Cowboy always says he’s an “Idea Man”. In school he always had the idea that someone else carried out, that got the other person in trouble, while he stood back and laughed at the success or failure of his experiment. I have ideas, too. Around this time of year those ideas usually involve freezing and canning, and Cowboy is always thinking of ways to streamline the process and make my wishes reality.
Last weekend, our combined ideas found us standing a few rows in from the edge of a corn field picking (free!) sweet corn from a generous farmer acquaintance. Our enthusiasm tempered mid-picking as we realized that we’d have to actually do something with it when we got home.
Moments later we left said cornfield with 3 gunnysacks and 1 backpack filled with roughly 200 ears of corn (minus one—‘cause when your strapped to mama in the middle of a cornfield you’ve got to have something to do. And did he ever enjoy it–as evidenced by the rapidly expanding puddle of drool on the front of the aforementioned baby carrier).
Two hours later, by way of Dairy Queen, we arrived home, and, like the small-town folk we are (I would have said ‘hicks’ but the grandmas might have taken issue with that terminology being applied to their grandbabies), the kids and I plunked ourselves, our camp chairs, coolers, and corn down smack dab in the middle of the garden (instant compost/mulch) and started shucking. Or is it husking?
By the time Cowboy arrived home from a return trip to town (He on the way home the first time: Do we need to stop at the store? Me: No, I went shopping on Thursday.) for ice (corn blanching) and diapers (baby), almost all of the corn was ready.
Cowboy assembled our set up in the
canning kitchen garage and he, Jr., and Bug took it from there. Much like with the applesauce last year, my role at that point became chief childcare provider for the under-4 set and head cook for the over-4 set. I’m fine with that, because in about four hours (with a dinner break mixed in), those three had all of our corn bagged and in the freezer, less than 12 hours after it left the field. (At least one of them was a fan of the corn cutter I bought three years ago when I first got the notion to freeze corn.) I was blown away; and not a word of complaint from any of them.
We went to bed basking in the satisfaction of a task completed and food stored away for the coming months. The next morning a remembrance of another idea I’d had back in August began prickling at the back of my mind, and a brief check of my e-mail confirmed that today was in fact the day I was supposed to pick up the two boxes of peaches I’d ordered. Indeed.
We wrapped that little idea up last night with Cowboy once again doing the lion’s share of the work. Dare I mention that I still have dreams of pickles and pesto?