Before the wheat fields become the famous "amber waves of grain," they're just waves of grain.
When I was little, our house was just north of a wheat field. My brother and I would sometimes play hide-and-seek in the wheat before it turned. I remember running out into the field and just lying down. I know that probably hurt some of the wheat and maybe cost the farmer a half a bushel, but there it is.
It was a little frightening, actually, to lie down in the wheat. No one could see me and I could see nothing except the surrounding wheat stalks and the sky. The sky is really quite intimidating when you stop and look at it. I didn't know if anyone was close to me because all I could hear was the wind rustling through the stalks. I knew I wasn't far from the house and from my family, but still, that sense of isolation was a little overwhelming for a seven-year-old.
Once the wheat started to turn, we didn't play in the field any more. Instead, we'd wait for harvest and then beg the farmer to ride in his combine. Dad was not the farmer, by the way. We rented the farmhouse, and its owner also owned the surrounding land.
I don't know why Nathan and I decided the wheat field would be a good hiding place. And I don't remember either of us ever finding the other. But we would still run out and hide, lying in the green wheat and letting the stillness overtake us. I don't know if he ever felt the same way about the sky and the feeling of being disconnected from everything. We never talked about it. I don't know if we could have put it into words then. We were, after all, pretty young.
