Our Symbiotic Relationship

I find a certain beauty to corn fields. I love the symmetry of rows, the supple sound of stalks swaying in a breeze during peak growth, or the crunch of dried leaves after harvest. Greens and golds against blue skies are warm and comforting. These are sights and sounds born of human hands.  Corn is a grain we have nurtured to our will and to which we have become the slave.