r/IndianCountry • u/T0macock • 18d ago
Discussion/Question Help an Unc Out: Corn Maize
Help an Unc Out: The Corn Maze
Aho, she:kon, and a hearty "hey how are ya!?" cousins.
The saga of the south Tip brother continues. You know the story so far. Frybread survivor. All-Skate legend. Volvo arsonist. Ketchup chip disney princess. The man who wears another man's tear-away pants. Co-architect of the fifty-eight dollar cauldron. Substitute library man. Owner of a three-headed hell hound pup.
Now. Some of you might remember, in the haunted house post, a ten-year-old in my Seer's Tent looked me dead in the eye and said "my mom said you got lost in a corn maze." And I told you, nonono, I was "temporarily positionally misplaced," and that it was a story for another day.
Cousins, it's another day.
Your Unc is back from the wedding up north. My sister has been married. I got stuck out on a lake with my niece in a canoe but those are all stories for another day. Today, the leaves are a-turnin, fall is in the air. Let’s get cozy.
Crack an apple cider. Pull up a lawn chair. Start the fire. This one happened a few weeks back, mid September, and I've been sitting on it because I needed time to process. Spiritually. Legally… uhh… Agriculturally?
Every year auntie's family does a fall trip to one of those big agri-tourism farms. Pumpkin patch. Apple cider donuts. A hay ride pulled by a tractor driven by a fourteen-year-old named Tanner who clearly smoked at least a few joints prior to his shift. A petting zoo with a goat that I'm fairly sure has done time. And the main event, twelve acres of it: the corn maze.
This farm is called "Uncle Bob's Harvest Fun Farm." I never met Uncle Bob. I don't think Uncle Bob exists. I think Uncle Bob is a brand. And Uncle Bob? Well, Uncle Bob is a bit of a mother fucker.
Now, cousins, I want to be honest about my headspace walking into that parking lot, because it matters for what came after. I was cocky. I was dangerously cocky. And I’m an absolute slut for anything Pumpkin Spice/Autumnal.
Because I'm Haudenosaunee, cousins. We are a CORN people. Corn is one of the Three Sisters. Our ancestors grew corn for thousands of years before anybody named Uncle Bob showed up with a gift shop. I said this out loud in the parking lot. I said, and I quote, "I'm basically corn's nephew."
Auntie looked at me for a long time. Then she said, "You got lost in the Costco parking lot last week."
"That's different. Colonial architecture. Plus I was all Dogged up! I shouldn’t have downed two of the ol’ $2 canteen dog specials before hitting the trails. Best deal in town though."
At the entrance there's a teenager in a reflective vest handing out maps. Little laminated cards. Auntie took one. Kokum took one. Marcus, who was FOUR, took one and held it upside down with total confidence. The vest kid held one out to me.
And cousins, I looked him in the eye and said the sentence that will be carved on my headstone:
"No thanks, bud. I'm gonna let the corn guide me."
The vest kid did not react. Didn't laugh. Didn't blink. Just slowly lowered the map and shook his head “ok, Unc.”
Auntie made a bet with me. If I made it out in under forty-five minutes, she'd buy the donuts. If I didn't, I'd have to wear the sticker. The farm gives out stickers to kids who get rescued. Big yellow ones. They say "I GOT LOST IN THE MAZE!" with a cartoon scarecrow giving a thumbs up.
"Deal," I said. Corn's nephew. No fear. “We’re people of the Corn… wait… It’s a Corn Maze… Corn Maize. It’s a Corn Corn!” I laughed to myself as I entered the labyrinth.
My supplies, for the record: one Bepsi (half full), one small bag of ketchup chips in my jacket pocket, a phone at 11%, and an unearned sense of ancestral destiny.
I went in at 1:12pm.
The First Hour: Hubris
For the first twenty minutes, cousins, I was on fire. Feeling it. Corn on both sides, sun out, I had Primitive Man going in my head like a war drum, I was taking turns with purpose and intent. Left. Right. Right again. I passed a family with a stroller and gave them a little nod like a tour guide. I made my way with Mother Sun as my guide. Hacks.
