Roaming the York County countryside means seeing fields shorn of their tall grasses and corn standing knee-high right about now. Raspberries are filling out on their canes, and blueberries are ripening a little more each day. Birds linger longer on tree branches, particularly among the flowering varieties whose blossoms have given way to yet another year's-worth of seeds. It's July, the seventh month, which means that we are over half-way through yet another year. The heat rests heavily on the land, and the sun shines down more intensely than it will at any other time.
I'm not a big fan of hot weather, so when I do venture out, I try to get as early a start as I can. Driving along with all the windows down, I bask in the still-cool morning air that, by noon, will feel more like the heat pouring from an oven. On hot days, even the trees seem weighed down by it, their leaves barely moving in the moisture-laden air moving in from the south and the west, completely resigned to the elements that constitute summer in southern Maine.
Much has been written of late about conservation and the actions of many dedicated individuals geared toward protecting unspoiled land for future generations to enjoy and appreciate. While their efforts are indeed commendable, it occurs to me that conservation can take different forms and that it can be deliberate or simply the result of of land being left undisturbed for many years. The long swaths of open field and meadow that I see in my many travels illustrate what I like to call passive conservation. Such acreage emerges from beneath the snows each spring, sprouts a full component of grass that is eventually cut back to ground level. That is about as much as ever happens to such land, and year after year, it is wisely left in nature's domain. The hay or straw harvested from these lands fills many needs, but such undisturbed lands provide another benefit as well by enhancing the countryside and making a lot of lovely scenery possible. Visual beauty, as well as the survival of relatively untouched places, are indeed valuable components of conservation, passive or otherwise, that sometimes get lost in the shuffle of providing areas for people to enjoy in other ways.
We all owe a debt of gratitude to those landowners who quietly, and without much ado, leave large portions of their land in nature's care. Because of them, we have many places to escape to in this part of the world where life's busy-ness and the wilderness live in close proximity to each other. And although much of this land is private and, in some cases, posted against trespassers, I feel that just having it to look at as I drive by or stop along a road somewhere to enjoy is a gift.
I sometimes park my car and walk along the by-ways that border such properties, camera in hand, always on the lookout for that special something that would be missed if I'd just passed by without a second glance. From such a limited vantage point, I am still able to gaze out upon rolling pastures and deep into dense woods where the leaves split the sunlight into glimmering beams. I can gaze down from a bridge into flowing water or look up at clouds that break up a rich blue sky above a field of golden grasses bending in the breeze, thankful always to those wise landowners who know that, when nature is given full rein, nothing short of the spectacular will do.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
Showing posts with label corn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label corn. Show all posts
Friday, June 6, 2014
Summer's Waning
And so it begins, the slow and imperceptible yet inexorable progression of summer toward fall. Daylight's hold is weakening, and the sun's morning and afternoon rays penetrate the tree canopy from a slightly different angle at slightly different times each day. Oh, there is much left yet of summer, of those bright days and warm afternoons that distract from what lies ahead. And there is yet the early fall, that dry shining time of Indian summer and nights of cooler breezes and bright stars.
It's August, my favorite summer month, and once again, the wood and hermit thrushes have departed for other haunts, for woodlands less besieged than these by winter's extremes. And it will be many months before I once again hear them plying the hot muggy nights with their flute like melodies. The blue jays are more conspicuous now, as they seem to like this time of year when their cries seem to pierce the air more sharply, and many smaller birds that make these woods their home are more vocal, almost as though they are asking "Will you feed us again this year?"
The corn stands almost as tall as I am now, and there is lots of it to see this time of year in this area where woods open upon field after field lush with that familiar greenery. A few local farmers lease land on which to grow corn, and I watch its progression from mere green specks along the neat furrows in early June to the first young stalks to the tall proud plants that fill the rows come August. Tassels will be appearing soon, indicating the formation of the ears, and a few farms hereabouts are known for their corn, with many people finding the summer incomplete without a sampling of it.
