The Walk That Changed Nothing: And Everything. A Look Backwards (and Forwards) after 15 years of the Healthiest State Initiative

Do you remember where you were on Friday, October 7, 2011? Merlin Yockstick does. Merlin, founder of The Story of Food, remembers standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Ric Jurgens, [former] president of Hy-Vee, on the sidewalks of Cedar Falls. They are joined by leaders from dozens of organizations including Wellmark and Holmes Murphy & Associates. There was a buzz in the air—not business as usual. Across the state, in town after town, Iowans were doing the same thing at the same time. A common goal. A shared hope. A belief that they could embody the change they wanted in their own communities. They walked together.

This was the first step of a long journey that seemingly has changed nothing. Or maybe it planted the seed that could change everything. 

Governor Branstad has just launched the Healthiest State Initiative with an audacious goal: Iowa will become the nation’s healthiest state by 2016. Not just improve—lead. These leaders believe it. Nearly 300,000 Iowans joined that first “Start Somewhere Walk” across the state. Entire towns walk together. Kids, grandparents, the guy who works third shift at the plant. Iowa is moving.

Fifteen years later, have we made any progress?

Iowa started 2011 ranked 16th. By 2012, we’d climbed to 9th. Progress felt real. Then the numbers reversed. By 2016, Iowa had dropped to 19th. Today, our health metrics are terrifying. We now have the second-highest cancer rate in the nation—the only state where rates are actually rising. An estimated 21,000 Iowans will be diagnosed in 2024. Roughly 6,100 won’t make it. We rank 7th in obesity, 4th in binge drinking.

Your aunt. Your softball coach. The woman at church who always brings her famous casserole. The kid who bagged your groceries last week. Somebody’s dad who never missed a Friday night game. They’re in those numbers. And here’s what really gets you—the medical bills come first. The crushing, relationship-ending, house-losing medical bills. So now there’s even less money for groceries, which means more processed food because you can stretch a box of mac and cheese further than fresh broccoli. Which means more sickness. Which means more bills. The trap tightens.

But then Sunday comes.

The family gathers. Mom has perfected grandma’s pork roast recipe. Your favorite cousin brought the sweet corn—actually sweet, actually from Iowa, the kind that tastes like summer’s from your childhood. The kids are loud. The adults are louder. Phones stay in pockets because food on the table means everyone you love is in the same room, and those moments are getting rarer. This is what food is supposed to do. Create cherished memories. Create pure joy. The kind where your sister-in-law gushes over the meal three months later and it becomes generational family lore.

Or maybe it’s crisp Saturday morning.

You’re in the parking lot before the big game. You realize that the grill master at your tailgate knows something the “health” industry keeps forgetting: food is love, and love is what moves us and brings about lasting change. This is Iowa. This is community. This is food doing what it does best—bringing people together.

But what’s happened?

We’re dying faster than our neighbors in other states. From the very crops we grow. From water contaminated by what we spray on those crops and on our lawns. From soil so depleted it can’t produce the nutrition our grandparents got from the same ground. From a system that made food cheap and deadly.

Ric Jurgens and John Forsyth and the others who walked with Merlin understood something was broken. They invested millions. Created programs. Built Blue Zones. Got people moving. But you can’t wellness-program your way out of a food system manipulated to produce sickness. That’s what fifteen years taught us.

Here’s what else it taught us: we don’t want to feel guilty about food. We don’t want another lecture. We don’t want to be told we’re hurting our kids with Lunchables while we’re just trying to survive the grocery bill. What we want is what that tailgate grill master gives us—food that’s made with care, shared with excitement, and doesn’t require a nutrition degree to understand.

Here’s what else we’ve learned works: you don’t shame people into health. You celebrate the people making health possible and make that celebration so compelling everyone wants in.

Cue the Food Heroes.

The farmer transitioning to regenerative practices. The cafeteria worker serving real food on a tight budget. The chef making Iowa ingredients cool. The doc prescribing nutrition over pills. The Entrepreneur producing sustainable meat because it tastes better and that matters.

These people exist in every Iowa community, across all 99 counties, and they are working to rebuild the connection between land and prosperity. Their stories need to be told in ways that make people give a damn, creating movements that feel less like nutrition interventions and more like getting an invite to the best party on the block.

What’s the hold-up?

It may come as no surprise, but making healthy food cool is really hard. Regenerative agriculture is complicated. Supply chains are boring. Most organizations fixing the food system sound like your judgmental doctor telling you to lose weight—technically correct, completely ineffective. What works is translating complexity into stories people want to hear, share, and be part of. Making the cafeteria worker a hero. Making the farmer a rockstar. Making Sunday dinner the place to be.

When Hy-Vee stocks a local farmer’s produce, they’re not just moving product—they’re supporting someone’s story that fuels pride and productivity simultaneously. When Wellmark invests in programs like Double Up Food Bucks, they’re not just funding a nutrition initiative—they’re making it possible for families to afford the food that fosters those timeless Sunday dinner memories. The programs work, but they need the storytelling that moves us. We need the cultural touchpoints that makes our wellness feel like something we strive for, not that we dread and avoid at all costs. 

Fifteen years ago, Merlin walked with leaders who believed Iowa could become the healthiest state. That walk didn’t achieve what they hoped, but it proved something crucial: we are ready. We’re just waiting for this to feel possible, accessible, and worth our attention.

Don’t give up on Iowa.

We have everything we need. Our Food Heroes are ready. Farmers ready to grow real food. Grocers with distribution networks. Healthcare leaders who understand prevention. Programs that work but need relevance. What we’ve been missing is the story that connects us all. That makes us feel like our lives and our efforts (large and small) have meaning and value. That we are seen and heard. That we are all on the same team pulling for a goal larger than ourselves. The future of food, of our state, of our families. That’s something we can all get behind. 

The healthiest state won’t be built on programs alone. It’ll be built on the stories we tell ourselves about what food means and who we are when we gather around it.

So here’s a question for you….think about this…. Who are the Food Heroes in your life?

The Chef who introduces you to new flavors and ingredients from a local purveyor? The neighbor who always brings that one dish everyone remembers? The coach who taught your kids that food is fuel? The rancher, at the farmers market, that tells funny stories about their hogs? The lunch lady that your children love?

They’re out there right now, working without much recognition, rebuilding the connection between land and health one meal at a time. They have stories worth telling. Stories that could change how Iowa eats, how Iowa feels, how Iowa heals.

Whose story should we be sharing? Nominate a Hero here