Corn

Growing up in corn country, my family often measured the season by corn. In the spring, the fields always smelled of fertilizer and often we would all hold our noses and grumble as we passed the farms. (Our farming relatives told us it was the smell of money). In the summer "Knee high by the fourth of July"  was the saying as we measured the progress of the corn. In the fall, the fields would stand ready to have the last ears picked and be made into feed for the livestock. And of course, in the winter...the field lay barren with the promise of a new crop the following year.

Corn reminds me of growing up in Illinios. 

Corn reminds me of my own seasons...right now I am in the early fall of my life, watching the seeds I have planted begin to blossom on their own.

May your fall harvest take you through the winter of life happily and content and with a full pantry.