This morning as we walked we saw the landscape crew cutting grass, edging the walks, blowing leaves. The smell of that freshly cut grass brought back memories of my summer job during college days. Following in the footsteps of other relatives I got a job working in corn pack for Joan of Arc in Hoopeston, Illinois, a town about 25 miles north of where we lived and where both my parents were born and raised. Central Illinois had, and probably still has, rich soil good for growing soy beans, corn, asparagus, tomatoes, lots of things, and Hoopeston had plants to can these vegetables. Migrant farm workers came through town to pick the crops; I remember seeing the rough places/camps where they lived. But local residents also were hired.
Corn pack started in late July or early August (whenever the corn was ripe) and ended by Labor Day. I started on second shift, from about 4:00 till the day's pick was processed, which might be as late as 11. After the sweet corn was picked, it was dumped into a parking lot across the street then shoveled onto conveyor belts that lifted it up and carried it over to the building I was in. It poured into bins, each of which had two workers who moved individual ears into slots on a belt that took them through a cutter that removed the stem then rolled them till the leaves and silk were off. Another belt moved the corn upstairs where workers with sharp knives cut out bad spots, some with worms, and sent them on to the next building where the corn was cooked then canned. I worked mostly on the cutters but sometimes upstairs with the knives. Eventually I was on day shift with regular hours. It was hot, noisy, dirty work and I didn't eat corn for a long time after. This job was different than anything I'd ever done before (or since).
The best part about corn pack was staying with my mom's parents. Grandma and Grandpa were cheerful, loving people who had moved to Hoopeston about 1917 from southern Kentucky. Grandma had a great sense of humor and talked a lot but I knew she cared about me. Grandpa didn't say much but had a tender heart. A couple of years ago I had a lot of fun writing a long story about their lives, then sending copies to my cousins.
Anyway, the smell of the grass took me back in time.
Just back from a weekend in Washington and Gettysburg where we did a lot of family reminiscing. Related to Julie's graduation, we looked back at her growing up years (and Katie's). At Dave's Mom's burial/funeral, people told stories that I had not heard before (she was a very quiet woman). I really feel drawn to the connectedness of my past and I treasure these opportunities which don't happen very often. Seems like you also enjoy thinking back.
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