I dug hole in the center of the corn crib. I sat down in it. Audio speakers were installed on both sides of the crib with the recorded sound of farmers talking about farming, coyotes, corn cribs, technology, bins and silos. There was also recordings of corn being poured through the elevators out onto piles, the sound of huge combine machines in the fields, cows, poetry about farming the Nebraskan land, as well as a few of my own words about holes and corn. I sat in the hole for 45 minutes two times a day during the opening. While in the hole I would holler out to folks to grab a small bucket of corn on the outside, come in and help fill me up with corn to my neck while listening to the audio. Some folks were hestitant at first but everyone participated and eventually my hole was filled with corn to my neck.
1 comment:
when I was young I used to visit my grandparents on their farm in Kansas during the summer harvest each year. we kids would all pile into the back of the grain truck and run out to meet grandpa in the fields. as we each took turns riding in the combine with him, the rest of us would play in the dumpers--practicing aerial maneuvers off the edge, landing in the piles of wheat. they would be alive with grasshoppers...and yes, the feeling of displacing the grain was like no other. I've heard that being caught in an avalanche or a tree-well will render the same feeling, albeit with much more panick. I miss those times. your description takes me back. don't take this the wrong way, but it's kinda funny to think that you were in a literal "corn hole".
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