Sweet Corn
April 18th, 2005Sweet Corn
byMichael Ripley
A farm scene, that’s what we wanted for the opening shot of his film. It wouldn’t be a big part, just a scene to play during the credits: farm house, barn in the background, maybe a couple dogs running around. The lead character would come out the front door, look past a field of corn as far as the eye can see, and walk toward his truck. Perry knew the perfect place.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see Bud.” Perry stood on the front porch of his house, which would serve for the interior shots of the film. Sean, the director had been ready to leave.
“We can get the shots I need right here. It’ll be fine,” he protested.
“No,” Perry insisted. “Give me fifteen minutes. Bud’s place is perfect. You’ll love it.”
“Fine, let’s go.”
I had told my wife I would be gone about an hour when I left the house at two-thirty on that Saturday afternoon. Knowing that Perry had just returned from his golf trip, we stopped by to make sure that his house would work for the farm scenes of Sean’s short film, Time Lost. My wife knew where I went, but it was approaching five o’clock in the evening and I was way over my limit.
We jumped into my car, since I had blocked Perry’s truck in his one-lane driveway, and I turned onto the highway in front of his house. “Take a left down here past the grain elevator,” he said.
I turned onto the paved country road heading south. “Ok, now where, left or right?” I asked Perry.
“Keep going straight, it’ll turn into a dirt road,” he responded. “We’re going onto Bud’s property now, but his house is still a ways down. He’s bought up everything out here, farms about ten thousand acres now.”
We drove for a while down the gravel and dirt road, moving slowly, not wanting to bring my wife’s Volkswagen home with chips all over the fenders. We were approaching a large, white farmhouse on the left side of the road. “That’s it,” said Perry.
I pulled into the driveway. We could see a woman in the back yard, hanging clothes on a line. When we stopped no more than twenty feet from her, she kept working. Perry got out of the car, and walked toward the house.
“Linda,” he said. “It’s me, Perry.”
“Hi,” replied Linda without stopping her work. “Bud’s in the house.”
He didn’t stay in the house for long. I had gotten out of the car, but stayed back, not knowing anybody. Bud came out through the back door, three dogs followed him. “Perry, what the hell you doing all the way out here?”
“I came for some of that sweet corn. Why do you think I would come all the way out here?”
“You know I don’t let it go easy.”
“Well, I brought somebody with me. Bud, this is Mike.” We shook hands, but didn’t say a word. Sean had gotten out of the car and approached us.
“And this is Sean, Bud,” Perry said. “He wants to shoot a movie out here.”
“A movie? What kind of movie. I have to take my clothes off or anything? Linda, you ready to be a movie star?” he asked his wife as she passed with a basket.
“Anything you say, Bud.” She went on into the house.
I explained what we wanted to do. “Simple shots, should be here about three or four hours, and that’s it.”
“Yeah, do whatever you want. You want to see inside the place? Come on in.”
“No, I’ll just need to set-up outside.” Sean’s response didn’t matter. Bud led us into the house. The dogs followed. Perry laughed.
“Ignore the mess,” started Bud. “He’s going to film a movie here, Linda. You hear about that?”
“No Bud.”
“Come on through here. We added this on: twenty-five by thirty feet. Look at that television.”
We made it to the front door. It was wood with glass in the top half. It led to a full-length front porch. “I could use this, Bud,” Sean said. “Maybe, the lead actor coming out the door. I love that porch.”
“Yeah, do whatever you want. You know where I got that table? It came from Virginia. It’s two hundred years old, solid oak.”
“Nice table, Bud,” Perry said as he came up behind us.
Sean and I went to the front door, and checked out the porch. Bud and Perry followed. “I can picture him standing in the doorway, like he’s saying goodbye, and walks out here.” I went through the door, across the porch, and out into the front yard.
“I’ve got to get a few pictures,” Sean said. With his digital camera in hand, he went out to the road, and got pictures looking back toward the house, the barn within view in the distance.
Bud, Perry, and I walked around the house, toward rows of corn that had grown higher than the rest. “That corn is doing well for it just being June,” I said to Bud.
