Let’s Talk About It…

This weekend, we’re packing up the grandboys and flying off to the heart of the Midwest—Winterset, Iowa—for my husband’s family reunion. Wilson and Wyatt are beside themselves with excitement to be on a plane again. And, it never gets old to me either.

There’s something special about Iowa. Now, I know it might not make everyone’s bucket list, but Winterset is truly peaceful—rolling hills, white fences, and that small-town charm that feels like stepping into a slower, sweeter time. You breathe deeper there. Maybe it’s the cornfields. Maybe it’s just the quiet. Either way, my soul is ready for it.

Winterset isn’t just any old small town—it’s the birthplace of John Wayne and home to those dreamy, iconic covered bridges made famous by The Bridges of Madison County. And yes, I fully intend to take at least one dramatic walk across one while pretending I’m Meryl Streep waiting on Clint Eastwood to show up in his rusty pickup. (Don’t judge—every woman deserves her moment.)

The reunion is on Saturday, but the party always starts long before the official gathering. We’ll be swapping stories, playing card games that get a little too competitive (just ask my husband), and—if my prayers are answered—visiting that little winery I fell in love with the last time we were there. I’m hoping it’s still around, because nothing says “reunion recharge” like sipping wine in the middle of corn country with cousins and laughter echoing across the hills.

The main event will be held at the local park, where folks will wander in and out all day long, sharing hugs, photos, and pie recipes. I expect a solid mix of lawn chairs, barbecue, babies toddling around in the grass, and cousins chasing each other like they’ve known each other forever—even if they just met that morning. That’s the thing about family. It doesn’t take long for roots to recognize roots.

Watching the younger generation—our grandboys included—connect with their extended family fills my heart in ways I can’t quite put into words. They’re building bonds and memories that will live longer than the homemade potato salad. These are the stories they’ll tell their kids one day: “Remember when we used to go to Iowa? That little park with the swings, and the lady who made the banana pudding with Nilla Wafers…” Yep, that’s the stuff.

Life moves fast. Too fast. And reunions like this? They’re our way of pressing pause. Of reminding ourselves where we came from, and who we belong to. It’s not always perfect, but it’s ours. And that makes it worth every minute of travel, every mosquito bite, and every overcooked hotdog.

So off we go—to hug necks, tell tales, eat too much, stroll across famous bridges, and maybe tip our hats to The Duke himself while watching generations connect in the shade of big old trees.

Iowa, we’re comin’ for ya.

XOXO, Jani

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