Traveling Highway 44

9/3/2025

I pull off Highway 44 on a chance, turn off the car on a whim, step into a farmyard of swarming chickens with trepidation, and listen to an old man weave his stories.

“Meryl Streep rode that bicycle right there.”

The weathered, sober-looking man, straight out of a Grant Wood painting, points into the distant dark corner.

I look around the massive pole barn — past the buckets and tins and tools and lamps and trunks and tractors and ladders and sleds and tires and even past the obliging owner, Jimmy Boll. Where is that bike? And is that rooster that followed us into the barn going to attack me?

Sure enough, there is a bike where Jimmy is pointing. And there is a swing he says was also used by Warner Brothers in making the same movie, “The Bridges of Madison County,” starring Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood (and written by Iowa boy Robert Waller).

“I rented 200 items to Warner Brothers when they made the movie. And I restored a windmill at the movie site.” 

For 78 years — Jimmy Boll’s entire life — he has lived in the family home along Highway 44.

“I’m the oldest person living on the highway between Grimes and Dallas Center.” Jimmy stops to think for a moment. “A woman just down the road had me beat. She was in her 90s, but she passed away.”

Jimmy is a man who is clear-eyed about the facts.

Several chickens, a rooster and four baby ducks run past me.

“There’s 150 chickens here. I sell eggs every day.”

Well, that explains why I am surrounded by these two-legged noisemakers.

Don’t they get hit by the cars on Highway 44?

“There’s nothing out there to eat.”

Jimmy then continues his guided tour of windmills, sleighs, tractors and anything else you can imagine a person could collect. And, yes, several times he comes close to smiling.

Let’s pause for a minute and think how we arrived here on Jimmy’s property next to Iowa Highway 44.

I love a journey.

And, apparently, I’m not alone. There’s Willie Nelson traveling between concerts singing “On the Road Again.” And Jack Kerouac with his thumb out hitchhiking across America so he can write “On the Road.” And there’s the farmer/poet Robert Frost, breaking the spring ground and reciting: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by.”

News flash — America is the land of the free and home of the brave and also a country of more than 4 million miles of roads, according to the Federal Highway Administration. That is a lot of concrete and blacktop and gravel and dirt. But what if we travel just 44 miles of road? And only on Highway 44?

Iowa Highway 44 stretches west from Grimes, past Guthrie Center, and on to nearly the Missouri River — 104 miles in total. It was born out of the ashes of two different highways back in 1969 when the State of Iowa was trying to clean up all the highway numbers. So, let’s start at Grimes and go west.

But first, do you have the car ready? Coffee in your insulated cup? A big jug of water? One more run to the bathroom? Highway 44, here we come.

“The extent to which you can walk in someone else’s shoes or at least eat their food, it’s a plus for everybody.” – Anthony Bourdain

STOP! 

Is that a pie shop? Yup. “Once Upon an Apple Pie” to be specific, snuggled up next to Highway 44 at 312 East First St., Grimes. The shop was recently opened after several years of JoAnn Beeman and her husband, Jason, selling pies at farmers markets around the Des Moines metro. Their first storefront.

Listen, pie may be my first love. Any kind of pie —  apple pie, blueberry pie, mincemeat pie. I blame my mom. She baked around the clock for our family of eight kids. It created certain rules for the good life — 1) always save room for dessert, and 2) everything is better with butter and sugar. Duh.

JoAnn also blames her mom.

“Well, my mom was actually the pie baker. She lives in South Carolina, and every time she would visit, I’d ask her to make me an apple pie.”

Great, but why are YOU making pies?

“Over time, her visits became fewer, and so I started trying to make it myself. And I wanted to do something a little different, use an all butter crust, but that took a long time to nail down.”

And…

“And once I did, I couldn’t make enough pies.”

I look at the counters overflowing with pies soon to be gone when the store opens. My stomach grumbles.

“It is my passion,” JoAnn says with a laugh.

So it is.

I buy four small pies. Thank JoAnn and Jason for their time. And promptly eat two pies in my car. Yum! When you are going on a road trip, you must be well fortified.

