For some reason, I find myself missing cornfield parties tonight. Being outside in an empty cornfield under the Nebraska moon on a cool, autumn night. A million stars up above. A cold beer in hand down below. Songs beaming in from some car radio not too far in the distance . Air fresh. Nose cold. Contentment warm.
Might sound dopey or weird to "city kids," but a good cornfield party was the answer to everything that was troubling a soul. If you grew up in Nebraska like I did, there's a pretty good chance you attended a cornfield party once or twice in your formative years. If you grew up in a small town in Nebraska, the chances were all the much greater. There are only so many places to escape when you're a kid to begin with. In a Nebraska small town, that's all the more true. And if there's one thing there's no shortage of in Nebraska, it's cornfields. Find someone to buy a 12-pack for you, or if the Gods were particularly kind that night, a pony keg, and life was about to get very good very fast. No worry of the police breaking things up. No worries of the dufus who always broke something breaking something. No worries about being too loud. No worries of torking off the neighbors. No worries about cover charges or admission fees. No bottles broke. No carpet damaged. No harm done.
I can hear my friends laughing now. I can see their faces lit up by moonlight. I can hear the same stories being told a million times over. God, for some reason, I'd like to be hearing those stories right now.
Might sound dopey or weird to "city kids," but a good cornfield party was the answer to everything that was troubling a soul. If you grew up in Nebraska like I did, there's a pretty good chance you attended a cornfield party once or twice in your formative years. If you grew up in a small town in Nebraska, the chances were all the much greater. There are only so many places to escape when you're a kid to begin with. In a Nebraska small town, that's all the more true. And if there's one thing there's no shortage of in Nebraska, it's cornfields. Find someone to buy a 12-pack for you, or if the Gods were particularly kind that night, a pony keg, and life was about to get very good very fast. No worry of the police breaking things up. No worries of the dufus who always broke something breaking something. No worries about being too loud. No worries of torking off the neighbors. No worries about cover charges or admission fees. No bottles broke. No carpet damaged. No harm done.
I can hear my friends laughing now. I can see their faces lit up by moonlight. I can hear the same stories being told a million times over. God, for some reason, I'd like to be hearing those stories right now.
That sounds like the greatest thing ever. My wife has forbidden me from throwing parties at our house due to the various things my drunken friends broke or puke on. Now I wish I had a cornfield.
ReplyDelete