🌱 Just a few miles down the road from the cornfield where the Farmer’s Daughter still plays lies a broad, flat stretch of farmland planted thick with soybeans. Unlike corn, you can’t get lost in a soybean field—there are no tall stalks to disorient you, no rustling maze to confuse your steps. But that doesn’t mean you’ll make it out. Not here. Not where the soil remembers what was given to it.

Local folklore speaks of The Hungry Field, an old soybean patch that was once the site of a land dispute gone violently wrong. A drifter turned farmer vanished here in the 1950s after claiming the land was “breathing under his boots.” Authorities found his boots—just his boots—half-sunk in the soil, laces still tied. Since then, travelers cutting across the field have reported strange sensations: an invisible tug at the ankles, the feeling of walking on something that shifts just beneath the surface, and whispers that bubble up from the dirt after rain.

Farmhands say the beans grow better when something dies nearby. They joke, nervously, that the plants “like meat.” But they don’t laugh long. Not after the field takes one of their own again.

Vacation Tip: Don’t trip. The roots are waiting.