Corn Tissue Sampling: The Jungle Expedition of the Midwest

 

 

Brenna Colglazier 

I was standing out in the middle of a cornfield, miles away from any help I could normally rely on back at farm. There wasn’t a single person in sight besides my sister, Hanna, who was presently having a mental breakdown over the numerous spiders that had seemingly appeared overnight, making their homes in the corn. I was alone, and it was my sole responsibly to brave the spiders and finish our task: collect some corn leaves. Hearing the title “corn tissue sampler” may make someone think of scientists working in a lab, analyzing plant tissue and DNA. In reality, it’s simply walking out into a field and gathering corn leaves. This may make you wonder: why is there a job for that? Let me clarify that this job may seem simple, but it takes a lot more bravery, endurance, and determination that one might expect. A tissue sampler must fill a variety of different roles to successfully complete their job on any given day.

The first role a tissue sampler takes on is the navigator. Early into this job, my boss, Mr. Hughes, had an idea to use Google Maps to precisely track the locations of the sample sites, so we wouldn’t get lost. This sounded easy until our phones started giving us directions to locations miles away from the intended sites. Since phone tracking was off the table, Hanna and I were given a map. This was no ordinary map. It was a color-coded map, comprised solely of uniform green, yellow, orange, blue, and brown squares intended to represent all the fields/sections in the area. To say the least, for two high school girls with a terrible sense of direction, this map was confusing. Looking back, I am proud to say that we only arrived at the wrong field once or twice during that summer.

As the designated navigator, it was my job to direct Hanna, the driver, to six different irrigated corn fields we had to obtain samples from. There was one time we were speeding to a field when I squinted and thought I noticed our turn ahead, which was hidden by the nine-foot corn. The John Deere Gator we were zooming around in had no windshield or exterior cover. This made it considerably difficult to hear each other over the engine revving and the wind whipping around our ears. Barely realizing the turn was now a mere 30 feet away from us, I decided to yell, “Hanna, turn right! Now!” She heard me yell to turn, except, she misinterpreted the directions and took a hard left instead. The Gator swerved into the grass-covered road ditch as she slammed her foot on the brakes. The whole right side of the vehicle was thrust into the air momentarily and slammed back to the ground. After a minute or so had passed since nearly flipping the Gator, we drove back out of the ditch and turned around to head into the field. Since then, the speedometer on the Gator has never registered over 35 miles per hour while either of us were driving.

The next role a tissue sampler will find themselves in is the explorer. Once Hanna and I would arrive at a field, we needed to locate the eight-foot red flags that marked the sampling sites. Generally, these flags were at least 40 rows away from each other, so we would have to split up. Early in the season, as you might assume, finding these flags to collect the samples was easy. A normal field stop during this time might take us eight minutes max. Flash forward to late in the growing season, and these previously quick stops were taking us over half an hour for each field. Why did this change so drastically? Recall that important things such as our missed turn tend to get hidden by the tall corn. These flags were only eight feet tall, so the corn covered them by a foot. On top of this, these flags were placed deep within the field. Finding one of them was like trying to spot Waldo, if Waldo was a minuscule ladybug perched on a blade of grass in a random part of your lawn.

Thankfully, since we had been collecting samples for around six weeks before the corn became difficult to see over, we were able to accurately guess what part of the field the flags were stationed at. There was a time when Hanna and I had completed sampling all our assigned fields, expect for one. We split up to find the last two flags and both made our way into the corn. While walking between the rows, I was certain I would find the flag if I kept moving straight, but I was also preoccupied trying to ignore all the bugs buzzing around me as I pushed my way through the thick leaves. It felt like 100°F between the humid corn rows, so many times, I would find myself getting dizzy from the heat. Nevertheless, I kept slowly fumbling my way through the corn.

Five minutes later, I abruptly stopped. My face was centimeters away from a quarter-sized, green corn spider. Naturally, I screamed at the top of my lungs, promptly launched myself backwards like a cat who saw a cucumber, and cursed at the spider. Since I wasn’t about to keep walking anywhere near that spider, I switched over a few rows to my right. Once I had walked what I considered to be far enough from that spider (at least 20 feet), I switched back to the original row I walk walking in, so I wouldn’t miss my flag. At least, I thought I had switched back. I ended up walking right past the flag, so I had to meander back out of the field to try again. It took me three more tries and over an hour before I finally found that flag.

Another role a tissue sampler must be ready to take on is the delivery person. Not only did we have to collect all 12 samples, but we also had to drive them back to the farm to package them in time to be shipped by 1:30 p.m. This was a hard deadline that we couldn’t be late to, or the samples couldn’t be shipped to the lab in time for them to be tested within the week.

