The feeling wasn’t exactly like being a deer in the headlights; maybe more like a raccoon in the yardlights? I wasn’t in danger, but I was definitely found out — and I’m the one who walked right into it.

“I actually…have never picked corn before,” I admitted, both to my family and myself. I had been all gung-ho when two rows of the neighbor’s sweet corn patch had been offered to me, happily accepting with all the confidence of a seasoned professional. But when early morning rolled around and I unexpectedly had clearance to dash over to the corn patch while my mother-in-law held the baby, reality hit.

How do I actually do this? The other steps of sweet corn preparation are familiar to me and don’t need a second thought; we’ve always replenished our annual stash of Ziploc bags of corn in the freezer, and it doesn’t put itself there. But the ears of corn seemed to always put themselves in my hands.

Some of my sweetest memories of childhood in Alabama are Corn Days with Weber aunts, uncles, cousins, and hundreds of ears of sweet corn to process. Each task from husking and silking to cooking and cutting had its station in the yard or house, each staffed with workers that added to their tally of cobs eaten as the day wore on. Even now I had to stop and rub my fingertips, my body knowing within my skin the feeling of corn silk stuck to corn-milk-sticky fingers.

Corn Days didn’t stop when we moved north, just switched over to the Mayer side of doing things. We still assembled our lawn chairs in the yard, making piles of corn scraps to that inimitable screech as dewy husk was peeled off golden ears of corn. The sun would be getting hot by the time the corn was cooked and hot, and we switched to the sound of juicy scrapes as corn cob after corn cob was cut off its kernels.

Production has been very different when moving to my own means here in Kansas, but it still happens somehow — usually I glom onto a friend’s corn day, or cobble together enough ears from various sources to cook up a pot by myself.

Notice in all these instances how I offer no remembrances of getting the corn out of the garden and into the rest of the production process. Someone else always got up early and picked the corn, whether my grandpa or dad or whoever. I’ve tried to grow my few rows of sweet corn, but only mildly so, and it’s never gone well enough to count for much of anything, so I’ve gotten essentially no practice.

I figured the Corn Day memories flowing through my veins would inspire me once I actually got to the corn patch, so I forged ahead in my sheepish ignorance. I know what good corn feels like in my hands while I husk it, what the kernels should look like when I pull off the silk, so I do kind of know how to tell which ears are ready to pick. I stuffed a couple buckets with what turned out to be really delicious sweet corn, and felt quite good about confidently bluffing my way into the situation.

The kids still need to be introduced to a real corn day, since it only took us minutes to husk the corn and take the scraps over to the calves to enjoy. But their appreciation doesn’t need much development. They pleaded for more and more of those eminently delicious long strips of kernels as I cut them, and they gnawed on the cobs before they went into the chicken bucket.

Kiah said it just right as she loudly and contentedly crunched her way around another full ear of corn at supper that night: “Mine mouth love corn when me eat it.”

Elote Butter

I need nothing on fresh sweet corn, but I am also really into Mexican street corn (elotes); a cob needing multiple steps is not the easiest for me these days, though, as Silas apparently likes to eat his meals when we do. Something simpler was in order: hello elote butter. One quick schmear and you’re ready to go! Cotija would be more authentic here, but parmesan is stronger in flavor, which we want in this application; definitely consider showering the elote-buttered corn with cotija or feta for an extra cheese hit though! Don’t limit this only to corn: slather and dollop it on roasted veg, fried egg sandwiches, and baked potatoes.

Prep tips: If you can’t find New Mexico chile powder, ancho or chipotle will work; it just might be spicier (or even regular chili powder is good too).

• ½ cup butter, room temp
• ½ cup quality mayo
• ½ tablespoon smoked paprika
• 1 teaspoon New Mexico chile powder
• ½ teaspoon cumin
• ½ teaspoon sugar
• zest of 1 lime
• 1 ounce Parmesan, shredded

Mix all ingredients, salting to taste. Store in fridge.

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and THREE small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.