Sorry Mr. Farmer, Sir.

On the way to Missouri, we started to pass a lot of corn fields. I haven’t spent much time in the Midwest, so the scenery is new and exciting. At one point along our way to St. Louis, Kendra suggested we pull over so I could take some photos. She further suggested that I should climb on top of the car to do so. Sometimes I wonder what possesses me to listen to her. Her judgment is occasionally questionable – ask me about the Cool Hand Luke story someday.

Anyway, we pulled off and I climbed to the top of the car. I think her suggestion was more for her, so she could get pictures of me and my crazy top of the car, picture-taking, antics. Just as we were making our getaway, a farmer pulled up in his huge truck, and politely asked us what the hell we were doing. He seemed satisfied with our answer that I was just a corn-struck Yankee who had lived in a hole all her life and never seen a cornfield. Worst part? The pictures weren’t even that good… alas, what we do in the name of art!