Soybean Year
In the Inland Midwest, far from the great cities like Detroit or Chicago, large bodies of water are few and far between. Yet, I find that standing at the edge of a soybean field brings a perspective and solitude similar to watching waves roll over the ocean.
To urban america, this part of the country is known for corn, nothing but corn, and the second largest regional crop goes overlooked. While cornfields, in their late-august heights, can feel isolating, soybeans rise no more than two feet– the perfect level for wading and watching the long horizon.
Soybeans are a subtle plant. They draw attention away from themselves. I find myself turned to the sky, the rolling clouds, the dirt, the cold fronts on their way.
Though both crops are over-industrialized, and the crop duopoly leaves little for native plants to sprout from, I find a great metaphor in their duality.
A year of corn is one of exhibition and new heights, but a soybean year turns you inward– to the sky and the earth and the soul. Laying low, for a while, waiting for the next season to arrive.