There were a few times we were minutes from missing the deadline. One of the times, I couldn’t find the last flag because the field was being watered by a pivot. I had to walk out into the field, while being sprayed with ice-cold water. Soaked from head to toe, I climbed up onto the moving pivot to get a better view. I was able to spot the flag 20 feet away and climb down to get the last sample. Another time, we were starting our rounds, but the field we chose was already soaked with water. Despite this, Hanna still decided to drive into the field, where we promptly got stuck in the mud. She had to back up the Gator out of the field over the course of 20 minutes. Once we were safely out, we still had to put on our irrigation boots to go get the samples, and trudging through mud that suctions onto your shoes certainly wasn’t a fast process.

The final role a tissue sampler gets to play is the scientist. All the samples that get collected over the course of two months provide information to the farmer that helps with decisions in fertilizer application. Tests done in a lab using the samples can indicate the nutrient content within the corn plant. Maybe those tests indicate a certain field is low in magnesium. A farmer can then apply a fertilizer with extra magnesium to that field. The entire goal of tissue sampling is to make sure a plant is sufficient in the essential nutrients it needs to thrive and produce a bountiful crop at harvest. Many times, Mr. Hughes would receive the results of the lab tests and let us look at the data. He would point out what nutrients the crops were low in, and in the next few weeks, we would watch the nutrient content data climb back up to being sufficient.

Looking back on this job, I see that being a tissue sampler wasn’t just collecting leaves from corn plants. It was an adventure, where I learned to rationally deal with the many problems thrown my way. I faced faulty directions, bad driving choices, getting lost, working under a time limit, and worst of all, spiders. However, I chose to think this job truly helped me get over my fear of spiders.

What's Behind the Door

 

Lindsey McIntosh 

What happens when you pack up your bags and leave the hotel? Well, that would be my job, to clean up after you. How you leave your room is up to you, messy, clean, or untouched. As a housekeeper there are 4 different types of rooms I clean on the daily: railroader rooms, pet rooms, rooms that have kids, and angel rooms.  You might be asking yourself why someone would ever want to be a housekeeper. Honestly, a good question, but the feeling of a room being totally clean after your hard work is rewarding. The process of cleaning a room is satisfying as well. And, of course, there's nothing better than a fresh smelling room.

The first type of room I come across, and often the most common, is a railroader’s room. I live in Thedford, which is along highway 2 that follows the railroad. Workers come and go all the time, with the only place to stay being the Roadside Inn. The thing about railroad workers is that they stay for weeks at a time, often coming from all over the country, Colorado, California, Michigan. Therefore, they buy their own food and need their rooms cleaned throughout their stay. When you clean a room that people are staying in, you aren’t allowed to touch any of their personal belongings. Since they are staying awhile, they leave piles of dirty clothes, toothbrushes, Xboxes and their controllers, laptops, all laying on the bed, floor, etc., resulting in it not getting cleaned the best during their stay. This makes the job of the housekeeper who cleans once they leave ten times more difficult. Railroad workers also tend to be messier, with crushed Doritos, rotting leftovers, exploded pizza pockets, beer, and whatever black residue that gets on everything. I have serious beef with whatever it is because it takes an eternity to get off of anything plus makes me use about 2 bottles per every block, which is a lot. They also leave lots of items around including unopened boxes of breakfast sandwiches, and cases of Lipton tea. The smell they leave behind, a mix of B.O, stale puke, rotting food, and beer, haunts my memory as well. Too many times, have I had to air out their rooms just to be able to stand in and clean them. Thankfully, they do keep our small hotel alive and are normally very kind people.

My first nightmare room came from a railroader's room. They had obviously stayed there for a while and had left bags of tortillas, air fryer foods, such as onion rings, open packets of salsa, and twisted tea cans. I know they must have had a rough night considering the amount of Ultra beer bottles in the bathroom alone, and whatever went down must have been the worst smell I have ever smelled. Katen enjoyed it with me as we had to spray Pine-Sol on a cloth and put it over our noses just to get inside to air it out. We left it all day and was the last room to clean. It stunk up the whole hotel, and we spent a good chunk of time cleaning it. We went through bottles of carpet freshener and cleaning spray and not much helped. That room had to be cleaned multiple times before we ever put anyone new in it. Safe to say, I quickly learned that people aren’t scared to leave a disaster for you.

One of the most difficult to clean rooms would have to be pet rooms. Pet rooms have special precautions, and you use Dander Remover, and a mix of Pine-Sol and water, since someone with allergies could be staying in the room in the future. I have a routine when cleaning rooms and when I have to do something different or extra, it messes up my flow and timing, such as the comforter needing to be thrown into the wash. The comforters only get cleaned once every few weeks since it's bad to wash them a lot. We only wash them for pet rooms, or if they are truly dirty. During my years I’ve been a housekeeper, I’ve learned just how much hair the average person loses. Let me tell you, it’s probably a lot more than you thought, and it sticks to everything. Hair is probably my least favorite part of cleaning, because it hides and is the hardest to get off of things. So, when adding a dog or cat to the situation, every time you turn a corner, you're going to find more hair. One room that I cleaned looked like an owner decided to give their dog a haircut in the bathtub. If you haven’t spent lots of time cleaning bathtubs, let me tell you the hair is endless and water is only going to wash down so much. I spent a few precious hours trying to get all the hair out.  The vacuum has gotten clogged before from doing a few pet rooms back-to-back.

