I showered at leisure in the clean, white, tampon-less bathroom and dried off with the fluffy towels. I packed up my gear and headed downstairs to load the car. I felt so refreshed that I nearly forgot about the impending doom of the check engine light.
After a quick search, I found the auto shop Dan's brother in law worked at and headed over. Dan may have been a bit off, but I wasn't going to turn down a perfectly good lead on someone who may be able to help me. I parked my car and inquired as to where I could find him to speak. While Dan turned out to be sketchy, I looked at his brother in law and felt as though I knew him instantly. As the daughter of a mechanic with plenty of gearhead friends, he may as well have been one of my boys back home in Elizabeth City. I knew he would shoot straight with me.
He hooked up the reader and turned to me. "You probably have nothing to worry about, to be honest. This error is pretty much saying that sensors for your catalytic converter may not be reading properly, which means you may have elevated emissions. But trust me, if your cat stopped working, you would know it. You'd hear a godawful racket, to begin with. In your situation, I'd just worry about it when you get home unless it craps out on you along the way. I promise you, you will know if it dies. The only issue you have right now is that you won't be able to pass your emissions inspection."
"Huh. Well, I don't have to pass an emissions inspection where I live, just a safety one."
"Well shit, you're good to go then," he said. It was the best news I had heard on the whole trip.
With the mechanic's blessing, I decided it was time to get the Hell out of Dodge. Literally. I set out on the open highway on the bright, cheery morning and felt relieved to kiss Fort Dodge goodbye. Once again, I could enjoy the scenery and landscape. As it turns out, Iowa is actually quite beautiful. I smiled. My friends have always commented that they would get so bored on the open highway, or creeped out, or some combination of the two.
To me, however, the undeniable beauty and serenity of an unsullied horizon has always set my heart alight, as if it had wings fluttering inside my chest. Whenever I round a corner and see a vast expanse before me, my breath trembles and my eyes begin to twinkle with all the luster of a thousand stars. My mouth pulls taut until I realize that subconsciously, a beaming grin has crawled across my face, and goosebumps tickle my flesh just the same as when a new lover, in excitement, kisses your neck softly for the first time, their breath raising the hairs along your spine. The music crescendos into a symphony that frames the soundtrack of my life, immortalizing a memory in sun-bathed splendor. I realized in that moment that, while I've loved and been loved in this life by men, my heart will always belong to the road.
I was headed for a little town called West Bend. It was so small and isolated that there was no direct route to it, nor did any interstate lay remotely near it. Even my GPS had difficulty recognizing it as an actual town. It sat at the northernmost county in the state. The state highway I took for a large portion of the trip was like going back in time. I scarcely saw any other vehicles and when I did, they were farming trucks. I almost missed the turn to West Bend. I was driving amid a broad, open sprawl of farmland that rolled out on each side of me, swaying in the breeze as puffy white clouds hung throughout the scene. It was so peaceful and comforting as I blew through the landscape.
It seemed as though the crops of corn and wheat I had been driving through for the past two hours were a huge, desolate desert, as it was late in the scorching season. Everything was some shade of brown - the shoulders and ditches were mostly dusty gravel with some fried grass. If you've ever seen old time sepia photos where everything is some mix of beige, you could compare it to the scene before me, with a Carolina Blue sky that seemed all the more colorful next to the drab crops. Then, like an oasis in that Iowa desert, there rose West Bend. It was so small that I could see the entire town from one end to the other.
A little bit about the tourist attraction I sought in this tiny town. I scoured the internet for interesting things to see and do in the months prior to the trip. I knew roughly which states I was going through which was vaguely outlined by where my old friends lived that I wanted to see across the country. I found a website called roadsideusa.com and they had a whole section of "offbeat attractions." The attractions were categorized conveniently by state. Iowa didn't have much, but there was a site in West Bend called The Grotto of the Redemption. It was a religious monument made in the early 1900s by a catholic priest who created a grotto the size of an entire town block. He made it entirely by hand as a testament to the healing salvation of Christ.