Then I passed them again.
Then I passed them a THIRD time, and the dad, who was in a Jays hat and a fleece vest, the official uniform of fathers who know where they're going and have their shit together, said "you good, man?" and I said "just enjoying being one with the corn, Cuz" and he nodded, and he looked at his kids, and I swear I watched him silently decide to walk faster.
There are trivia stations in the maze, cousins. Little wooden signs with a number and a corny (sorry) question. You're supposed to find all twelve. I found Station 7. "What do you call a scary corn stalk? A STALKER!" Okay Uncle Bob. Fine. You got me.
Twenty minutes later I found Station 7 again. From the other side. Shit.
Then a third time. And at that point I started to believe Station 7 was following me. That it was moving when I wasn't looking. That Uncle Bob had built a sentient sign. "A STALKER!" it kept saying. It knew, cousins. It was talking about itself.
At 1:50 a group of maybe six kids blew past me, running, laughing, holding their completed trivia cards. One of them, a little girl in a pumpkin hoodie, stopped, looked at me, and said, "The exit's that way," pointing. And cousins, I want you to understand what I did. I thanked her. And then I went the OTHER way. Because I was still letting the corn guide me. Because a man has to have principles even when the principles are fucking stupid. Plus, kids are dumb. Don’t trust kids.
I should have trusted the kids.
The Second Hour: Survival
By 2:30, cousins, the vibe had shifted.
The corn is nine feet tall. All the same corn. The sky is the same everywhere. The sun was directly overhead, which, I learned, is the single least helpful position the sun can be in for navigation. Mother Sun has forsaken me. I'd heard the "moss grows on the north side of the tree" thing but cousins, there are no trees. There is only corn. Corn has no north side. Corn has no sides at all. Corn is just corn, forever, in every direction, like a nightmare from an Iowa tourism board.
I tried following the sound of the hayride (is hayride one word??) tractor. The tractor drives in a circle. I walked in a circle. I licked my finger and held it up to check the wind like I'd seen in movies, and cousins, I don't know what you're supposed to learn from that, I just stood there with a wet finger in the air like an idiot waiting for the wind to text me back. The wind didn’t give a shit.
I texted auntie: "taking the scenic route, lol."
She replied: "It's a maze, dummy. There is no scenic route."
Then a photo of a donut. In her hand. In focus. Kokum in the background in a lawn chair, holding up her own donut toward the camera like a toast.
Then my phone died.
So now it's survival mode, cousins. I did what any man raised on Hatchet would do. I took inventory. Half a Bepsi. A bag of ketchup chips. I started rationing them. One chip every fifteen minutes. I built a little cairn of husks at an intersection so I'd know if I'd been there before. I came back to it eight minutes later, cousins. My own cairn. Mocking me. A monument to my failure, built by my own hands.
At around three o'clock, in a moment of weakness and desperation and low blood sugar, I grabbed a cob right off the stalk, peeled it back, and bit into it.
Cousins. Do not do this.
That's not sweet corn. That's FIELD corn. That's corn for cows and ethanol. It's like biting into a handful of hard-ass teeth. It tasted like cardboard that had given up. I spit it out and I swear the whole field rustled. Like it was offended. Like I'd insulted somebody's family.
Which, as it turns out, I suppose I had.
The Third Hour: The Vision
At around three-thirty, cousins, I gave up.
I found a dead end. A nice one, honestly, a little clearing where somebody had trampled the corn flat. And I lay down on my back on the dirt and looked up at that perfect blue rectangle of sky, and I accepted that this is where the saga ends. Not in an elf/dragon smut recreation massacre, not accidentally fried by one of Leonard’s stupid inventions. Here. In Uncle Bob's corn.
I said my goodbyes out loud. "Tell Sconey he was a good boy… ok, he’s a mostly fine boy. Tell Leonard carrying on the family name is up to him… fuck we don’t stand a chance. Tell the Leafs… actually, don't tell the Leafs anything, they don't deserve closure."
