Mail That Makes You Smile: the Barns Ken Won’t Let Vanish
At The Village of Ackley, creativity shows up in the most unexpected places—sometimes before you even open the mail.
For resident Ken Starek, the art isn’t inside the card. It’s right on the envelope.
Ken draws and colors detailed scenes—often Iowa barns—turning everyday envelopes into little pieces of art. Neighbors and family can spot one of his creations from across the room: bold color, careful lines, and usually a few familiar “characters” tucked into the scene.
“It just evolved,” Ken says. “And then I started adding color…”
Why barns?
“Barns,” Ken says without hesitation.
“Barns are my favorite thing.”
There’s a deeper reason behind it, too. Ken has watched barns disappear from the Iowa landscape, sometimes slowly and sometimes all at once. As he puts it, barns are “disappearing so fast in Iowa.”
When he travels—say, down to Kansas City—Ken has what he calls his landmarks, barns he recognizes and checks on each time he passes. “I’m always willing to bet one will be gone every time we go,” he says. Sometimes he can see the decline: it leans a little more, or looks like it might collapse.
And then there’s what he calls the “poof theory.”
“You go by what is a perfectly good barn,” Ken explains, “and then the next time you go by and it’s gone.”
His advice is practical and a little funny: if you ever see a backhoe sitting next to a barn, you’d better stop and take a picture—because it probably won’t be there next time.
Barn quilts, Rufus, and “Alamacky County”
Ken’s creativity extends beyond the barn itself. Some envelopes include barn quilts—those colorful geometric patterns you’ll often see mounted on rural buildings across Iowa—adding another layer of color and local charm to his scenes.
Several of Ken’s artwork in “Alamacky” County
If you look closely, you might also spot familiar figures: an owl and a cat named Rufus who often makes an appearance—complete with a bowtie. These small details have become part of Ken’s signature style—tiny touches that make each envelope feel unmistakably his.
Rufus making one of his many appearances
Ken also likes to tuck in playful, personal references. Many sketches are labeled “Alamacky County”—Iowa’s imaginary 100th county. The name comes from a story Ken remembers from the 1960s, when a WHO Radio summer intern couldn’t pronounce Allamakee County and kept calling it “Alamacky.” Ken liked it so much it stuck.
And then there’s “Klutszhonick” That name was invented by Ken and his brother as a prank on their grandfather, who worked for the ASC office and believed he knew where every farmer lived in Crawford County. “Klutszhonick” was designed to fool him—and it became one more Ken-ism that still finds its way into his work today.
More than mail
Ken’s envelopes do something simple but powerful: they turn ordinary communication into something personal. Before the message is even read, the recipient is already smiling—because someone took the time to make something just for them.
And in a place like The Village of Ackley, that kind of thoughtfulness stands out—brightly colored, carefully outlined, and sometimes featuring a barn that might not be standing much longer.
Because as Ken’s “poof theory” reminds us, things can disappear quickly. But with a pen, a bit of color, and an envelope, Ken has found a way to help those barns—and those moments—stick around a little longer.