“Pardon me, but I believe I’ve been poisoned.”

As the words left my lips, I realized how stereotypically British I sounded. All I was missing, was the accent. I grew up on Monty Python, and my current state reminded me of various British comedy sketch shows, where someone gets horribly maimed, and then apologizes for the inconvenience.

In truth, this was September of 2020. I had just admitted myself to the Emergency Room, indeed for poisoning. Unfortunately, the symptoms I was experiencing were identical to the symptoms of COVID-19, which you’ll recall, was big news in September of 2020.

So my motive for casually announcing to the hospital staff my current predicament, was to not induce a state of panic. My symptoms included shortness of breath, nausea, muscle aches, fatigue, loss of smell, excruciating chest pain, and a headache that rivaled my all-nighters back in college. Back in 2020, the entire world was on edge regarding these symptoms.

I casually walked into the hospital, trying not to gasp for breath. I steadied myself on the reception desk, and calmly announced that I’d been poisoned. As I did so, the room spun and I noticed my field of vision significantly decreasing. I was winded from walking across the room and actually felt as though I was about to collapse. I must have looked horrendous; my work clothes were tattered and ripped. I was filthy with dust, debris, and smeared with sweat and grease.

Within seconds, I was placed in a wheelchair and whisked away to an examination room. I was aware of bits and pieces of a reassured conversation going on in my vicinity, “It’s silage gas poisoning.” And, “It’s a biological condition that affects respiration.” Man, did it feel good to sit down. I don’t remember the specifics of the treatment, but I do remember breathing in pure oxygen and feeling completely blissful.

Last week, we talked about corn silage and how wonderful it smells. In fact, every time I smell fresh corn silage, the aroma takes me right back to my childhood. Just like freshly plowed earth in springtime and the scent of freshly mowed alfalfa, it’s one of those smells that define growing up on a farm.

Of course, there is a deadly side to ensiling forage. As feed ferments, it produces gas. This gas is heavier than air, so it settles. When forage like corn silage is put up in an enclosed space like a silo, the resulting process is well known in the farming world to be toxic. A freshly filled silo must be vented, and fresh air forced in prior to climbing and servicing the equipment.

I will let you in on a little secret about changing weather patterns: traditionally, the harvest season would begin following the first hard frost. Lately, the opposite is occurring — crops are being harvested following a stretch of unseasonably hot, dry weather. Heat and drought, rather than frost, is bringing on the harvest in the upper Midwest.

On this particular day in 2020, I filled the silo like we always have. I ran the forage blower to force fresh air into the top. I climbed the silo chute to level the feed and set up the unloader. If all goes well, this process should take no more than an hour.

Except on this day, the weather was unseasonably hot. The heat was accelerating the fermentation. A strong wind was blowing from the southwest, which is an unusual orientation for this time of year. As I worked in the silo, I noticed that the wind was counteracting the fresh air from the forage blower. The silo was not venting. The air I was breathing quickly became stagnant. The corn silage no longer smelled fresh; it was vinegary and caustic. Each breath felt like rusty barbed wire.

I considered climbing out the top of the silo, but the feed had settled too far down to reach the ledge. Recognizing what was happening, I glanced down the silo chute. An evil, yellow-brown gas hovered in the space. Without thinking, I stood in the area that was receiving the most fresh air, filled my lungs, and bolted down the ladder.

Let me tell you, 50 feet is a long way to descend on a single breath of air. Nearing the bottom of the chute, I hurled myself out of the enclosed space and rolled away from the silo. I scared the guy manning the silo controls, who was not expecting such a dramatic departure. It must have seemed like a massive raccoon was tumbling down, which is actually not an uncommon occurrence.

In the emergency room, I was given fresh oxygen and steroids and immediately felt better. Silo gas poisoning is no joke. It is a biological gas that shuts down respiration and prohibits the change of oxygen with carbon dioxide. Farmers lay down to go to sleep, thinking they just need to rest in order to feel better, and never wake up.

There was no hesitation to admit myself to the hospital, and I will never forget how the receptionist regarded me. In a perfect testament to wholesome small town living, she looked up and casually remarked, “Why hello Dan, were you working on corn silage today?”

— Dan Wegmueller is the owner of Wegmueller Farms and his column appears regularly in the Times. His website is https://www.

farmforthought.org.