the golden havest

There once a farmer in a distant country hill area, her name was Eliza. She had carried down the generations of her family’s farm, and the blood beat of the farm was always the same: corn. Eliza would walk between the rows in the spring, soaking in the sunshine that leached through her skin and filled her soul as she traced her finger through the floor, knowing it was a harvest that could change her family — her town — for good.

Corn had been a staple crop for centuries, not only because of its hardiness but for its remarkable versatility. Eliza's seeds yielded so much more than animals and food for her family, it fed a community with food, materials and sustenance, that corn was gonna feed a village.

Corn was more than food — it was the town’s lifeblood. By late fall, the dark, golden kernels would be harvested and sold at the local market. From there, they would go into countless products. Neighbors nearby flocked for Eliza’s famous cornmeal, which she turned into warm, hearty cornbread that smelled like home. Others came for corn syrup, which I had sweetened everything from candies to baked goods. The town’s bakery even sold popcorn (to be bought by the local theater for weekend movie nights) and jars of corn preserves filled every household’s shelves.

But corn’s utility reached far beyond the kitchen. Tough, natural fences of cornstalks were formed when the kernels were stripped from their golden veneer. The husks were woven into baskets, hats and other crafts. No leaves and cobs were wasted either, but used in animal bedding and even compost piles to enrich the soil for future harvests. Corn emerged as a symbol of renewal and sustainability.

Eliza’s farm was one of a kind, not just for the kind of plants it grew but because the way it taught the townsfolk useful that resourcefulness could be. Every year with the golden harvest, Eliza invited everybody out for a “Corn Festival” where the community would gather to celebrate the harvest and everything the corn could be used for. There were corn-eating contests, cornhole tournaments and even storytelling sessions during which elderly people would talk about the history of corn — how it used to be a sacred gift to the Native Americans and how it had evolved into a major crop that fed people around the world.