A free verse poem about stocking the freezer with summer's golden harvest. |
In fields of green rows stand stalks so straight and tall, laden with precious gold encased within the bulging green husks. With a twist and a tug, each ripe ear is freed, then carried from the field to be sold at the produce stand, a farmer’s care and concerns contained within the crop. Eight bushel baskets full, some four hundred ears are bought and carried home. In the shady heat of the covered porch, the husks are ripped open, then away. Both cob ends are cut with sharp cutlery, all worms and diseased kernels removed, and the golden cob carefully brushed clean of clingy, wispy silk by starch-sticky hands, all amidst the annoying heat and flies, the pleasantly corny conversation, and a growing mound of green and gold debris. The cleaned cobs are now carried inside for washing, then brought to a blanching boil in huge pots that fill the kitchen air with high heat and humidity. From the blanched ears, row upon row of sweet, plump, golden kernels are cut and scraped off the cob. Bagged in pint freezer bags by the dozens, this day’s culinary efforts will provide good eating year ‘round of fresh-tasting fleeting summer gold. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |