The corn was planted late. We knew that at the time.
Because their house is located so deep in the woods, my mother has had no luck getting vegetables to grow. When my parents heard there were garden plots available in town, they signed up for one, and have had a garden in town for several years.
The rhubarb was already up when they were told there was a garden plot next to theirs that was not being used.
“Use it!” the manager of the community garden told them. I’m not sure where the idea came from, but my dad decided to plant corn.
It was late for corn, that far north. But my dad got three different kinds of seeds, and he soaked them overnight to give them a head start, and when I was visiting last spring, we stuck them in the ground and hoped for the best.
My mom sent a photo mid-summer. “The corn is up!” she wrote, with a photo of the little green stalks in three neat rows.
“How’s the corn?” I’d ask when I called.
“It’s coming, but we still don’t have any cobs ready.”
The stalks grew tall, and they tasseled out, and there were ears clinging to the stalks. A raccoon or similar invader knocked a cob off the stalk and my dad peeled it open. “Still not ready to eat,” he reported.
I visited this past weekend and, late in September, the weather was still warm, although the days were shorter, that far north. I took the garden hose at the community garden and gave the corn a good watering, and I wondered if my parents would get any corn to eat.
While I had the hose out, I also watered the rhubarb. My mother told me that folks said harvesting rhubarb late in the season prevented a good crop from being produced in the spring. But I could tell my mother was skeptical. She has been growing rhubarb almost all her life and knows a thing or two about rhubarb by now. She had given the last of her rhubarb to a friend and wanted to make one last batch of sauce, so we pulled out a pile of big, healthy stems, late in September, and brought them home.
“I don’t think it hurts them a bit!” my mother said.
But the corn was not yet ready.
There was still corn at the corn stand. The farmers know what they’re doing, planting the corn very early and very late and keeping the sweet corn season going as long as possible. It made me hopeful that those cobs, even if they were a little small, might turn into something edible before the first frost.
On this last visit to the garden, I saw that most of the gardeners have packed up for the summer. They had pulled out the last of the beans and tomatoes and raked out their beds. They had piled cow manure on the top of their beds and taken off for Florida or Arizona. One of them was there while I was watering the corn.
“See you next year!” he told my parents.
My parents are still watering the corn. And I’m glad we planted it, no matter what happens.
Maybe nothing will come of it. Probably nothing will. But planting late corn has given us something to hope for. It’s like rooting for a losing team. It’s like starting a new dream late in life. I admire my parents for planting corn after the rhubarb was up and hoping for the best.
Till next time,
Carrie