The best part is when I go to clean their room, and they happen to be leaving, and I might get to see what their animal looks like. Occasionally, I even get to pet their animals. The coolest pet I’ve seen someone bring in was a bearded dragon. This might be the only time I’ve ever seen a bearded dragon, but I can inform you that I don’t think I’ll be owning one in the future.

If you have kids, then you know how much of a mess they can be. P.S. You should do your housekeepers a favor and at least do the bare minimum of picking up their dirty diapers. I know my job is to clean but leaving that for someone else to do feels morally wrong. Yes, rooms that have kids are interesting ones. I don’t know who's to blame the kids or the parents. How do I know you might ask? Oh, I know. Several stuffies, race cars, and dolls are still left homeless. I could make a book about all the unique places kids hide cereal. The tissue dispenser, the edge of the shower, in between the mattresses, you name it. I’ve seen stains of all the colors of the rainbow; it’s like a surprise every time I open the sheets to a bed. Parents might see a hotel as a way to get out of cleaning. I understand this to a point but making me play hide and seek for the missing towels, pillowcases, and phone, is not fun. Yes, one time I found our phone in the fridge. Going along with that, does anyone want to drain your dirty bathwater for you? No. Does anyone want to pick up 10 used diapers? No. A trashcan is provided in all the rooms and can be requested to be cleaned out. Two steps and all the dirty diapers are in the trash. Our job isn’t to be a personal maid; it is to prepare rooms for the next guest.

Last and certainly not least, the rooms I like to call angel rooms. These people are either kind, and that’s how their parents taught them to leave a hotel room, or they have anxiety that I’m going to judge their messy room. If it’s the second, I’ve seen too much already, I can guarantee you won’t surprise me, and I won’t care. If it's the first, then I think there should be a crash course of how to leave a hotel room. It’s amazing when you put all the towels together in the bathtub, the trash is in the trash can, and when the bed is made or stripped already. People who leave these rooms speed up the process. If a survey was conducted, I bet that people who leave their rooms nicer are more likely to leave a tip as well, anywhere from spare change up to 10 dollars.  Personally, in my family, we would always seem to clean before the housekeeper came in, and I didn’t understand why. Now, I can certainly say I totally understand and should be a common courtesy.

After a hard day full of extremely dirty rooms, I had one of my first angel rooms. It was about my second week in, and when I would rather be spending time with my friends, I had to clean. I was thinking that I was going to have to figure something out because cleaning was not for me. I opened the door and for the first time, all the trash was picked up, the bed was pre-stripped, and the towels were all in the bathtub. The room even smelled like a clean man. They left a tip of 5 dollars with a note about how nice the staff was, and it made my whole day. It was the pick me up I needed to realize that it would be okay.

 My time as a housekeeper, I’ve learned probably way too much about some people's lives, and how their homes most likely look. I can also say I’ve learned many life skills that I can carry with me, along with job experience. If you have a stain, I’m sure I can recommend a product or method to get it out; I’ve seen it all. When reading this essay, maybe you find that you fit under one of these categories, or you don’t. Either way you should strive for angel room status; your housekeepers will adore you!

What Your Babysitter Really Thinks

 

MaKenna Nelson

Have you ever been covered in rancid vomit from head to toe while trying to rock a baby to sleep at 2:00 am? No? Well, I have, and it’s not fun. However, I find myself going back the next week to babysit for a single mom who is working the night shift, to hopefully pay this month's rent on time. I could be sitting in my warm, cloud-like bed at home, but I choose to spend my days and nights caring for those who can’t do it themselves. Plus, the kids are the ones who make my life interesting. As a babysitter, I have noticed a pattern with kids. All the kids I have babysat fit into 4 categories: Clingers, Tornadoes, CEO Babies, and the Oscar Nominees.

The Clingers are like my personal shadow. Every single step I take, they take with me, two tiny steps behind. If I go into the laundry room, they go into the laundry room. If I go outside, they go outside. The moment their parents walk out of the front door, they latch onto me like I’m some sort of mama koala. But, it’s not necessarily a bad or good thing. Sometimes I feel like a celebrity with paparazzi following me, and it’s nice to have cuddles from a sweet, innocent two-year-old little girl.

Jack, a 3-year-old little boy, gripped my leg with the strength of a professional rock climber as his mom walked out the front door.

“You’re my best friend now,” He proclaimed to me.

