This post is pas
due. I should have written it a few weeks ago, but it’s taken this long for us
to be able to look back and laugh at the tragedy of the corn, instead of
sinking into a depression when we recalled what happened.
As you know from
previous blogs we were really excited about our first ever corn crop. Dalton
got the area fenced off, he plowed the ground and made rows evenly spaced and
very straight, planted the seeds and we watched it grow. From the first green
sprouts our excitement grew but we kept it in check in case it didn’t make it.
It did make it and kept growing and growing, and so did our excitement. Finally
ears were visible and we watched the silks carefully so that we knew when to
pick.
Proud of their pickins
When we thought
it was close we picked a few ears. Some were ok, others were bare…more time
needed. We did this for about a week, waiting for the perfect time to harvest.
Finally the time had come….but then it rained….a lot. Good, we thought, more
moisture equals juicier corn, right? So we waited and it rained again. Finally
by the end of the week we could get in there and harvest. The boys and I went
out on a Friday morning and picked the corn from two rows. We were excited
about the amount and even gave some away to our friends and Dalton’s parents. I
even put some up in the freezer.
The next day was
the official ‘harvest day.’ We thought about having a few friends out to help
but decided against it….thank goodness! We got an early start and harvested all
of the corn. There was a lot of it! We
were so proud and excited and I took lots of photos of our successful crop.
Dalt picked, Cooper drove the corn to the yard
Our crop
Milk break!
First we cut the corn off the cob. Then we heat it with butter to steaming.
Cool and put into freezer bags
This picture is before we tasted the corn…hence the smile.
In my despair I
called my Mom, in hopes of hearing that it wasn’t my fault, that it would get
better, etc etc. She was sad for us and said it sounded like it was a little
old, but then again it could be just a bad year. I liked that idea better. She
suggested I talk to Dad. So I did. He told me what signs he used to let him
know the corn was ready; we had done the same thing. He told me to call PaPaw
because he would know for sure and could give us advice for next year. I did
NOT want to call PaPaw. He’s the master after all, how can I tell him that we
ruined our whole patch of corn because we picked it too late. I was trying to
be an apprentice of sorts, after all.
But I finally
swallowed my pride and called him up. I talked to Grandma first. She said it
was probably old but not to feel bad. She said she understood because she and
Mom had once canned corn until 2 in the morning when Mom was a kid and it all
soured. She said she had been depressed then. Ok, I felt a little better. Then
it was time to talk to PaPaw. I meekly told him what the corn tasted and felt
like. He said that it sounded like we picked it 3-4 days too late. I was
devastated. How could 3-4 days make that much of a difference? But then he said
that it takes a little while to get the feel of when to pick the corn, but once
you learn you know forever. He even said that he’d made the same mistake before
(but somehow I think he only said that to make me feel better.) I ended the
call sort of comforted, determined to be successful next year, and ready to get
rid of any trace of corn left! We put up several bags…hopefully it will be good
in soups and stews. Our joy was gone
though. As we sat on the patio shucking corn we were silent and sullen, not
excited and glowing as we had been that morning.
Ready to haul!
What was left of
the corn after we put all we could manage up, we fed to the horses and chickens
over the next few days. They were very appreciative and enjoyed it immensely. To
help me vent my frustration I started chopping down a section of corn stalks a
day and throwing them to the horses. I wanted to get them all down before
anyone came over and saw our patch and asked about it!
I think the
worst part was having to call and text people we’d given corn to and tell them
that it was not very good. What a bummer! But we had to do it so that they
didn’t think it was our best work and we expected it to taste like that.
So that is the
saga of the corn. What was once a glowing dream in our eyes became a black mark
on the pages of our gardening adventure. Next year though…..next year.
In other gardening news, we did have a good onion crop.
“For everything there is a season and a time for every
matter under heaven….a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted.”
Ecclesiastes 3:1-2
(I didn’t know how literal this verse really was.)
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