Dearest Blog Readers: After a six-week blog hiatus caused by the lack of working internet service in the faraway fields of Nebraska, I am now officially online and ready to roll from Big Red. I’m going to start out with a few “retroblogs,” written over the last six weeks and stored away here in my computer. I hope you enjoy catching up with us!
July 22, 2011
First thing in the morning, after snuggling in my lap for a few minutes dressed in his basketball pajamas, Nicholas looked up at me and asked the defining question of the day:
“Mommy, are we farm boys now?”
“Of course!” I told him, and truthfully although they are really only farm boys-in-training, they’re certainly off to a good start. We spent the day working in the state approved job—cornhusking. This spring Milt planted twelve long rows of sweet corn and this week it was ready to go. Right after breakfast, before the temperatures reached the promised 115 degree heat index, Orlando and Milt walked through the rows twisting off the corn while the boys and I played bucket brigade, exchanging their full buckets of corn for empty ones and then loading the ears into the bucket of the tractor. Then we went over to the trees and husked and husked and husked some more. They kids and I husked the corn, Wilma and Orlando’s sister Janell and her husband brushed off the silk, Milt cut off the yucky parts, and Orlando cooked off the stuff in a huge iron pot suspended over an open fire. I have never seen so much corn in my life. It took all of us—six adults and seven children, four and half hours to get it all cleaned and cooked. And for the kiddos, the job was done. Time for lunch.
But for the rest of us, the day had just begun!
We had to get it off the cob. Another five hours of cutting and bagging while the corn sprayed and splashed all over—my shirt was actually stiff from the homegrown corn starch. I felt a little silly being my age and having never done this before, but I’m pretty good with a knife and seemed to catch on well enough. Afterward my hands were cramped and I think it took my back an hour to straighten out the crooked position it took on so I could cut the corn at the counter. But when all was said and done and we spread the corn out in the freezers to cool, we had 62 bags of corn. There’s nothing like looking at stuff like this. Most of the work we do is momentary—I do the dishes now and I’ll do them again later. But in just a few days we stocked up 130 bags of corn– food that I’m going to use again and again for the next year. It does my heart good to work at something that I can actually see.
But yet one thing remained to do–clean up and get rid of the cobs and husks. So we loaded the leftovers back into the tractor and got ready to haul them off to feed to neighboring cows. Milt’s brother Arnold has a field nearby, so Milt hitched up the hay wagon to the tractor so the children could go with him out to the pasture. Orlando and I went along for the ride—I was again struck by the beauty of the fields and meadows of this place—rolling and rugged and in some places, unbelievably green. I sang old John Denver songs while riding along to road—it just seemed appropriate to me. When we reached the pasture, Milt jumped off the tractor and moved what appeared to be a single wire acting as a fence. We continued down the road and encountered the herd of cows.
Now truthfully I have seen a million cows in my life up till now. Pennsylvania is full of them and I drove by field after field of them for years. However, I have never actually been in the field with the herd before, and that was a different experience entirely.
As soon as we drove in the cows looked up at us and started running—right toward us! Soon these enormous black cows were swarming around the tractor and trailer, coming close enough to try to take a bite out of the hay we were sitting on. Alarmed, the boys and I thought we were going to be flattened for sure, but just at that moment Orlando jumped off the trailer and started to direct these huge animals around. He walked right through them, pushing them and shooing them and moving them to the husks and cobs we’d brought for them. He looked really small out there with all that future beef, but not the least bit concerned. He knew just what to do.
And for a moment I was again amazed at all that the man I married is. One moment he is the consummate professional who has schools lining up to hire him. The next he is a gentle daddy hugging and tickling his sons. And now another reality surfaces. He is, in fact, a farm boy. He is completely in his element here with all the cows and the corn and the tractors. Happy and free with his hands in the dirt.
Just the guy I need to bring up these little farm boys-in-training.