Ryan Haack

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When people come to Collingston, Kansas, they see how large the world really is. As you arrive, you are greeted with fields of crops that go on for countless acres. There are hundreds of ranges for cows, horses, pigs, and goats throughout. The small grocery store and feed barn have remained the only businesses in downtown Collingston for forty years and counting. And, as if to emphasize the small-town feel, the only gas station is about ten miles out of the place.  Farmers have to take their combines and tractors all that way during harvest to use the diesel pump and fill up.

 

As if it were some big secret, only people who live in Collingston come to Collingston. There are no schools in the area so only ten kids under the age of twenty actually live within the town’s boundaries. It’s really no place to have a family, and the children the farmers had only return for holidays or birthdays and leave shortly after. 

 

It’s a town full of farmers and farmland and that’s all it will ever be. 

 

There was Farmer Walliye who owned about twenty acres of land on the west side of town. He grew mint exclusively and during the spring that beautiful smell seemed to lift every farmer’s spirits without fail. He sold the mint to companies in Lexena who would crush it to make extract for toothpaste and air fresheners. And then there was Olivia McMann who, on the north side of town, owned roughly thirty acres she used to grow tomatoes and potatoes. She, like Farmer Walliye, were fairly young considering the average age ratio in Collingston. 

 

And then there was the oldest, farmer Job, who owned eighteen acres which had been solely devoted to growing corn crops for nearly fifty years. He’d lived through so many seasons he got them confused. He had so many tractors that he would lose them and find them tucked in small forests near his fields years or even decades after. But the one thing that he did remember was the scarecrow Cornucopia who hung outside the acre of crops in front of his house. During the mornings when Job went out on the patio to sip his morning coffee, it almost looked like the old scarecrow greeted him with a smile. And on summer nights, Job could see the scarecrow wave at him out in the field when he was looking out his bedroom window. 

 

It took Job a couple of months to get the courage to talk to the scarecrow, “Hello, friend. My name is Farmer Job and I own these fields. I’ve seen you waving and smiling at me and I just had to ask if you meant to. By that, I mean did you make yourself do that?”

 

After a few moments of no response, Job felt foolish of his supernatural premonition. He figured that all the years of being surrounded by corn crops had made him a little to suspicious when something was out of the ordinary. But the scarecrow was nothing ordinary. 

 

“Hello there, farmer Job,” the old scarecrow said. 

 

Job turned around as fast as his old body could allow, looking up at the thing. It wore a tattered plaid shirt and worn-out blue jeans that he used to wear when he detasselled his fields without the help of new machines. Early on those July mornings, he would walk into the cornfield completely dry, pick at least a thousand tassels, and come out the other side as if he’d been washed up on a faraway island. The scarecrow wore leather gloves that had hardened because they were left out by the garden all winter. Then he wore busted-out boots and corks for eyes. In an attempt to be creative, Farmer Job used what little sewing skills he had to attach twine to the top of the scarecrow’s head to replicate a head of hair. 

 

“What is my name, farmer?” asked the thing. 

 

Farmer Job scratched his head and answered, “Hello, my friend. I will call you Cornucopia because every field I put you in grows effortlessly and the veins,” he paused in amazement, “they seem to grow about you every which way.” With that, farmer Job helped Cornucopia off the pole that he was tied to above the fields. He told the scarecrow that he could walk around the farm at night, but in the morning he would have to get back to work in the fields once the sun rose again. 

 

And so, over the years, farmer Job treated Cornucopia like a son. He read him books like the Odyssey and Virgil’s Aeneid which the impressionable scarecrow loved very much. He would always ask the farmer to tell him stories of great adventure and fantasy, so that he might be able to escape the constraints of  Collingston if only in his mind. And very soon, he would get the chance. The scarecrow, with his newfound ability to articulate and think critically, spent all day talking to animals and waving to farmers as they drove by in their trucks. Without the farmer’s help, he was just a half-conscious item. It was when he learned to walk, talk, and change his clothes that he felt like an important figure at the farm. 

