met the organizer for “Moms for Iowa” while waiting to get in the food line. The Moms motto is “Gentle Parenting Congress” and I was immediately smitten with the idea behind the organization. Their mission is to prevent gun violence, promote bodily autonomy, support public education, and work on climate action — all issues important to regular folks. They do this through social media posts and policy initiatives. This mom was at the event to spread awareness of her group and to support nominees who align with them. She registers voters and she knocks doors.

She does the work.

I got my plate and sat down at a table next to a librarian. We talked about kids and sports and books and book bans. We talked about school funding and school defunding and how in the hell all of this happened in Iowa in the first place. We ate pizza and salad and a few cookies until it was time for me to speak.

Showtime.

I started by poking Donald Trump and his awful debate performance. I talked about how I went from teacher to activist to State Rep nominee. I talked about living under a GOP supermajority for over 20 years in Missouri. I talked about the state of my state and how I empathize with Iowans. We are sisters. We are cut from the same cloth.

I spoke about Governor Kim Reynolds who claims to be “pro-life” while rejecting summer food payments to underprivileged children. While defunding public schools. While signing an abortion ban that harms women and girls. While banning books like The Kite Runner and The Bluest Eye and The Color Purple and The Handmaid’s Tale.

While you might not be able to read The Handmaid’s Tale, you will be forced to live it.

I wrapped things up when I saw the laminated red paper held up. It was a good talk. Folks laughed and then they were outraged and then they were encouraged to go out and do democracy. Knock doors. Make calls. Register voters. Write postcards. Do the things.

After the event, I went to the local tavern with Linda. I saw something that I have seen in other towns across the country…regular folks engaging with their neighbors on town issues and politics.

Liberals visiting with conservatives. Blue and red mixing in real life.

Linda showed others her mother’s picture up in the tavern. She also spoke to everyone in the place…even the folks she didn’t know. There were two young people at the bar who had moved into the area from out of state. She immediately asked if they were registered to vote. They were not, but they were before they left.

Linda is a powerhouse. She works on the nearby reservation and works part-time at the local NPR radio station every Saturday. I asked her what she does at the station between shows. She said she writes emails and works on her Democratic club duties between Fresh Air and local programming. Of course she does.

When I woke up the next morning, I could hear NPR on the radio in the kitchen and I smelled the coffee brewing.

I packed up my bag and made the bed and as I turned the corner to the kitchen, I saw Linda smashing avocados and making toast. It’s funny because I think folks on the right associate that particular meal with pretention, while I tend to think of it as wholesome and homey. It’ll get you through until lunch.

We visited over breakfast, and afterward, Linda stood at the backdoor and waved as I drove away.

This scene will play out again this week as I travel into southern Missouri to speak in Springfield and Ste. Genevieve. It will happen several times in the next 50 some-odd-days until the election.

Strangers to friends. Political allies. Activist solidarity. Supporters of democracy.

~Jess