Prairie Gold

In Short

This anthology serves as a curated mosaic of Iowa’s intellectual and creative life in 1917, assembled by the Iowa Press and Authors’ Club to support the American Red Cross. It blends short fiction, poetry, and reflective essays to examine the intersections of rural tradition, personal grief, and global duty. The work endures as a time capsule, preserving the varied concerns of a midwestern state as its inhabitants grapple with the inevitable encroachment of the modern world and the personal sacrifices demanded by a far-off, devastating conflict.

The Story

The narrative arc of the volume begins with a firm grounding in the domestic and the local. We are introduced to the quiet, labored lives of those tethered to the land, where the rhythms of farming and the simple cycles of nature dictate existence. Characters like the elderly couple reflecting on a lifetime of loss and enduring love provide an intimate window into the stoicism of the period. However, this stillness is frequently punctured by the tremors of the outside world, specifically the growing shadow of the Great War.

As the collection moves forward, the focus shifts toward the psychological impact of separation and the search for meaning in the face of sudden, profound loss. We see individuals standing in stark contrast to their environments—a shabby woman in a city crowd catching a glimpse of her own reflection, or a young woman questioning the nature of her faith and her existence within the confines of a quiet, provincial life. The stories often conclude not with grand resolutions, but with moments of quiet acceptance or painful realization.

The scope expands further to include narratives of international duty and the "sons" departing for France, illustrating how the call to democracy transformed local communities into players on a global stage. The collection ends by looking toward the future, with literary criticism and retrospectives on the state’s cultural evolution. The final pieces argue that the perceived "level" landscape of the prairie is actually a fertile ground for complex, intellectual, and emotional growth. The book closes by framing the state not merely as an agricultural powerhouse, but as a place of historical depth and burgeoning artistic maturity, ready to contribute its unique perspective to the larger American experiment. The transition from the intimate, private grief of a household to the public, patriotic fervor of a nation at war provides a cohesive, if somber, trajectory that defines the spirit of this collaborative work.

How It Unfolds

The pastoral foundation The collection opens by establishing a deep, sensory connection to the Iowa landscape, emphasizing the harmony between the land and its people. Short stories and poems depict the daily labor of farming, the companionship of animals, and the slow, steady passage of seasons that characterize rural life.

The shift toward introspection The focus tightens on the internal lives of individuals, moving from the fields to the private parlors and lonely street corners of the town. These vignettes explore themes of aging, the loss of children, and the painful disparity between the aspirations of the spirit and the material reality of the body.

The intrusion of conflict A palpable tension arises as the reality of the First World War begins to dominate the thematic landscape. The stories and poems shift to address the anxiety of families separated by the sea and the grim necessity of sending young men to fight for a global democratic cause.

The reconciliation of faith and reality Several pieces delve into the philosophical crisis brought on by suffering, as characters search for God or meaning amidst the destruction of war. These moments of spiritual questing serve to bridge the gap between the mundane, domestic struggle and the larger, abstract goals of the nation.

The retrospective on identity The volume concludes with essays that summarize the cultural and historical status of the region. These final entries provide a scholarly look at the literary and social progress of the community, asserting its readiness to engage with the wider world.

The People

The characters are defined by their resilience against changing tides. Roger, a man grappling with grief and the betrayal of his artistic ideals, finds himself isolated, reflecting the book’s preoccupation with the fragility of personal connections. The "shabby little woman" encountered in the city serves as a poignant avatar for the forgotten or marginalized, her self-consciousness highlighting the class anxieties of the era.

Bonita, the "Queer Little Thing," embodies the tension between the freedom of the prairie and the restrictive, rule-bound nature of the civilized world, longing for a home that represents authenticity. Meanwhile, figures like the aging, sightless wife and her husband represent the enduring strength of long-term companionship, finding profound meaning in their shared history despite physical decline. The soldier figures, often seen through the eyes of those they left behind, act as symbolic representations of duty and sacrifice. Finally, the "Professor" and other literary figures within the essays represent the intellectual aspirations of the state, serving as the bridge between the simple life of the pioneer and the sophisticated, observant life of the modern artist.

In Its Own Voice

"The dog is a curious combination, wherein heredity constantly opposes culture; and therefore though your dog be a woolly dog or a smooth dog, a large dog or a small dog, a house-dog, yard-dog, hunting-dog or farm-dog, he will be ever a delight and a scandal according as he reveals the complexities of his character."

(From the essay Dog, where the author muses on the domestic animal's dual nature.)

"There are days when the front was really quiet. The thin trickle of rifle-fire only accentuated the stillness of an early summer morning."

(From the narrative Kitchener's Mob, describing the unsettling, eerie silence of the battlefield.)

"You have denied thee love that love shall be manifest in thee. Wherever love fails in my world, there shalt thou re-create it in beauty and kindness."

(From a moment of spiritual realization in The Spirit of Spring.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the "spirit of place" in the context of a changing world. It questions how a localized, agrarian identity can survive the pressures of a global war and the arrival of modern industry. The authors grapple with the tension between individual desire—the need for personal fulfillment and love—and the collective duty that calls citizens away from their homes. It is a meditation on the nature of sacrifice, asking whether loss can be transformed into beauty or social progress. Ultimately, the collection seeks to validate the cultural worth of the interior United States, arguing that the "singing corn" of Iowa is as significant a source of human experience as the grand theaters of the world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate early twentieth-century American regionalism will find this a fascinating, if sometimes uneven, experience. The prose is marked by the earnest, high-minded sincerity of the era, which can feel both charmingly nostalgic and occasionally heavy-handed to a contemporary reader. The book is not a fast-paced thriller; it is a slow-moving, thoughtful collection that rewards the patient reader who enjoys eavesdropping on the concerns of the past.

You will likely be struck by how clearly the authors express the profound anxiety of a time when the world was shrinking, and the local seemed destined to be consumed by the global. The difficulties—such as the sometimes flowery, didactic language of the poetry and the period-specific attitudes toward class and social roles—are present, but they are also what make the book an authentic artifact. It stays with you because it captures the specific, heartbreaking intersection of domestic peace and impending war. It serves as a reminder that the anxieties of the past often mirror our own, and that the desire for "earth-peace" and human connection remains a constant, regardless of the era or the landscape.