 

Farmer Job tried to keep his friend a secret but Cornucopia was too much of a cheese to be silenced. Whenever he could, he played baseball with the kids in the fields and in the winters he liked to sled down the large hills scattered all across Collingston with them. Farmer Olivia would even ask him to run around her field and wave his arms back and forth to frighten the birds, rabbits, and gophers that were be chewing on her potatoes. The community, albeit small, was familiar with the scarecrow and accustomed to the supernatural powers that brought it to life. 

 

So when Farmer Job was nearing seventy-five and his fiftieth farming season was closely approaching, he confided in Cornucopia, “My dear boy, I need to ask a great favor of you. I am old now and it’s been many years since my farm grew bountifully. I will not be able to take up farming much longer and I have borrowed too much money from the bank. If I could grow something other than corn, something easier, maybe I could have a handful of abundant seasons. So go out, find me a new plant not of this Earth so I don’t lose what I’ve spent my life working for.”

 

Upon hearing this request, Cornucopia ran around the farm and scouted for materials to make a space ship. He remembered back to when farmer Job told him about the glowing white thing that came out at night called the moon and named all the bright specs that surrounded it stars. Far beyond them, there had to be a plant that would make Farmer Job rich again, the scarecrow thought as he rummaged through rusty tractor pieces in the barn. He found an old leather seat and a wheel that might form a proper rocket if he found all the right pieces. 

 

Once he exited the barn, he noticed this acre-wide metal irrigation system out in Farmer Job’s backfield. He left it out there during the winter because he didn’t have the energy to store it. And over the months since harvest, it had gotten rusty and several sprayers on it were frozen beyond repair. Cornucopia knew this would be the final piece to his spaceship puzzle, so he strapped his chair and wheel onto the thing and turned the pump to its highest setting. I’ll get on the big sprinkler and rip the hose off so the water pressure will shoot me high in the sky, he figured. And that’s exactly what happened. Farmer Job, as doubtful of the plan as he was, agreed to turn on the pressure and it shot into the sky like an airplane once he did. The acre-long arms of the device became stable wings with little sprinkler shooters on the bottom. The scarecrow tied ropes to both wings and was able to steer his machination whichever way he desired. 

 

That must’ve been the troposphere, and that’s the mesosphere. Or was that the exosphere?  He knew a little bit about the Earth’s layers by reading Farmer Job’s old middle school book out in the fields. There was a brief section about the solar system inside that always intrigued Cornucopia and he made sure to bring the book with him on this journey. Once he left Earth on his irrigation rocket, he waved to the man on the moon and made sure to steer clear of Saturn’s large rings as he passed them. The scarecrow was so proud that his invention got him this far, but he had no idea how long it would take to reach a planet of botanical wonderment. 

 

Each time he entered a new system of planets, he pulled out his textbook to find which one he was in. Was this the Cassiopea A? Or perhaps the Crux Arm? As confident as he was in himself, he finally admitted he was lost. On the long journey, he kept seeing the same planets with slight variations and many times he thought he was going around in circles. 

 

But finally, he came upon this small little box floating by the moon of a dwarf planet. The top of the box said ‘information centre’ and Cornucopia quickly stopped to talk to the person inside. “Hello, I am traveling from far away to find a planet rich with exotic plants. Do you know of where I could find one?” he asked. 

 

This figure with a face like a reptile and a long tail like a crocodile began to speak to him from the window, “Traveller, what kind of ship are you traveling on?”

 

The scarecrow didn’t consider what the inhabitance of other planets would think of his invention. He figured they also used whatever materials they could to build ships and rockets. “It’s a tool from where I come from,” he told her. 

 

“You looked like a dragon soaring across planets and between asteroids. I have to tell you, I feared for my life as you approached my station,” she said, shaking Cornucopia’s hand. “It’s not often that I get visitors out here. Usually, cargo ships and drug traffickers come up and ask for maps of the galaxy. I have to report them to the government most times.”