Now, let me say outright that I am not an overly religious person at this point in my life. I was raised baptist and as I became an adult, I became quite confused on what I believed. At the same time, I always felt comforted by the church my mother took us to; the pastors over the years were always kind and spoke of love and compassion as opposed to so many that raise their voices about fire and brimstone. For me, these unusual monuments that were built out of love and good intentions always brought me some sort of peace, as if I were enveloped in the soft arms of my childhood, in a place where I was safe and loved, baptized by the memory of the innocence I once had. In those moments in these places, I felt as though my purity had not been lost, and I was able to see the world through rose colored glasses once more. I think that's what this destination was about and at this point, the timing was perfect, because I needed it.
Father Dobberstein lay stricken with pneumonia in the very early 1900s and he prayed to the Virgin Mother that, if she could spare him from death, he would spend his life devoted to sharing the love of God with others. Lo and behold, he survived and made good on his promise. He was always a rock hound, fascinated by gemstones and the like. In 1912, he went to work crafting a monument by hand out of his own homemade mortar recipe and gemstones he had collected. People were fascinated by his endeavor and would often donate stones (many unpolished and unrefined) or petrified wood that they had come across during farming, construction, mining, and so on. His monument grew over the years, sprawling wider and taller as he tirelessly labored. His intent was to make a non-denominational site so that anyone might enjoy it. When he died in 1954, his dream did not go with him. Custodians continued according to his plans, with new construction being added up until 1980. It's still not considered complete, but as donations allow, the final statues will be purchased.
I entered West Bend, population 785, around 10:00 a.m. The grass was a vibrant green, the lawns reminiscent of the well-manicured yards in Pleasantville. Many sat lined with white picket fences, the trees gracefully swaying as a light breeze kissed their leaves.
The grotto wasn't hard to find. When I rolled up to it, at first it looked like a heaping, brown sandcastle with craggy archways and no color to be found. My heart sank a little. This is it? This brown pile of dirt? I parked at the office and entered the office/gift shop. It was tended by two sweet, graying ladies who told me that I could take an official tour, or I could just go in. The tour wasn't for a couple hours, anyway. Entry was donation based, and all the souvenirs were used to fund the construction and maintenance. They encouraged me to step over into the church next to the grotto when I was done, as this was the church where Father Dobberstein had served for so many years.
Actually, quite colorful upon closer inspection.
Goosebumps crawled up my arms as I realized how massive this place was, and how serene the moment of silence was. It felt like I was meant to be here, on this very day, at this very moment.
Impressive.
I explored the grotto inquisitively. There were many little alcoves and cubbies with statues depicting the various stages of Christ's life. I entered a small room that was a shrine, with several crucifixes and vases on the wall. Flowers and wreaths adorned many of the ledges. The gemstones used in this place were incredible. There was no brick or cinderblock to be found; it was all painstakingly crafted with stones, gems, and fossils.
I stopped to admire a massive column that I soon realized was a whole tree trunk, petrified into stone. The grain of the wood was still palpable on the glassy surface. I rounded a corner and saw a staircase, to which I climbed until I saw the massive mound before me with an enormous statue of Jesus Laid in the Arms of His Mother, with a very stately cross rising at least 12' tall behind them.
This place was so lovely, I lost track of time. I walked through to the right of the grotto. There stood, away from all of the rest of the monument, a large statue that rose before me as I approached. The sun was behind the statue, casting it entirely in a gray shadow. As my eyes focused, I saw the great Archangel Michael, wings boldly spread towards the sky, with a mighty sword in his hand pointing towards the ground. I looked to his feet and saw the devil lying prone on the ground with Michael's foot holding down his head. Chills crept up my spine as the sun seemed to beam out from behind his head, only for a moment, and then slipped behind the clouds again.
I thought about the symbolism. I thought about all of my demons, all my secrets, all my mistakes, all my problems, and all of my fears. As I thought about all of the choices and moments in my life that had brought me to the point where I stood, it almost felt like the mighty angel was looking down into my eyes, his foot bearing down the villain before me as a bold statement. In that moment, I wondered to myself: was I the angel victoriously overcoming, or the demon conquered? To this day, I'm not sure that I'll ever know.
