I’ve wanted to write about Indiana Cornfields all summer.  Oh hell, I could write about Indiana Corn every single day from planting to harvest.  This state has NO topography.  None.  We build topography with little mounds of mulch all around our houses, in a vain effort to have anything other than flat land surrounding us.

But then the corn grows.  And grows.  And grows.  At every stage, it changes the world around us.  The light reflects off it at different angles as it grows.  It makes different sounds during the rain, from a splat to a thunderous blast.  The moon is visible early at night, and then later and later as it rises above the towering stalks.  The setting sun sheds a pink or yellow glow off the tops of the stalks late in the summer.  My absolute favorite is the fog that sets over the fields right before the 4th of July.  The fog blends into the deep blue of the evening sky, turning the Indiana landscape into a beautiful painting.

Every day it inspires me to stay in this state.  I’ve tried to move away, but it KEEPS PULLING ME BACK.  At some point I just gave up and started baking pies and sewing.  When in Rome.  Tonight as I was driving back from the fabric store (this is Indiana people…there are like 7 crafting stores within spitting distance from my back porch), I turned onto a County Road.  The corn had gotten so high that I almost missed my turn.  My music was off and I could hear every creak from my minivan as I turned onto the pitch black road.  Suddenly, I was back in my childhood, turning onto my Grandparents gravel lane, driving up to the farmhouse.  You don’t know pitch black until you’ve walked a gravel lane in between high cornfields on a moonless night.  You don’t know silence until you can hear ever rock pop under your tires as you drive into cornfield abyss.

Peace.  Sweet, quiet Indiana peace.  I thought of the year we lost our Rural Route addresses and everyone got an actual street address.  Damned near put us in a coma.  I grew up in a place where no one knows the names of any roads.  300 CR West.  600 CR South.  We just know you turn left at the Holbrook’s farm.  I thought of my neighbor Jackie who was both a Childrens Librarian AND had her own sewing room.  SO COOL.  I thought of Jackie and my Mom drinking Tab on our porches while we chased each other around with dead snakes and crawfish we caught in our creek.

Thank you Indiana.  Thank you for not changing too much.  The world has changed enough for me.  I am content here, tucked in between the fields, listening to summer say it’s farewell.