 

The scarecrow took a map from the girl. He saw that she was actually quite beautiful and had these bright green eyes and scaled skin. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I must be off. Do you think you could tell me where I could find seedlings for my friend’s farm?”

 

The reptilian attendant thought for a moment, “It’s a very nice thing you’re doing for your friend.” She took a marker from underneath the window and circled a large blue planet with tiny green blotches all around it on the map. Cornucopia knew it resembled Earth in some way, but the continents were all broken up like crushed sprinkles. “This is a place called the Thousand Islands. There is an abundance of plants there bearing with the most excellent produce in all the galaxy. You know it came from the Islands if the taste is sweet, the crunch is crisp, and there isn’t a bruise in sight.”

 

“Sounds exactly like the place I need to go,” said the scarecrow, “but how do I get there?”

 

The attendant drew another circle around a small planet several systems away. “You can go to Woma, the city-planet. Cargo ships from the Thousand Islands travel daily to distribute goods. If you watch for the ships and follow them, you’ll find the quickest route guaranteed.” She pointed to this large red planet behind the two of them, “That’s Woma.”

 

After bidding farewell to the kind attendant and tucking the map into his back pocket, the scarecrow sped towards Woma. He tried to look through the map and identify new planets as he waited for the right cargo ship. Hundreds of cruisers passed by the scarecrow and he must’ve checked every one of them for Thousand Island markings. Until, finally, the sort of ships the information attendant described started flying out of Woma. They must be done with their trading for the day, Cornucopia thought to himself. 

 

Shooting frozen water out of its sprinklers at maximum capacity, the irrigation rocket jetted behind the cargo ship and followed it for hours. Because the wingspan of the scarecrow’s invention was so much wider than that of the Thousand Island ship, he had to make plenty of detours along their journey. He would fly around fields of asteroids that the cargo ship could simply cut through like butter. There were several instances when Cornucopia had to fly around moons that the cargo ship could simply zip through with ease. In every way, Cornucopia was starting to reconsider his overall design of the irrigation rocket. Perhaps the people of the Thousand Islands could help him improve the design with their countless technologies and advancements. 

 

Finally, they reached the botanical archipelago and it was just as beautiful and surprising as the attendant said it would be. The closer he got, each island started to differentiate itself with strange new qualities. The islands that looked green from afar turned purple-grey and the ones with a blue tint became yellow and turquoise. We’re taking a lot of heat, thought the scarecrow as their decent sped the rocket downward. Flames ignited themselves on either both sides of the irrigation rocket and Cornucopia was not able to regain control of the machine to ensure a safe landing. Not that he’d really considered the aspect of landing at all.

 

Instead of following the cargo ship, Cornucopia had only two options: crash on an island or land on a wave that would carry him to an undeterminable destination. The scarecrow chose the latter option in an effort to salvage as much of his rocket as possible. He washed up on an island with mushrooms and lily pads growing high into the sky. It was an island where flowers bloomed when they were the size of trees and their pedals could be used for rafts.

 

Three guards approached the scarecrow while he pulled his rocket out of the water and onto the beach. “Hello, friends. I am a peaceful guest to this island,” he said to the men who wore white sheets over their bodies and held swords in their hands. 

 

“The leader farmer has not authorized you to be here,” said the most menacing of the guards, holding his sword in his right hand. He was built like a young farmer with large muscles from tilling or harvesting by hand. 

 

The scarecrow introduced himself just like Farmer Job taught him to. He extended his hand and said, “My name is Cornucopia. I’m from Earth and I’m here with peaceful intentions.”

 

None of the guards returned the favor. “And what is your intention, sir?” one of them asked. 

 

He told them about the seeds and they were captivated by the story. The guards took him through fields of lush, exotic plants and large potatoes that grew above ground instead of below it. The four passed a burrow Cornucopia noticed that there was no sign of wildlife on the island and he inquired, “Where are the animals? Don’t they feed on these plants, too?”

 

“There was a time when animals roamed this island,” said one of the guards, “but plants quit tolerating it. In the span of a season, the plants wiped out every living creature on the island for taking their hard work unwarranted.” 

 

It became clear to the scarecrow that these plants had control over every aspect of the island, including the people. The residents of small villages along the beach supplicated their plants so they might bear fruit and vegetables. Here, it seemed like Farmer Job’s tireless effort in enriching soil, nurturing roots with water and ensuring each plant had enough sunlight would be useless. Maybe Farmer Job just isn’t begging the plants enough, the scarecrow surmised, maybe he’s not getting spiritual enough.

 

A guard took a fruit off the sand and passed it to the scarecrow, “Why don’t you try this and tell us what you think?”

 

Cornucopia gladly took the yellow plant and bit onto it. It was sweet like a kiwi but with the hardness of a honey crisp apple. The juices from the exotic fruit spilled onto the scarecrow’s mask and plaid shirt. The guards were so taken by his enjoyment that they grabbed fruits of their own and ate along. 

 

By the guards finally took the scarecrow inside the noblemen's house, the Leader Farmer was sitting on his throne hearing the politics of other islands from his messenger. “They call me the Lead Farmer because the plants trust me more than any other islander. You have come a long way on a strange ship. What is your purpose here?” the lead farmer asked.  

 

“I came here to find fruits and vegetables for my farmer. He’s not doing well back on Earth and needs to grow plants like the ones your fields bare.”

 

“You wish to take some seeds with you?” asked the man at the throne, looking less like a farmer and more like a monarch. 

 

The scarecrow shook his head, “Yes, lead farmer.”

 

The lead farmer thought as he stroked his beard. During his contemplation, the scarecrow noticed all the wonderful vegetation surrounding him. The plants from Earth had been the subject of so many pieces of art, but these plants were so much more in-depth and beautiful. A painter might have to search a dozen orchards to find the right apple for the subject of a painting, but on this planet the search would be brief. Even a fruit from the very bottom of the Thousand Island cargo truck would a muse for any Earthly artist. 

 

“We cannot allow you to take the seeds away. For your safety and ours, frankly. Mothers are protective of their young, so much so that they have ripped any man who tampers with them apart and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Now, I am sorry to hear about your farmer friend and his plight with old age, but I cannot help you.”

 

The scarecrow didn’t come all this way for no answer. He didn’t think the lead Farmer quite understood what lengths were taken, and maybe if he knew he would at least try to help. “Is there anything I can do get approval? I am desperate, Lead Farmer. I’ve tasted your fruits and vegetables and I know that humans will enjoy them.”

 

“I don’t usually let strangers into our competitions,” said he said. “But since you’ve come so far on your metal fume-exhausting dragon I suppose it would only be right.”

 

“A competition?” The scarecrow asked. He’d seen the farmer boys across the street play flag football or show off their pigs when fair season came around, but Cornucopia had never really known competition like the Islanders came to know it. 

 

“Yes, it is a competition for land. If the plants and vegetation admire your skillset and accept you as their farmer, you will surely be able to gather as many of their seeds as you desire. If you compete in our farming competition and fail, the plants will not allow you into their forests and we will have to force you off the island.”

 

After the scarecrow accepted the invitation to the competition, he was fed a lavish meal. During it, the Lead Farmer told Cornucopia stories of his early farming days and legends of old weeds he had to kill in his youth. Once, there was a weed so powerful it had a grip on several islands in the archipelago and it made the land infertile. When the Lead Farmer was just a farmer, he and his friends were sick of seeing their great land diminished into a swampy, desolate place. 

