tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7157333055767403088.post4372174419076994911..comments2023-04-04T08:22:31.086-07:00Comments on Home Ground: Day 30 Outdoors: Edge of CornfieldP. J. Grathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12693462910472164289noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7157333055767403088.post-14171329390699585152012-10-13T05:47:24.172-07:002012-10-13T05:47:24.172-07:00That first (messy) sketch was looking down a row, ...That first (messy) sketch was looking down a row, Dawn. Could you tell? I grew up across the road from a farm operated on a simple corn-soybean rotation plan. When I looked from our front porch to sunset, it was over that cornfield--or bean field, in alternate years--and to me that symbolized the West! I wanted to ride my horse (the one I didn't have) into that sunset! So there is romance in cornfields for me. That childhood cornfield in Illinois was a small one, as are most in northern Michigan. Bordered by trees, sometimes even woods, the scale of the fields is not overwhelming but just another part of the landscape, and the plants themselves are graceful and lovely to eye, nose, and ear.<br />P. J. Grathhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12693462910472164289noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7157333055767403088.post-42445144224862196912012-10-13T05:37:30.328-07:002012-10-13T05:37:30.328-07:00I've always loved corn fields. When I was lit...I've always loved corn fields. When I was little I used to play on the fringes of the fields surrounding my grandma's farm...and on occasion when I was brave I'd walk down a row deep into the field...but not for long..something always spooked me back out into the light. Even now as an adult I have these brief urges to run down a row of corn.Dawnhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00824027366993286152noreply@blogger.com