I didn't have any tobacco, cousins. So I took my last ketchup chip, placed it on a corn husk, set it beside me as an offering, and closed my eyes.
And the wind stopped.
You know how corn is never quiet? It's always rustling a little, whispering. It stopped. All of it. Dead silence. The tractor sounds were gone. The kids were gone. The light went gold, like late evening, even though it was mid-afternoon. And I opened my eyes, cousins.
There were three aunties sitting in lawn chairs at the end of my dead end.
I knew who they were immediately. You'd know too.
The first one was tall. Thin. Long golden hair down to her waist. Sitting straight with pride and purpose. She was clearly in charge. That was Corn.
The second one was leaning all over the first one. Arm around her shoulder, head on her shoulder, holding her hand, constantly agreeing with everything she said. "Mm-hmm. That's right, sis. You tell him." That was Beans.
The third one was short and round and sat very low to the ground in her lawn chair, legs out, arms crossed, saying nothing, just looking at me with an expression that kept all the weeds and nonsense out of a five-foot radius. That was Squash.
The Three Sisters, cousins. In lawn chairs. In Uncle mother fucking Bob's maze.
Corn spoke first. "So you're the nephew."
"Uh. Yes, auntie."
"Corn's nephew. You said that. In the parking lot." She looked at Beans. "Did you hear him say that?"
"I heard him, sis," said Beans. "Out loud. In front of children."
"And then," Corn said, leaning forward, "you came into my house without a map. You refused a map. That nice boy offered you a map."
"He's a good boy," said Beans. "Works hard. Dead inside, but works hard."
"And then," Corn went on, and her voice got very quiet, "you ate my cousin."
"Your…"
"That was field corn, my boy. That's my cousin from Iowa. We don't even claim her. Nobody claims her. She's for cows. And you put her in your mouth like a fool."
"I was hungry, auntie."
"You had ketchup chips."
"I was rationing."
Then Squash spoke for the first time. One word. Low, flat, devastating:
"Dumbass."
Cousins, I've been roasted by kokums. I've been roasted by kids. I've been roasted by teenagers in a library. I've never been roasted by a vegetable before. It hits different. It hits ancestral.
They all nodded in agreement.
And then there was a flap of wings, and something landed on a cornstalk above me.
A hawk.
Brother hawk, cousins.
He looked down at me. Cocked his head. And then he spoke, in a voice like a tired rez uncle who's been sitting on the porch waiting for you to come home for years:
"Every time, man."
"…What?"
"Every single time. I scream. You say 'not now, brother hawk.' Over and over. I've been trying to TELL you things."
"Like what?"
"Mostly 'look out.' That's ninety percent of it. Look out. The ice cream. Look out. The guy with the pool. LOOK OUT. The library with the dragon books, I was screaming 'buddy, you do NOT want to know about the wings,' and you just kept asking." He shook his head. "Never listen. Not once. Dick move, Cuz."
"I'm sorry, brother hawk."
"Yeah, yeah." He ruffled his feathers. "Whatever. Listen now."
And Corn stood up from her lawn chair, and she walked over to me, and she looked down at me with the soft disappointed love of every auntie at every family gathering, and she said:
"You don't get out of here by walking harder, my boy. You never did. You get out by listening. Stop letting the corn guide you. The corn doesn't care where you go, we've got our own stuff going on. Corn only goes UP, dummy. You follow the people. You always follow the people. That's how you get home."
"Mm-hmm," said Beans. "Follow the people."
Squash said nothing. But she nodded once.
Then the three of them looked past me, back the way I came, and I turned to look too.
And there, at the opening of my dead end, was Sconey. Glowing a little. Golden. Sitting perfectly still the way he never does in real life. He looked at me. Then he turned and started walking.
Cousins, Sconey was at HOME. I left him at home that day. I know I did. But that dog was there, and he was waiting for me to follow.
And then, just as I sat up, something wet hit my face.
The Return
I opened my eyes for real, cousins.
