Day 29: Talkin' About Corn & Architecture

I have had a fascination with corn fields since I was little. I grew up in a city but lived out in the suburbs, kinda. Well, I lived in the suburbs but really it was more like the forest. It is hard to explain. Anyway, I think that the idea of wide open pastoral settings or farmland appealed to me in a quaint Norman Rockwell type fashion. I didn't want the reality of farmland per say, the smell of pigs, early morning chores or cow pies, but I did want to live near a barnyard like the one in Charlotte's Web and have animals talk to me. If you haven't caught on by now, I tend to take ordinary life and add a dash of Rebecca to it. So in my mind of course corn fields possess magical properties. This notion was later proven correct by the movie Field of Dreams. I mean come on. You build a baseball diamond in the middle of a corn field and ex living baseball greats come to play in it. See, corn is magical. And if that doesn't convince you, corn fields also provide people with the very best of foods, corn on the cob. I mean, what isn't to love. You have fields that you can play in that produce ears of corn that you can eat. Perfection if you ask me. Not to mention the fact that anything could be in a corn field. There could be a passage to another world, a dragon, a maze with an incredible treasure, a new friend, a mythical creature, really the possibilities are endless.

Being from the city and not actually seeing corn fields as I grew up, Hollywood kind of ruined my first experience with them. In movies or on TV (yes, I know they aren't real) corn fields are excellent places to escape from all manner of things that are pursuing one. They are also very neatly spaced and uniform. Fast forward to me moving to farm country. My first glimpse of a corn field taught me that there is no such thing as a uniform corn field. Sure, they are all planted in orderly rows and the deeper you go the more uniform they are, but the stalks on the ends tend to be runty and a bit mangy. So either the Hollywood corn is fake (possible), they pick out the runty bits and cover them up (probable) or they digitally enhance the corn (likely). It burst my bubble a bit, but I recovered quickly. Second, there is no possible way one can run in a corn field. Ok, you can run, but you are more likely to trip and break an ankle, rather than evade a pursuer. Corn is planted very close together. Even if you stay in a row and run, it is narrow and deep and you get smacked in the face by very solid corn stalks quite a lot. Or so I've heard (cough cough) So again, Hollywood corn must be planted wider or paved over or something. If those actors really are running through actual corn fields, I feel so sorry for them. But this new knowledge does sort of up the emotional ante when I watch shows now. If a character is being chased by a horrible beastie, law enforcement officer or creepy children and decides to run through a corn field, they must really be desperate indeed.

Now that I have moved to the country, I am blessed to have the opportunity to drive by corn fields all the time. In order to get to work I have to drive by 7 corn fields in one direction and 6 in the other. Poor me. It is the best part of the day. The corn waves at me as I drive by wishing me a good journey. And on the way home, it waves at me again welcoming me back. I know the corn recognizes me. I just know it does. It bends and ripples, beckoning me to pull over and come play inside. And man, the temptation is strong. Basically the only reason that I don't do it is that I don't want to have to explain to a gun totting farmer why exactly I am grinning like an idiot in the middle of his corn field because I think it is magical and there might be a dragon in it or a passage to Narnia. Try explaining that one to the cops and not sounding nuts or drunk or both. Sadly then, I keep my corn field adventures strictly observational (unless I am in a corn maze, but that’s a story for another day). I can literally sit and stare at a corn field for hours. I have done it. It is quite relaxing, at least to me. They can be golden or green fields, it makes not a whit of difference. As long as they are vast and occasionally wave in the breeze. I just sit and stare and day dream. Corn field gazing is right up there with cloud watching in my book. It is quite addictive.

There is this one field, right off of the highway that really has my creative juices flowing. I have decided that I want to build a glass bottomed house right over a corn field. The tops of the stalks could be my carpet. Lower levels of the residence could be sunken down so that the corn itself acted as a wall. What a wonderful idea, sleeping in a corn field. But it might be a bit noisy. All manner of things live in corn fields and move around. Then there is the rustling of the corn itself. It is like butcher paper being rubbed together. But it really is the most delightful sound. I would probably give myself the creeps though with my over active imagination. I would think every crunch and rustle was some sort of hockey mask wearing weirdo coming to get me. But who cares, I would be living in a corn field. It sure beats being the crazy cat lady who sits on her porch with a shotgun. Instead I would be the crazy lady who lives in a corn field. Hey, I am ok with that.

