Watching Corn Grow

Going for a Ride

Growing up, my family had this strange tradition: we’d go out and “watch corn grow.” That’s what they called it anyway. I suspect it had more to do with my dad’s lingering paranoia than any agricultural curiosity. He had heard about In Cold Blood by Truman Capote once and never really got over it. He wouldn’t let any of us stay home alone — ever. It did add to my ‘heebie jeebies’ too whenever I would be babysitting and get strange hang up calls or see cars driving by at night quietly.

As I got older, I pushed back. I begged to stay home. Once, I even locked myself in my room. My dad kicked the door in and dragged me along anyway.

He was a farmer, and my mom backed him in every way. The farm was our life — our income, our schedule, our stress. He worked not only our own land but also fields owned by relatives, and others he rented on a cash basis.

If you’re not familiar: farmers can rent land in two main ways — cash rent or a 50/50 split. With cash rent, the landowner gets paid a set amount no matter what the harvest brings. With a 50/50 deal, the landowner splits the profits — and the expenses — with the farmer. High risk, high reward. Now that I’ve grown up and taken on part of the family farm myself, I finally get it. The driving around. The checking on fields. The watching.