The Photobomber is Back

So there I was. Out in the middle of a county road surveying the cornfields on my right and my left.

In spite of an exceptionally wet spring, the corn here in Iowa generally looks much better than the corn in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. It’s clear that some of the fields have better drainage, and the crop must have been planted nearly on time.

The rule of thumb we’ve been told by multiple sources is that the corn should be “knee high by the Fourth of July,” We’re only four days past the fourth, and the deep green fields that I was seeing on each side of the road were at least head high. 

Head High Corn and a Photobomber - Hudson, Iowa

The breeze from the southwest rustled the leaves, with a unique sound that I haven’t heard during the miles of walking leading up to this point. It’s a swish and scratch as the wide corn leaves rub up against their neighboring stalks.

Suddenly, I caught myself thinking of tamales. The masa holding the delightfully tender marinated pork all wrapped up together and steamed in a corn husk. The crumbling warmth as the tamale melts in your mouth releasing the spicy meat goodness within. Wait. Stop. We were talking about corn, not tamales.

Every walking book that I’ve ever read, and I’ve read quite a number of them, eventually all boil down into two themes. Feet and food. After a little over thirteen hundred miles of ambling, I’m beginning to see why. 

Sorry for that little sidetrack. Anyway, I was looking out at the human tall corn stalks, and thinking about the best way to show their height in a photo. I was on my midday break, and Dad had met me to replenish my Powerade and deliver a sandwich.

Failing to find a good photographic strategy, I eventually just started snapping shots hoping to describe in words what wouldn’t really show up in photos without some sort of size reference. 

I finished up the photography and looked around for Dad. His truck was there, but he was nowhere to be seen. I turned back to the cornfield, and there he was exiting one of the rows like some sort of ambulatory scarecrow. I’ve seen enough horror movies related to cornfields that it made me jump just a little.

As he walked back toward his truck, I thought, “No….he didn’t.” I pulled up Google Photos to check, and sure enough, there he was photobombing my corn pictures. 

The mad photobomber is back, and it’s good to see his playful spirit return to the pilgrimage. Can you find him? Look near the corn in the foreground just a little right of the white barn in the background. It’ll give you a good idea of the height of the corn and just how creepy this particular photobomber can act.