As a little girl, I remember visiting my Grandparents' house in Fruitland, Idaho for a special yearly event. My Mother's parents lived on several acres out in the country along a highway in a big white house. They had a pasture with cows bordered with a white fence. They had a chicken coop that was abandoned that I loved to explore, although always afraid I'd find a forgotten egg that had turned rotten (but never did). 
There was a big two story barn with a huge pile of hay where I remember my Grandpa teaching me to feed and milk cows. Attatched to the barn there was a workshop that had tools neatly haning on the walls. I never knew so many tools existed! There was a pile of old logs that had been there so long they had petrified into stone. I loved to study the patterns in the rocks and was fascinated that such a change could occur. There were wild cats and kittens always around to stalk, catch and cuddle. There were horses to ride, raspberries to pick, tetherball to play, places to explore, cousins to play with and old clothes to dress up in.But this visit was for a special purpose. It was September and it was time to harvest the corn! My grandpa would disappear into the rows of corn only to emerge later with a wheelbarrow full with ears of corn. He'd wheel it to the shady spot by the house and dump it in a pile in the middle of the circle that was made by my Aunts and Uncles and cousins. We would then husk the corn amid cheerful visiting and laughter. 
There was always someone snacking on a fresh ear of corn. The golden cobs of yumminess would then be taken inside to the kitchen where Grandma (in her ruffled apron) and the lucky older cousins were blanching the corn. From there, the kernels would be cut off the cob and put in baggies for freezing. Although I always wished I was old enough to help with the blanching and cutting, the next part was always my favorite of all. After the cobs had been scraped clean of all the juicy sweet corn, Grandma would let me take the cobs out to feed to the cows. Those cows looked forward to the Corn Harvest just as much as I did. I still remember the rough dry feeling of a cow tongue as it grazed my hand in search for her treat.
There was always someone snacking on a fresh ear of corn. The golden cobs of yumminess would then be taken inside to the kitchen where Grandma (in her ruffled apron) and the lucky older cousins were blanching the corn. From there, the kernels would be cut off the cob and put in baggies for freezing. Although I always wished I was old enough to help with the blanching and cutting, the next part was always my favorite of all. After the cobs had been scraped clean of all the juicy sweet corn, Grandma would let me take the cobs out to feed to the cows. Those cows looked forward to the Corn Harvest just as much as I did. I still remember the rough dry feeling of a cow tongue as it grazed my hand in search for her treat.
Such beautiful memories. I am so grateful that my Grandpa's love for gardening and CORN was passed on to my mother. She has a large garden, and the corn always seems to be the highlight of our summers. This year she had the best corn crop she's had in years, and today was our corn harvest. I look forward to it every year. We gathered together today to carry on the tradition of the corn harvest. It was so fun to see the kids enjoying it as well. They were all very helpful and played so well together after their work was done. We had fresh homemade bread and raspberry jam for lunch with as much corn as we wanted! I hope that they have fond memories of their experiences in their Grandma's garden as I did in my Grandpa's garden.
