Summer Solstice

When the sun peaked over the Heel Stone at Stonehenge, the monoliths aligned, a giant cloud of weed parted, the druids did their little druid dance and climate activists sprayed some unknown substance on the rocks in protest. It was officially the first day of summer.  

But you don’t have to go all the way to England to get your pagan on. There are so many henges in our own backyard.  

Just outside of Columbia, MO, near the Katy Trail and next to the Missouri River is an unexplained art piece called BoatHenge. It’s situated in a clearing off the trail, where a mysterious artist decided to plant boats versus trees. There is speculation on its origins—either it just fell from heaven, arrived on the first day of spring or was erected to commemorate the recent great floods. Whatever the meaning of this semi-circle of boats, it doesn’t seem to be an accident their measurements are almost the same as the rocks in England. 

In Dublin, OH they have taken a twist on the “Field of Dreams” to make their “Field of Corn.” This cornhenge is made up of over 100 human-sized concrete white ears of corn, an art piece honoring the crop that had been raised here since the 1800s. It also pays tribute to a leading hybrid corn farmer who began revolutionizing the way corn was raised back in the 1940s. The art piece seems especially eerily poignant now that Monsanto’s genetically modified crops represent 90 percent of the corn grown in the US. Standing in this concrete field of white statues, the art installation takes on a dystopian tone in this age of Monsanto, like you’re in the middle of some cemetery dedicated to the obsolete family farmer. 

Outside of Topeka, KS sits the sprawling acres of Truckhenge. Built by the cantankerous Ron Lessman who was told by the county to get rid of all the trucks on his property as there were too many. The county claimed, if a flood came, all his vehicles would float away and pollute the nearby rivers and lakes. Ron had the last laugh though; he poured 42,000 pounds of concrete on his property and planted all his trucks (and buses and boats too) so they stood upright out of the ground and could never float away. When explaining this to me, Ron demonstrated what he’s done with his trucks. Slapping his left hand into the inside crease of his right elbow, his right arm jerked up and he made a fist in defiance.  

“This here is how my trucks say hello to the county commissioner every day.” 

This unmistakable gesture doesn’t really have a universal name. If you were French or pretentious (or both), you’d call it the “bras d'honneur.” Others call it “the Italian salute.”  And to some, using the middle finger might just do the trick too. But to Ron, there is nothing subtle or ambiguous about his car lot-sized fuck you.  

These are just a few of the dozen or so henges to visit on your pagan pilgrimages. If no druid is nearby to guide you to the next henge, here is a partial listing of them at America Unhenged.  But, keep your own druid dance ready, as I am sure new monoliths will be mysteriously popping up soon in a field near you. Happy solstice!