Cornstalks




Take a ride down most any country road in northern New York and you will see at one time or another, cornstalks lining up like soldiers out in the fields. Some of those fields seem to stretch as far as the horizon.

Growing up about a mile out on one of those country roads, playing outside with my cousin whenever possible, cornstalks would on occasion become part of our pretending, especially in the summertime.
There was a field adjacent to my grandparents' farmhouse and on certain days when our pretending was on overload, that field full of cornstalks would work its way into our adventure-like the time we found our way out to the middle of that field. Then plopped down and made a cornstalk house.
That meant bending some stalks. Crushing a few to the ground for cornstalk tables & chairs. Crushing a few more for cornstalk beds with cornstalk pillows. We would pretend our cornstalk house had windows from which we could "spy on the adults." We were certain they never saw us out in the field of cornstalks, in our cornstalk house. watching their every move.
But as much fun as cornstalks could be, if we were on a high-speed mission chasing 'bad guys' through that field, the problem with cornstalks when running through a cornfield full of them was their big, floppy leaf-like arms. They have so many of those arms and they are all sharp as knives on the edges. We were wounded many times, but we kept on running and pretending. After all, we were on an adventure in our grandfather's corn field, and I am certain he was thrilled.
My mother most always noticed my cornstalk injuries. Being a RN, her nurses' training would kick in. I never had to be admitted to the hospital!
A few times a band-aid was needed. That was fine with me. They declared I was wounded in the cornfield.
It became a badge of honor running through the cornfield on a high-speed mission on a country road in northern NY.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Velvet Green Dress with Crinolines

Image
  I hardly ever wore crinolines under my skirts way back when wearing crinolines underneath skirts was the fad. Not participating in a fad was unusual for me. After all, I ran to a department store located in the downtown of where I lived the moment Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" grabbed my attention. I had to have bellbottoms and short-sleeved ribbed sweaters. I had to grow my hair down to my waist. But crinolines were a different story. I didn't like all of that netting. I didn't like my skirts pushed way out in front of me even when most of my friends wore crinolines all the time.  However, there are most always exceptions to most anything-even when it comes to wearing crinolines if crinolines aren't your thing. For me, that exception came when my grandmother made me a velvet green dress to wear to a Christmas party. It was going to be held in a grand old hotel in that downtown where I lived. My date was a freshman at a nearby college. He was so cute. We...
Read more

National Sewing Month

Image
 IN RECOGNITION of SEPTEMBER BEING NATIONAL SEWING MONTH I have written extensively about my mother’s fabric shop which was attached to our home out in the country where I spent many a school evening ‘designing’ outfits instead of doing homework, especially math. When I was in my preteens my grandmother taught sewing on Saturday mornings during the winter in my mother's shop. That is where I learned about darts and inseams, marking, and pinning patterns and secrets on how to cut patterns out. While it took me forever to trim a pattern, pin it to the fabric, and cut it out, my grandmother did it in lightning speed. And when she was not the instructor, she would be in her home, in her sewing room sitting at her little black Singer sewing machine with a tape measure around her neck, pumping the foot pedal and turning out one beautifully sewn item after another. She had the eye for her artform and when you have the eye, creativity is the driving force. My mother also had the eye. She w...
Read more

Stories Told in Old Barns

Image
  I have written before about my intrigue of old barns. Lucky for me, I am surrounded by them. Some are in rougher shape than others. Some look as if the slightest wind will bring them down. They all have stories to tell. The problem is so many of those stories will never be heard. The wind will make sure of that. Here is one story that beat those odds. The story actually began when I was maybe 12 or 13 and tragically lost my cat. While I would go on to get married and have children and we most always had a cat or two, I never felt close to any of them. I am sure I held myself back from embracing them in fear of losing them. About fourteen years ago, I moved out to the country. My oldest son lives with me as he deals with MS. We love where we live. Out back there is a small barn. It is not in the best shape but over the years, that never stopped stray cats from calling that barn home for as long as needed. I never bothered much with the strays until the last few years. I started to...
Read more