Running through Corn Fields

 

 July is here and oh boy howdy. This is sweetcorn time of the year.  You cannot beat this.

In my home rural farm, our old house was surrounded by corn or wheat fields. The wheat was harvested first, and then corn appears. The stalks grow anywhere from 8 to 12 feet. 

Running through corn stalks is nasty. The blades/leafs can hide are as scratchy and they cut too well. 

 Even so, we played hide and seek, tag, and chasing. The photos below are me pointing to a cow patty.

This is me, learning to throw a cow patty.

                                         Yes, I am holding a cow patty. It is all dried and sanitized.

 My brother Don knows all the people and businesses here. The community loves and appreciates what Don and his son Jeremy do for special events like  

 

The Sweetcorn Festival of Chatham, Illinois 

This is a fundraiser for the use of someone in the community may have need.

Let me tell you this: Being with my brother Don is a gift, and the most interesting person. He organized the use of the pasture to collect cow manure, and then he gave me a quick tutorial of the throw.  Then Don drove us on places that were part of his life. Don is a reverend at Laomi Methodist Church.

So, that's all they wrote. Reliving part of our past, discovering what we didn't know---good times.

Measure of a Great Summer

Summer is just starting.  Soon fireworks will burst in the sky and "ahhhh...ooohhh" will drift upwards.

Summer is measured in so many ways.  Not by time or clocks or calendars, but by all things intangible is summer measured. 

Summer is measured by:

* amount of fireflies caught and held in a quart jar. 

Pinterest

Indiana

* first good ear of sweet corn covered with butter.

* wrinkled fingers of my grandchildren after swimming all day.

* by splashes in the pool by children of all ages.

*  number of the SPF in the sunblock lotion.

* by how high the A/C is set.

* by lack of football games on TV.

* by sales of summer clothes at JCPenney.

Can you add to the list?  I wonder how many measurements our blogging community can add?

Rain

Rain.

We need rain.

My father spoke those words frequently during different summers.  I recall riding frequently so many times with him in his pick-up.  He always always drove slowly past his fields, looking into the rows of green corn.  What he saw, I didn’t understand. Then.

Dad looked at the height and color of the stalks.  He examined the size of the ears, the tassels, the silk.   

Was the silk golden or was it already turning rust?  

Were the ears full around, or short and stunted?  

Were the tassels tall and full, or were they sparse and drooping over?  

The stalks—were they robust, strong, and green?  Or had they turned yellow?

Dad never spoke much to anyone during those slow, oh so slow drives.  He just looked.

Rain.

We need rain.