I come from a large family of sportsmen. Almost every single man in my family has been one or more of the following: hunter, airplane pilot, football player, track star, champion skeet shooter, world traveler, safari-man, fishermen and on and on and on. They also build their own garages and furniture, run their own businesses, butcher their own deer, tell their own tall tales, save damsels in distress — their own and otherwise — and, well… you get the picture.
So I don’t know why I was nervous about taking the Ukrainian to Iowa. All I needed to do was drop him off with the men in my family and he’d be kept busy.
Bow and Arrow Target Practice
First, my dad decided to teach him how to shoot a bow-and-arrow (my brother in Texas owns a bow shop):
Dinnertime Pork and Astronomy
After target practice, there was some free time before dinner (which would consist of fried pork tenderloins that I would not eat, being a vegetarian and all) So, it was time for astronomy. My dad had recently won a telescope from Cabela’s, but knows nothing about astronomy. So this time, it was the Ukrainian’s time to shine. While the Ukrainian set up the telescope, I explained to my family the Ukrainian loves astronomy (and me) so much, he once named a star after me and then took me to the planetarium in Los Angeles to show it to me.
Saturday County Fair
The next day, Saturday, was the day of our Iowa Wedding Reception — the whole reason for coming to Iowa in the first place. My parents wanted their friends to meet their new son-in-law. But the party wasn’t to be held until late afternoon. So the Ukrainian and I had some time to kill. Where did we go but to the Warren County Fair? — site of all the animals being showed off by farmers and their children in hopes that their livestock would be fat enough to go to the Iowa State Fair in August. (I have no idea if the losing animals were slaughtered any earlier than the winning ones — but I presumed that all would be dead by October.)
We started off with the cows:
We then moved on to the pigs. I once read a statistic that there are 8 pigs in Iowa for every 1 person. I wondered if this was before or after a slaughter. But I have since learned that a pig can start having its own babies at around 6 months old and can have 3 litters per year. So I imagine the pork population of Iowa stays somewhat consistent.
The pigs are cute, no? And very intelligent. I’m not sure if they are loving or not, but they have very distinct personality. On Tuesday, Nicholas D. Kristof, himself a former farmboy, wrote an Op-Ed on Animal Rights in the New York Times. I invite you to check it out here: A Farm Boy Reflects
And for fun, just in case you think it’s ok to eat pigs, but not dogs or horses, then you should see this video of pigs racing and diving. You will see that a pig is just as intelligent.
The party and the after-party
The party was a traditional midwestern affair — albeit with a vegetarian twist. But the food consisted of a cheese tray, crackers, various dips and chips, cake, wedding mints, etc. We had some very nice California wine that my dad had brought home from the tour of Sonoma he took while in San Francisco for the wedding — but there was also the typical Bud Light, “pop”, and lemonade (not drunk *together! Silly!) . Everyone sat out back from the house (the food was kept inside to keep it away from the flies) and everyone sat around and talked hunting, fishing, the good ol’ days, babies, weddings, etc. Not a single person talked about the housing market or work or Burning Man as would be the case in San Francisco.
But the after-party, now that was something else. My dad decided that day to give my brother-in-law an antique hunting rifle that had belonged to my mother’s father (neither of my blood brothers are interested in guns). So we spent 3 1/2 hours sitting around the dining room talking about guns and trying to find out what exact year and make the gun being gifted was. While this doesn’t sound that exciting to non-sportsman (and it’s not really, but sometimes it’s nice to sit around and listen to the sound of your own family’s voices), it was no different than the long parties I went to in the Netherlands when people would spend hours sitting around talking about such exciting subjects as to whether the Albert Heijn (the Dutch grocery store chain) was next to the post office or next to the school. I don’t remember a whole lot of conversations about art and other urban interests except for my one friend who she and her boyfriend were both artists.
Weekend finale: Baby Shower, airplanes, and the Ukrainian masters the bow
On Sunday, the sexes in the family separated as my sister’s friends hosted her baby shower. It was held at the local United Methodist Church. The party fare was very similar to that of Saturday night’s party (dip, cheese, crackers, cake, etc), but there was also meat. A lot of babies were crawling/running around and I learned why mothers do not wear expensive silk designer dresses in the presence of children. My Elie Tahari red silk dress will never be quite the same after I chased after my 14 month old nephew for 2 hours — but I think it’s still wearable.
The Ukrainian spent the day with my dad. They went up to a sportsman shop near Ankeny to look at more bows. My dad bought the Ukrainian a new shirt. I complained it was too big. All very typical. Then Sunday night, the Ukrainian and I went over to my sister’s house to see how she and my brother-in-law were doing on fixing up the nursery for the expected baby. While there, the Ukrainian checked out the planes that belong to my brother-in-law’s father who is in the crop-spraying business. By Monday, it was time to return to San Francisco. The Ukrainian took a few last shots with the bow and hit the target. His form had significantly improved over the weekend. Unfortunately, such skills won’t come in handy much in San Francisco. 😦