Edible Traditions

Hear the Corn Grow

By Chuck Boll

While growing up in southern Indiana, I was told that the summer could be so dry and hot that you could hear the corn grow.

I never heard the corn grow, but I sure did see plenty of it around me. It’s an indelible memory that was imprinted on me summer after summer, year after year.

As the daylight hours got longer and the weather warmer, the grilling started in earnest. The summer staple was corn on the cob.

Fresh ears were purchased from a local produce market. Before terms such as “going local” and “farmers’ market” were coined, we shopped at Bush’s Market in Columbus. It was on a highway outside of town, surrounded by fields farmed by the Bush family.

The owner, named Horse Fly, wore denim overalls. He would heartily greet all visitors. Happy to help his customers, Horse Fly thumped the melons to see if they were ripe. From a child’s point of view, Horse Fly’s magical melon thumping seemed mysterious and somehow connected to a native spirit. I was convinced his power came from the arrowhead collection that adorned the market’s walls.

Horse Fly was a walking encyclopedia when it came to his produce and he was quick to share this information. The mix of colorful and sometimes unusual produce coming off his truck fresh from the field was unlike anything we’d seen in the grocery store.

Purchasing field-fresh corn by the ear would begin by tearing back the silk and husk. Like a jewel, each piece was closely inspected. Each ear has an even number of rows of kernels. If it made the grade, it would be plopped in a brown paper bag for the short trip home.

Shucking the corn to remove the husks was easy. Extracting the silk required patience and fine motor skills. There was a lot of silk— one strand for every kernel. But we knew a delicious treat was coming, so the task of picking clean each ear was well worth the labor.

The ears were placed on the stove in the deepest pot from the kitchen, then pulled out with tongs and placed in their own oblong green dishes filled with melted sweet butter. Yellow plastic corn holders inserted at either end of the ear made it easier to hold the steamy cobs.

The family was called from the yard and everyone took a seat at a table on the porch. There was no escaping the heat on these fun evenings. The low summer sun was either in your eyes or beating down on your back. The steady whir of the ceiling fan blades overhead kept the air moving and provided some relief.

These are a must when eating corn on the cob slathered in butter, salt and pepper.

Without delay, the delicious corn would be devoured first. The first bite of the creamy, crunchy sweet kernels was so satisfying. Hamburgers, chicken, hot dogs, vegetables and lesser foods all took a back seat to King Corn.

Many years later, I fondly recall the car ride to the country market, the mix of scents, preparation, color and taste of fresh corn on the cob. It’s the food of summer that found its way into the heart of this Hoosier, where it remains today.

Boll is a human resources executive and community advocate in Columbus.