The Source Of The Madness

  The 9 hour, 582 mile journey, pushed us to the edge. We could feel ourselves slowing drying out, losing water. Every nook and cranny on the road was felt. Every pot hole and evey turn was dreaded. As I looked around with a terrible feeling inside me, I looked at my fellow comrades, and they looked back at me. We all had a mutual understanding, almost like a " it was an honour knowing you sir" type thing. This would be the end of us.

                             (Dried Sweetcorn)                               ( Transportation)

    And then, we stopped. I was scared, more than I've ever been in my life. The crates we were stored in were hauled off the lorry and onto another vehicle. But we were not all a unit anymore, some crates went here, some crates went there, we were being loaded into the Battle Creek, Michigan Kellogs Factory. Either that or the signs were lieing to me!

  Thrown out of the crates and onto a long conveyor belt we went. Following it's path, twisting and turning through a maze of machinery.

  First we were seperated from our kurnel, they did this by using machines to dry us out and our corn fell off. We were then taken to a giant, cooker. This is where the torture really began. We were slowly for 2 hours, in an attempt to dry us out, but to keep some liquid presant in us.

  After the first torture, it was on to the roller. Now this was not a regular roller, this was a mechanical roller, exurting over 4 and a half tonnes of pressure. We came out the other end, squashed, in pain, but we were not finished yet...

The earth shakes...

  It was another clear, warm and sunny afternoon in Iowa. Our life was as peaceful as could be. We had overcome the odds of nature, whatever form of surprise lay in store for us, we overcame it. As one. We knew of nothing to fear, for as we loomed 6-8 feet above the ground, I felt at ease looking at the beauty of the greens, yellows and the clear cloudless blue sky. And suddenly, I heard the deep, chugging, rumbling, roaring sound of a beast. It emerged at a speed from a red and white barn not far from us. This beast which snorted thick black smoke, was to be our doom.

  We bagan to panic! Desperately trying to devise a plan to stand strong against this beast, known as the "Combine Harvester". Our only hope was to remain as a unit, it couldn't possibly eat all 300 acres of us. "We will survive! Be STRONG!" I shouted to my brothers and sisters. But I have never been so wrong.

  Like a tidal wave it swept over one line of corn, then another then another. Quickly the beast had devoured 5 lines of us. Each line stretched 50 acres in length, this beast was to be our doom. And soon it was upon us, it's gnashing, bladed teeth shredded us from our stalks. Crushed us, sliced us and spat us out into a trailer to it's side. As we caught a glimpse of the destruction this beast had done to our homeland above the high walls of our new metal compound known as a trailer, we were flooded with emotion. We were lost, uncertain of our future ...and scared.

  We then were loaded into bags, and watched in terror as to the cruelty of the farmer. Discarding "poor kurnles" because they were inadequate. It was survival of the fittest at this point. We were then loaded up into bags, thrown into crates and then hauled into lorries to be carried off to the Kellogs factory. Battle Creek, Michigan. 582 miles away..

  

On the move

  And after weeks of entrapment under the soil, I begin to finally break the surface. My struggle begins to look worthwhile. I can see daylight, I can feel the warm sun, and I continue to grow!

  The warmth of the soil nurtured me and and gave me the nutrients and vitamins to grow, and I am grateful. I broke the surface after 2 weeks or so, to the sight of my fellow comrades also on the road to escape, or so I thought. We felt this was our liberation from our prison in the soil to which we had been shut into. And what a feeling, the sight of my fellow comrades breaking surface of the brown ,warm soil was a monumental moment. We were one unit, brothers and sisters, we would overcome the terror of the farmer and gain freedom! We hadn't quite figured out we would do after we gained freedom...

( Corn Breaking the surface)

  After 4 weeks or so we came face to face with a creature we assumed may be able to aid us in our quest, a field mouse. How wrong we were. The small, hairy brown vermin raced towards myself and my comrades, charging towards us, choosing its prey at random, showing no mercy. As we swayed in the breeze, we were helpless to the knawing of the predators razor sharp teeth. I was wounded but lucky to escape with my life.

( The nasty vermin)

  The attack lasted only an hour at a time. So many kurnels lost on our journey. So many neighbors, brothers, sisters and allies were lost. But yet we must go on.

  We finished growing around about the 10-12 week mark, we had over come the many raids, disease, rodents and obstacles. We had escaped the prison we knew as the soil, and we were free, for a while...

Early Days

 And so I shall recall my journey, what a wild and long journey it has been. For I was only a seed. I have seen things many would have never known existed, I have been separated from my family, friends and neighbors along the way. Many of whom I have never seen again.

  My story begins in the fields of a corn farm in Iowa, I began as a seed in a sack. The land was then churned, ploughed  and fertilised. I and my other fellow comrades we scattered in straight lines stretching from one end of the field to the other. Many of these corn farms we learnt varied in size, this one farm however stretched farther than the eye could see. What we didn't know however was the average size of these farms in Iowa was over 333acres per farm.

(Farmer preparing for planting)

  Iowa appeared to be the perfect place for us to grow, the warm climate in Iowa allows us to grow for eight out of the twelve months of the year. The high temperatures during these eight months, ranging from 50 degrees(F)  all the way up to 85 degrees(F) is ideal to grow corn. Over 50% of the U.S.A's corn is actually grown in Iowa so I'm told.

  And so as we wait, buried in the ground, separated and alone with nothing but our thoughts to accompany us, we wait. 

Introduction

Hello, my name is Evan.

This is my blog on the Geography behind Corn Flakes. Over the next few weeks I shall try and recreate the story of a Corn Flake, this will follow the story of the crop, beginning in the field and ending in a box of cereal.