Our farmstead is typical of many found in corn country. We live on flat as a pancake ground where few trees scrape the sky. The field around our house is planted to corn . . . every year. In winter, early spring and late fall, with the corn down or just peeking through we can literally see for miles in all directions. It’s very humbling to see so far and feel so small.
Then the scenery changes in late spring, summer and early fall when the corn reaches its height and suddenly we can’t see a thing. And when the neighbor plants corn every other year just across the road, we are completely boxed in.
We arrived home from vacation last week late at night. So the next morning the kids tumbled outside in their pjs to explore the farmstead as if maybe something had changed.
A few minutes later, our fairy farm princess runs to the porch, exclaiming, “The castle walls are up!”
It took me a minute to realize she was referring to the walls of corn as only she would.
Our farm boy rolled his eyes. He is such a practical kid. Every day I see more of his brain engaged in discovering the how and why of things. He studies moving parts, strategically lays out his daily plans and is happiest when working . . . as in real work that an adult would tackle with not so much enthusiasm.
Saturday, everyone worked around the farm . . . real work. Only four days on vacation and the weeds and Japanese beetles had wreaked havoc on the gardens. We’re still fighting the good fight in the vegetable garden even though the beans lost the battle.
Thankfully, as tummies started to rumble that night, My Farmer suggested dinner in town.
It was a quiet ride. Everyone was so very tired. Then our farm boy pipes up. “I bet a corn plant sings a little song after its finished making its ear. Making an ear of corn is hard work!”
. . .
. . .
. . .
I suppose, maybe it does.