This was an essay I wrote for my AP English class over the summer.
The sweetest corn I ever tasted came from a large farm not far from Indianapolis, Indiana. It was late summer, 2008, when we visited my grandparents in Greensburg, and we had been sitting in their living room when someone rang the doorbell. My grandfather opened the front door.
“Good afternoon, Jacque,” said a little older man carrying a plastic bag full of corn, greeting my grandpa. He had wrinkly brown skin that obviously had seen many days out in the fields. “I noticed a new car in the driveway, and figured you had company, so I brought you some fresh picked corn.” The man had a southern accent and a sunny personality. He was introduced to us as Mr. Stewart, and after a few minutes of talk, he offered to drive my parents, sister, grandpa and me to his sweet corn field.
So we all piled into his minivan and drove to what I expected to be a somewhat small cornfield. But I was surprised. It turned out that Mr. Stewart owned a very large corn company, cleverly named “Stewart.” As we drove down the utterly flat road, Mr. Stewart explained that most of his plethora of fields was for seed corn.
“You see, we plant a section of female corn and a section of male corn, and you allow them to pollinate each other. The seeds we produce, we harvest with these big tractors and we sell them to other farmers.”
We arrived at the sweet corn field and began to pick.
“Some of the corn ain’t good, ‘cause the ‘coons got to it. See here?” He pointed out some chewed and rotting cobs on the ground. Mr. Stewart then proceeded to show us how to choose the best corn: not too white, but not too yellow. There needed to be a relatively perfect balance.
After we had picked about three plastic bags full of corn, we hopped back into the minivan, and drove home. On the way, we drove past a gas station with a big black box out side of it.
“That there’s a pay phone!” He exclaimed, as if my sister and I had never seen one. “These days, so many kids have cell phones, that these seem ancient to them.” That night back home, we ate our hand picked corn. It was the sweetest corn I’ve ever had.