268 PUBLIC PARKS OF IOWA 



Then we go up hill and down dale through the lowlands of Louisa 

 county, crossing the Iowa river at Wapello, Iowa, a typical county seat, 

 aggressive, ambitious and the center of a very productive farming sec- 

 tion. Wapello, you know, is Harry Weaver's home, and if you are in- 

 terested in pure-bred Shorthorn cattle, Mr. Weaver has one of the finest 

 herds in the country and he is a wonderful host. 



Mediapolis, in Des Moines county, is quaint and interesting and de- 

 serves more time than we can give it this trip. It is a real Iowa home- 

 town, and some day we will return with our camera and get to know it 

 better. 



Supper time of the first day finds us near Burlington and if you are 

 one of those who prefer a hotel to a tent Burlington offers the best of 

 accommodations. But we- will drive on to a point about four miles south 

 of Burlington where we may overlook thousands of acres of verdant low- 

 lands and beyond them, watch the grand old Mississippi flowing on toward 

 the gulf and obscurity. 



One must not take a journey of this sort hurriedly. There must be no 

 desire to reach a certain place at a certain time, or else you will not get 

 these wonderful glimpses into the distances and across the great Father 

 of Waters. Here, we will pitch our tent, and eat* our supper, and sleep 

 and if the weather man is real good to us perhaps we may watch the 

 sunrise in the morning. 



The spot is ideal for two reasons not only the vista, but its proximity 

 to a woodpile. When you go camping, remember the woodpile. It saves 

 a great deal of effort that otherwise would be necessary when you build 

 a camp fire. 



Those of you who have never cooked your meals in the open and 

 enjoyed them outside the narrow limits of a dining room, have something 

 left to live for. Try it in Iowa some time. Buy a chicken from j 

 farmer broil it over the glowing embers of a canipfire; boil the potatoes: 

 fix the coffee and, as the deep red moon emerges from behind the dis- 

 tant hills and climbs upward into an unending darkness eat your fill 

 and know what it is to be on intimate terms with nature. 



In the morning, if the sun rises in full glory, the air is clear and crisp, 

 the birds sing, and all is beautiful. Continuing our journey southward, 

 we hear the rush of falling waters and, looking through the trees we 

 find that tiny fairyland (pictured on the front cover) so pretty and so 

 refreshing that we stop the motor and venture in, wondering how many 

 travelers have passed this way and seen it not. Pictures of such beauty 

 spots as this are used by other states to lure the tourists from far 

 distances. 



Our lowans spend their time and their money to visit those far-away 

 places unappreciative of what we have in Iowa. Not any of the charm 

 is lost as we approach the end of the little valley, and we might well 

 spend the morning here, in restful solitude, lulled to sleep by the music 

 of the waterfalls. 



Another mile or two southward, we pass great fields of purple flowers, 

 growing in a riot of profusion along the roadside, on the edge of for- 

 ests and everywhere. The California poppy is not as pretty as one of 

 these, yet that golden flower has been so well advertised, that it is one 



