That Time I Drove Into an Asparagus Field
I looked up and caught my breath. The dust from my skid on the dirt road still swirled around me. Looking through the windshield, everything was asparagus, green stalks stretching for acres. The engine was still running. I put the car in reverse and stepped on the gas, but the front-wheel drive only managed to dig the tires further into the loose soil. I was stuck in the fields of Walkerville and very much alone. It was 1989, well before most people had heard of cell phones. My options were to leave the car and walk a couple of miles back to camp or wait for someone to come by. I didn’t want to return since I had borrowed the baby blue hatchback from the program director, never mentioning my lack of driving experience. I did have a license and had driven some. My Driver’s Ed instructor had grudgingly approved my road test. The class was part of my high curriculum, and I took the test in June. Failure meant disturbing the instructor’s summer. I didn’t have access to a car in high sch