Corncob is a series of essays about life. Just a few words for a few friends as a testament that the world isn’t all doom-and-gloom. But it isn’t always nice either. We’re often confronted with harsh realities because just like life, corn hurts sometimes. Anyone who’s ran through a cornfield knows this. It’s not like in the movies. It is death by a thousand husks that feels like cardstock paper cuts but wallowing in self-pity does you no good. Toughness, resiliency and progress is what the corncob is about.
When I started elementary school in the midwest, the teacher had a larger than life cartoon cutout of an ear of corn in the corner of the room. My teacher said "if you wanna tattletale, I don't wanna hear about it. You go tell it to that ear of corn." And I did. Daily. I told the corncob everything. While I wanted to tell my classmates about Ralph Waldo Emerson, they didn’t share the same affinity for life in 1865. But that ear of corn, it listened and that's where this story begins.
I was a strange child just yammering away with imaginary corn but talking to corn in the corner was no threat. I lived in the sticks in the middle of cornfields, in a small idyllic farming town aptly named Farmington, so corn was my best friend anyway. Me and that ear of corn were thick as thieves. Corn was my therapist. My buddy. My confidant. Corn nourished me. I mean, literally - if I was hungry, I could just go pick an ear from the field in the backyard and cook that sucker up.
I've traveled the world extensively and learned that being American gave me the luxury, freedom and choice that most of the world doesn't have. You'll find what's most important to others is what's most important to you. Feeding your family (mostly corn). Your job. The roof over your head, laughin’ and lovin’.
Ever been in a cornfield? Inevitably, you’ll get lost. Everyone gets lost at some point but we’re not gonna cry about it. We’ll find our shared humanity and enjoy some adventure. If you’re lost and scared, you just stay put and we’ll Marco Polo until you’re found again.
Your $5 bucks a month fuels the coffee and cornbread supply which in turn generates words. Welcome to the corn maze.