Back in the Saddle

It looked so delicious. Wegman's makes a point of purchasing produce from local farmers. They proudly display pictures of their buyers sitting in the field holding the corn or melons or apples. Captions tell about the farm and the people working it. I have succumbed any number of times, bringing home - in addition to the Farmer's market goodies - peaches and melons locally grown.



Of course, I stick to things I am fairly confident I can digest and that won't create havoc with my delicate and fragile innards. I have made progress, but not as much as I would like. The other day, Kiel was with me in Wegmans, drooling over the sweet corn. I know I cannot handle corn, sweet or otherwise, so I have easily avoided the bin with the piles of green husk wrapped ears.



The selling point was when Kiel said he thought Drew would eat it if he cooked a few ears. They didn't need many, just one or two apiece. It is difficult to get Drew to eat vegetables. Even one a day would be amazing for him. So we selected four ears (Kiel pushed for a half dozen, but I wanted to see Drew eat some before I ended up wasting).



I learned to cook corn from my Gramma. I never appreciated the corn feasts at Gram's when I was young. It wasn't easy to feed our family with eight kids. But Gram had two vegetable gardens - one by the steel garage and one by the red barn. Generally, the sweet corn grew in the plot by the steel garage and the tomatoes and string beans etc. in the plot by the red barn.



Gram would set a huge pot of water on the stove, and as soon as it came to a boil, we would rush to the garden and pick our ears of corn. We sat around the kitchen table shucking like crazy, the silk flying everywhere, the empty husks stuffed in a grocery sack to be burned later (or twisted into dolls and whatnot). Field to pot in less than ten minutes. THAT's the way to do corn!



The best part was, we could have all we wanted. Grampa had a rule in his house. You could put as much on your plate of anything he had as long as you didn't waste it. The plate had to be licked clean before you left the table. Boy howdy did we chow down on the corn. We swirled the whole cob in butter, salt and pepper (especially the pepper) and dug in. Gram's formula was that once you filled the pot of boiling water with corn (at least a dozen at a time), when the water came back to a boil, you timed 2 minutes. Two. That ensured that when you bit into the golden kernels, the juice would spray everywhere. Those little nobs of corn would pop like water balloons!



Once the steaming platter of corn was set on the table, hands grabbed from all sides. Soon all you could hear was munching and slurping. Man, it was delicious. I always like the 'bread and butter' kind best - the mixture of white and yellow kernels. They tasted the sweetest. I could usually manage about two and a half cobs before my tummy was full. Topped off with a slice of fresh-from-the-garden tomato with a dob of dressing on top - a banquet unequalled in any fancy restaurant. Even then the digesting part was difficult. A feast of corn at Gram's usually meant a day of quality time in the bathroom. But kids don't let little things like that stop them!



Kiel cooked up the corn just like Gram had taught my Mom and she had taught me. He and Drew were obviously enjoying the treat. I looked at the juicy kernels with envy. I wonder. Maybe just a bite? Just one mouthful. Let's run a test and see what happens. I asked Kiel for a bite. He obliged. It tasted soooooo good, pretty close to what I remembered. Piece of cake. Maybe next time we get corn, I'll try a quarter of a cob.



Maybe not. Oh how I paid for that taste. My insides have come a long way from the 'food tube only' days, but I still have a ways to go. My little seater grew so raw and sore that I had to forego my usual am walks. Three whole days of agony passed before I was ready to resume my morning hikes. What a battle to convince myself to get up and get moving. I had to start all over with the pep talks, the bite-the-bullet-and-just-do-it arguments, the "no lame excuses acceptable" speeches.

I am happy to report that I finally overcame the inertia and hauled myself back into a walking routine. I'm good to go (unless the boys drag more corn into the house while I am around. . . .).