To that end, we hit the road recently. We were given the gift of a friend's second home to use for a few days and off to the woods we went looking forward to a few new adventures.
Kris was filled with fall time excitement as is often the case for her this time of year. She anxiously awaits hay rides, pumpkin picking and many of the other customary activities associated with this part of the calendar. It was to be a weekend full of these things and we would walk away with a piece of Americana all our own.
We arrived in good time and started to plan our agenda. As things took shape, we decided on an afternoon at a local tree farm.This was to be a one stop fall fest of memories. They had it all. From hay rides to strawberry and pumpkin picking, to face painting and a large playground for the kids. Even a petting zoo. This was exactly what we had been hoping for. As luck would have it, they also had a corn maze.
A corn maze. I had never given one a second thought. Kris insisted it was a crucial ingredient for our Americana stew. Thirty dollars in admission later we had our tickets punched and we headed into the maze. To identify us as paying customers we were given wristbands. The sort you are familiar with from any number of places charging admission of some kind.
Kris must have thought there was a large underground corn maze bracelet counterfeit operation in the area because she secured this around my wrist with the strength of ten grinches..plus two!
It was just about now, with the blood flow to my hand compromised, that we became aware this was no ordinary corn maze....it was a Christian corn maze! Perfect.
As we entered the labyrinth, the sixteen year old Christian corn maze expert at the entrance informs us there are scripture verses posted throughout that will guide us to the exit. Outstanding. As I peppered those around me with my typical remarks of dislike for anything labeled as Christian, I am further informed the scripture laid out for us is taken from the book of Hebrews. That's it....time out.
So here I am minus thirty dollars about to wander around some guys farm with a hand what will surely be gangrenous when my body is found.....following instructions from Hebrews. The same group of people who couldn't find their way out of a paper bag for forty years in the bible?! Ladies and gentlemen: Norman Rockwell has left the building....er, um....maze.
Perhaps I should have been concerned when they handed us a phone number to call if we got lost.
But that can't happen, right? You can't get lost in a corn maze...silly Hebrews. I can get from the Village to Spanish Harlem without the aid of map nor compass, surely I can walk through a maze without calling the sixteen year old maze manger to mount a search expedition for me and my family.
There exists another little piece of corn maze hilarity I learned as we wandered about...the punch card.
As you follow the clues left by God's chosen people, you come to stations where your card is punched, signifying you have reached each checkpoint along the way.
At the first such checkpoint we found I had no idea what was happening at the front of this line we were now waiting on. While my hand turned as many colors as the fall leaves around us, I thought perhaps this was an aid station providing Gatorade and blankets to weary travelers. Once I realized the only prize awaiting me was a hole punch, I was overcome with despair.
By now Evan had passed out from some combination of boredom and exhaustion and Kris was carrying him around like a piece of cheap luggage. Aiden was looking for clues to speed our escape and telling us to find stones and tinder so he could make a signal fire to facilitate our rescue.
I had just about tied a tourniquet around my arm to cut away the lifeless limb when I spotted a member of the staff. I gave this kid a stern talking-to, twenty dollars, (bringing the cost of this experience to 50.00) and begged her to show us they way out.
It wasn't until after the fact I learned this maze was almost ten acres in total area.
The builders have been recognized nationally for the complexity of their designs on a regular basis.
We never stood a chance.
I'd like to place these masters of the maze at 135th street and see how they do working their way to the Ferry. I bet they lose more than fifty dollars and an arm!
I didn't take any photos while in the maze. Mostly because we all resembled hostages of some kind and I didn't have the use of one hand to hold the camera. The balance of our weekend was grand!
Here are a few scenes from better times.
As is the case with those who have been through a traumatic event, Aiden seems to have blocked the events of the maze from his memory. Here is his take on the weekend's events. Seems we found Americana after all. (Although not at the end of the maze)
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