Growing up in Illinois, I was literally surrounded by corn fields. Everywhere you looked during the summer there were corn fields and when it got toward the end of summer, each corn field was adorned with a golden tassel. My grandfather was a farmer who tilled the fields and while most of his corn was for animal feed, there were always a few rows of sweet corn. I remember as a child when that sweet corn was ripe, we wouldn’t even cook it because it was so juicy and sweet right from the stalk.
Corn is woven through the fabric of my life. When I was a child, my parents enrolled me in Indian Dancing. Now I realize that might not have been so politically correct to have a little blonde girl performing Indian harvest dances, but that was my first exposure to being grateful to the earth mother for the harvest. One of the dances we performed was the corn dance where we sprinkled corn and asked for a good harvest. Looking back, I realize the significance of that way more than I did now and although, as I said, it might not have been politically correct, I count that as one of my first introductions to being truly in touch with the land.
We took a memorable trip to South Dakota one summer and visited the Mitchell Corn Palace, which is a monument to all things corn. Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I realize now that building the corn palace and maintaining it is a way that pays homage to the land and to the farmers who work it.
When I was a teenager, I participated in another corn rite of passage: detasseling. The big corn companies detassel corn every summer as a form of pollination control. A lot of teenagers in the Midwest spend a few weeks walking through cornfields pulling the tassels off of corn. It was the most miserable job I ever had as corn leaves are very sharp and they cut your chin up when you walk through the fields.
One of my favorite memories from my marriage also involved a corn field. My husband and I were driving through corn fields one summer and being young and lusty we found ourselves in a position where we couldn’t wait to find a bed. We pulled off at a road side table and made our way a few rows into the corn field. It was one of the most incredibly erotic and intense experiences of my life as I felt in tune with all of my ancestors who had ritually blessed their fields.
I’m back in Illinois this week, surrounded by cornfields and I’m finding more beauty in them than I ever have before. As an adult, I appreciate the work that goes into raising our food. I’ve also started to become more of a localvore and that has increased my appreciation of the diversity of our food and why it is important to be grateful for the amazing bounty that surrounds us.
Although I have a love/hate relationship with grain as sometimes it makes my stomach do horrible things, I will gather grains and make bread next weekend. As I mix the flours together and watch the bread rise, I will give thanks for the harvest and I will remember all of my ancestors who have gone before me. For those who raised the grain, for those who harvested it, and for those who baked the bread.
Cairn by Cairn 