Growing up in east-central Illinois, which has some of the richest agricultural soils in the United States, most of what you see is corn and soybean fields. I think the exact number is 85 percent. Prairie, which once accounted for a large portion of the landscape is now gone, less than 1% of 1% of the original prairie remains. Although we ventured into the fields bordering three sides of the neighborhood, they were pretty boring. What they lacked in interest they made up for in cash. In Jr. High and High School I detasseled corn for 3-4 weeks in July. Each of our 4 man crew made over $100 a day pulling tassels and deroguing. To say its a pleasure wouldn't be sarcastic, its just plain dishonest. But, by the time I entered college I had almost $20,000 I'd saved from the detasseling and mowing lawns.
What I really craved as a young child was exploration and adventure that the corn fields couldn't fullfill. So the neighborhood boys, my brothers and I played in a small stream which was damed to form a small lake and then continued on through and out of the neighborhood. At some age, I was probably 5 we became brave enough to follow the stream under the road and into the deep woods. Around every little bend we turned, into every pool we jumped, and across every fallen tree we walked. We dared each other onward after school many times over the course of several years. Under the densest knot of vines and over piles of deadfall we crawled slowly out of range of the dinner bell. A 1 foot diameter cast iron bell that was bolted to the top of a 4x4 post outside of the laundry room. When my mom pulled the rope, the bell rocked until it hit the piece of iron hanging suspended in the middle. If you've ever been a bell boy at church you know how it works. The harder you pull the louder it rings. It's sound could be heard while playing inside a friends house, which was a ten minute walk away. The stream slowly becomes wider, its banks steepen, and it's turns broaden until it reaches the Sangamon River. Mile after mile of old growth, floodplain forest extended both upstream and downstream from our little tributary.
Thank you mom and dad for only scolding us, "wash up and change your clothes". So many evenings we were late for dinner. Only now do I realize and appreciate how patient and merciful you were.
Growing up in east-central Illinois, which has some of the richest agricultural soils in the United States, most of what you see is corn and soybean fields. I think the exact number is 85 percent. Prairie, which once accounted for a large portion of the landscape is now gone, less than 1% of 1% of the original prairie remains. Although we ventured into the fields bordering three sides of the neighborhood, they were pretty boring. What they lacked in interest they made up for in cash. In Jr. High and High School I detasseled corn for 3-4 weeks in July. Each of our 4 man crew made over $100 a day pulling tassels and deroguing. To say its a pleasure wouldn't be sarcastic, its just plain dishonest. But, by the time I entered college I had almost $20,000 I'd saved from the detasseling and mowing lawns. 
What I really craved as a young child was exploration and adventure that the corn fields couldn't fullfill. So the neighborhood boys, my brothers and I played in a small stream which was damed to form a small lake and then continued on through and out of the neighborhood. At some age, I was probably 5 we became brave enough to follow the stream under the road and into the deep woods. Around every little bend we turned, into every pool we jumped, and across every fallen tree we walked. We dared each other onward after school many times over the course of several years. Under the densest knot of vines and over piles of deadfall we crawled slowly out of range of the dinner bell. A 1 foot diameter cast iron bell that was bolted to the top of a 4x4 post outside of the laundry room. When my mom pulled the rope, the bell rocked until it hit the piece of iron hanging suspended in the middle. If you've ever been a bell boy at church you know how it works. The harder you pull the louder it rings. It's sound could be heard while playing inside a friends house, which was a ten minute walk away. The stream slowly becomes wider, its banks steepen, and it's turns broaden until it reaches the Sangamon River. Mile after mile of old growth, floodplain forest extended both upstream and downstream from our little tributary. 
Thank you mom and dad for only scolding us, "wash up and change your clothes". So many evenings we were late for dinner. Only now do I realize and appreciate how patient and merciful you were. 
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