I led a deprived childhood; I did not taste grocery store corn in a can or frozen in a bag until I was an adult. The only corn I ingested was grown in the garden. Everyone in the Mennonite subculture of my youth had a large garden, and grew a myriad of vegetables and fruits. We ate our fill when the produce was in season, and canned and froze the rest to savor in the winter. The rows of jars on the basement shelves and the freezer filled with plastic boxes were the things dreams were made of. It was so wholesome and healthy!
Putting up corn was often a multi family, multi generational event, spread out over a whole day. I have fond corn memories from the two years my family lived in rural South Carolina, near Uncle Simon and Aunt Mary. Simon and my dad were brothers, and Mary and my mom were sisters; yes, that made their five kids double cousins to the seven of us. This was several years after my dad's death, so Simon filled those patriarchal boots. They lived on a farm and raised cattle; one field would be devoted to rows and rows of sweet corn. Simon would plant enough for the whole clan. When the ears were full and bursting with sweet, sunny, kernels, Uncle Simon, and perhaps some of the older boys, would pick large farm wagons full of ears of corn. Early the next morning, relatives would assemble in the yard beside Simon and Mary's house.
From youngest to oldest, we all knew what our chores were on corn day. Everyone helped with the husking. By the time you were old enough to go to school, you were big enough to help husk. This was a slow, tedious job and the coarse, fibrous husks would make your arms and legs itch. It was made tolerable by the lively teasing and bantering that piled up along with the corn refuse. How do young learn their place in the world without big, beautiful families working together, kidding and gently poking and regaling stories around a farm wagon heaped with ears of corn?!
We picked off as many of the silky hairs as we could, and then our ears went into a pile to be further inspected and de-silked by an older cousin or an aunt. It was a matter of pride when no one had to inspect your husked pile any longer, because you were old enough to do a thorough job yourself. Uncle Simon would get several free standing gas cookers fired up, with massive pots of water heating over the burners. When the water came to a rolling boil, the ears of corn would be dropped in, to blanch for a few minutes, followed by a dunk into an icy bath, to stop the cooking. Once they were chilled, the ears would be piled high to drain, ready for the corn to be sliced off the cobs.
By now the sun would be high and hot in the sky and we would escape inside, into the delicious air conditioned dining room for lunch. Lunch would be simple fare, eaten at Mary's long formal dining room table: there were always dozens of ears of hot corn to slather with butter and salt, and eat noisily either type writer style in rows, or around the world, encircling the cob with your mouth, as drops of corn juice spritzed your neighbor. Often there were thick, beefy slices of juicy tomatoes from Aunt Mary's garden, and sometimes there would be a casserole. A large, ice filled pitcher of sweet tea always stood at the ready.
After a shared lunch, the division of labor resumed. About the time you were old enough to wear a cape dress, thirteen or fourteen, you were considered capable of cutting the corn off the cobs, and you joined the circle of women sitting outside in the shade. Everyone had a big tupperware container on their lap. You would slice off the corn in rows with a very sharp knife, letting the corn fall into the container. After each cob was empty, you went back over it, scraping with the dull side of the knife to collect that precious, sweet, corn juice into your bowl.
Preadolescent girls (me and my cousins) would assume responsibility for the little ones, playing games with them and making sure they didn't come to any harm. If we had access to a camera, we would amuse ourselves by pretending we were photographers, and would arrange all the kids in poses. Come to think of it, I don't remember what the boys did in the afternoon. Most likely they went on to do some other chore or maybe went off to their normal jobs. Perhaps they escaped to the pond for some fishing.
By the end of the day, there would literally be hundreds of little plastic freezer containers filled with corn, all stacked in rows. Somehow the matriarchs would figure out who needed how much and it would be divvied up accordingly. Obviously, a newlywed couple wouldn't use as much freezer corn as a family of six. And then corn day was done; we took our containers home and loaded our freezer. We had that corn as part of our family dinner once or twice a week for the next year, until Uncle Simon's corn tassels once again, waved across the field, beckoning us all to Hershberger corn day.
Simon and Mary's screened in porch; my cousin Debbie, who was my constant childhood companion, is teasing our Grandma Lizzie.
Aunt Cindy with little Shawn. I always felt so lucky that I had nieces and nephews to play with while still just a child myself.
My mom at our place in Ohio, out in the rain, collecting enough fresh corn from the garden for our dinner.
In my adult years, I have continued the tradition of corn day, but on a smaller scale. Once a year, usually in late summer, I will find really nice corn on the cob at Linda's Produce in Ringgold, my favorite local produce stand. Amidst strange looks from those around me, I will purchase ten dozen ears of corn. (Yes Ma'am, you heard me correctly. I need ten dozen ears). At home I will recreate my own assembly line, just like the old days at Uncle Simon's in Abbeville, SC. Its not as much fun, and there is no teasing, but the corn in the freezer tastes just like the old days.
This year I photographed the process, for your enjoyment. You may actually want to give it a try yourself. You will feel like Mother Earth when you pull that little freezer container of corn out for your family's dinner. You heat the corn thoroughly, add a pat of butter and salt and pepper, and it tastes like its fresh off the cob. I feel certain that your family will rise up and call you blessed.
Hewitt and Wilson, our guard dogs, check everything before it comes into the house.
This is a gorgeous bicolored corn called Peaches and Cream. Aunt Mary, I hope there are no corn silks left on those cobs.
Ready for 5 minutes of blanching in boiling water.
A plunge in ice water stops the cooking. Let the corn set in here until it is cool and then remove and let the ears drain.
This step is important: eat an ear of corn for quality control.
Slice off the corn in rows, using a large, sharp knife. I actually prefer a serrated bread knife. When all the kernels are removed, scrape the cob with the dull side of the knife, to collect the corn juice.
What a baby bathtub full of goodness!
Spoon the corn into plastic freezer containers (or small, plastic freezer bags).
This is a satisfying moment!
Some old traditions are worth preserving and passing on; in my opinion, corn day certainly makes the cut.