Corncobs
I can remember seeing a movie where two “city slickers” called country folk corncobs. I remember cartoons with the character Popeye having a corncob pipe clenched in his teeth. There are memories of old people saying they kept a supply of dried corncobs in their outhouses for sanitation purposes.
But my oldest recollection is a faint one, augmented by retellings from my mom, Sybil Miner Beck. One of my great aunts was a backwoods woman. She was as backwoods as Daniel Boone, frontiersman, explorer, and statesman. My great aunt smoked a corncob pipe. It wasn’t very lady like, but it wasn’t unusual for country women of that time to rub snuff or to smoke. She was visiting a friend in the hospital. Smoking was permitted then. The friend was smoking a cigarette when the doctor walked in. The friend who wasn’t to be smoking shifted the cigarette to my great-aunt, who held them both. She refused to smoke either so the doctor wouldn’t know who was smoking either.
Another group of happy memories is of our family’s annual visits to the Sweet Corn Festival in Millersport, Ohio. My parents would stay at my aunt Ina and my uncle “Nicky” and Ina Miner Nicholson in the summer when the ears of corn were yellow, full, and ripe. The festival was almost like a county fair with amusement rides, entertainment, game booths, and lots of good food. One of the community organizations had a large steam engine thing at their booth. It cooked hundreds of the kernel-covered cobs at one time. The ears of sweet corn were pulled out on trays, lifted with tongs, buttered, and served in narrow cardboard boats. Hot and butter flavored, the corn quickly disappeared leaving only sweet flavorful memories, chewed cobs, and butter smeared face, lips, and chins.
When my mom served corn on the cob, we had yellow plastic holders that looked like small corn ears with two metal prongs. When plunged into each end of the cob, it secured the ears, and allowed us to eat the delicious kernels without burning our fingers. My dad, Carl Beck would eat the kernels circling around the cob, while Mom at them like a typewriter, going end to end.
After I married Cindy Morrison Beck, summer get-togethers often had sweet corn served at the family meals. Her dad, Bud would hang a large kettle of water over a wood fire. Once the water boiled, he would fill a pillowcase then drop the ears of corn in to cook. With one swift move, he would lift the pillowcase out, let it cool, then remove the cooked corn. All of the corn was ready to eat at the same time.