Everybody wants the sweet corn

87 days ago, we prepared the soil for what would be one of the last plantings of sweet corn for the year. The weather was cooler than normal for June, and there was rain in the forecast. We couldn’t have asked for a better setup for this late-summer crop. Of course, we weren’t the only ones looking forward to that sweet corn.

A promise to the seedlings

A spent crop of green beans had occupied the garden bed before, and since sweet corn is a notoriously hungry plant, we took a few extra steps to give it a leg up. We removed what was left of the green bean plants but left the roots undisturbed to feed the soil microbiome. Then we gently raked the garden surface, since there’s no need to destroy the soil structure.

Before loading the Jang seeder, we had a little chat with the corn seed. We feel the energy that we share is important, so we whispered a little gratitude and made them a promise: to be the best caretakers we could. Then into the seeder they went, and with just human power and a set of wheels, each seed was tucked perfectly into the ground at just the right depth.

The first critters to find it

As was expected, in the weeks after the sprouts emerged, there was a bit of a race with the local squirrel and rabbit population. The tiny corn seedlings are one of their favorites, and every hungry woodland creature for miles around comes hoping for a snack. If we didn’t stop them, they could easily decimate rows of sweet corn overnight. Our pack of six dogs is the best line of defense between us and the corn thieves, and they mostly kept everyone at bay. But when the pups are busy on another part of the farm, the tiny intruders still manage to sneak a treat.

A different competitor

By July the corn was getting taller and had made it safely past the rabbit and squirrel buffet stage, but now it needed regular watering and a once-a-week date with a hoe. Corn does not appreciate competition, and unfortunately neither the spiky amaranth nor the creeping crabgrass seemed particularly willing to stay away. So, we watered when Mother Nature didn’t, and week after week we hoed, keeping the weeds from sucking up the water and nutrients we had worked so hard to preserve.

Dinner bell

August brought a lot of progress. Tassels appeared at the top of the stalks, small ears began forming, and finally the silks emerged. All very exciting for us, but also the equivalent of ringing the dinner bell for every corn earworm moth in the area. Fresh corn silks are exactly where they want to lay their eggs, giving the newly hatched larvae a convenient path straight down into the ear and toward the kernels we had spent the last two months growing.

So now each growing ear needed a carefully timed dose of oil on the silks. The oil could kill or slow down newly hatched earworms before they made their way inside, but timing is critical. Too much oil, or applying it too early, can interfere with pollination. Too little, and the earworms carry on with their original plans. It’s a delicate balance, and we never stop them all, but with this plan most of the ears make it to harvest with little damage.

The home stretch

The final two weeks are when things get serious. The ears filled out with sweet kernels, but unfortunately we weren’t the only ones excited about this transformation.

Just when the corn is about ready to harvest is when the raccoons and deer love to make their arrival. If we left the corn unguarded at this time, they would wipe out the whole patch. So now, after the squirrels, rabbits, hoeing, watering, and earworms, we had to protect the nearly finished crop around the clock. The dogs really earn their keep during peak corn harvest.

1,000 ears later

We brought the kids in to help. Last weekend four of us set up shop in the clubhouse to knock out 1,000 ears of corn. We cycled through a couple of systems before finding one that fit everyone’s particular skill level. Someone shucking too fast and leaving half the silks behind just creates more work for the person coming next. And, as every parent knows, we two adults probably could have done the whole thing faster ourselves.

But faster isn’t always the point.

They need to know how to look at an ear and decide what stays and what gets tossed to the pigs. They need to know that a little earworm damage doesn’t ruin an otherwise perfect ear of corn. They need to know how to get every last silk off without taking half of the kernels with it. And they need to know that when there are 1,000 ears of corn sitting in front of you, you don’t get to quit at ear 600 just because you’re tired of shucking corn.

So we worked our way through the pile. And then, because sweet corn is delicate to raise right and delicate to preserve, we still weren’t finished.

Once an ear of corn is picked, the clock starts ticking. Those kernels of sugar begin converting to starch, so the corn that we spent 87 days growing now had to be processed quickly. The ears were shucked, silked, cleaned, cut from the cob, portioned, and put away for the months ahead.

Keeping the promise

Of course there’s a much easier way to get sweet corn. You can buy it already shucked at the grocery store without knowing a single thing about the soil it grew in, what the farmer thought when the seed was in their hand, what was sprayed on it, how long ago it was picked, or who did the work. And there’s nothing particularly wrong with that, but there is something different about knowing.

Knowing the soil underneath it was still alive. Knowing we shared a few plants with the rabbits. Knowing we hoed the weeds, watched the silks, fought off the earworms, and sent six dogs out to guard against the raccoons. Knowing that four people sat around a table and worked through 1,000 ears together, even though two of them probably slowed the whole operation down.

There are easier ways to grow food. There are certainly easier ways to buy it. But 87 days earlier, we had whispered a little gratitude over a pile of corn seed and promised to be good caretakers. This is what keeping that promise looks like.