“That’s the sweet corn,” Perry said. “Is it about ready, Bud?”
“Ready, I’ve done pulled the first two rows out.” Bud walked into the field. “This is nine week corn.” He snapped an ear off and threw it back at Perry.
“Take a bite of that,” Bud said. “Go ahead, peel it back and take a bite. It’s as sweet as you’ll ever get.”
“I know your corn’s the best, Bud,” Perry protested, but started peeling the ear open. He took his bite.
“This is eleven week corn for the next three rows,” Bud said.
“I didn’t know it worked like that,” I said, having never heard about the different hybrids before.
“Yep, and I’ve got five rows of thirteen week crop behind it. We’ll have plenty of sweet corn all summer.”
“You going to sell us some, Bud?” Perry asked.
“No, you can’t afford it. If I sold this stuff, you wouldn’t want to pay the price.”
Sean walked up and joined us. “This is perfect. You were right, Perry.”
Bud left the field and walked over to his barn. He emerged carrying a large gunnysack, and went back into the corn.
“You still have the Cabin, Bud?” Perry asked.
“Nope, but I put up a shelter back there. Jack’s got his trailer there too, and he’s stayed out once this year already. Want to see the place?” Bud was now picking corn and throwing the fresh ears into the sack.
“Sure,” Perry replied. “You want some help with that?”
“No, you wouldn’t know which ears to pick. Only Jack and I know how to do this right, and I taught him.” Bud continued to pick the corn. “You going to take some to your mom?”
“Yeah, Perry said. You know she loves your corn.”
He finally tied the sack closed, and walked back toward us. “Come on, let’s check out my new shelter.”
I thought we were walking back behind the barn, but Bud stopped at a pickup truck. “Get in,” he said.
“You can get up front, Sean,” Perry added.
Sean jumped in with Bud, while Perry and I climbed into the back. “Where we going,” I asked Perry.
“Oh, just out in the field. I used to play at this place back by the river. My family owned it then, and we had a cabin there.”
Bud drove down a dirt lane heading into the fields behind his home. All three dogs ran after the truck, but two stopped within a hundred yards from the house. The third, a Jack Russell just kept running until Bud accelerated fast enough to lose him.
We stopped by several large tanks, and Bud pointed to some damaged corn crop behind them. The grass between the tanks and the lane had turned brown as well. He leaned out the window, and looked back toward Perry and me.
“They got into my ammonia,” he yelled.
“Who?” Perry asked.
“Druggies. They use it in a meth lab.”
“No shit?” Perry added. “How do you know that?”
“I called the police when I found it. They had just left the valve open. You can see what it did. Anyway, they called in the D.E.A., and they came out here. Two federal agents, and those guys told me it’s used for making drugs.”
“Well they messed up this section of field, didn’t they?” Perry commented.
“Yeah, the shit’s nasty stuff.” Bud settled back into the cab, turned to tell the story to Sean, and started down the lane.
“Ok, that’s a new one for me,” I said to Perry.
“Me too.”
We rode for about ten minutes, Perry and I talking about corn, and the pollination process. I had no idea how it worked, and actually found the whole tassel-silk pollinating routine to be extremely interesting, plus I had never known the difference between sweet corn and field corn. I had already been gone well past any explainable amount of time, so I simply enjoyed the lessons and the ride.
We arrived at a clearing in the middle of the corn. In the distance, I could see the river, and the trailer that Bud had talked about. There was a flower garden area, and a grassy spot that looked perfect for cookouts, games, and relaxation, and there I saw the shelter that he had mentioned.
“What a great spot,” I said as the truck came to a stop.
“Yeah, this is one of my favorite places,” Perry said.
We jumped out of the truck as Sean and Bud climbed from the cab.
“Still looks nice,” Perry said to Bud.
“Yeah, Jack keeps it up.”
We walked around the area. I went to the riverbank and checked out the small wood landing that had been built. There were no boats, but I could picture pulling up here aboard a small boat, and choosing this place for lunch. It was great.
Sean checked out the garden, while Bud and Perry went toward the trailer.
“This locked up?” Perry asked.
