Harvest 2019

 

One of my favorite memories from my childhood is laying in my bed in the second story of my parents' farmhouse, looking out at the pitch-blackness that is country life, and hearing -- through slightly opened windows -- the sound of farmers still in the field. Combines and tractors and fans on grain bins were always running . . .  from the time I'd lay down at night into the early morning hours.

It was -- and remains -- a comforting sound. It meant someone else was awake, someone else was still out there in the darkness, and all of that was heartening and lovely and a little mysterious. 

It's nighttime now as I write this, and outside, our dogs are barking like it's their spiritual gift because someone is combining across the creek, and even their racket makes me happy too . . . for all the same reasons. 

So if fall ever decides to show up, and if the temperature ever falls from 86 degrees to under 70 in the month of October, you can bet I'm cracking our bedroom window to hear our neighbor's grain bin running as I fall asleep. 

Some people say they love country life because of the stillness. But every now and then, it's the little noises we love even more.

Snow

My farmer and I have this fun game we like to play where I tell him that living in Missouri is basically the same as living in Mississippi and then he tells me that living in Iowa is the same as living in the tundra, and then we both laugh like we really didn't mean it but we actually do. 

I'm pretty sure I'm right on this one. Case in point: They have sweet tea in this state. That means it's the deep South. 

Common knowledge.

What Missouri doesn't seem to have much of is good old-fashioned snowstorms.  The first winter I lived in St. Louis it snowed several inches. I headed out to church on Sunday morning only to find there was legit no one else on the road, which made me wonder if I was the crazy one or if it was just that everyone else was. 

Don't answer that. 

Growing up in Iowa meant learning to play and work and drive and live in and with a lot of snow. Snow days were the best -- although somewhat rare because snowplow drivers in Iowa don't mess around -- and I distinctly remember one day where the school bus stopped to pick me up, headed to the next house, and then got the call that school was cancelled, turned right around and dropped me back off again. 

It was like Christmas! Except that it was probably, you know, like October or maybe May.

There was also the Halloween blizzard of 1991 (now I sound like an old timer) where trick-or-treating was basically cancelled because feet, not inches, of snow were piling up. (Those of us hardcore enough to go out were rewarded handsomely because we were the few, the proud, the . . . ok, too far.)

But still, some candy AND snow days? Do you see now why Iowa is a child's paradise?

Then there's the infamous story of my sister who, in a rush to get to the bus, lost one of her snow boots in a snow drift on our lane, but didn't want to take the time to go back for it, and ran ahead to the bus anyway in one sock and one boot. I've never asked if she found the other boot. Maybe when the snow finally melted and the ice eventually thawed . . . so basically mid-July. 

My sisters and I spent our childhood winters playing in massive piles of snow, pushed up in mounds by our dad's tractor; sledding down those mountains after diving into a precariously perched sled and shooting out across the driveway; tromping through our grove where the snow was covered in rabbit and raccoon and deer tracks. 

I'm hopeful my kids can have the same experience here in Missouri at least once every ten years, even if the one-year-old is currently at a stage where he can barely move when bundled up and basically just wants to sit in the snow and cry. It'll come. 

Or we'll just have to visit Iowa in the winter more. 

Either way. 

Iowa Corn Chowder

as featured on Cheeserank's 50 Best Cheese Recipes from the 50 Best United States

 

Because the weather can't decide if it wants to be fall or summer or neither or both, I'm officially calling it: It's fall, and we are eating soup, darn it. 

Even if it WAS 93 degrees only a couple days go. 

EVEN. IF.  

 

Enter Iowa Corn Chowder. 

I am a pig farmer's daughter. I'm married to a dairy farmer. So if we're all going peacefully to co-exist here, it's clear we need both bacon AND cheese in this recipe. 

Maybe every recipe. Can you name me one dish that wouldn't be better with either one of those? 

Exactly. 

Me neither. 

Is it 90 degrees at your house? Or 30 maybe? Raining? Sunny? Are you sweating? Freezing?

It doesn't matter because -- say it with me -- BACON AND CHEESE. 

Break out the corn muffins, slather on some butter, serve yourself up a heaping bowl of chowder, and revel in all that bacony and cheesy goodness. 

Take your time. 

Shed a little tear. 

We know it's a beautiful sight.

Iowa Corn Chowder

3 cups H20

2 cups cubed potatoes (skin on)

1/2 cup carrots

1/2 cup celery

1/4 cup chopped onion

1 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp. pepper

1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup flour

2 cups milk

2 cups cheddar cheese, shredded

2 cans creamed corn (Remind me to tell you about the time I learned that creamed corn came in cans. Pretty sure I was about 25 years old.)

Combine the first seven ingredients in a large pot. Cook for about 10-12 minutes until the potatoes are tender.

Let that concoction simmer while you melt 1/4 cup butter over medium heat and stir in 1/4 cup flour. Slowly add the milk and stir until it thickens up. 

Then add 2 cups of cheese and stir until it's nice and melty.

Then, when you're good and ready, add two cans of creamed corn and stir until it's heated through. 

 
Frankly, I could just eat this mixture right here, but that's not how the recipe goes. 
Sadly.

Add the mixture to the vegetables and stir until the chowder is warmed through. 

Sprinkle with bacon bits. (The hog farmers among us thank you.)