I walked around the back of the site and saw a bronze statue standing solo. I neared it and realized that it was a statue of Father Dobberstein, erected lovingly by the custodians of the grotto after he passed. He stood there with a cardigan sweater on and a cap on his head, a gentle and kind smile on his face. One arm hung by his side with a small rock hammer in it. The other lay outstretched before him with a gemstone in it.
The grotto was so lovely, peaceful, and rejuvenating. However, seeing this statue of the sweet little old man that built it filled me with more happiness than anything else. There was something about him that for the world reminded me of my childhood hero, Mr. Rogers. Perhaps it was the sweater and the sweet smile. And there it was. In that moment, standing before Father Dobberstein, a soft breeze on me and the sun warming my face, I found what I was looking for. I felt as though someone had hugged me and said gently into my ear, "Everything is going to be okay. You're a good person. You are loved." A calm washed over me and I felt a fuzzy glow swell in my chest, which was an experience I couldn't quite articulate - and still, words escape me to adequately portray it. I don't know if everything was going to be all right, but in that moment, I was never more certain, and I felt like he truly believed I was capable of doing wonderful things. I call this the Mr. Rogers Effect. Funny how the statue of a man long deceased somehow brought me so much comfort and peace. Perhaps that speaks volumes about how desperately I needed it.
I felt as though my time at the Grotto sadly needed to draw to a close. Before leaving though, I had to check out the church. I entered through the side door which let out close to the pulpit. It was completely empty in the church, all the lights off, the filtered sunlight softly illuminating the room through stained glass windows. To the right of the room was an altar with dozens and dozens of candles laid out in neat rows. A half dozen or so of them were lit, their delicate flames dancing and then falling still before me. A padded rail ran in front for kneeling onto, and a small collection box hung next to the altar with long matches sitting beside. It was a $0.25 offering to light three candles. I'm not Catholic, but this was something I felt compelled to do. I silently dug out a quarter and dropped it into the box, letting off a muffled clunk that echoed through the sanctuary. I thought about where I was, where I had been, and where I wanted to be -- both literally and figuratively. I had found peace in this place, but was no closer to finding answers than when I begun. Perhaps that wasn't the Grotto's purpose for my trip; maybe this road weary traveler just needed a quiet moment in a quiet church in a quiet town, and maybe it took driving 300 miles into the middle of nowhere to find a place quiet enough to let the noise in my head settle down, even if only for a little while. I lit three candles: one for the sweet child I used to be, one for the damaged woman I was presently, and one for the me --no, the better me that I wanted to become. I closed my eyes and let the minute pass. It was time to go.
Rising from my kneeled position, I walked up to admire one of the stained glass windows. Stopping in front of the pulpit, I turned around and looked to the back of the sanctuary, a small dot of flesh and blood in a large, empty room. At the back of the church, one door lay propped open and the other, with a glass cross-shaped window, let in beams of light in the silence, their thickness almost tangible compared to the darkness of the rest of the room. I attempted to take a photo, but as with most moving experiences, film can't capture it quite right. The hair on my neck stood once more as I looked back to my three candles and then again to the doors that were flooding sunlight into the darkness. There are many days where I don't know if I'm the angel or if I'm the demon. That day, however, I made the long walk up the aisle towards the beams and let myself be baptized by the sunlight of a hot August day, leaving behind the silent darkness of the sanctuary.
I walked out into the grass, looking at my watch. Definitely time to go. The gentle breeze kissed my face again as I sighed, looking down at the soft, illustrious green carpet beneath my shoes. I slipped them off and quietly lay down, squishing the blades between my toes softly. It doesn't matter how pressed for time you are, sometimes one has to make time to roll in the grass and watch the clouds roll by, especially a lawn as inviting and perfect as that one. I hadn't accomplished much at the grotto. On the other hand, maybe I had accomplished everything. I had, for a brief moment, quieted my troubled and busy mind, finding clarity and peace and some sort of absolution. I was able to breathe in the warm, sunny air lying flat on my back, face to the sky, and truly enjoy myself. One day I'll conquer the demon for good. In the mean time, the highway awaits.
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