My back surveys the situation. Eight 80-foot rows of calf high corn; four have been thinned already – four remain. The sun is already high and the sweat has been rolling into my eyes for the last hour or so. Best get this done and over with so I can fertilize and hill. The optimal spacing for sweet corn is about 10 inches. This late in the season, I thin from 10 to 12 inches in case water is in short supply, which means that for every 5 plants, four will die. I would love to be able to plant one seed every foot, but one cannot predict the vicissitudes of germination, so we plant every two inches or so and thin the plants. It becomes a game. One tries to thin out the weaker plants and leave the strong at the proper spacing, but best not to over think the situation or it will never get done. You often just have to take out that outstanding plant in the interest of proper spacing, apologizing under your breath for the tragedy. No spreading of your leaves in the nurturing sun or dusting pollen to your awaiting ears… But the corn can’t hear you; it doesn’t yet have ears.
I endlessly repeat the grade school P.E exercise “touch your toe, touch your toe”. You would think your back would develop the strength of Atlas and I guess it might if you did this every day, but the activity is seasonal and infrequent. Like building a house, once your back and legs are accustomed to stooping down on the floor, you employ a different set of muscles to install the ceiling. Fortunately, it is only four more rows. I can remember the 400-foot rows I worked at the Isabel farm. One of those would be longer than these remaining four combined. And I usually planted 10 rows at a time. On those green ribbons, it was always best not to look up; just keep going until you could sense that you were near the end. I was much younger then, but had the same problem straightening up afterwards as I do now. My mind wanders back to that time with the rhythm of pull, pull, pull, and the occasional snap of a plant breaking off instead of pulling out. As the broken plants separate, they make a squeaky sound like that when you rub your teeth quickly with your finger. There is also a unique smell that is sweet and rich. In the course of thinning, I also pull the taller weeds that the disk hillers will not completely cover, and try not to be obsessive about the weeds or the spacing. The corn doesn’t care, but what if the agriculture agent visits, “I can see you got off a little there (tape measure in hand). Yep, just what I thought, this one here is only eight inches and that one is twelve and a half. And you call yourself a farmer?” My face reddens in imaginary shame. But even the Ag. agent will not notice when it all becomes a sea of green and yellow.
"The corn cannot hear you; it doesn't yet have ears".(Ba-dum-bum.)
ReplyDeleteThat was great.