 

They grabbed their swords and pitchforks and attempted to strike at the roots of the weed to stop it but there was no use. The weed was smart and it used a thick celluloid skin to cover any of its weaknesses. The small army then attempted to poison the weed but it would not die, even if it occasionally looked like it was cowering down or lost stability. After several more months of giving up, it was the Lead Farmer who asked the weed to leave nicely. No one had considered talking to the plants. When he did, the weed agreed that he would leave the island if he was promised an island of his own that inhabited no beings other than weeds. The Lead Farmer used a small boat to sail alongside the weed in search of its new home, and once they found an island that uninhabited, he took it and grew as tall as he desired. “This island was now known as the Island of Thorns and no one, not even prisoners and thieves, are able to go there. It would be the worst punishment in all of the Thousand Islands,” the lead Farmer said as the scarecrow finished his meal. 

 

“Tell me about your land, Cornucopia.” he said. “You’ve sat long enough hearing about mine, I’d like to know why they call you a scarecrow and how something like you could possibly protect a field from vermin.”

 

Cornucopia told him about the farmers he knew and the fields that he watched over for many years. About how the birds sang and ate corn out of his hands. And about the tomcats that came to the house because they knew Farmer Job would feed them. The lead farmer was impressed with stories of Collingston, Kansas and the people who lived there. Fields were very foreign to him, considering every island on the Thousand Islands had supplicated their seedings in hopes they might grow. 

 

After some time, the scarecrow retreated to a beautiful room below the lead farmer’s quarters. He didn’t think he had the skills to convince a plant to grow and felt he would surely fail the competition the next afternoon. All that time he hung over the fields, he could only watch Farmer Job work and care for his crops. And even if he did somehow win the game, would the plants let him take seeds to his own planet? the scarecrow questioned to himself.  Even the king seemed unsure of what decision they would come to. 

 

When he woke up the next morning, this unbelievable sunrise came out from large tomato plants far off the island. It made the fruits shine a brilliant red and illuminated the prosperous island with a crimson glow. He was so enraptured by the view that he quickly ran outside towards a small patch of exotic flowers by a flowing stream.

 

One of the Lead Farmer’s guards joined the scarecrow out by the flowers, “Up without a proper breakfast? Now you’re acting like a Thousand Islander. No time to take care for your body or mind when there’s work to be done.”

 

Something about the weather made him remember those June mornings when the plants would start to rise high. Every day you could see the progress of the crops in the fields, if only just a little. And on those mornings, Farmer Job would read a parable or a fable so the scarecrow might learn how to act when he was sent out into the world. 

 

Hours later the islanders gathered around a small hill where the game would be held. That morning, some noblemen gave the scarecrow white tunics to replace his burnt pants and shirt impacted during his traveling. He didn’t feel comfortable in these strange garnets, but he accepted them.

 

The scarecrow left the noblemen's’ house accompanied by several guards. They took him to the small hill where he saw his young contender talking amongst his friends. “That is my rival, is it not?” he asked, and the guards unanimously agreed. 

 

“The game is going to determine who will control the plants on this hill. It is a sought-over land, scarecrow, and this young farmer has been waiting for his opportunity to claim it.”

 

Cornucopia couldn’t help but feel unprepared and unworthy. The young man had been waiting to claim this hill for his own since he was a child. The scarecrow had only stumbled upon the planet less than a day before and had only known of the hill moments before. If it had not been for the universe’s strange power, the scarecrow would be on an entirely different. So Cornucopia went up to one of the plants on the hill and asked, “Do you guys think you could just…give me a seed? Something that will help my old man keep his farm?” After no response, he pleaded again, “I promise it would be worth your time, I just don’t want to ruin this poor kid’s chance if I win. And I certainly don’t want to lose my chances of getting a seed from any of the Thousand Islands if I don’t.”

The plant spat at Cornucopia and whipped itself violently, “You are not to speak with plants before the competition. Many have tried to influence our judgment with bribes and promises but we are immovable. Nothing can change our decisions once they have been made.”