Highway 44 stretches west out of Grimes to Dallas Center, a little more than 9 miles away. After driving past the new houses and apartments and condos and Dallas Center-Grimes High School, it quickly turns into Iowa farm country — fields just planted smelling of rich black dirt, creeks running fast from a recent rain, and pastures with baby calves hanging close to their grass-munching moms.

“People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.” – Dagobert D. Runes

I travel into Dallas Center where Highway 44 cuts through a narrow edge of the town. And sitting nearly on the highway is a white two-story house with a wrap-around porch looking out on the road. A beauty of a porch, with decorative spindles and lattices and posts and a wainscoted ceiling. A porch out of another time — a time of rocking chairs and long cotton dresses and suspenders and bowler hats and the sweet smell of a pipe cupped in a callused hand.

“The house was built in 1890, and my husband and I have lived here 45 years. I was pregnant when we looked at the house.” Sandy Clinkinbeard smiles at me as she apologizes for her wet hands from power washing. “We were living in a mobile home, so it was quite a change to move.”

Sandy talks of her home with love and pride. She even runs inside to show me an old photograph of the house taken long before she and her husband, Al, owned it. And the photo shows the beautiful porch just as it looks now.

Almost.

The old photo shows a hammock strung up in the bend of the porch. A cool place to sleep on a hot summer night. But, today, the roar from the road makes even talking impossible.

“There is just a lot more traffic and a lot more people.”

But the porch still stands proudly while Sandy welcomes me to visit again.

Back on the road and driving through Dallas Center, I cross a paved bike path running diagonally from south to north. It’s the northern route of the Raccoon River Valley Trail that goes from Waukee to Perry and then all the way to Jefferson.

I love bike trails — you can work out, enjoy nature, and think, all at the same time. Of course, after a few profound thoughts, I’m worn out and decide to check out The HandleBar next to the trail to see if fries and adult beverages are on their menu. They are.

“Tourists don’t know where they’ve been, travelers don’t know where they’re going.” – Paul Theroux

Highway 44 continues west descending to the Raccoon River. And there, I find Bob fishing under the highway. Bob is a true fisherman. He is friendly and smiles. But he doesn’t really want to talk. He is fishing.

Bob, what are you fishing for?

“Anything that bites.”

And he looks away toward his line. That’s enough talk for now.

I get it. Although he did let me take a picture, and he did tell me his favorite place to fish. Sorry, you’re only getting the picture. Some secrets are sacred.

Climbing out of the valley, corn and beans checkerboard the landscape. But don’t be fooled by the pastoral fields because this is a particularly violent section of Highway 44. See, over there, is Panther Creek Church of The Brethren. Behind the church is the cemetery. And, according to The Panther Creek Church of the Brethren Cemetery History, the cemetery is “the resting place of the first murders committed in Dallas County.” Yup, the tombstone reads:  “John N. Bold was shot by J.E. Elliott Aug 23, 1872 died Aug 25, 1872.” Shot, according to the Brethren History, because “they became angry after an argument over a cow.”

The lesson from this, folks? Keep your eyes peeled for cows on this stretch of Highway 44. And perhaps you should eat one more pie before an untimely death. I do.

“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” – Paul Theroux

The land flattens as we get closer to the hill and pond and lake area surrounding the town of Panora. Past the East Branch of Panther Creek and then the West Branch of Panther Creek and Mosquito Creek and Bays Branch and… Ditch Number 4?

Ditch Number 4 may not be a name from a romance novel, but it does tell the story of Iowa agriculture and the draining of the land. “The U.S. Census Bureau estimated that as early as 1920 approximately nine million acres of Iowa farm land had been artificially drained or needed to be.” Iowa Drainage Law Manual. Thus were born all sorts of drainage ditches to do this job — including our very own Ditch Number 4. Thank you for your service.

