Corn from a Special Place

Good friends brought us some fresh sweet corn last weekend. Actually, she brought it down to the house, but he was the one who insisted that when you pass through this particular place you MUST get the corn, because it is the best. She had shrugged and said, "Whatever," but she brought what he'd picked up special for us.

Apparently our good friends had had a conversation about preparing the corn, and grilling was met with noises of horror - he said you must boil this special corn.

So I took the first ear, of five - one for each of us (though youngest son doesn't eat it yet) - and it was heavier than usual. I started to shuck the ear and the fresh sweet fragrance made me stop and take a deep breath. Then I finished the ear, even the silk was fresh and fat and juicy, and set it on the husks. I moved on to the second ear, noticing that the outer husks were a deeper green than most corn.

That's when I stopped and took this photo, because I knew I was in the presence of something extraordinary and I would be blogging about it later.

I finished the shucking - two ears were delightfully fat, well formed right to the tips, and smelled unbelievable. I broke those in half, so all four of us corn eaters could start with those. Then I boiled all five, with some trepidation, because I was worried I would somehow ruin them. While I got fresh rosemary and basil from my herb bed, chopped them and half a sweet onion, the big pot came to a boil. While I mixed the chopped spices into the burgers (adding garlic) the corn simmered. Before I put the beef on the coals I tested the kernels with a fork and, feeling they were done, I drained the water and left them covered.

We ate outside, that day having been only in the low eighties. The burgers were some of the best I've ever made, and we hardly noticed because the corn put us over the moon. I have never tasted corn like it.

And do you know where it was from? Imagine your perfect corn place - the place that would grow the most amazing corn on the cob on earth. Where is it? I hope you'll comment on where you dream it might be.

These ears, so green, fragrant, juicy, sweet and succulent, were from New Jersey. Our friend (a transplanted Yankee) had said, "You've GOT to get corn when you go through New Jersey." I had never heard about their corn before - but it gives real meaning to New Jersey's being called "the Garden State." I-95 doesn't show any of Jersey's best. We ate some of it that night.

It Had Better Be Good

This lily has been showing buds for over a month now - and every day I think they are fat enough to bloom in a day or two. A week later they are still fatter and still not open. Here they finally look like they might open. I will post a photo of the show, when it's finally on.

Oldest son reminded me of this passage:

"But the shrub soon stopped growing, and began to get ready to produce a flower. The little prince, who was present at the first appearance of a huge bud, felt at once that some sort of miraculous apparition must emerge from it. But the flower was not satisfied to complete the preparations for her beauty in the shelter of her green chamber. She chose her colors with the greatest care. She dressed herself slowly. She adjusted her petals one by one. She did not wish to go out into the world all rumpled, like the field poppies. It was only in the full radiance of her beauty that she wished to appear. Oh, yes! She was a coquettish creature! And her mysterious adornment lasted for days and days..."*

I'll wait until Moomin Light posts about it, though. These are hers. As I recall they are pretty amazing - worth the wait. The buds are at eye level - it's a big plant.

*From The Little Prince. Our copy has note in the front - it was given to my father in 1955, by a teacher who shared it with him when he was a teenager. The first few chapters have some very important advice for artists.

Chick Book

What in the world is dear wife reading now?! (She reads so omnivorously that I consider most people's tastes pretty narrow in comparison.) I picked up this book (different edition and cover in our case - from one of the three libraries who store a measurable percentage of their books in our house - late fees? we should be charging them rent) and opened it at random to get a taste. Weird stuff, very British, very girly, diary format. I read for twenty pages or so and put it down.

"So are you going to watch the movie with me?" asked dear wife a day later.

"What?"

"Bridget Jones's Diary" (she meant a DVD from Netflix).

"It's weird, and I didn't like any of the characters. I don't think I really want to know what else they get into. I read some of the stuff with Daniel, and that's enough for me."

It turns out Daniel is played by Hugh Grant in the movie. Not my favorite.

But a day later dear wife had finished the book and was even more set on seeing the movie (starring Renee Zellweger - who's face appears on the copy of the book that's been in our house). I picked up the book again later that day and read another thirty or forty pages. I began to get into the main character's head, and actually understood her ups and downs, her various delusions and emotional binges. Actually I'm kind-of like her at times, and I found this funny, weird, alarming, and disarming all at once.