Apart from its ancient beginnings as a dietary staple, corn still figures highly in both the human and animal diet. What isn't sold by the dozen from farm stands or grocery store produce bins is processed as silage for ruminating animals such as dairy cows or as feed for deer and other wild animals. In the Midwest and other areas of long summers, it's grown to be ground into the basic ingredient that goes into cornbread or hush puppies or processed as popping corn. The corn still standing in the fields in September in this neck of the woods is more than likely destined for the silo or the corn crib, while the corn that graces our dining room or picnic tables is reaching its peak as I write with people everywhere commenting on their "first corn of the season." Species that produce the sweet white and yellow kernels are in greatest demand, as all it takes is a bit of butter and salt, and for some, a bit of black pepper to round out the treat that comes only once a year in Maine. While corn can be frozen, it rarely retains that just-picked flavor and texture that can only be achieved by plunging it into the pot as soon as it's been picked, the reason being that the breakdown of sugars in the kernels begins the moment the ears are pulled from the stalks, a natural process that significantly alters its sweetness and flavor.
It's always a somewhat melancholy moment when, one day, the corn in one particular field is standing, and the next, it has all been sheared off close to the ground, its stumps awaiting burial when the soil will be put to bed for another winter. It represents another ending, just like the wood thrush's departure and the diminishing daylight. It speaks to our ancient beginnings and yearnings, when the seasons governed our lives, and we lived by the rising and setting of the sun, a way of life whose ingrained memory I think never entirely leaves us.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
It's August, my favorite summer month, and once again, the wood and hermit thrushes have departed for other haunts, for woodlands less besieged than these by winter's extremes. And it will be many months before I once again hear them plying the hot muggy nights with their flute like melodies. The blue jays are more conspicuous now, as they seem to like this time of year when their cries seem to pierce the air more sharply, and many smaller birds that make these woods their home are more vocal, almost as though they are asking "Will you feed us again this year?"
The corn stands almost as tall as I am now, and there is lots of it to see this time of year in this area where woods open upon field after field lush with that familiar greenery. A few local farmers lease land on which to grow corn, and I watch its progression from mere green specks along the neat furrows in early June to the first young stalks to the tall proud plants that fill the rows come August. Tassels will be appearing soon, indicating the formation of the ears, and a few farms hereabouts are known for their corn, with many people finding the summer incomplete without a sampling of it.
Apart from its ancient beginnings as a dietary staple, corn still figures highly in both the human and animal diet. What isn't sold by the dozen from farm stands or grocery store produce bins is processed as silage for ruminating animals such as dairy cows or as feed for deer and other wild animals. In the Midwest and other areas of long summers, it's grown to be ground into the basic ingredient that goes into cornbread or hush puppies or processed as popping corn. The corn still standing in the fields in September in this neck of the woods is more than likely destined for the silo or the corn crib, while the corn that graces our dining room or picnic tables is reaching its peak as I write with people everywhere commenting on their "first corn of the season." Species that produce the sweet white and yellow kernels are in greatest demand, as all it takes is a bit of butter and salt, and for some, a bit of black pepper to round out the treat that comes only once a year in Maine. While corn can be frozen, it rarely retains that just-picked flavor and texture that can only be achieved by plunging it into the pot as soon as it's been picked, the reason being that the breakdown of sugars in the kernels begins the moment the ears are pulled from the stalks, a natural process that significantly alters its sweetness and flavor.
It's always a somewhat melancholy moment when, one day, the corn in one particular field is standing, and the next, it has all been sheared off close to the ground, its stumps awaiting burial when the soil will be put to bed for another winter. It represents another ending, just like the wood thrush's departure and the diminishing daylight. It speaks to our ancient beginnings and yearnings, when the seasons governed our lives, and we lived by the rising and setting of the sun, a way of life whose ingrained memory I think never entirely leaves us.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
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