#field corn

[huariqueje]

On scene   -  Jessica Brilli , 2023.

American , b. 1977 - 

Acrylic and oil on wood panel , 10 x 8 in.

[ipromisetostaywild]

[briargeese]

Corn in the setting sun.

[the-re-farmer]

Checking things out

After all the wonderful rain we’ve been having, I just had to go and check out some areas beyond the outer yard. Of course, that included the old gravel pit! Here’s a slideshow, covering just over 3 weeks, from being newly dug out to today. The first photo was taken the day the pit was dug, on the 7th, though it was deepened slightly a couple of days later. The next photo of the first puddle of…

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[brucestambaughsblog]

Striations and one lost hat

Striations and one lost hat

Striations.

I’ve always enjoyed finding objects in my photographs that I didn’t know where there until I viewed the shots on my computer. This photo is the perfect example.

The original focus of this capture was the striation effect created by the blooming sunflower heads, the tassels of the ripening field corn, and the rows of cumulus clouds on a late summer’s day. However, upon closer…

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[lifeinfarmland]

Using Math To Track Corn Growth - Corn Update

[arw126kc135]

Ears in a Field by Bob G. Bell on Flickr.

[cameronandtiggerthetabby]

Once upon a time there was a sense of pride when one declared they were raised in the South.

Every day, people of all ages awoke before daylight to get a jumpstart on the long day ahead.

One day starts like all days. In summer months (at paternal grandparents), wake up, dress, wash hands and face, go to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Our breakfasts were identical every single day of the week. Biscuits from scratch, brown gravy, chocolate gravy, sausage, bacon, fatback, scrambled eggs and instant coffee. Well, the coffee was for the grandparents.

Because of that, I learned the art of Southern cooking by one of the best. I never asked questions. Watched and repeated what I saw. To this day, I never follow a recipe or write down what I do to create a dish. This irritates my husband; he knows he will never eat the meal again because of my failure to write it as I go.

Because of that, I have learned to take notes and repeat certain meals that were incredible. Writing notes has enabled me to tweak and modify foods until they can’t be any better.

Until finally I was able to publish two small cookbooks over the years. The cookbooks, meant to be a group and/or family effort, ended with me putting other names to several of my recipes.

Memories:

The hardwood floors flexing at 5 am with our journey from the bed to the kitchen. The odd smell of a fresh-lit gas heater breaking the morning chill.

Flour stored in an over-painted white pie safe. Grandmother making biscuits in a “well of flour” and baking them in the large Lodge skillets. Making chocolate gravy in a cast iron Dutch oven. A Dutch oven used to fry chicken. Yellow Jarvis field corn cut off and simmered in a buttered Lodge iron skillet.

Sleeping on a feather bed. Using an outhouse. Walking a mile on bubbling asphalt to go to the post office. Decorating live Christmas trees. Push-mowing grass. Raising pigs and cattle.

Relying on the orange light of the freezer to guide you in the dark like a night light. Fresh banana pudding. Gospel and preaching on the radio so loud you can hear it outside. Hanging clothes on the line to dry. Washing those clothes on a washboard and in a wash tub.

Wrestling on TV every Saturday. Licking hundreds of ‘quality stamps’ and putting them in books to trade for merchandise. Coconut cake. Canned beets. Canned tomatoes. Of course, canned doesn’t mean a tin can but the big Ball or Mason glass jars. Sleeping under a ton of hand stitched quilts.

A party line on the phone. Snuff in the phone receiver. Drinking water from a dipper. Reading newspapers because the TV was only for wrestling and news/Dave Brown weather. I did catch my grandfather out for a walk once and I watched Dr Who, the good one with Tom Baker. I remember the episode was about a lighthouse.

Photo: Dino Gravato, Flickr

These are the things that made me proud to be raised in the South. These are the things I miss on a daily basis. These are the things I loved and enjoyed. A few of these things I still do, but they are not the same without the people around to share them.

My biscuit making teacher

  Raised In the South. Memories. Once upon a time there was a sense of pride when one declared they were raised in the South.