on picking the first corn of the season
|My nephew lives in corn country, but has never been able to grow that crop for consumption. Heartily discouraged by the racoons, he has given up. Waiting impatiently for that first ear to be ready, saliva flowing, mind tasting its deliciousness, he dreams of picking the next day. Unbenounced to him the racoons are sharing that same dream and they are quicker and stealthier, working in the dark to strip the ear and eat around it right on the stalk, taking only those that are ready.
Rarely do I have a problem with racoons, owing to the dogs I presume. The first time I found a few striped ears I enticed the dogs to go out every hour during the next night, rousing them from their beds, and admonishing, "Go get those little buggers. They can't have my corn."
Next morning, relieved at having solved the problem, the pot was prepared for my first late summer taste of Incredible for breakfast. I could already savor the sublimely enticing sweet crunchiness, slathered in fresh butter, and lightly sprinkled with salt and pepper. Pail in hand, saliva swirling in anticipation, I entered the garden only to find all the ready ears striped. "No!" was only the first of what ripped from my mouth that morning.
The difficulty of letting go of such exquisite anticipation was nothing short of devastation. Depression looming, and deciding to walk it off, we crossed the field and entered the woods, both dogs leading. Trying to supress my anger with the rotten racoons, I watched the dogs squat and release a plethora of corn!
No one goes out at night during corn season anymore.