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.

The Green Tunnel

Cedar Valley Nature Trail - Blackhawk County, Iowa

Today was an exceptionally pleasant walking day. The heat and humidity that has been sitting on eastern Iowa like a foggy elephant finally broke with high temperatures in the low eighties instead of the low nineties that have prevailed over the last week. 

On top of the more temperate weather, the majority to today’s route took through the green tunnel that is the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. The CVNT is a very small part of the American Discovery Trail that spans the country with trailheads at Cape Henlopen, Delaware and Limontaur Beach California.

“If the walking was so pleasant today, why didn’t you cross the country on the American Discovery Trail?” you might be asking. I don’t have a really good answer for that question. It’s a little longer covering a bit over forty-four hundred miles on the shortest coast to coast path. That’s probably the best justification I can come up with on short notice.

Anyway, today’s walk was traffic free and human interactions were mostly limited to  the very occasional bicycler. Only one other pedestrian vied with me for control of the path, but we managed to pass port to port quite amicably. Finally, Dad met me at the halfway point with some much appreciated ice cold water and Powerade. I could get used to that kind of logistics support. He’s making longer distances possible, and for that, I am truly grateful.

The sunlight trickled down through the leaves and dappled the ground with shadows and spots of light. Birds and squirrels chattered away. I saw frogs, rabbits, and a fair number of bugs. On that front, the lemongrass-vanilla compound paired with DEET kept them out of my face and hovering at an acceptable distance. For that, I am grateful.

My feet made the usual rhythmic scratch on the gravel surface with the occasional hollow thump when packed clay prevailed.

It was a day of serenity and reflection on a cool winding path that seemed to meander through both the past and the future. 

Change is always afoot, and I ended the day by coming off the Cedar Valley Nature Trail at La Porte, IA. I set myself up for a straight shot westward on the shadeless asphalt tomorrow.