Lab work to prep for upcoming doc visit and breakfast with my wonderful daughter Elisabeth in Hamilton behind me.
Stop at my friends’ joint in Morrisville, Dougherty Pharmacy, ahead of me.
My peripheral vision grabs a familiar sight to my right. Corn’s eye-high, yes, it is. In fact, Mosher Farms is coming up at the next light, and this is already the time of year when if you don’t get the Madison County farmers’ freshly picked harvest when you’re out and about, you just might be missing out.
I take that right, pull into their familiar little lot, and my mind wanders some.
My eye captures Mr. Mosher out in the big barn/equipment central entrance. Man, it takes a lot of sweat and money and mechanical know-how and gumption and machinery to make this place work. Back when I lived in Morrisville in the past century, Elisabeth grew up with some of the Mosher kids. Danica was in her class and played on some of her teams, in fact, and I met her parents at games and such. Nice people.
I admired them greatly, and frequented this corner store to buy their produce often. Even after that life ended and I moved back to Syracuse, I still stopped to buy sweet corn and more. My dear wife Karen loves their fruits and vegetables.
My purchase today is straightforward. “Four ears of corn, please,” I say, not caring that discounts kick in from the 50-cents-per price if you buy six, even more if you go for the dozen. No, two apiece is just right for Karen and I.
After I put the bag in my car, I wander with my iPhone 6, relishing the feel of the morning and the beauty and expanse of the Mosher spread.
The traditional farmhouse red of the house, from which the farm stand sprouts, has Americana stamped all over it.
I stride past their corn and notice different height of growth. That makes me wonder of they stagger the planting to stretch the time of plant production. Or maybe some is feed corn to sell to dairy farmers? So much I don’t know about agriculture even though I lived in this farmer-heavy county for 14 years of my life — and received my associate degree in journalism in 1977 from the State University of New York unit when it was called Morrisville Agricultural and Technical College.
I also notice another crop of totally different plants of which I cannot tell what they will yield or have already produced. Berries or beans, I know not. Apples, no.
Having watched video of helacious storms of rain and hail attacking Colorado before leaving home at 7:30 a.m., my mind notices the gray clouds gathering above.
In fact, in a certain light and from a certain angle, this could be considered the port to a big shelter down below to keep all safe … No need, knock on wood.
What’s your favorite farm stand produce, and why? Can you tell me what the mystery crop might be? Which is your favorite photograph, and why?