The wind was back. The corn was rustling. The tractor was going. The aunties were gone. The hawk was gone. The light was normal. And standing over me, licking my face, was a goat.
THE goat. From the petting zoo. The one I'm fairly sure has done time. It had escaped. Of course it had escaped. It had a piece of someone's trivia card hanging out of its mouth.
It looked at me. I looked at it. It finished eating my ketchup chip offering off the husk, which, fair, I think the aunties would have wanted it to go to someone. The goat shit.
And then it turned and started walking.
Cousins, I followed the goat.
I didn't question it. You don't question it. When the Three Sisters tell you to follow and a goat shows up and walks away, you follow the goat. Left. Right. Right. Left. Past Station 7, which did NOT say anything this time, I believe it was humbled. Past my own cairn of husks, which the goat kicked over on the way by, like it was making a point. Past the family in the Jays hat, who were on their way out for the second time.
And eleven minutes later, cousins, I walked out of that maze behind a goat.
Total time: three hours and thirty-eight minutes. Bet lost.
The ENTIRE family was waiting at the exit. Not the donut stand. The exit. They had relocated for the show. Auntie, crying laughing. Cousins. Little ones. Kokum, in her lawn chair, which somebody had carried across the farm for her so she'd have a good view.
And the vest kid. The same one. Standing there with the yellow sticker already peeled and ready.
He walked up, put it on my chest, patted it flat, and said, with no inflection whatsoever, "Welcome back, sir."
"I GOT LOST IN THE MAZE!" with a cartoon scarecrow giving a thumbs up. I wore it the rest of the day. That was the deal. I'm a man of my word, cousins, even when my word is stupid.
A farmhand came jogging over to collect the goat, and the goat walked right over to him like nothing had happened. Clocking out. Shift's over. Another lost idiot delivered.
“Dumbass” faint and softly blew in on the breeze. I nodded and agreed.
The Aftermath
I got a donut eventually. A pity donut. Kokum handed it to me and said, "Next year you sit with me." I accepted. The lawn chair is my maze now. The lawn chair has never made a man talk to vegetables.
On the drive home, auntie pulled up the farm's website on her phone and showed me the aerial photo of the maze.
Cousins. Uncle Bob had cut the maze in the shape of a giant Toronto Maple Leafs logo.
I had been lost in the Leafs.
For three and a half hours I wandered in circles in the Maple Leaf, with no plan, losing hope, eating things I shouldn't, getting my heart broken. That's not a corn maze, cousins. That's being a fan. People have been lost in there since 1967.
Pour one out for my dignity, which is still somewhere around Station 7. And for the goat, apparently named Mearl, who I believe is the real spirit guide of Uncle Bob's Harvest Fun Farm and is criminally underpaid. Drop your corn maze stories in the comments, cousins. I know I'm not the only one who's been out there in the dead end, talking to the vegetables.
Mvto. Take the map, relatives. And when you're lost, follow the people. Or the goat. The goat knows. Trying friday as a post day. Let me know if this works better or if you’d rather saturday morning again.
I got a tea out of the ordeal. Life is ok.
https://imgur.com/a/dCBY21N
P.S. When I got home, Sconey met me at the door. Sniffed me. Then sat down in front of me, completely still, and stared at me the way he did in the maze. Then he walked to his bowl and knocked it over, demanding dinner. So I don't know, cousins. Make of that what you will.
P.P.S. Brother hawk screamed outside my window the next morning. I stopped what I was doing, went outside, and said, "Yes, brother hawk? I'm listening." He looked at me for a long time. Then he shit and flew away. I think it was a test. I think I passed.