“Should be. Try it,” Bud answered.
Perry walked up the three metal steps, and tried the handle. “Locked,” he said. “Is this new?”
“No, Jack bought it off the Campbell lady. They used to pull it to Florida every winter.”
“I remember them. What happened? They don’t go anymore.”
“He died.”
“Ah, shit.” Perry ended the conversation.
I stood by the river, listening to them talk and watching the constant flow of the water. Sean came over. “Pretty nice place, uh?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Makes me feel bad I’ve always lived in town.”
“You guys ready to head back?” Perry asked.
We climbed back into our appropriate spots on and in the truck. Bud turned it around and drove back down the lane we came from. Perry talked on the way back about the drainage ditches in this part of the field.
“Bud and my dad dug these before my dad died,” he said. “The river used to destroy about fifty or a hundred acres every year or two, but the ditches handle it all now, and Bud pumps it into the fields.”
He tapped on the window. Bud slowed and looked back.
“You two got pretty good on the heavy equipment, didn’t you, Bud?” Perry yelled.
“Yeah, you tell him we dug all this?”
“Yeah.”
There were many lanes through the fields and I noticed that Bud turned down one that we hadn’t been on before. We were now going parallel with the river, which ran about two hundred yards to our left. As we crossed another lane, still about a half mile from Bud’s house, he stopped the truck.
Bud reached over to the glove compartment in front of Sean. He opened it and grabbed binoculars, turned back and looked toward the river. I turned that way and saw a car sitting in the lane, far in the distance.
“We need to check that out?” Perry asked.
Bud didn’t say anything. He kept looking through the glasses.
“You want to go down there, Bud?” Perry again.
“No, I’ll take you guys back and check it out later.”
“Come on, there are four of us. That’s better than you going alone.”
“Maybe he’ll call the police,” I suggested.
“No, I know Bud,” Perry said. “He’ll come back here and go by himself.”
Bud put the glasses down, and looked back at Perry. “You want to go?”
“No,” I said.
“Come on,” Perry turned to me. “There are people down here all the time. Probably teenagers in that car with their pants down.”
He turned to Bud. “Go on down there. Let’s check it out.”
Bud turned left and drove toward the car. I could see that it was a large light colored vehicle. As we got closer, I could make out the Buick emblem. It didn’t look like a teenager’s car to me.
“You have a gun, Bud?” Perry leaned out, almost to the door of the truck on the driver’s side, watching with Bud as we approached the car.
“Yeah.” Bud reached back into the glove compartment, this time pulling his hand out with a small revolver with what seemed to me, a long barrel. I could see Sean straighten up and sit back firmly against the seat. The truck was still rolling very slowly, and we were within twenty yards of the Buick.
Bud stopped the truck, and opened his door. I looked around, but couldn’t see anybody in the car or the area around us. Perry jumped out.
“There’s a shotgun here behind the seat,” Bud said. He reached in and pulled it out. “Twelve gauge.” He handed it to Perry.
“You guys can stay put if you want,” Perry said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Then why are you two holding those guns?” I asked. I jumped out the other side of the truck bed, and walked to Sean’s window. He hadn’t budged.
“Why the hell did we even come out here?” he asked. “I can get the shot for the movie at Perry’s house.”
Perry and Bud walked toward the Buick. I could tell by their actions that they had found it empty, and then Bud motioned to the river. There wasn’t a lane that went that way at this spot. They disappeared into the rows of corn.
“You know, I don’t especially like sitting here close to that damn car,” I said to Sean. “If whoever owns it comes back, we’re not the ones prepared with weapons and all.”
“I don’t want a gun.”
“Well, Bud probably has more in the truck. Look around.”
“I said I don’t want one. You get in and look around.”
Bang. Bang.
I ducked down, using the truck for cover, and Sean sunk into the seat. We waited for a third shot, but didn’t hear anything until the rustling sound came from the corn. Men were running toward us, or toward the Buick. I couldn’t tell which.
“Oh shit,” I said, and crept around the front of the truck. I looked up and couldn’t see Sean at all in the cab. He must have been in the floor.
