Hogs and Corncobs

If you stand at the edge of the pasture south of the plum trees and call into the woods, pigs come running like bandits from an ambush.

This morning, Garrison, Sam and I picked two buckets of sweet corn to freeze. It was one of those foggy, soaking, drippy mornings. We were taking an advantage of a break in the rain, but it started dripping again as we finished grabbing the last few ears. Sam suggested that we go to the tree fort to husk the corn. Our tree fort is in the pigs current paddock, so we ran down, hauled the buckets over the fence, and dragged them up into the fort. The pigs knew why we were there. They were snuffing around the base of the fort by the time we had the buckets up, and grunted in approval when the first husks fell. The advantage of the fort is that once you are in it, there is no fear of the pigs getting at the peeled ears, and the roof keeps off the rain! It is rare to hear a mixture of sounds as ludicrous, curious or peaceful as a gentle rain on leaves and the grunting of pigs. I know it sounds funny. You had to be there.