Keep making news, Washington

I was not excited to move to Washington.

That was the leading line of an essay I submitted for a contest in summer of 2022, where we were supposed to explain, “what hometown pride means to your community and how your community supports small businesses.”

Pretty edgy opener, right? The short version of that essay goes something like this: I grew up in Iowa, remained trapped here for college and felt stuck once again when my girlfriend (now fiancee) started grad school in Iowa City. I took a job and moved to Washington for a metaphorical layover in my life’s journey: it was somewhere I could get journalistic experience without moving too far from my partner. And once she graduated in 2023, I would jet out of town without looking back.

In spite of this attitude, I was gradually indoctrinated with militantly pro-Washington beliefs. And at some point — let’s call it July 7, 2022 — I found myself writing that essay in the hopes we could win a flashy new mural on Iowa Avenue. (Washington ultimately won the essay-writing contest, and by extension, the mural, but it did so with a far superior essay written by Isabella Santoro.)

I could no longer deny it. Despite my best efforts, I found myself inexplicably “excited to be in Washington,” as my less popular essay submission concluded.

As you read the ink on this page, I’ve completed my tenure at the Washington Evening Journal. My last day on the clock was Sept. 26, and in the next few weeks, I will pack up a truck, then a car, and move to western Colorado where I’ll work at another local paper, bothering a new batch of local officials in the name of transparency and accountability and my own twisted idea of fun. It’ll be just like Washington, except with nine times as many people in the coverage area, some different public record laws, considerably fewer hog farms and considerably more mountains.

As I circle this out-of-state “brain drain” I’ve heard so much about, I find it difficult to articulate what, exactly, kept me here for an extra two years after my partner finished grad school.

A lot of my initial misgivings about the community remain true, after all. In complete candor, Washington is further than convenient from my family and longtime friends in Iowa City, but not far enough from home to feel especially new or exotic. It’s a smaller community than I’m accustomed to. It is seemingly devoid of other 20-somethings on every night of the year — except during the Washington Betterment Foundation Pub Crawl — and for a reporter whose job involves being nosy and occasionally burning bridges, it’s a place where I’ve struggled to make close friends outside of work. (Except, again, during the Betterment Foundation Pub Crawl, a holiday I believe the entire world should celebrate with buses and booze and bead necklaces.)

The trouble lies in a difference of describability. The things I dislike about Washington are easy to articulate: they are far-reaching, well-known trends, observable to just about anyone. The things I love, in contrast, are a litany of lived experiences and one-off events, a series of anecdotes that few if any readers can relate to in their entirety.

I love that people meet your eyes when you walk by, that they smile and say hello. I like holding doors for the next person in line, who says thanks and holds it for the person after them. I like that one time, when I showed up to cover an arts and crafts event, I heard a chorus of whispered excitement among middle school students stoked out of their minds to learn “The Journal’s here!” I love that everyone still calls it “The Journal,” except the late Betty Osincup, the only person to correct me with the publication’s new name — The Southeast Iowa Union — when I introduced myself to her for an interview. She was 102 years old at the time.

I love that when my work wins awards, I’m congratulated by people on the street I’ve never even seen before. I like that I can get away with writing about Star Trek every once in a while because Riverside is technically in the coverage area. I enjoy seeing peoples’ reactions when I tell them I saw The Barbie Movie in the oldest continuously operating movie theater on the planet. I’m an avid appreciator of Banda, a music genre I’d never heard of until I saw it performed at Latino Fest. I love that the disc golf course has little arrows pointing you to the next tee at every hole.

I love the look of the fountain so much I proposed to my fiancee in front of it, with a ring I bought at Don’s Jewelry just a few dozen paces away.

The things I love most about Washington are just that: things. They’re not trends, they’re not themes of the community, per se, they’re not even specific recurring events or programs.

And let me tell you, a hell of a lot of things happen here.

When I meet strangers at weddings and house parties and whatnot, many are surprised that a town of under 8,000 needs a dedicated reporter, or more, if you count our sports guys and the radio station. They ask what could possibly fill the page in a community of this size.

The answer changes every time, often to their surprise: “Negotiations with the city are holding up an international railroad merger.” “The largest Nativity collection ever recorded is on display at the bank.” “A massive animal rescue operation ended with the first detection of a nearly-eradicated disease not seen in Iowa since 2010 .” “A Star Trek episode name-dropped a neighboring town.” “The rest of the nation waited on us to decide a close Congressional election.” “One of our legislators single-handedly prevented a book ban bill.” ”There’s these farmers raising shrimp 900 miles from the nearest coastline.“ ”There’s these other farmers with a nationally acclaimed podcast.“ ”We may become the first district in the state to try year-round school.“ ”I am personally threatening yet another government body with legal action if they don’t give me some documents I keep asking for.“

When I moved here, I expected a sleepy town trapped in the past. I expected to write articles about annual events, road work, and photogenic garden beds or whatever, nothing that mattered to anyone outside a 20-mile radius. There would be some variety, but I would usually be bored out of my mind in a place many residents considered a “bedroom community.”

And I have, for the record, written plenty of those stories. Many — though not all — were more fun and fulfilling than I anticipated. But quite frequently, the news happening here in Washington really, really mattered. Not just to us, or even just the rest of the county, but across state lines and national borders.

The thing keeping me here was the fact that important news just kept happening. It turns out people in Washington are astoundingly dedicated to doing new things, to pushing their community forward, discussing and occasionally even fixing big problems, adding new amenities and making their town generally better. And as a result, I’ve had plenty to write about, often more than I can hope to cover at once.

That’s made my work at the Journal feel fulfilling. It still does. I just happened to land a job in a larger community with a better career trajectory for my profession, and with mountains. I am excited about this new adventure I’m jumping into, but that doesn’t negate the truth that kept me here for over half of my adult life:

It is consistently, sincerely, exceedingly exciting to be in Washington.

Comments: Kalen.McCain@southeastiowaunion.com