children of the corn

No, I’ve never seen that scary movie. But I do consider myself one of the children of the corn. It’s everywhere in Nebraska.

My first job was detasseling corn. I was the only girl on the crew but I was among the top earners. It was misery.

I never paid much attention to the fields when I lived there. But since we’ve moved back, I notice the curled edges of the leaves, the stick-straight lines of the rows, the way the wind sounds blowing through dried stalks.

When I go home, I usually take gravel to my parents’ house. It’s the back way in and you avoid going through town. I snapped this one day on my way to the main highway, heading back to Iowa.

I pulled my car to the side of the gravel road and grabbed the camera. After a few moments, I heard a crunch and noticed a doe had appeared at the edge of the field. She watched me for a moment and then she turned, took two steps, and vanished into the endless rows.
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