Into the Corn

Or how I survived my own worst nightmare

Photo Credit: Wix

Doesn't the corn in this photo look super menacing? Like it'll come off the screen and wrap you in its leafy tentacles?

No? Just me?

To explain this (perhaps unusual) thought process, for someone with an incredibly poor sense of direction who grew up on unrestricted access to all sorts of millennial-era horror movies, corn fields and mazes are for three things:

• Dying due to disorientation and subsequent starvation

• Being chased and violently killed by one (or several) serial killer(s)

• Dying due to fear of the above

Well, you get it. Corn means Death.

So when my partner casually suggested a visit to the Triple E Corn Maze last weekend (it IS the company's 60th anniversary, after all!), I had a mini panic attack. But, for the sake of entertaining his daughter, I told myself not to worry. We'll get through it.

We will ... right?

To my partner's horror and amusement, I started assembling snacks.

"Are you ...?"

"Yes"

"But ..."

"You know, in case we get lost"

"But we won't"

"But we might!"

"But we won't!"

Which brings me to: The Gene. I firmly believe that people who have the "knowing where you are" gene live in a completely different world. Those of us who are geographically deficient can never claim anything with that level of confidence. I mean, without Google Maps I'd have fallen off some cliff or ended up in, I don't know, Minnesota ages ago. Consider the fact that I still occasionally use GPS in teeny tiny Morden. And Winkler? Winkler is still a total mystery to me.

We're Going In

Photo Credit: Me Before the horror began

There is no way to locate this maze on a map, since there are no GPS coordinates and no physical address.

"Can be located at the west end of ..." whatever street.

I'm already panicked. Which way is West? I need a map already!? OKOKOK.

Given that this thing has been running for four years, I guess you're just supposed to know. Or maybe it's a way to weed out city folk like me who don't deserve to access this magical AgroNarnia.

FYI, from aerial views of the maze—it looks huge. On the map—it looks huge.

And the corn IS huge. I mean, well above my 6-foot-tall partner's head. I mean, we can see each other but nothing else.

I start asking myself what I want out of life. Maybe my next meal at Flavors of Mexico (Winkler is very lucky to have them). To smell my cat when we get home, hug the dog. Spend time with my family. See my parents again before I di—

"I think we should go this way"

"You ... think??"

"Yeah, let's try that"

Try?? I ask myself. Again, I marvel at the confidence of the spatially aware. In my mind, we are already doomed to wander this Land of the Green Giants for the next 50 years.

The First Time the Map Does Not Make Sense

Photo Credit: Pexels | Mat Brown Appropriate sense of impending doom

Things fell apart when we reached our second fork in the road. And by "fell apart" I mean in my own insides because when my partner looked quizzically at the map I assumed all was lost.

"Ok, let's make a right."

Right, left, it makes no difference. If the person with The Gene isn't sure, then isn't this a forever sort of maze? Aren't we just spiralling towards some hell-shaped vortex?

My partner jokes about tossing me and his daughter into the air like some tiny spinning cheerleaders to get better visibility.

Heh heh, yeah, right. Maybe his daughter, much more geographically inclined than I am, will understand the direction she's flying in. I'm flying to Minnesota.

Which brings me to ...

The Second Time the Map Does Not Make Sense—and the Wisdom of Children

What happened next was an emotional rollercoaster of corn-high proportions.

We get to another split in the road that does not make sense based on our assumed position. As I wonder what kind of sadist designs a maze that does not contain (exclusively) straight lines and right angles, The Child begins dropping handfuls of corn silk (although we called it "corn hair") at important "decision corners" such as to left or to right or to panic or not to panic.

Yes, you heard me. She channelled Hansel and Gretel and literally saved the day because, reader, we did, in fact, walk in a few circles. In my heart of hearts, I believe that without those mounds of hair we would have continued circling and circling and circling until ... well, you get it.

I was relieved. I was very proud and very relieved. The Child will do well in life. Maybe life is just a corn maze and the rest of us wanderers among its unexpected twists and turns, unable to see into the distance, forced ever onward, ever onward, until we reach—

A full circle. I mean, we stumbled onto a circle of flattened earth to our left. We checked the map. There is a circle, yes, but ... we expected it much later? Surely, the circle cannot be that ... small? And surely this maze is ... bigger? I begin to doubt everything. Is there a teeny tiny circle that does not appear on the map? Did they (gulp) forget? Is the map (gulp) incorrect? If the map is incorrect, is anything real? Who made the map? Who makes the rules? Where are we? Who am I?

My philosophies are interrupted by the arrival of the Exit.

I'm Fine

Well.

Well.

So.

That wasn't so bad, was it?

The Child asks if I have a better handle on my phobia, now that I've experienced it start to finish (and come out alive, I add, internally).

Like, maybe. Sort of. Maybe.

"Ok, let's do the kids' version now!"

I quickly realize that I have no handle on any phobia. We have just narrowly escaped with our lives, and we're going in again? OKOKOK at least we have a method! We have The Hair!

I expected the kids' maze to be a few little turns, one mental health scare, and that's it—a quick in and out. But noooooo this is Manitoba. The kids' version is a full-on ADULT MAZE without, perhaps, the circles.

After we'd gone through a fair chunk without having reached the exit, I asked my partner what on earth about this was "for children," and he goes, "there are no dead ends" (according to the map).

Oh, well, thank you. Yes, it all makes sense now :-| :-| Manitoban children are hardy children, all blessed with The Gene. I resisted the urge to warn the family going in after us. You have a baby, but you look like you'll be fine! Are you sure about this?? OKOKOK.

As you can all see, we made it. It's over. I'm Fine.

"Ok, now let's do one round without the map!"

Oh. My. God.

No.

Thank.

You.

What a daredevil.