Oh, great land of corn baskets and pumpkin pits. Your capacity to enrapture all of those who gaze upon thine trampled fields and confusing parking lots is truly priceless. Additionally, eight dollars is the actual price that you levy on each guest, which is but a pittance in exchange for the wonders that you have to offer.
The tractor with hay barrels serves as your gallant carriage, whisking away its passengers at dizzying speeds of 10 miles per hour. The intoxicating aroma of fresh manure permeates the atmosphere as the enchanting bickering of various entices the ear. The great labyrinth of corn stalks and puke-colored tape challenges the bravest among us to best its serpentine paths and solve its mischievous riddles. My family, being brave and other such adjectives, flashes our regal wristbands of admittance at the despondent employee and sets forth on our sacred charge.
Our cornwalk presents us with many a twist and turn, each fork in the road an attempt to stab a fork into our sense of camaraderie and positioning. Great land of vegetables and vegetable-themed souvenirs, you are a cruel master indeed. Our one shining beacon that can allay our fears and keep us on the righteous path is a small, plastic map that includes a cartoon model of the topography before us. It also shows us exactly where to go.
With the great maize saunter vanquished before the might of our sweatpants and dilapidated tennis shoes, our family gathered to plot our next move. Riding this wave of momentum, we knew it was time to immediately head home for the day, because it is known that one must respect a land of such caliber. To have remained any longer in this hollowed sanctum and to have partaken in its butter slathered corn pops would have been to hit a point of ecstasy excess. Surely one day we will return to take this pilgrimage of the fields once more, once we are worthy.