Cornfields

Ever heard of Mackinaw, Illinois? Yeah, me neither. It’s a tiny town that Insomniac Folklore passed through on our tour last summer. We were on our way to Mamma Linda’s Hog Roast, an annual stopping point for about a dozen of the bands on their way to Cornerstone Music Festival. Because of sound problems the show itself wasn’t that great, but I loved the party-like environment and the piles of free food. While Adrienne face-painted and Tyler talked to people, I sat against a tree, hoping to catch a breath of wind in the 102-degree heat, and read Annie Dillard’s Teaching a Stone to Talk. 

An excerpt from my diary when I started feeling overstimulated by the constant music: “I sought solace in the cornfields. I walked down Lilly Drive, looking at the orange-tipped corn and glancing at the pink globe of the sun sinking toward the horizon. The road rose, and at the top of its swell, I saw bluish heartland spread out before me, patches of cornfields stitched with trees. My feet thumped on the asphalt at an easy pace. I considered: I had a camera, wallet, iPod and chapstick… what else did I need? I could just keep walking forever.”

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