It was the Buick they were running to. Two men, but they weren’t Bud and Perry ran to the car, opened the doors, and jumped in. The car started, and back quickly into the corn, went forward again, but stopped. It was pointing directly at Bud’s truck, at us. The lane was blocked.
Perry ran from the corn, holding the rifle, and pointed it toward the Buick. The car swerved right, and drove into the cornfield. Perry had to jump away to avoid being hit, and let out a resounding shot that from my view appeared to go into the air.
The corn wasn’t very high yet, probably about four feet tall. We heard a thud and a yell, and saw Bud bounce above the corn and over the Buick as they ran right into him working his way back to the lane. The car kept going at full speed, apparently unaware that they were driving toward the river.
Perry chased after the car, running through the clearing created by its massive body. I followed him, realizing the Bud would be lying there along the way. When we got to him, he was still, eyes closed, obviously unconscious. We didn’t know if he was alive.
In the distance, we heard a splash.
We all looked toward the river. Perry, who had been kneeling over Bud, stood up and started walking in the direction of the noise. I assumed his previous position, checking on Bud. For some reason, known only to him, Sean followed Perry.
About ten yards away, Sean knelt and picked something up. I could see Bud’s gun hanging loosely in his hand as he continued to follow Perry. Bud started to move in a minute or so, but wasn’t really awake. At least I knew he hadn’t been killed.
I stayed with him, lightly slapping him on the cheeks like I’ve seen in movies. It doesn’t appear to do any good in real life. He remained unaware of me and anything else around him.
Bang. Bang. Bang: The same noise as the very first time.
I found myself almost hugging Bud. The appearance would have been that I was the protector, but in my mind, he was my only reassurance that we were going to be all right. He was protecting me.
A long time passed, it seemed like hours. Nobody emerged into the clearing made by the Buick. I stood as Bud rolled to one side, still obviously dazed beyond recognition of the events unfolding around him. I walked toward the river, leaving Bud behind. I had to find out if Perry and Sean were all right.
Getting off the beaten path, I walked through a row of corn, crouching to avoid being seen. I moved along that way all the way to the riverbank. The edge was like a mud ridge, with a drop-off of about twelve feet. There was clearing, about ten feet between the corn and this bank. Looking to my left, I could see Sean kneeling on the edge, leaning over. As he rose up with his arms extended, Perry appeared trying to pull himself over the edge with Sean’s help. I ran to them and gave Sean a hand at pulling Perry up.
All three of us stood on the bank. Perry turned to look to the river. “There gone now,” he said.
“Where did they go?” I asked.
“Hopefully the Gulf of Mexico,” Sean said.
“Where’s the car?”
“In the river,” Perry answered. “With the two men.”
“I shot them,” Sean added calmly.
“Who were they?” I asked.
“How the hell do we know?” Perry started walking away.
“Wait,” I called to him. “Why did you guys shoot them?”
“They hit Bud,” Sean said.
“Yeah, but that was after you were already shooting at them,” I looked to Perry.
“Bud shot in the air when we saw them. He never shot at them.” He turned and hurried this time toward Bud.
Sean stood on the edge, looking out to the river. “They got Bud,” he said.
“Bud’s alive,” I countered.
I walked away, and joined Perry who had reached Bud. Perry was kneeling, and Bud had now sat up.
“What happened?” Bud asked.
“Those guys in the Buick hit you,” Perry told him.
“Shit, we were going to look for them.”
“Well, we found them.”
“Where are they?”
Perry looked at me. Then down the newly warn lane where Sean was approaching. “They left, Bud. Took off down along the bank, and they’re probably miles from here by now.”
I looked down, not saying a word, not sure how to respond or what to think. I stayed quiet, turned away, and walked to meet Sean. I led him back to the truck where I explained that he shouldn’t say anything to Bud. He climbed back into his seat in the cab. “What about this?” He held out the gun.
“Put it in the glove box.”
“He’ll know it was shot off.”
“He shot it off too, remember. So what if he knows. He won’t know anything more than it was fired.”
Perry and Bud approached the truck.
