Last year I picked corn—like in a corn field—for the first time. It was one of the most exquisitely peaceful experiences I’ve ever had. The field was several yards off a quiet road; no one else was around; the stalks towered and rustled over little me; and I’ve never seen Children of the Corn. All factored into a delicious, unscary sense of being enveloped, especially that last one.
Usually when harvesting I take in the beauty inherent in lush LIFE growing all around—the intense colors and weight of fruits and vegetables, full of water and sunshine, right at the peak of their lives. This year, quite unexpectedly, I noticed the beauty in the other side of the season, in the hints of autumn brushing dustily by, even in the heat of the sun.
In Japanese culture, it’s believed there is beauty not just in fullest life, but also in impermanence and decay. In the U.S., this concept confuses us and tends to make us a little jumpy. What do we do when a flower in a vase begins to wilt? We throw it away; we don’t want to see it once the wheel turns. I’m no different. But I want to learn to appreciate it at every phase.
Oddly enough, I found corn just as beautiful in its dropped and drying starkness as I did green and growing. And I edited in black and white for everything I shot, whether alive or dead, to keep from being distracted by color.
I do love a paradox, love disturbing juxtapositions. Maybe I can grow to love a wilting flower, too.
So. Here is summer—waxing and waning.
Ya know Marisa, if you had been born back when I was harvesting corn I might have enjoyed it more. Of course, we didn’t have quite the same experience in harvesting. I always had to chase the cows out first, then salvage what was left. Usually only 5 or 6 grass bags full, which then had to be shucked, then frozen. Usually alone. Accompanied by only my own shrieks when I found the worms that assured me they were truly organic. Frequently wondering why I bothered, because I was the only one who really loved it.
I would do it all again if I had the chance. Even the part where I cut most of it off the cob for soup and casseroles.
Angie–Nobody has memories as cool as yours. Wish I could bring you along with me. And the worms freak me out, too. 🙂
Oooh, paragraph two made me breathless (in a good way). What beautiful words! It brought home what I am missing here in suburban sprawl.
Hi Trina–I’m so grateful I can bring you a little closer to what you’re missing. I think there are a fair number of people right here who miss it as well. Thank you!
Don’t worry, “Children of the Corn” won’t make you fear corn. It might make you have some doubts around blonde children, though.
The Japanese term is “mono no aware,” and is usually translated “the pathos of impermanence” or something like that. The cherry blossoms symbolize that because a) they are very fleeting and b) they are thought to be at their most beautiful when they begin dropping petals– almost over, but carpeting the ground in the palest pink, and gently snowing down upon passersby.
Em–Thank you *so* much for your message! I will remember that. Totally in agreement re: cherry blossom petals; I love being in the middle of the pink snowstorm of them 🙂
Beautiful imagery and thoughts. I have felt similar emotions picking olives in Sicily. The close communion with nature is a privilege. Seeing the olives mature then turn to oil, green gold, and then tasting the fruits of our labor is one of the most gratifying experiences I’ve ever had. Sicily is rooted in mythology and they attribute natures cycles to the deal Demeter struck with Hades when he wanted to take her daughter Persephone for his wife into the underground. Demeter refused and they agreed that half the year Persephone would go and half the year she would be returned. It is for that reason that we have winter and summer. The cycles are much longer than the life of one plant in one season. Somehow we are part of much bigger picture and I guess you felt some of that in the corn field. As an aside, if you love nature, contrasts in everything from life to architecture, history to food, you should come to Sicily. It is a magical island. A photographer’s paradise in it’s staggering beauty.
Hi Karen–Thank you so much! Picking olives in Italy sounds like a dream 🙂 My grandmother’s last name was Siciliano; I have to go to Sicily sometime! Do you live there?
Me, too, Marisa. I want to go too 🙂 My maternal grandmother was from Sicily, along with my great-grandmother. I have my grandmother’s birth certificate.
Beautiful imagery Karen wrote about the olives. (I tried to reply direct there, but as you can see, my phone didn’t cooperate.)
Beautiful imagery.
Thanks, Trina! The experience took me by surprise and I really wanted to share it with you all, bc I knew you’d get it. So glad you did. 🙂
Your words, too, Marisa, but I commented on them earlier way up top 🙂 Remember?
Of course 🙂