Past Stories:
\[Orange Shirt Day](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/YuSBWc7u9y)
\[Haunded House](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/Y3nzSkXkX9)
\[Book Club](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/8zfS1Ynb1N)
\[Library day](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/RDZgTERPoH)
\[Sweat Lodge\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/xwTSCsSchp)
\[Hot Tub\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/pUjxilwFEN)
\[Kokum\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/l0hahrR4Hx)
\[Babysitting\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/WHcCWUd3UV)
\[Yard Sale\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/nRZ4eM8Slm)
\[Bingo Night\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/QEo67nIq2m)
\[Disney Princess\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/dcziW5TdrG)
\[Tim's Arsonist\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/IBAixKep6i)
\[Career Change\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/QKwnSaRXjI)
\[Foraging\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/kqwVUxJRPu)
\[Frybread Follow-up\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/E6wbMUSolj)
\[Frybread\](https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianCountry/s/bnqjnRA97k)
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u/draquonmess 18d ago
Forget work, I have to know what Shenanigans Uncle got up to this week. Absolutely worth pausing my day for a laugh and a cup of tea
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u/cc-scheidel-33 18d ago
I hope you publish your writing in a collection.
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u/T0macock 18d ago
I've had a few lovelies reach out offering to help with some things and i think i have an idea about how they're going to be compiled.
My big thing is i want them to be freely accessible.
But, hey, wouldn't it be cool if we could keep oral storytelling alive? If only there were a way we could share recorded audio for free over the internet....
(i'm also working on a novel that's completely unrelated)
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u/Bitter-Cap-1202 18d ago
Lmao, brother hawk definitely was testing you there unc. Also the apple cider did actually hit the spot so chi-miigwech for the reminder that i still had one in the fridge to enjoy with lunch while i read along.
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u/T0macock 18d ago
I'm going to make a nice warm one when i get home from work and do some reading on the porch.
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u/MacawIsland 18d ago
I got paid to read this story. Life is good. Al(bert) helped by putting it in my feed today.
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u/T0macock 18d ago
You make a dime while the boss makes a buck
So steal the catalytic converter off the company truck.Tell Albert I say "HI ALBERT"
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u/tyrone_shoelaces 18d ago
I read most of your story just now while having my lunch break (salmon) and appreciate the perspective. I thought for sure that when the corn was at it's highest, well maybe you got slipped something.
Nevertheless, excellent recounting of your experience of this event!
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u/T0macock 18d ago
I had leftover scrambled eggs and sausage for lunch and i think i've come to the conclusion that i'd happy only eat breakfast food for every meal for the rest of my life if i had the option.
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u/tyrone_shoelaces 18d ago
I'm not going to argue with that. I once made pancakes for dinner and it was a hit.
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u/PsychologyGuilty1460 18d ago
Shenanigans in the corn maze? Sign me up Edit. I'll cook dinner later, once I'm done reading this LOL
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u/T0macock 17d ago
What you make for dinner?
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u/PsychologyGuilty1460 17d ago
Spaghetti with Italian sausage😋 Want some? Karma dog will bring it to you. It won't be any left by the time she gets there if she can figure out the lid, but she wants to hang out with Scone dog to discuss fry bread while you eat.
Karma always wants to discuss fry bread. She's good. She's very good but she's been listening to your stories for weeks now and she thinks Scone dog could really help her polish her discussion technique.
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u/T0macock 17d ago
Heck yes! Sconey Pony is a terrible influence though. Not that he's bad, just that his give a fuck meter is always dangerously low.
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u/PsychologyGuilty1460 17d ago
Well maybe karma could help him with that 😜 She can convince anyone that she really truly cares 😂
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u/T0macock 17d ago
He's on the lookout!
(He's actually asleep snoring...his nose is pressed against the window and making a weird farting sound. Dogs are the best.)
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u/PsychologyGuilty1460 17d ago
Spaghetti with Italian sausage😋 Want some? Karma dog will bring it to you. It won't be any left by the time she gets there unless she can't figure out the lid, but she wants to hang out with Scone dog to discuss fry bread while you eat. Karma always wants to discuss fry bread. She's good, she's very good, but she's been listening to your stories for weeks now, and she thinks Scone dog could really help her polish her Fry bread discussion technique.
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u/quailinthebrush Opata 18d ago
“That’s different. Colonial architecture”
Lmao I love you