Between a light finals schedule this week, my beat coverage winding down, and this amazing weather we've been having, my buddies P, Healy, and I planned a trip to Dyersville, Iowa, to see the Field of Dreams, made famous as a setting in the 1989 movie of the same name. Before the trip, I did a Wikipedia search on the film just to brush up on some stuff and check out trivia. All of the info was pretty standard, but the quotation, "The restored relationship between protagonist Kinsella and his father is notable for making male viewers cry," had me laughing.
Anyway, we made the hour-and-a-half drive from Iowa City, and at about half past noon, the field was in sight. "There's a guy with his shirt off," Healy said. We parked the car in the gravel lot in between cars with Iowa and Wisconsin plates and made our way toward the field.
Going in, we estimated as many as 20 people would be around, but those guesses ended up being overzealous - there were no more than five or six. Before we took the field, we headed over to the gift shop, which, according to Healy's online research, lent out baseballs and gloves for people to play catch. But there was a problem, there were two separate gift shops.
One, called "Field of Dreams" was approximately 100 feet behind home plate, while the other, called "Field of Dreams Souveniers" was located by third base. The first gift shop, which is managed by the Lansing family, who own the field, uses proceeds for the maintenance and upkeep of the field, farm, and house. The other shop is owned by a different farmer who leased it to out-of-sate investors not associated with the Lansing farm or family.
Naturally, I drifted to the first one, which I perceived it to be less evil. Standing in front of T-shirts, stickers, baseballs, and even actual DVD copies of the movie was an elderly woman named Marcia Weigell, who has worked at the field for 18 years. Much to our disappointment, she told us the shop had to stop lending out balls and gloves because of pending lawsuits.
Luckily, Healy had a mitt and a tennis ball in his car, so we made do. Weigell estimated 50,000 people visit the field each season, which lasts between April and November. "Most people are happy to come down," said Weigell, who has been interviewed by countless television and newspaper reporters.
"Some people who come are actually emotional because they just lost their father, but for the most part, people are just happy." I guess Wikipedia was right. It was my fault to question its power.
"They built it, and I came," P said after we finally stepped onto the field. After playing some pitch and catch, half-jogging the base paths, snapping some pictures, and looking into the not-yet-grown cornfields in the outfield, Healy asked me to throw a pop-up to him. As I obliged, I noticed power lines running over left and center field.
After getting more information out of Weigell, I learned the power lines are the divider between the Lansing farm and the farm that leases the out-of-state shop. It depressed me to think something so pure and serene as the Field of Dreams could be tarnished by commerciality, but I did my best to block it out. Now, I'm not one for simple pleasures - I'll take A/C and a television over a camping trip on most days - but the overwhelming simplicity of the scenery really captivated me.
Mixing it with a gorgeous mid-May day, and it was one hell of an afternoon. "I haven't felt this emotional since Friday Night Lights," P said in a serious tone. All problems aside, I'd say the trip is a must-do for any baseball fan, serious to casual.
And because I don't have a clever "If you build it, they will come"-type ending, I think I'll leave you with a phrase I saw on the back of the Field of Dreams sign as we made our way towards to the car: Live the magic, Have faith in simplicity, and Always dare to dream.
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