“So where did all this corn come from?” Daven said, sweeping his arm towards the garden. There were a few rows of corn there, centered where the sun came most directly through the gap in the trees.
Dad paused mid step to look. He had a big bucket in each hand, a shovel pinned under one arm. “We…planted it?”
“But did we get the kernels from a corn field?”
“Yes?” Dad said, but he didn’t sound sure. “We got it from other corn?”
“So then why don’t we go live by a corn field instead of growing it in the garden?”
Dad blinked. “Corn fields are…also gardens?”
Daven stared at him, and Dad stared back. In the distance, a bluejay got angry and started screaming at something.
Shaking his head, Dad set the buckets on the ground and tipped them over, spilling dirt into a pile. “Maybe you had better tell me what you think a corn field is.” Then he grabbed the buckets and took them over to the compost bin.
Daven ran after him. “Well in this book that I’m reading there is this character Lucas. And in the first time you meet him he’s sitting in a corn field outside of his village.”
While he spoke, Daven grabbed the lid of the bin and held it open. It smelled terrible. Dad stuck the shovel in and grabbed a scoop.
“It’s really big because he can hide in it! So like a clover field I guess? Except corn is taller than clover. So why don’t we just live by a field where corn is and then we wouldn’t have to grow it?”
“So those are also farms,” Dad said, and began filling the buckets with compost. “We only have a couple rows of corn in our garden because there are just a few of us to feed. But when you have a whole town of people then you plant whole fields.”
“Oh,” Daven said. The buckets were full, so he closed the lid.
Dad stuck the shovel back under his arm and picked up the buckets. “There were corn fields outside the town where I lived when I was a boy. I used to run between them and play hide and seek with my friends.”
Picking up the buckets, Dad carried them over to the pile of dirt. Daven trailed after him.
“There’s something about the way the wind runs through a corn field that sets your hair on end,” Dad said, “I hated to be near them after dark.”
“Did you leave because you were scared of them?”
“No,” Dad said, tipping the compost over onto the dirt, “They scared me sometimes. but I loved them.”
“Why did you move here then?”
Dad began to mix the dirt and the compost together with the shovel. Soon it was all one brown mass. “Because your mother lives here,” he said, “And I love your mother more.”
Daven thought of his forest, of the far leaves that blocked the harsh sunlight, of the fireflies that came to blink in dark places. He had lived here always. He did not want to imagine a place with no trees. “Don’t you miss them though?,” he said, “Don’t you miss your town?”
Dad shrugged. “Daven, love will tear you apart.” Suddenly, he drove the point of the shovel into the middle of the mixture. Pushing down on the handle, he leveraged out a scoop. “You have to let it. It’s the only way you’ll come alive.”