In an ‘against all odds‘ effort yesterday AM I harvested half of an entire cornfield. I’d been nervously watching the situation on the ground up there for the last two weeks. Perhaps lulled into a false confidence, I was caught off-guard by a surprise attack. Seven ear-heavy stalks, model soldiers, were fatally desecrated in one night. While I slept unaware in the bunker.
We declared “Tzav shmone” (Heb: ‘Call-out 8’) immediately, at 6:45 AM, and my entire platoon (me and 5 empty drywall buckets) secured the perimeter and went to work in the 100 degree heat.
Ok, another metaphor might be the stock market… or foreign-exchange. When Forbes, Bloomberg and the Bank of Israel all show the US dollar in a death spiral, it’s time to cut losses, spend the green-backs while they are still alive, buy whatever, (10,000 pair of knock-off eclipse-viewing glasses?) and brag to the gang about your cleverness.
I sold the ‘young‘ but criminally-tasty ears by nightfall. (Ok, gave away a couple dozen to a list of nine ‘Friends’ I need to ‘cultivate’. Worth every kernel, I tell myself.) They call back later, stacked up on the phone like wide-bodies at O’Hare, to repeat the by-now familiar ‘product-review: “Food-fights ensued in the family here; a battle for the most ridiculously-flavorful corn we ever tasted!”
Oops, I’ve ignored the Enemy here: Cats!
Yes, one black-and-white 2-yr-old male is the ringleader. We caught him red-pawed taking a destructive bite out of each ear. (Hard to sell corn with feline bite-marks, I’ve learned)
And of course every arm-chair General has a solution: Fence around the corn? I actually favor ‘fencing around the cats’. Cheaper, and more emotionally satisfying.
In a country where every bullet ‘expended’ needs to be documented in triplicate, my old-country habit of patrolling with a trusty .22 in hand has died somewhat. That, plus my distaste for being judge and executioner on a fellow animal who just wanted a handy meal…
There is also the concept in law of ‘attractive nuisance’ to consider:
Having, so to speak, installed an enticing swimming pool, I have a responsibility for any neighborhood child who feels like drowning himself in it.
And so, noting another half-dozen casualties this morning, I’ll conscript the haggard troups in the second-wave compulsory harvest. What they do with any captive cats is on their own consciences.
Meanwhile, ‘Buttergold’ Sweet Corn, adorned with melted butter is as close to ‘Food of the Gods’ as any vegetable I’ve met in 68 years.