I’ve shared several stories of picking, shucking, and putting up corn over the years. Growing up on the family farm, the corn harvest was a staple of the summer and of my memories. It’s one of those jobs I look forward to and am also glad when it’s complete each year. I appreciate the delicious corn I have piled in my freezer all winter. Even more, I treasure the memories I make with people through the experiences.
I’ve sat in the back of the pickup when I was a little girl, trying my best to shuck the corn and feeling the silks tickle my legs in the heat. I’ve sat with my dad in the garage to try to avoid intense summer heat, while he shared jokes, stories, and suggestions of how I could improve my technique. I’ve sat under the tree with my mom, revisiting the many years (more for her than me) we harvested corn under a variety of conditions. I’ve shared stories and corn with many friends. Several years ago, I sat in the yard with several generations—my mom, my daughters, my oldest granddaughter, and another granddaughter on the way. It was a good day.
Last year, I added to the memories when my oldest granddaughter was old enough to go to the field to pick with me and my mom. We set some ground rules for safety, then we went to work. And she sure did work hard! She carried ears of corn from each of us to place in her bucket. Then she carried her bucket to a larger tub to fill. She tried the corn in the field and wasn’t impressed—but later approved of the properly-cooked version.
And she chatted about the experience nearly the entire way to her house.
It was a great memory to add to my memory bank of the family farm through the years. It’s often the aggregation over the years that exposes the true value of what we’ve been given.