13. Corn Castration
Chapter thirteen
Corn Castration
Paul
Now that it was mid-July in the Midwest, the time-honored tradition of detasseling corn was in full swing.
Those who’d planted corn in the spring needed to detassel the stalks that stood seven feet tall, basically castrating the stalk by taking off the tassel so it didn’t self-pollinate.
The hybrid corn had the best traits, like being drought tolerant, so no farmer wanted self-pollination.
The trick was to have a bunch of kids walk the fields and yank off the tassels.
The low-wage workforce would help us cover much more acreage than if we tried to manage it ourselves.
Buses lined up in downtown Buena Vista this time of year ready to take a group of teenagers to the next farm up on the list. Today, it was ours.
It was the crack of dawn when forty teenagers piled off the bus and congregated in our driveway.
“Let the chaos begin,” I muttered as I went out to herd the kids into the pickup trucks. We had the animals close to the house, but the cornfields were further out, so we had to drive them there.
Dad and I hauled them to different places to get started. While we had a puller out to do most of the detasseling last week, it couldn’t reach everything. The rest had to be done by hand.
We weren’t even fifteen minutes into it when the first kid started whining.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” the guy said.
“We just got here. You’re gonna have to hold it or go find a tree,” I barked back.
When I was a kid, speaking up like that would get you a glove to the face. You held it until the work was done.
“I knew I shouldn’t have had that iced latte,” a girl muttered, walking funny. “I just couldn’t wake up fast enough.”
Iced latte?
“Quit your bellyaching and yank off the tassels,” I shouted.
Silence from the crew. Finally, we could work in peace.
“Good fucking grief,” I muttered. “When I was a kid, this never would have happened.”
“When you were a kid, there was probably black-and-white TV, too,” one guy said, chuckling.
I took a large step toward him, ready to slap him upside the back of the head when Sawyer stepped between us.
“Come on,” Sawyer said, throwing me a dirty look. “We’re not that bad to work for. Anyone who has to use the bathroom, come with me.”
Five kids glared at me as they walked by. That was almost half of our workforce.
“Anyone else with the bladder of a toddler? Now’s your only chance,” I hollered to the others.
Three more ran after Sawyer. Ridiculous.
When Sawyer left, another pickup came. Josh borrowed a friend’s pickup to help us drive kids around, bringing me a few stragglers.
“Brought you a few more,” he said, wincing as he saw me. “What’s your deal?”
A smart-mouthed idiot opened his pie hole to answer for me. “A yearning for days of old, constipation, or a general distaste for everyone and everything. Really, it’s hard to tell.”
Stomping toward him, I was ready to give him a good pop to the jaw when Josh stopped me.
He shoved me backward. “Go take a walk! Head off toward the horizon and don’t come back until you’ve cooled off.”
“I won’t be back!” I shouted, heading in the opposite direction.
Finding a patch of tassels, I worked on my own away from everyone else. Stupid kids. I was better off being away from them.
It wasn’t until well after the sun was up and long past noon that I made my way back home.
I waited until the kids were gone so I wouldn’t come across any of those whiny idiots.
As I moved through the field, I was glad to see we’d done enough detasseling that we were in good shape.
I’d made sure of it on the back quarter.
Since going inside wasn’t much cooler anyway, I sunk into the rocking chair on the front porch. Being in the shade with a breeze was about the best place for me.
Dad pushed a cold glass of lemonade into my hand. “Drink this.”
I drained the glass in a few seconds, then handed it back.
When he went inside, he refilled it with iced tea and came out with a sandwich. “You must be half-starved. It’s well after three in the afternoon.”
Taking a big bite of the sandwich, I delayed answering. I wasn’t rude enough to speak with my mouth full.
“Something must’ve happened in Chicago for you to have come back in such sour spirits. Did someone mug you?” he asked.
My eyes snapped to his. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, leaning on the railing. “You’ve done nothing but piss and moan about your brothers, and snap at everyone since you came back.”
With a hard swallow, I sighed. “The future of farming is expensive, Dad. Technology is great and all, but it can’t replace good hard work. Coming out here, seeing how much was left after we did the pulling. Well, I guess it got to me.”
Dad huffed and crossed his arms. “Doesn’t explain all of it, though.”
I shrugged. “All that tech isn’t coming to our farm.
From what you’ve said, we don’t have the finances to buy the machines to do half of what I saw that would optimize things here.
I thought the expo would be for everyone.
Turns out, it’s just for commercial enterprises.
Got a little disenfranchised by it, I guess.
It turned out to be a waste of time and money. ”
Uncrossing his arms, he supported himself on the railing. “Not necessarily. Knowing that commercial farming is the future of farming is one of those things I should be aware of as I’m making decisions.”
“What decisions?” I asked, feeling the food in my belly turn to lead.
He lifted one shoulder casually. “There have been some inquiries. I’m still mulling all of it over.”
My head spun with the heat and his implications, but he pushed off the railing and went inside. What was he saying? What inquiries? What decisions? And why did it sound like he considering changing what we did at the farm?