One of our favorite things to do when we PCS is to experience new traditions steeped in local personality. When we arrived in Kansas, a neighbor suggested we try a maize maze.
We crossed the gravel parking lot, not knowing what to expect, but the man selling tickets gave us a short list of rules. The Number One rule is “Stay on the paths and do not go through the corn.” We thought number two was straightforward: “Remember where you started.” The third was “Raise your flag if you need help.”
He went on to say, “When you enter the maze, if you can’t find your way out, take this flag and raise it high. Someone will come get you…eventually.” He smiled at the last part as if to plant doubts about when “eventually” would come.
That’s all the direction these first-timers received.
We started off joking and at a good pace. As the path crossed other paths and twisted and turned, we quickly lost track of where we started. Rule number two–broken. We kept rule number one because we did not walk through the corn; we stayed on the paths. My husband occasionally reached through the corn to grab for one of our children. The screams were piercing, and they all laughed once they saw the culprit.
My kids raced ahead to find the places we could turn. Each time the path split or joined another branch, we had a choice: right, left, or straight. We often went the wrong way, leading to dead ends. Turning back around to choose a new path confused us and made us doubt where we were heading.
At one point, we found the bridge with the teenager who would rescue us “eventually.” He looked bored and hot. I genuinely think he might have forgotten his job because he was staring off into space. He could see the whole maze from the bridge, so I am sure he didn’t leave anyone in the maze overnight.
Since we weren’t ready to give up, we returned to the path away from the bridge. Soon, we could not see the bridge, only corn and a few people. Sometimes, people came towards us, and sometimes, we met at the joints of the paths. Rarely did we follow anyone because what was the fun in that?
We finally made it out about two hours later. We were hot, thirsty and hangry. My son followed his nose to the hotdog and popcorn vendor. We got cider, water, hotdogs, and popcorn. While we sat and drank, we laughed about all our mistakes and who chose the right way out. Every child had a story of when they were right and everyone else was wrong. The cider was sweet and warm, while the water was ice cold and refreshing. Most of all, we agreed we wanted to do this every autumn.
What is your favorite fall tradition? How do you find new things to do after a PCS?