Write Field: 'Thoughts From the Sweet Corn Patch'

It’s July 6, and I find myself all alone in the sweet corn patch. It’s kind of funny how lonely it can be out here, ’til the corn gets ripe.

I realize now I have put off cleaning up the weeds for too long. My first real indicators were the mourning doves nesting in the lower branches of the pigweed. After some studying, I decided to hoe the south side of the rows first, so at least the corn would get some sunlight. I thought that was a good plan until I cut the first one, realized the wind was wrong, and I was felling the pigweed right on the rows. Maybe I will run to town for a wood chipper, and then I can mulch between the rows at the same time.

We had a great family gathering over the Fourth. All five little grandkids were with us, swimming in the lake ’til they were worn out. We played pinochle with the grown kids until way too late. It was wonderful.

Today, vacation over, all alone in the corn patch, I am reminded of a poem I wrote half a generation ago.

I promised them last winter

We’d spend some time out there.

Camp in a park or travel,

Maybe go to Valley Fair.

Some summer days should be for fun,

For family time together.

Get out there and see the state,

Enjoy the sunny weather.

From special shows in Fargo

Played out in Trollwood Park.

To fishing trips near Warroad

Or campfires after dark.

You needn’t travel very far,

Just pack the car and boat.

Ask the kids, “Where should we go?”

Give everyone a vote.

Oops! I fear it all went wrong.

I should have planned ahead.

Picked the spot where we would go

All by myself instead.

My little boy thinks camping

Out with the bugs is fine.

My lovely wife is quite concerned,

In camp it’s hard to dine.

The teenage girls would like a beach

With lots of boys in shorts.

I like to stop at antique shops

Or climb around old forts.

Our oldest boy thinks golf is really

Needed every day.

While passing by a mall

Will cause the girls such great dismay.

We kick around some good ideas,

Then each one gets kicked out.

It seems to be all I can do

To speak below a shout.

Then I suggest we all stay home

And hoe a few more beets.

Suddenly a hush falls on

The children in their seats.

They’ve learned the art of compromise,

Where we’re headed they don’t know.

It seems that they have all agreed,

“Come on, Dad, just go!”