Overshadowed by the spectacular ejection charge anomaly of Hellboy last night, was Curtis' prison-break flight. He caught some wind up high and drifted off into the corn field. It was getting dim out, so I planned to come back the next day in the full light of afternoon and walk the rows.
I've lived within site of growing corn, lived my whole life in the suburban midwest where agriculture and development tend to overlap and intertwine. But I've never walked in a field of mature corn.
Last time I retrieved a rocket from this field, it was just spouts, inches tall. Still, it's in rows, right?
You can see the rows from the highway. Corn is planted in militarily uniform rows.
Or so it appears from a distance as you drive by really fast. The reality is much more chaotic.
The widest lanes between rows was about what I imagined the whole thing to be. The narrowest just force you to pick a different direction, cross over a row or two. There are also random corn stalks growing in the aisles between the corn, causing little dead-ends.
It's hot. Dirt gets into your shoes almost instantly. And the blades of the plants are only not-quite sharp enough to cause paper cut like wounds on your arms.
Also, by two or three rows in, you can't see anything to give you your bearings. We could hear traffic on the highway side of the field, but without that it would be very easy to get totally lost in there.
And finding the rocket? We were lucky to just find the way out. And on to Wal-Mart for some calamine anti-itch cream for our arms.
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