“You doing all right?” I asked Bud.
“Yeah, but I’m going to have one hell of a headache. Wonder who they were?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know,” I said.
Bud looked in the truck. “Hey, you stayed put during all the fun,” he said to Sean. “Good for you. I need a beer, guys. I’m sorry I got you into that.”
“You’re the only one worse for wear,” Perry said.
“Yeah, well look at your pants. You been crawling around out there?”
“I almost fell in the damn river. Get us out of here.”
We jumped into the truck, as Bud got behind the wheel. “You OK to drive?” I asked before he started it.
“Hell yeah. Besides, this truck knows it’s own way around here. Two hundred thousand miles, and nothing but tires and oil changes.”
He drove back toward the house.
Sean stared straight ahead. I could see that Bud was trying to talk to him, but he never seemed to respond. Back in the driveway, we jumped out, and walked toward my car, which I remembered again was really my wife’s car, and she probably had wanted to use it by now.
Bud had disappeared into his house. He emerged, walking with only a slight limp, holding an amber colored bottle of Budweiser. He didn’t offer us one, but said, “Perry, don’t forget that sack of corn. You guys come around anytime, and you can shoot that whole damn movie here if you want to.”
“Thanks,” I said. Sean never looked back. He got into the car.
“Bye, Bud,” Perry said. “We’ll call and let you know what’s going on.”
We drove back to Perry’s in silence. I pulled into his driveway, stopped, and watched him get out. He pulled the sack of corn with him.
“You guys should take some of this,” he said.
“No, don’t worry about it.”
“Come on. I can’t eat it, even if my mom helps. He put a ton in here.”
I got out, and walked around to him. “Let’s put some in here,” I said as I opened the trunk.
“I’ll get another bag.”
“No, just throw some in.”
He opened the sack, reached in, and started throwing ears into my trunk, slowly and methodically. “You all right?” He finally asked.
“Yeah, I think.”
“What about Sean?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with him. You think he’ll be all right?”
“No. But, we sure as hell can’t tell anybody about this now.”
“I know. I guess I know anyway. I can’t quite believe it all yet.”
“Might be best if you don’t believe it.”
I closed the trunk, and said goodbye to Perry. Sean and I drove away. I took him home, asking if he wanted any of that corn.
“Yeah, I ought to take a little, maybe a couple ears.”
“You going to be all right?” I asked.
“I think so. They shouldn’t have been there, should they?”
“No. They had no business there.” I got out, opened the trunk and gave him three ears of corn. Then I left him.
At home, my wife waited just as I had figured she would. She was as mad as I’ve seen her in quite a while, and came out to take the car as soon as I pulled in.
“About time,” she started. “I don’t even want to know where the hell you’ve been. You knew I had this meeting at Jane’s. Now I’m an hour late. I probably shouldn’t even go. They’re probably done.”
“Wait,” I said. “Let me get the trunk.”
“The trunk.”
“Yeah, this farmer gave us sweet corn. It’s in the trunk.”
I opened the lid while she watched.
“Where have you had this car? You going to wash it for me?”
“Sure, I said. We had quite a day.”
“Well, I don’t have time to listen to it.”
“When you going to be home?”
“Whenever I want to come home. Maybe in a month.” She jumped in and drove away, leaving me in the driveway holding an armful of corn. I was actually glad that she was leaving. I could sort my head, and she could get over being mad.
After I sat in front of the television for an hour, I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. The corn still sat on the floor by the front door. I needed to move that before she came home, and I decided to boil a couple ears. I peeled two, putting the rest in a basket usually reserved for bread. The pot of water boiled and I threw the corn in.
In about five minutes, I pulled them out, took butter from the fridge, and went back to the television with my snack.
The phone rang, and I picked it up, hearing an excited voice.
“Yeah, this is Sean. What are doing?”
“I’m watching TV. What are doing?”
“This really is incredible, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe this shit, though.”
“I know. I’m trying to sort it all out myself.”
“Sort what out?” Sean asked.
“What are you talking about then?”
“This corn. The sweet corn. I’ve never tasted anything this good in my life.”
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The End