The Mueller’s farm was the one behind Matt's. Their cornfield was separated from Matt's by a canal and a stretch of uncultivated earth that Matt's dad left before the fence. The fence was not elaborate, just some poles with electric wires in between to keep Matt's animals out of Mueller’s corn. The Mueller’s corn grew right up to the fence and went on forever. We both knew, as all boys in those parts knew, that you never walked into a tall cornfield, because you could lose your bearing and wander in there for days. The Mueller’s corn was definitely off limits because, even if you walked in a straight line, you would have to walk for a whole day to get out. Cornfields are so hot you would probably faint and dehydrate before a couple of hours went by.
Back to the scarecrow. Old man Mueller was different. Even though he was a big time farmer and lived of his corn, he still liked the old ways a lot. Sure he had all the top modern equipment, but just for kicks he still used a scarecrow on Matt's end of the field. Word had it he had several scattered all over his land.
The one near us was scary, as any good scarecrow should be, but it was scary to us, not just the birds. It had a long, black coat that blew around when the wind blew, and a tall black top hat that must have been nailed to its head, cause it never came off. It had an old women's wig for hair, but Mueller had spray-painted it neon, lime green. It faced away toward the larger portion of the field, so we never knew what the face looked like. It wore short black pants and old, black, lady's boots, the kind with buttons and high heels. And it had red and white striped stalkings. We only saw those when the corn was short or after harvest. When the corn was tall we couldn't see below it waist, except for one day around dusk…
Summer Reading for College Graduates
4 hours ago