The feeling of being smothered overwhelmed me, but as the hours slowly passed by, it began to feel not too bad. Around 10:00 pm, I heard his mother's keys jangle against the blue wooden front door as she unlocked the deadbolt. Before I left, I learned his dad had just been deployed across seas, and he had separation anxiety and didn’t like to be alone. The next time I came over, I made sure to hold his hand at the park and tuck him in extra tight at bedtime with his camo-dressed fuzzy teddy bear.

The next type of kids I babysit are the Tornadoes. If you could put 10 red bulls and 17 scoops of pre-workout into a child, that’s how they act. From the moment they wake up and jump out of bed, it’s literally like a tornado. Their nicely folded clothes from the dresser are thrown out onto the Cars-themed rug, and their pants are draped over the bed frame. Their Barbies, Legos, and Hot Wheels that were neatly organized in plastic bins are now dumped out all over the playroom floor, and the red chalk for the chalkboard is smeared into Sissy’s fur, the recently groomed, very fluffy poodle. Have fun trying to explain that to the parents.

My best advice when babysitting children like this is to play outside. Parks are a great option, but try to stay away from sand. Tornadoes and sand do not mix well. I learned that the hard way. One time, this kid I was watching, who unknowingly needed ADHD medication very badly, had so much energy that while I was using the restroom, he destroyed his entire pantry. He claimed he was looking for the goldfish, but found it necessary to shatter a glass canister his mom stored flour in all over the hardwood floor, and empty every single pasta box, a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil, fruit loops, and to top it all off, a bottle of honey mixed with onion powder! Tornadoes move very fast, and so should you!

“Give me my juice!” is something I would have never expected to hear shouted at me from a toddler, yet that and many other similar phrases are something I hear repeatedly. CEO Babies are the next category of kids I babysit, and they are some of the most relentless people I have ever met. They never back down or listen the first time, and they NEED to always feel like the boss. The moment they feel out of control, a tantrum is waiting to happen. The way these kids speak makes it sound like they are used to being the boss, and maybe they are. But when I’m babysitting, I make the rules. Yet, regardless of my reasoning or logic, the kids always say, “Well, my mom said I can.” Really? I’m not sure your mom lets you eat ice cream and pepperoni pizza for breakfast at 7:30 am.

Sometimes, the CEO babies are willing to negotiate with you, and you can find a common ground, but other times, they refuse to do anything but get their way. I was babysitting a brother and sister about a year ago; they were twins, Abby and Alex. They were the epitome of boss babies. Abby would eat, sleep, and breathe anything princess-related. She wore a Cinderella princess dress, a flimsy, blue tiara with fake diamonds, and cheap, plastic children's heels from Walmart every single day of her life. Alex was her knight who wore inexpensive, fake armor and carried around a flexible, “metal” sword. The first time I babysat for them, their parents were at a funeral, and I was supposed to watch them and get them appropriately dressed for the family gathering afterward. I spent two agonizing hours bickering and pleading with the children to put on the black dress and solemn slacks and button-up shirt their mom had laid out, but that got me nowhere besides tantrums and slammed doors. When their mom and dad arrived, the chaos only escalated before I could quickly scramble my things together and leave.

The last category of kids I babysat are the Oscar Nominees. Honestly, they deserve an award for their dedicated waterworks and over-the-top emotions. These kids truly can fool anyone into believing their scratched elbow is a compound fracture and they need to go to the hospital immediately. Did you know the 3-year-old I babysat is actually undercover Leonardo DiCaprio? Because the way he cried when I said no to another ice cream cone is a dead giveaway. With this type of kid, every “no” is a betrayal, like a stab to the heart. It’s hard to learn the fine line between empathy and falling for these kids' performances. One minute, they could be screaming at the top of their lungs because they’re in so much pain, and then the next be smiling and jumping between the cushions on the couch.

“How could you do this to meeeeeee?” Max sobbed. “My life is ruined!”

In case you were wondering, his life is ruined because it is time to clean up his trains. Tears streamed down his face as he threw his limp body onto the trains. These weren’t just any tears, though; they were a performance. This was routine for him, he’d cry and lay on his trains for a while, as if Thomas the Train himself had just died. Then I’d suggest playing outside, and he’d perk up and finish cleaning. Five minutes later, the tears were gone, and his face was beaming with joy as he slid down the slide.

Babysitting isn’t always a very alluring job; sometimes I have to settle sibling disputes, clean up mystery substances in the corner, or gather all the patience within my body and say, “It’s okay.” But, at the end of the day, after all the chaos and germs, babysitters are always there to hug your kid when they need one and tuck them in at night. Whether they’re Clingers, Tornadoes, CEO babies, or Oscar Nominees, each child teaches me something I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. Thankfully, I do know now from the children I have babysat that I do not enjoy babysitting. Which is exactly why I quit!