And now I am imagining ordering pizza from my corn field house. "Is this a residence or business?" Well, it is a residence, but I kinda live in a corn field. "Excuse me? Is this some sort of prank call?" No, no. I live in a house in the middle of a corn field. You can't miss it. Well, you might if you get lost in the maze. "Excuse me, did you say maze? I thought you lived in a corn field." Well, I do, but you see, you have to go through the corn maze to get to my front door. It shouldn't be a problem; I will give you directions to the maze. It's really quite simple. At which point they would have hung up on me and I would have to go and get the pizza myself. But how cool would that be? Ok, that's it. I have decided to grow up and become an eccentric millionaire just so I can build a glass house in the middle of a corn field. Not a bad thing for a life ambition. I just won't tell the pizza guy where I live exactly until he or she shows up. ;)

Day 6: The Dancers

The golden hues of the day slowly shifted and faded as the night sky transformed itself to the color of a bruise. The inky purples and blues of twilight soon gave way to a velvet darkness studded with shimmering diamond like stars.   A sultry breeze combed its fingers through the trees and grasses, stirring the night air with the earthy aromas of the evening. In the distance a frog chorus could be heard warming up their harmonies for the evening’s festivities.  The moon shone forth from behind grey shrouded clouds and cast its luminous glow upon the darkened landscape below.

Moonbeams twinkled with the reflection of the stars on a nearby pond and the melody of the evening began; the whispers of the grasses, the groaning of the trees, frogs, crickets, even a lone coyote in the distance all lent their voices. The symphony of night music swirled and twisted across the air, and then movement. Gracefully and with fluid gestures unheard of in something so upright, two cornstalks stepped from their row and glided towards the pond. The twined their lower leaves together almost as if they were holding hands and moved their no longer rooted extremities in a leisurely pace. After all, the night was young and it was theirs.

They stepped to the water’s edge then broke apart and faced each other. The taller of the stalks bent at the middle and extended a crackling frond.  The smaller stalk once again twined its leaves with that of its mate and the dance began. Slow at first, then picking up speed. Together the two stalks whirled and spun around the water’s edge oblivious to any who might be watching. A pair of field mice stayed and gazed upon them for a while but soon grew weary and left for their cozy burrow. An owl on a nearby tree kept time and added his voice to the night chorus. Faster and faster the stalks spun, their excess leaves fanning out behind them like tails and veils. The moon lent the pair its own spotlight and soon their exuberant dance could no longer be contained at the edges of the pond and so the waltzing pair spun out into the night. Through fields and hills they moved, across empty country roads and down dusty lanes. Fences proved no hindrance to the pair as the taller stalk swept its partner in a high sweeping ark up and over and then followed behind.

As the evening wore on the music of the night began to fade and the dancers seemed to tire. Their spins turned to sways and they pulled closer to each other so that they no longer resembled two stalks but one. Leaves twined and settled and the rustling of them became the only music the two could hear. They bent and moved with the night breeze as it pushed them along content to go wherever it lead.

Eventually the weary dancers reached the outskirts of a town and moved down the sleepy streets until they came to a house set back from the road. With a newfound burst of energy they kicked up their roots and promenaded past drowsy cows and startled horses. The exuberant pair disturbed a barn cat that was on the prowl, but it bore them no ill will as cats understand what it is to chase the moonlight.

With a final flourish the tall stalk gave one final turn then bent its partner low to the dusty ground. They stayed framed in moonlight for a heartbeat then righted themselves and shook out their leaves. Up above the moon yawned and pulled grey clouds around itself as it sank towards the horizon. Dawn could be seen lifting its head over the distant hills and as the sky began to lighten the taller stalk once again bowed at the waist and extended its leaves to its partner. The two joined stems and walked up the porch steps in a stately manner as if they owned the old house. At the top of the stairs they slowly turned and looked out over the path they had come. Satisfied and weary they moved in tandem to the corner of the porch and leaned their drooping forms against the railing. A pair of pumpkins nestled up close to their roots like slippers and dancers became still in the mornings light.

As the day began to break and signs of life stirred in the old farmhouse, no one noticed the two corn stalks on the porch. It seemed as if they had always been there like the walls of the house and grandmas old rocker. Their beauty was appreciated if anyone chanced to look but no further thought was given. The stately stalks saw the children off to school and back again. They were present for the father’s birthday and the passing of the old family dog. They were festooned with cobwebs for Halloween and as they began to brown and wither they reached Thanksgiving before they bid the family adieu. 

Once again the night music and restless breezes called to them and they moved from off of the porch to the dirt road below. Their forms were not as limber and their steps not as light, but they spun in a steady, comfortable rhythm as they danced once again through the fields and into a velvet and diamond studded night. For even enchanted cornstalks must one day reach their end, but somewhere, on another autumnal night new dancers are awakening and unfurling their leaves.