Through the Corn Maze

Even though it's unlikely that my survival will ever depend upon my ability to successfully navigate a maze, it is nevertheless reassuring to know that if I were ever placed inside a labyrinth, I would be able to find my way out. How do I know this? Why, because I visited the Little Bear Bottoms corn maze in Wellsville.

 
The key to completing a maze in which the entrance and exit are both on the perimeter is to pick either right or left, and then only turn that direction the entire time you're in the maze. Also, when navigating the maze after dark, you may find that using a glowstick makes it harder to see, rather than easier. It turns out that ordinary humans have good enough night vision to manage within the maze, and all the glowstick does is short out said night vision. Once your vision has adjusted to the darkness of the maze, the only thing you'll really need to be on guard for is the irrigation ditches. I managed to step over all of them until the very last one before I got out of the maze. My toe caught on it, and I went into the most ridiculous, prolonged running trip of my life. Completely without the consent of my higher thinking functions, my body began to sprint in an effort to get back over its center of gravity, only for me to faceplant twenty feet later. So yeah. Watch out for the irrigation ditches.

Farming: the Existential Crisis

            The readings for this course began with a feeling of optimism and idealism. Jefferson’s yeoman farmer is the perfect American citizen. Things darkened somewhat with Willa Cather, but at least remained nostalgic. She portrays farming as backbreaking, yes, but still meaningful and a source of as many joys as heartaches. Some more cynicism followed when we looked at the hilariously false advertising of Idaho, luring unsuspecting farmers into a land that did not want to be farmed. From there, we tumbled steeply downhill with Steinbeck. Unlike Ántonia’s family, the Joads don’t own the land they work; they are only allowed the means of scraping a living by the mercy of businessmen and bankers they’ve never even met before.

            We next studied Tomás Rivera, and got a glimpse at a side of farming just as depressing as Steinbeck’s. Unlike the Okies, Rivera’s migrant farmers had plenty of work to do, but the pay was barely enough to survive on, the conditions were appalling, and the bosses were suspicious, greedy tyrants. There seemed to be no justice for the child dying of heat stroke after working a ten-hour day in the fields, in Texas, in the middle of summer. Or for the child shot in the head for the crime of trying to quench his desperate thirst in the cows’ water trough. Ownership, then, seems to be the key to deriving fulfillment from working the earth. If the farmer doesn’t own the land he works, then he is nothing but a cog in a machine. Indistinctive, interchangeable, expendable. Still, even at that point, I thought “Well, the things Rivera wrote about happened decades ago. It isn’t like that anymore, right?” If only.

            According to a recent article on Cracked.com (which is mainly known for its humor articles, but has recently expanded to include a series of exposés about various sides of life the average middle class American has no knowledge of), the situation for migrant farmers has seen little (if any) improvement since Rivera’s childhood. Even now, in 2014, they still live in chicken coops, for which they must sometimes pay rent (Evans). The children are expected to start working at ages as young as six. They have to live wherever the work is, so education becomes fragmented and inconsistent. It’s one of the most dangerous jobs out there, and it’s still perfectly legal for children to do it.

            I feel so helpless about all of this, not only because I have no idea how I could personally help the situation, but because I can’t see how positive change could even be implemented on a larger scale. We like our food cheap and readily available, most of us don’t like growing or raising it ourselves, and we rarely think about how it made it to the grocery store. Until I read Rivera and this article, I had no idea there was such a thing as a migrant worker, let alone what it means to be one.

Work Cited

Evans, Robert. “5 Awful Things I Learned as a Child Laborer (in the USA).” Cracked.             Cracked.com, 29 Sept. 2014. Web. 16 October 2014.

Superman: Origins

 

I’ve always felt that Superman was boring because he’s basically invincible, and the only weakness he has is one he can never overcome. It doesn’t seem like the best formula for producing stunning character arcs (which was exactly the problem that drove me away from Smallville after a few seasons). Fans of Superman have informed me that I’m missing the point; he’s not supposed to be the flawed anti-hero like Tony Stark—he’s supposed to be an uncorrupted symbol of hope. No matter how bad the world gets, there’s one almost perfect man who will never turn his back on humanity. And that’s kind of beautiful (not to mention allegorical).

As I was thinking that over, it occurred to me that Superman's origins are highly significant to the kind of person he is. Now, when I say "origins," I'm not talking about Krypton. I'm talking about the Kent family farm, where he grew up. One of the best known, most beloved superheroes of comic book history is a humble farm boy from Kansas. But is the farm where he fights the bad guys? No, because the Kent farm and the town of Smallville are home, and no evil dwells there. The farm is wholesome and idyllic, a quaint paradise, and it’s the reason Superman is a wholesome, ideal individual. The evil springs up from and resides in the big city, Metropolis. Essentially, the big, corrupt city needs the good, honest, hard-working farm boy to swoop in and save it.

Clark Kent’s farm upbringing says a lot about farm culture in the U.S. The Kent farm is exactly the stereotypical image of a Great Plains family farm: red barn, slightly rusted grain silo, comfortable and inviting farmhouse, tractors, and livestock, all surrounded by acres and acres of tall, green rows of corn. And the people are just as idyllic as the farm itself. Jonathan and Martha Kent are kind, wise, sincere, and loving, and they encourage their adopted son to reach his full potential. Growing up on a farm did not turn the last son of Krypton into an uneducated bumpkin; it molded him into the kind of man who would devote his life to helping others.

Perhaps this was accidental. Perhaps the creators of the original comics weren’t trying to make a statement about the character of farmers in general when they crafted Superman’s backstory. But if it was an accident, then it seems all the more telling about how Americans perceive the farm. It’s not about being complex and clever; it’s about being a constant, simple standard of goodness.