Today Ashley and I enjoyed the culturally enriching experience of “putting up the corn” with a family from our church. This is the same couple who cooks us venison and invites us to eat the pickles and applesauce stored in gorgeous jars that line their basement— enough to feed the family for the entire year.
(I loved standing there in front of shelf after shelf lined with mason jars of stored green beans, cherries, peaches, tomato sauces, meats, pickles, and applesauce. It’s a cozy, safe feeling.)
But on this day, it’s all about the corn.
I observe three enormous sacks of freshly picked corn from the field. I took my place in history beside the 90 year-old great grandmother who showed me what to do. Her eyesight was better than mine. She told me stories of growing up in the country. I learned about butchering day. I listened to her recite a hymn. We sat together for 3 hours, shucking and silking corn. Her granddaughter came drove from Harrisburg with her children just for this day and she worked to rinse the corn. Nobody misses this day.
I shucked. I silked. I cooled my hands in hose water from the heat of boiled corn. The family taught us to boil the ear of corn before we shuck it. Then, we used a fun device that cuts all the kernels off the corn. I was terrible at it. Inside, we filled freezer bags with the fresh corn that would be vacuum-sealed for the winter. Ashley and I would take 20 bags.
After we worked, we enjoyed burgers and, of course, fresh corn.
