'Tis the season. Every year, from late August through the end of October,
traffic along one of our major freeway corridors slows to a crawl for a 5 mile
stretch. The culprit lies on the western side of the freeway. It's a large
pumpkin patch, with a corn maze. Granted, we live in an agricultural area, and I
appreciate the splendor that is corn. Pumpkins, also. Love them pumpkins. But,
uh... do we need to creep by these things at 5 miles an hour? We apparently do.
Because year after year, day after day, from the first green shoots to the final
hurrah on November 1st when they plow the pumpkins under with big ole tractors,
it's brake lights and rubbernecks until you get past the patch. Then, *poof* the
spell is broken, and people remember they are on the freeway. I initially
thought people were just watching the school kids and tourists. That's
understandable, you know. Awww, kids are so cute, punkinheads waddling around
carrying giant orange orbs. But get this: my husband, who drives past this
mirage of Autumn twice daily tells me that even when the sun's first rays are
just breaking over the hills, the drivers still are compelled to swivel heads to
the right, mouths agape. After the floodlights have been shut off, and the gates
locked for the night, still the traffic crawls by. What? It's CORN. CORN. What
is so fascinating? Is everyone looking for the Great Pumpkin? Creeping
themselves out with memories of Children of the Corn? Honestly, I'd be less
baffled if there was some sort of signs or flashing lights to draw attention,
but no. It's just CORN. And pumpkins. So, um, DRIVE!