I had been on an inspection job in northern Wisconsin. The road I was on was lined with corn.
It was a beautiful October day with a high temperature in the low 70's.
I stopped. There is a unique smell to autumn corn waiting to be harvested. There are no words which can adequately describe it. It's earthy. It's somewhat "burned". It smells of corn. Seriously. You can smell the corn.
I remember, as a child, wandering through corn fields. In August, with the corn towering over you head, it would be a good 10 degrees cooler near the ground. The air in the rows smelled sweet. I remember the harvest. Inevitably, some ears would not be removed from the stalks. Dad would pay us a nickel per ear for every ear we'd find. We would pull a wagon, fill it, and empty it over by the pig pens. I remember making a good $2.00 one Saturday. To a 7 year-old, that was a huge amount of money.
On this day, I stood next to the field with memories washing over me. Part of me wishes I lived in a small town where the corn fields were adjacent to my yard. But I'm happy where I am and happy to have the chance to drive into the farmland.
Beverage: Huckleberry tea
Deb
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