Talk about my dad's farm in @Cody Fousnaugh's thread got me thinking about the time I was lost in the cornfield. I don't remember how old I was, but I know that I was old enough to remember it, yet young enough to have done it. My cousin, who was born only a few hours before me, lived next door to us, but "next door" meant about three-quarters or a mile away. In order to get to Calvin's, I would usually walk across the fields, being my dad's field and my uncle's field and, of course, he would do the same. Everyone was growing what we called "cow corn" one summer, which was a lower grade of corn, which we ate and I sometimes preferred to sweet corn, but which was usually used for animal feed. The corn was pretty high, far over my head, but I figured that following the rows shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't a problem in my dad's field. I got to the fence separating his field from my uncle's, but that's where the trouble began. Looking back, I don't know what happened, but it seemed as if my uncle didn't plant his corn in rows, as corn is usually planted. That might have been true. Cow corn wasn't picked like sweet corn was. Rather, the stalks and all were cut down and collected, so he might not have planted it in any discernible arrangement. As I remember it, there were rows, but they didn't go through to anywhere. Maybe he was early in the corn maze craze. I don't remember exactly what the problem was, but I know that I got lost in my uncle's field. I was lost for hours. I walked, and walked, and walked, and there seemed to be no end to it. I had left sometime in the morning, and it was starting to get dark before someone found me. At our house, it wasn't really necessary for me to get permission to go to Calvin's since if mom were looking for me, she would simply call and ask if I was there, and even if she had known I was going to Calvin's, she wouldn't have know that I was going to cut across the fields. There's a lot that I don't remember so I suppose I was pretty young. Probably, when dad got home from work and I still wasn't home, they started wondering. When they found out I wasn't at Calvin's but had been expected, someone must have concluded that I might be in the corn field. I think it was one of my brothers who found me. By then, I was probably all cried out.
@Ken Anderson I wonder if "Cow Corn" is the same as what we Midwestern Slavs called "Horse Corn". Tough, less sweet, not really suitable for table use. Frank
Yeah, probably the same, Frank. The kernels were smaller, it was more of a white than a yellow color, and it's not something that anyone would serve to guests. We ate it though, and I did like it better than sweet corn, at least for a change.
I think that it is dried, then soaked in some kind of lye water, which bleaches all of the yellow color out, and turns it into the big kernels that are hominy. When those are dried and ground up, then you have grits. I am not an expert on this; but I think that is what I read, and it is the difference between grits and cornmeal, although both can be cooked in prettY much the same way and used for breakfast. I don't care for grits; but I remember making corn meal mush for breakfast because it was cheap. I didn't like that much either; but we ate it. It was "commodity" foods, and we also had that awful powdered milk that you had to mix with the old hand eggbeater with lukewarm water to get all of the lumps out, and then you put it in the refrigerator overnight to have cold milk to drink. We also got the clear Karo syrup, and that was how we sweetened the corn meal mush.
I like grits! A bowl of grits with a big dollop of butter, a big homemade buttermilk biscuit with a link of dried sausage in it. Molasses on the side. Oh, and a cup of coffee. It don't git no better than that.
@Shirley Martin When my sister at 16 declared she was marrying her Sailor-boy friend, recently discharged from the Navy, my folks discouraged her. She replied they would elope. So, little choice, they married. I was a little over 4 years old, my nephew being born a month after my 5th. birthday, making me an uncle! The young man was personable enough, very courteous, always calling my mother "Ma". He was from Pennsylvania, the hill country, and my dad took him in as Apprentice to teach him the trade of Tool & Die Maker. No go, though. After that failure, my dad referred to him as a "hill-billy Pennsylvania Dutchman". The young father was a good man, however, wise beyond his years. When late one night my sister took off with high school friends, leaving Phil with the infant who was then about 6 weeks old. She was gone all night. I clearly remember the most unusual sight of a man crying, in the morning, Phil imploring my mother what was he to do? My sister was obviously seriously at fault. Certainly not ready for marriage. Arguments must have followed, for in cold weather, perhaps October, Dan being born in August, Phil wrapped the kid in a blanket, put him on the front seat of his old, pre-war Buick, and left for Pennsylvania. This set the stage for a long, long story, which many here are aware of, and it is not appropriate to reiterate here. I am always glad, however, to get a PM now and then, it's such a rare occurrence.......... Frank
You are absolutely right, @Ken Anderson ! Some of these people have a terrible habit of getting off thread. tsk, tsk, tsk Did you ever hear corn growing?