Named for a native tribe nearly eradicated by smallpox 250 years ago (whose descendants today own a small casino in Kansas), formerly a part of New France, midlist in population (3 million), area (it’s 310 x 199 miles) and also median income (a little under fifty grand), Iowa is famed for farming, fiction and, every four years, fickleness. Its citizens vote tomorrow in a cozy, potluck, throwback format called a caucus.
Far more ink than blood will spill. The central cast of candidates will persist awhile longer, spinning results, with only one or two dreams deferred or derailed entirely. A full third of caucusers report being undecided as late as today—after two months of candidate Occupy Iowa and fulsome message bombardment from no fewer than eight hopefuls. What could their willy-nilly votes possibly mean?
