Corn Shocks Are Fall to Me

Across the Fence #570

Corn shocks stand like lonely sentinels, guarding the last memories of a vanishing lifestyle. A backdrop of changing colors in the woods bordering the cornfield signals the arrival of fall. A flock of geese passing overhead completes the picture as they talk among themselves. It’s fall and the harvest has begun.

The sight of corn shocks and pumpkins in a field represents what the fall season is to me, in the pictures in my mind. Today, corn shocks are as scarce as hen’s teeth around the countryside, unless you head for Amish country. We have a large Amish community within a few miles of Westby. As we drove around the area last weekend, we were once again treated to the sight of fields filled with corn shocks. It was a welcome sight and brought back memories of how farming used to be on most farms.

Today I can watch monstrous combines going through the fields around us, day and night, as they clear huge fields of soybeans in a fraction of the time it used to take. Soon they’ll be stripping the cornfields bare, shelling the corn as they go, and filling semi trucks that haul it from the fields. Today, fall harvesting is big, fast, and in many ways impersonal.

Many of you can still remember when small farms of one hundred acres, or less, were the norm. Corn shocks were not a novelty in those days. It wasn’t shocking to suddenly come across a field filled with them. What would us young Prairie Ghosts have done on Halloween if we couldn’t have tipped over a few corn shocks? I’m not saying we ever did, but there’s something about a corn shock that attracts young boys and shouts out, “Tip me over!”

Another thing I remember about fall and corn harvesting was helping dad clean up the field of corn that had escaped the corn picker. We used a curved husking peg or knife that was strapped to the palm of a heavy, leather strap that fit around our hand. We used it to rip open the husks, break off the corncob, and throw it in a wagon. In those days, nothing was wasted. Perhaps some of you can remember when you picked whole fields of corn using the husking peg and threw the ears against a “bang board” on a wagon pulled by horses. I have several husking pegs in case I ever get the urge to clear a cornfield by hand.

I also remember harvesting as being a neighborly event, with lots of good food involved. It was a time when neighbors got together and helped each other with the harvest. Meals were looked forward to and every farmer knew who the best cooks in the neighborhood were. Sometimes long tables and chairs were set up on the lawn because there wasn’t enough room in the house. The women slaved over the hot cooking stove all day preparing the meals. There were large bowls of mashed potatoes, rich gravy, big platters of meat, home-grown vegetables, pickled beets, cole slaw, home-made bread and lefse, topped off with fresh pie and steaming cups of coffee. My mother was known for her great meals and pies. No one ever went away hungry. The meals, shared by the neighbors, were a big part of the harvest. I suspect the men doing the harvesting today, and running those big combines and semis on corporate farms, are missing out on the best part of the fall harvest… the wonderful meals and neighbors working side by side as they helped each other.

When I feel the brisk winds of fall, as darkness begins to envelope the land, I remember sitting in an empty wagon at the end of the cornfield. It’s dark and cold. The stars shine brightly overhead in the clear, crisp sky. The light from the tractor makes strange, scary shadows dance among the corn stalks. The air is filled with the distinctive “putt-putt-putt” of the idling John Deere B tractor. In the distance I see the lights of the corn picker coming through the corn stalks. I hear the hum of the machine as it severs the stalks, and the continual “clunk, clunk, clunk” of ears of corn landing in the wagon box. The corn picker finally reaches us. Among the sounds and lights from the tractors and corn picker, there’s a flurry of activity as the full wagon is exchanged for the empty one. 
Throw in some snowflakes dancing in the lights, and it becomes a magical scene.
 When a wagon was full, we hauled it from the field to the corncrib, where we shoveled the corncobs into the crib. It was heavy, hard work, especially when I was younger. Now most corncribs are gone, along with one and two row corn pickers. Gravity boxes replaced the old wood wagons, and now large trucks and semis are replacing the gravity box. Those huge combines have replaced the need for neighbors to get together and help each other with the harvest.

All this mechanization has allowed farms to get bigger and the harvest go faster, with fewer people involved. But to me, fall harvest is still represented by those shocks of corn, standing tall and reminding us of another time and place, where neighbors even talked across the fence.
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