The Quilt Inn Country Cookbook

Aliske Webb

Dream Again

It’s cold, October, Hallowe’en. In the long field the corn stalks are gold and

crispy. The supple green whooshing of Summer corn has given way to the dry rustlings

of Autumn. The hand of cold wind leaves a moving caress across the field. From the

house I hear children’s laughter as they toss and scuffle piles of leaves.

Beyond the vegetable garden we planted a field of corn. For its golden salt and

butter taste, and for the movie Field of Dreams. I walk through the field every Summer

with the tall green stalks brushing against my shoulders and imagine, I, too, hear voices

in the rustling. The voice of my grandmother telling me to remember my dreams.

It’s easy to feel lost in the high corn. Ten feet into the field could be a hundred.

The noise of the up close and crowded green myopia obliterates your sense of

direction. You lose your perspective, your vision of distant horizons, in the immediacy.

The first time I wandered into a cornfield I was disoriented. My brother, Bob, and

I were playing tag, crashing around in the obscurring greenery. I suddenly realized I had

lost his voice and noise. He had sneaked away. He was trying to scare me, as older

brothers will do. It worked. I ran in every direction. I yelled. I jumped futilely toward the

blue dome sky for bearings. I cursed Bob. The sun was high and hot overhead. A

buzzing of insects surrounded me. My heart pounded in my ears. Then in the tumult I

heard Grandma’s still voice. “Don’t be scared,” she said. “Think.”

“

Corn is planted in straight rows, silly,” I said to myself. “Follow the row to the

edge of the field.”

The panic left me. I didn’t know where I was or where the row would lead me but

I knew how to get home. When I emerged I was dusty and a half mile from home. I could

see Grandma standing on the porch waiting. Bob was sitting dejectedly on the step,

in trouble for having abandoned me.

In the end I had walked the long way through the field, but I could finally see

where I was.

Staying on a straight path will ultimately end up somewhere familiar.

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Country Cooking