 

The lead farmer came down to the hill with his guards and noblemen. He gave the referee permission to start only moments after. The referee blew his little potato whistle after the young farmer and the scarecrow were handed seedlings to plant in their respective plots. The seeds themselves had brown and white polka-dots on them and seemed to jump and vibrate when they were in the scarecrow’s hand. He tighten them in his grip.

 

He used his foot to till some of the earth and poked small little holes in the soil that he later sat seeds in. The beans and seeds practically jumped out of his hands and dropped to the soil below, eager to begin their lives and start generations of plants to come. 

 

The scarecrow could see that the young farmer throwing seeds towards his plot like one would throw bread for crows. And the seeds themselves, being so willing to grow, dug themselves a new home in the soil. And once this was done, he got on his knees and supplicated them just like the other residents of the island had. 

 

Cornucopia, on the other hand, rushed down to the ocean to get some water and threw it onto his seedlings. He could hear the seeds squeal and holler once they were saturated with it. Farmer Job always said that drowning a seed is the worst crime you could ever commit, so the scarecrow only gave them enough to drink and still be thirsty. He looked over to his competitor, just for a moment, to see that his plants were indeed growing as he coaxed them on.

 

Out of the corner of his button eye, the scarecrow could see that his plot was only lit by small cracks of sun. Just above, there was a tree offering a little too much shade for any plant to sulk in the nutrients it provided. So the scarecrow jumped onto the trunk of that tree and hurled himself up. Using the rope around his waist, the scarecrow worked the leafy branch off by rowing it back and forth. Once it fell to the ground, the crowd gasped in fear of their wellbeing.

 

Knowing the seedlings now had enough sunlight to truly prosper, the scarecrow slid back down the tree. The seeds started to crackle and pop in the water that engulfed the soil and long stems started to shoot towards the sky. The scarecrow and the crowd were completely astonished.

 

Cornucopia had surely won the contest. Once the plant started to bear the most beautiful red and white fruits imaginable, the referees came over to Cornucopia and confirmed his victory. The young farmer put his head down in defeat and knew that he would never be able to enter the gardens again. He would have to go help his dad, who also failed the competition years ago, run his small dried and preserved fruit business several islands away. 

 

The lead farmer came over to the beautiful red and white plants, “Congratulations, Cornucopia! You have succeeded just as you said you would!” He threw his hand on the scarecrow’s back, “So now, you can ask the wonderful plants for what you’ve wanted all along. Go into the forest and find the golden tree.”

 

“Yes, I suppose it is time,” the scarecrow replied. 

 

So the scarecrow descended deep into the forest of exotic plants. He carefully moved bushes out of his way and stepped on the grass below as lightly as possible. During dinner the night before, the lead farmer told him a story about a farmer who won the competition but struck the root of the main plant to get it to talk. The vegetation then refused him and not a single crop grew under his watch again. So that is why the scarecrow treaded lightly and politely.

 

However, once he made it to the middle tree he got down on his knees as if he were praying and said, “I have completed the challenge, tree. The lead farmer is outside this forest waiting for me to come with news of your acceptance.”

 

It took several moments for the tree to respond with a commanding voice, “You did very well, and you treated my seedlings with respect. But there is one problem, scarecrow. I cannot bless an outsider with this land.”

 

The scarecrow lifted his head up, “Yes, that is exactly true. And in place of that, perhaps, I would like to have a few of your seedlings for my own. I would like to take them to my home planet. See, there is a farmer on the planet Earth who cares for me and is like a father to me. His crops are failing and he is getting very old. Soon he won’t be able to pay for his home or his medical bills, you see?”

 

The tree gave a long aahhh, “So you’ve come all this way for that?” A long-necked bird from above started zooming around the trees and finally landed on the scarecrow’s shoulder. It dropped four jumping seedlings into his glove. The tree shook it branches as it laughed and then said happily, “All you had to do was tell me your story and I would have given you the seeds, scarecrow. But you went through so much trouble just to help an earthly man?”

 

“He raised me,” Cornucopia said, “and I have to return the favor. Thank you for this, tree.”

