The corn has many difficulties to contend with: there are heavy winds, too much or too little rain, hail, and, worst of all, frosts which not only kill it when it is first planted, but also hurt it before it is matured. The corn has living enemies also, such as wire-worms and cut-worms. Our forefathers were much troubled with the mischief which crows did in pulling corn. However, many of our observing farmers to-day say that only in rare instances do the crows injure corn much. The work done by cut-worms is often attributed to crows.
29. Please note in your locality what difficulties the corn has to contend with. If possible make a special study of the damage said to be done by crows. Give the results.
LEAFLET XLIII.
THE RIPENED CORN.[57]
By ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.
Every boy and girl living on a farm in New York State twenty-five years or more ago, has in memory a picture like this: a stubbly hill-side field beset with russet shocks of corn and constellations of orange pumpkins, whence might be seen wide valleys filled with purple haze, and far hills bedecked with autumn tapestries woven about emerald patches of new wheat.
To such a field, after the laggard sun had changed the hoar frost to dew, would they hasten of an October morning, to begin the corn-husking. The enthusiastic youngster, who had an eye to artistic unity in the situation, invariably selected a pumpkin for his seat, scorning his more sordid fellows who had brought milking-stools from the barn, when nature had placed so many golden thrones at their disposal. Too soon a discovery was made about this that applies as well to other thrones,—it proved an uneasy seat, and was abandoned for a sofa constructed of corn-stalks. Here, leaning back with a full sense of luxury, listening to the rustle of the dry leaves and husks and the monotonous song of the cricket, enlivened now and then by the lazy call of the crow from the hemlocks on the hill, the sweet note of the belated meadow-lark from the valley, or the excited bark of the dog as he chased a squirrel along the fence, the busy husker passed the autumn day. On either side of him were evidences of his labor. On the right stood great disheveled stooks of corn stalks bereft of their pockets of gold; on the left lay in a heap the shining yellow ears, ready to be measured in the waiting bushel-basket; in front was always a little pile of noble ears with some of the husks still attached,—the seed corn. Proud was the boy when he had learned to select successfully "the ear of good length, cylindrical rather than pointed, the cob firm and well filled from butt to tip with grains uniformly large, of good color and in regular rows that showed no space between." Now-a-days, we challenge this ideal of the "perfect ear."