The highway continues west and goes through the heart of Panora. Of course I have to stop at the Pedal-In for a burger because it is on the southern branch of the Raccoon River Valley Trail. And then for a coffee at Crafty’s Coffee & Gifts. A beautiful coffee shop that invites you to linger, eat a second lunch, try the pastries, and feed my relentless coffee addiction.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” – Tim Cahill

And, look, on the green, across the highway from the coffee shop, is the Panora Public Library. I have a weakness for libraries. They are quiet and peaceful and shaded from the summer sun. They smell of books and adventure.

I can’t resist.

When I enter the library, I see a woman hustling around getting things organized, straightening chairs, watching the kids. Molly Allen is the recently appointed director at the Panora Public Library.

Molly gives me a warm welcome.

So, what do you love about this job?

“I love the kids’ programs. And I love books. And I just love reading. We did story time outside the other day. We had a parachute to go along with the story. It was just fun.”

Molly says this with contagious excitement. I’m sold. I want to stay and sit in a kid chair and read stories and see the parachute. But, sadly, I’m 4 feet too tall and more than 100 pounds too much for those chairs. Shoot.

Outside the library is Percussion Park with, you guessed it, multiple percussion instruments that ring and clang and boom with deep rich sounds. And over there is a concrete ping pong table where, yesterday, Molly saw several older women in a spirited match. Who knew? Panora — home of ping pong smackdown. It had to start somewhere.

Climbing out of Panora past the woods on the left and Panorama High School on the right, the terrain turns less agricultural and more wooded. We are on our way to Guthrie Center, the county seat for Guthrie County. And I’m looking for treats.

On the north side of the highway at the edge of town is Guthrie County Quality Meats. Grant Sheeder was born and raised in Guthrie Center and was a part of the Sheeder Dairy family. After a lot of work and a lot of research, Grant opened this meat locker to fill a gap he saw in the market for meat products. And it has worked.

Shirt tucked, easy smile, big ideas, Grant reminds me of every Iowa farm kid who has been responsible for land and animals and large equipment since being a youngster. It’s why employers around the U.S. hire these kids — they know how to work.

So, Grant, how is work?

“The home delivery side is a huge thing for us along with farmers bringing in beef or pork to be processed. We deliver meat to over 400 homes a month right now. We’re expanding into restaurants and to the Hy Vee stores also.”

And your staff?

“We have a great team. We have very little turnover. Quality is in our name, and they care about that, too. They treat it as if that farmer was looking over their shoulder as they process that meat.”

But back to the treats. Actually, Grant has a storefront of treats — every type and flavor of beef stick you could ever want, dairy goods, any cut of meat up to a quarter of a cow, ham salad, egg salad, sauces, vinegars, jams, eggs. Oh, my.

I don’t get a quarter of a cow, but can I really pass up a garlic parmesan beef stick? And how will this impact kissing my sweet wife? I’m willing to take the risk.

“The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as foreign land.” – G.K. Chesterton

I’m back on Highway 44 through Guthrie Center. I am looking for the M & M Divide. It is supposed to be approximately seven miles west of Guthrie Center on Highway 44.

You might be wondering what the heck is the M & M Divide? The Missouri and Mississippi Divide is the line between two watersheds. On the east side of that line, every creek, every river, every raindrop flows to the Mississippi River. On the west side of that line, even your spilled glass of water flows to the Missouri River. There is no in-between. You have to go one way or the other.

Naturally, I am expecting some gigantic demarcation for the M & M Divide. Perhaps a wide canyon. Or maybe a mammoth rock that juts toward the sky. Or at least some type of fireworks and a parade.

Nope.

It is an uninspired sign, in the middle of nowhere, that looks onto nothing. Not even one drum majorette. Bummer.

On the other hand, the quiet of it all does make you look closely at the fields on either side of the road and the creek down the way. Paying attention might be a traveler’s superpower.

As for me, I eat the last pie.

“Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” – Terry Pratchett

Oh, no, we are at the end of our trip. We have gone 44 miles on Highway 44. It’s time to turn around and go home. And, as I head east, I am reminded of the great Yogi Berra, who said, “If you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

Amen to that. ♦