Travel broadens the mind but it also, less famously, connects the heart. You visit a place and it becomes real to you in a way it never was before. If it shows up in the news, you listen more closely; if the news is bad, you feel it more deeply.

I've been thinking about Iowa lately because of the floods, and because it was the first Midwestern state I ever visited. It also was an election year, about the only time - barring natural disasters - that the coastal commentators pay any attention to the people in the Heartland.

I rented a car in Des Moines and for the next 10 days discovered a cornucopia of rich Americana: the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake (where Buddy Holly had his last performance), the National Hobo Convention in nearby Britt, the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Grant Wood's old artist colony in Stone City.

I skipped through Cedar Rapids but stopped in Iowa City, which quickly became one of my favorite college towns, with one of my favorite independent bookstores, Prairie Lights. I assume the bookstore's OK, but I heard about the people forming a chain to move books out of the first floor of the university library, where I spent a quiet June afternoon just three summers ago.

Everywhere I went in Iowa, on both my trips, people lived up to their reputation as friendly, considerate, decent - the kind of folks you'd like to have as neighbors. I always thought that if foreigners really wanted to learn about this country, they should visit Iowa.

It pains me to think of all the destruction - to houses, communities, lives - that the people of Cedar Rapids and other towns are now having to endure. It seems unfair that such a disaster should befall such good people. Yet if there's anyone with the dedication, fortitude, and good samaritanism to bounce back from such a blow, it's Iowans.

AP Photo by Hannah van Zutphen-Kann