And then I had to see how it turns out. I mean I never had much doubt after about the half-way mark, but I needed to read the details. It's satisfying, to me, to know that things will turn out as they ought (so I'm not in suspense or worried about anyone) but to have no idea how anyone will get there. By the end I was just having fun, and enjoying the bizarre characters very much. The diary format and headings on each entry work incredibly well, and are quite funny and endearing by the end. I really was rooting for Bridge, and loving her friends (especially Tom, who is one of the girls, really) even as I kept rolling my eyes at each dizzy headed idea gone haywire. How can she hold onto so many nutty notions?

I'll be watching the movie. Hugh Grant plays just the right character, in my opinion, and Colin Firth plays the right one, as well. Should be fun. Can't wait to see how Gemma Jones plays "Bridget's Mum." And I'd like to see Renee Z as something other than Roxie Hart (Chicago). Hard to get that role out of my head...

Museum of Life and Science - Durham

A few weekends ago I took youngest son and his best friend to the Museum of Life and Science in Durham. We have been members for many years.

My favorite place in the museum is the butterfly house. I could stay in there (or in the aviary at the NC Zoo - Flickr photos) for hours, even in the heat and humidity. These photos show the owl butterfly, which the friend very much wanted to find, and a blue morpho that delicately stepped into his hands from another child who had been carrying it.

Then on to the noise and romping of the terrific playground. Even though I don't like noise (I unplug the toaster oven before it gets to beep) I got in the act, and let youngest son wield the camera.

Several structures were quickly turned into bases, which this tunnel joined, and other kids, like the third boy in one photo, were enlisted by the friend (who has never met a stranger) to join their team.

The object was to sneak or run around without being seen by the girls.

Even when boys don't associate with girls, they're still preoccupied with them...

Pigland

A friend from work has gone into business for herself, doing book keeping and accounting for a number of environmental firms in Pittsboro. Her new business cards say "Green Bean Counter." I wish her good fortune - she's made her own luck by working hard and gradually taking on these clients outside of her day job.

She is very into pink and pigs. She doesn't eat pork or beef - and she raises pigs as pets (Vietnamese potbellies). My children, if we dropped by my office off hours, would ask if we could go look at the office of "the pig lady."

When I was just starting to paint again I did one of my first watercolors for her - I called it Pigland. Over a year later, it turns out her new office in Pittsboro is painted in pink (two walls) purple (on wall) and yellow (one wall). Her window looks out over a parklike area where she sees rabbits playing. She is going to decorate with original artwork, including this piece of mine.

So my first excuse to go see her in her new quarters (about 40 minutes from our office - but a lot closer to her home) will be when she gets this painting up. It's great to have my pictures gradually hanging all over the Triangle.

July 4th - 100th Post

This is my 100th blog post and it lands on Independence Day.

A day of interesting predictions and coincidences. On this day in 1776, of course, the official signing of the Declaration of Independence, an act of courage (because it was treason), was completed in what is now called Independence Hall in Philadelphia. The vote for independence, and accepting the document, was taken the day before, but this was the day of ceremony.

John Adams wrote his regular letter to his wife Abigail, and poured more than the usual emotion into it. He said, "I believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be celebrated by pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other..." (I'm sure he meant to add something about the terrific food.) And while it was years until big annual celebrations, and until fireworks became the very symbol of this holiday, he was right. Looking forward, with the probable long years of war, squabbling over the Constitution (which wouldn't be written for over a decade yet), and possible loss and hangings for all the signers, Adams could only see the best possible future. He even seemed to foresee our nation stretching from coast to coast.

Fifty years later, on July 4th, two of the men on the small committee that worked on the Declaration of Independence passed away mere hours apart. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, after breaking their friendship over politics (Adams was a Federalist, Jefferson a Democrat), after reestablishing that friendship in their old age and writing a famous correspondence, died on the same day, as the nation, 50 years old, was celebrating around them. The news of the passing of the two great men was taken by many as an omen, and many believed these elder statesmen, who had watched over the country's early years and lived so long, had held on until this day as a sign that they would somehow continue to watch over it after death.

Happy birthday, America!

Martian Plant

We call this plant the Martian Plant. It came with something else we got at a nursery. It's a little aggressive, spreading by tubers under ground, and hard to eradicate. It's green all year, and has nice rounds of leaves at the base. The red and green of the flowers is quite odd. They grow in a circle at the top of stalks about two feet tall. The second photo shows the view downward to the basal leaves, and also shows a seed head forming in the upper edge.

It used to be in the bed we called Australia (for it's shape and position in the yard, sort-of) but we moved it. Oldest son loves it and allows it to run loose in his bed, where I took this photo. He also loves euphorbias, cannas, pitcher plants, bog sage, and a number of other unusual specimens which we allow him to keep here as long as they behave. Like the hissing cockroaches we let him keep in his room...