 

The tree stopped it’s laughing, “But there is one more matter that needs to be figured out. If you are going to return to Earth, then who in the Thousand Islands will take your place as our farmer?”

 

It didn’t take the scarecrow very long for an answer, “The young farmer who was my competitor should suffice. I think he deserves to farm over your land.”

 

So when the scarecrow emerged from the forest, the plants didn’t bloom like they would if he was declared farmer. The crowd was confused and skeptical about this, so only some of them cheered as he returned.

 

Cornucopia announced, “I am not staying on the Thousand Islands any longer. I must go home. The forest has decided that this young farmer, my competitor, is the one who will take care of the land until his descendants cannot any longer.”

 

The young farmer came to the scarecrow, leaving the support circle his friends had made around him. “Are you telling the truth, scarecrow?”

 

“Go and touch the plants for yourself,” he said. 

 

And so the young farmer went to the plant and grabbed ahold of it. He touched the branch and it immediately changed color. The young farmer was in disbelief. The crowd cheered and his friends ran over with their excitement, throwing him up in the air and singing for him. 

 

“You did a very good thing,” the lead farmer said to Cornucopia. 

 

Cornucopia held out the seeds to show the botanical monarch, “And I got a reward.” The two discussed some of the Earthly plant-growing tactics that the scarecrow used during the competition such as watering and sunlight. And after their conversation and feast, Cornucopia had one last question to ask the lead farmer. “I need to get home, sir, but my irrigation rocket is deep in the thorn island we spoke about.”

 

“Oh, scarecrow. It’s lying on the beach for you. I had some of my men go out and retrieve it. For the past couple of days, they have been rubbing it with onion oil,” the leader said. 

 

After a hearty hug and a farewell to the residents, Cornucopia ran out to the beach with his seeds. He found the rocket positioned as if the beach were some kind of runway and it was about to fly off on it. Some of the parts that broke on his trip through the stars had been replaced by the guards. The rust marks that once covered its entire metal frame had entirely vanished because of their scrubbing and detailed handiwork. 

 

A guard was still cleaning the sprinklers as Cornucopia joined him, “Your beautiful dragon looks brand new, huh?”

 

Cornucopia shook the guard’s hand with a smile, “Farmer Job won’t believe the magic you’ve done, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have a long trip back.”

 

Without further question, the guard stepped away and let the scarecrow prepare to go home. He used the rope tied around his chest to secure himself to the metal of his machine. Once fastened, he threw both of his wooden arms around the irrigation system and let the sprinklers go off as they did on Earth. Because the system had been fed ocean water for several days, it shot right off into the sky and into the stars above. 

 

I’m happy to report that several days after he left the Thousand Islands, Cornucopia returned to Collingston. You can bet that Farmer Job greeted him with open arms. And after that, the two spent all night planting the seeds in his field. By the time the sun rose the next morning, the fields were full of plants of all colors of the rainbow. There were green potatoes, purple apples, and rectangular black melons that tasted like onions. But the plants didn’t stop in the fields. Instead, veins spread themselves across forests and small rivers where some of the most beautiful produce imaginable was conceived. 

 

“Thank you, Cornucopia,” farmer Job said. The farmer had never been so proud of his scarecrow companion before. “You risked your life for me and I am very grateful.”

 

The scarecrow taught farmer Job how to ask plants of the Thousand Islands if it’s okay to pick their fruit. “You must be courteous to them. You must not tell them lies and you have to treat them well,” the scarecrow said. 

 

And that summer, farmer Job sold thousands of fruits and vegetables at the farmers market in Collingston. His magical produce got the attention of distributors who then agreed to sell his product across the country. However, nobody but Job had permission pick the produce and care for the plants. With the farm as prosperous as ever, he was able to keep his house and his land for his sons and grandchildren. 

 

And although old Job eventually passed away and his two sons inherited the land, Cornucopia still watched over the fields. There, he patiently waited for his next adventure.