The thing that makes this property special is that aside from the corn field, it is right along the edge of a grass airstrip. My Pop flies airplanes (those cute little two or four seaters that buzz around here and there, only occasionally making national headlines when someone decides to bounce one off a building or accidentally fly in restricted air space). Dad's buddy lives in the area and already owns a plane. Once my folks make the move, they'll pop up a hanger and purchase a flying machine.
A vew of the airstrip from Jim's plane
So lately I've taken to thinking that Mom and Pop are moving to a secret getaway that they'll be able to zip in and out of with ease, and that's not like being trapped in the midwest at all.
Of course, I haven't flown with dad since I was 8 and upchucked all the way to Molokai (Franklin was an admirable companion in all of that trauma). Guess I'll have to give the whole flying thing another go...