I live in the country, was raised on my family’s farm in the middle of the Blackwater Forest where I still reside.
I have spent hours following trails and pathways in the deepest part of the forest since I was old enough to be outside alone. I have also spent many hours on the farm bailing hay, gathering corn, unloading corn, shelling corn, picking peas, feeding the livestock, and the list goes on. All these chores were work to me, and as long as I lived at home with my parents I was expected to work on the farm. You were not asked to work; you were not told to work, you just worked.
Saturday morning I was going to the Bubba Watson’s visit to the Sweet Seasons Farm and Corn Maze. I love sports but never have had much exposure to golf. I didn’t follow Bubba Watson even though I knew who he was and where he was raised. Had he played in the NBA, I probably could have told you specifics about him. I’ve explained this to share my Bubba Watson Sweet Season Corn Maze experience.
When I arrived I wasn’t sure what Bubba Watson even looked like. I thought he would wear a green jacket and be easily identifiable. I am a contract writer for the SRPG, but I have come to enjoy this new adventure in my life and I love Santa Rosa County. My camera is old, and out of date. I don’t write very fast to take notes, my nose was running and I didn’t know what Bubba Watson looked like. It was going to be a great morning.
After he started speaking, I was hooked. He quickly addressed the questions about his golf career as something that really wasn’t important to him on Saturday morning. He wanted to talk about children, education and charities.
Later, it was time for the corn maze adventure. All the reporters followed Bubba into the corn maze. I followed along as well, praying my camera would at least get a few decent pictures. I did not pay attention at all, my goodness it was corn. I know about fields of corn.
Thinking about it now I recall several people had guides in their hands to assist them, as well as the owner Trent Mathews, leading the way. We turned and turned and turned and turned again. Never once did I pay attention.
I was starting to relax with my newfound admiration for a professional golfer. I was imaging leaving a note on Watson’s windshield making sure he was aware my school accepted donations. We made several more turns, and then came to a spot for another photo shoot.
After the last pictures were complete, Watson and our entire group started out of the maze the same way we had entered. Our assignment was complete. My only concern was if any of my pictures would be useable.
I heard my name called, so I turned toward the voice and saw a family I had not seen in years. I did not visit long, and turned to catch back up with Watson and the group. Mind you this is all happening within the depths of the corn maze.
My group proceeded ahead, I stepped around one turn, confident to catch back up.
I then turned back to locate the family I had just visited with and they too had continued on.
I was alone and I was lost.
I’ve been alone many times in my life, been in the corn field many times but oh, my goodness, I didn’t know anything about this cornfield.
I turned and turned and turned some more. I could hear people talking as if they were in the next row of corn. I turned around and went the way I assumed was the entrance. That was an incorrect assumption!
Then I got tickled as only I can do. My imagination, that is still as vivid as my child hood days, kicked in. I couldn’t stop laughing and I could not find my way out!
I could just imagine my editor Pamela Holt writing a front page story about my disappearance. Headline reading, “Writer found dead in the midst of maze.” Maybe even a sad report from Robin Roberts on Good Morning America. Then I became fearful, not of the corn maze but for Trent and Sharon Mathews.
I could imagine I was going to be the reason their corn maze ceased. I knew that no one would visit their farm again because surely, with my extensive experience on the paths of Blackwater, along with my expertise of corn fields, no visitor would dare risk entering the corn maze.
I turned again then I turned around. Where were these people I could hear so vividly?
I then was embarrassed, thinking how I might explain once the search party had located me. Oh yeah, no one really knew I was in the maze.
Finally, I stumbled out into civilization. I got into the drivers seat of my car and laughed until tears flowed.
I was safe and I don’t think anyone realized what had happened. My image of experienced country girl was protected. I phoned my mother to tell her that I was okay; she didn’t seem concerned at all. She, too, just laughed.
My attitude was all of a sudden different as I realized I didn’t know as much as I thought I did about cornfields. I had learned the man I thought was going to show up in a green jacket wore his Blue Wahoos cap turned backwards like all the kids at school. That evening as I arrived home I noticed that my father pulled the corn from our cornfield and the field freshly tilled for winter green grass to be planted. I felt relieved. All was good in my country world and I had definitely learned a life lesson. If there are guides to assist you though a cornfield, take one, even if you think you know all there is to know and pay attention.
If you happen to hear someone laughing uncontrollably in the rows next to you please come to my rescue, take my hand and lead me out.
This article originally appeared on Santa Rosa Press Gazette: Lost in the maize at Sweet Seasons Farm