Then there were the Indian days in the field, when a fallen eagle
feather stuck in a braid, and some pokeberry juice on the face,
transformed me into the Indian Big Foot, and I fled down green
aisles of the corn before the wrath of the mighty Adam Poe. At
times Big Foot grew tired fleeing, and said so in remarkably
distinct English, and then to keep the game going, my sister Ada,
who played Adam Poe, had to turn and do the fleeing or be
tomahawked with a stick.
When the milk was in the ears, they were delicious steamed over
salted water, or better yet roasted before coals at the front of
qthe cooking stove, and eaten with butter and salt, if you have
missed the flavour of it in that form, really you never have known
corn!
Next came the cutting days. These were after all the caterpillars
had climbed down, and travelled across the fence to spin their
cocoons among the leaves of the woods; as if some instinct warned
them that they would be ploughed up too early to emerge, if they
remained in the field.
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