Leaving Ames, Too Soon
Each week, the great Carol Burnett used to close her legendary CBS variety show by singing, “I’m so glad we had this time together, just to have a laugh or sing a song. Seems we just get started and before you know it, comes the time we have to say, ‘So long.'”
Well, Ames, the time has come. So long. It’s been nice to be here. Seems as if we arrived just yesterday. But the truth is, it’s been more than seven weeks since we first showed up at your doorstep — or, to be more precise, our doorstep — the one at our “summer home” on Duff Avenue near your lovely Old Town.
Normally, as you know, Ames, we stay here at least three or four months — leaving only when those first snowflakes are either about to fall, or have started. Well, here we are, in early August, and even though your weather these past few days has been spectacular — a hint of “early” autumn — we’re high-tailing it out of here this coming Saturday morning.
It’s not that we don’t like you, Ames. We love you. That’s why we keep coming back.
We love biking and walking through Old Town, with its historic Victorians, its streets that are canopied by decades-old trees, and its plethora of wildlife. Yes, I’m talking about all those squirrels and rabbits that skitter around front yards and backyards, and all those amazingly colorful birds — including orioles and cardinals — that provide such a vibrant backdrop to that historic neighborhood.
We also enjoy your many restaurants that usually entice us during our stay — especially that barbecue place on South Duff, the one that almost everyone in the Midwest knows and the one that’s usually jammed, day and night, any time of the year. We love Reiman Gardens, and we have a special fondness for your Fourth of July parade, the fireworks, and the free Fourth breakfast in front of City Hall.
Yes, all this draws us back to you, Ames — but you’d have to admit that this year has been a bummer. All that Fourth of July stuff — canceled. Those great restaurants — well, they were closed, and then re-opened, but to much-reduced capacity. Even then, we would not go inside. We ordered “take-out,” and we did, indeed, “take it out” to nearby parks.
Of course, Ames, your City Hall was shut down, and the council could not meet inside its chambers. There was no swimming at your gigantic aquatic center out on 13th Street. There were no band concerts in any of your city parks, and Reiman — well, it finally re-opened its garden areas, but everything inside its impressive main building — including its butterfly wing — stayed off-limits.
Don’t get me wrong, Ames. None of this is your fault. The blame goes, of course, to the coronavirus — that nasty piece of work that has ravaged almost every part of American life. And much of the blame also goes to us — the people who make up what we call the United States.
Truth is, we’re a bunch of disunited people who simply could not band together to fight the virus. Instead, we descended into mindless bickering about masks. We refused to social distance when bars and restaurants re-opened. Many of us — not “us,” of course, but you know who I’m talking about — refused to believe scientists and health experts, instead choosing to believe charlatans and know-nothings — some of them at the very top of our government.
Yes, the virus drove us, the people of this country, mad. Insane. And the result is what we see now — continued spread of the disease, accompanied, of course, by more infections and more deaths.
But you know all this, Ames. And you also know what comes next — right here, and soon. Everyone knows. All those Iowa State students have started returning to campus for the fall semester — 25,000 or more. And with them comes the virus. 
Talk to anyone around town, Ames. Talk to the barber down at the Supercuts. Talk to the chiropractor at his office on Clark. Talk to the barista at Café Diem on Main Street, or to the ISU English professor who lives on 9th Street, or to the superintendent of the Ames School District, or to the chairman of the county’s board of health.
Every one of them will tell you the same thing, Ames — because every one of them told us the same thing: Trouble is on its way, Ames, trouble with a capital “V.” And no one, seemingly, can stop it.
So, as Willie Nelson immortally sang, “I just can’t wait to get on the road again.” Don’t get me wrong, Ames. We’d like to wait. We’d like to stay here through September, as we usually do. We’d love to see the official arrival of autumn around these parts. It always brings crystal-clear days and chilly nights, and it always convinces our Old Town trees to show off their best and brightest colors.
But at our ages and our stage of life, we can’t risk it, Ames. And we’re sorry about that — truly sorry.
We want to return again next year. Maybe — just maybe — a vaccine will have been developed that makes us feel safe. Maybe music will again be joyfully played in that historic bandshell downtown. Maybe kids and their parents will gather again on a hot July Fourth and marvel at the bands and the marchers and the decorated vehicles as they make their way down Main Street.
Maybe we’ll get that free pancake breakfast in front of City Hall.
But, Ames, most of all, what we want to do next year is see those special people who have been our friends in this town, seemingly forever. We barely saw them during this summer horribilis because, frankly, everyone was being oh-so-careful about get-togethers. We never dined out with them inside restaurants. Our home visits were limited. And as for attending “events” together — well, of course, there were no events.
It’s these enduring friendships — along with your enduring charm, Ames — that keep us coming back. So, if everything goes well on all fronts, count us in for next summer, Ames. Yes, we’re getting older — and yes, all that cross-country driving is getting more difficult.
But the pleasure you give us while we’re here makes it worthwhile — even in a summer like this. You may have lost — or, perhaps, temporarily put away — some of the enticements you normally exhibit.
But you’re still the best place we’ve ever lived. Let’s hope we can make this work — at least one more time.