Angelkeep has not humanly planted a single kernel of corn. Yet, by all indications, enough has been planted that it should be an abundant crop this coming autumn. The sowers were plenty, but who will volunteer when it comes time for the shocking and husking? “Not I,” will be echoed from all parts of the land, on all borders of Angelpond.
Some credit, or blame, for planting kernels might need to be taken by this writer. While distributing piles of corn kernels on the south side of Angelpond, a few tend to drop into cracks of the earth on days when the ground is dry. Some fall into the depressions made from a deer’s hoof and later pushed below ground with a later step while the muddy lawn is yet pliable. But it’s not any intentional corn planting. So who places corn underground at Angelkeep? They are legion.
The deer lick up and swallow every kernel they can find. Family outdoorsman Brad claims corn is like candy to a deer. They gobble it down as fast as possible and fail to chew sufficiently. Thus what goes in, must come out. It is relocated, complete with fertilizer. Deer visitors cover every inch of Angelkeep not under roof, thus corn can crop up in the remotest places.
Chipmunks also race to the corn piles and return to their burrows with cheeks so fattened by the carrying of corn kernels that they look like Louis Armstrong intent on hitting his highest and loudest trumpet notes of his career. More than once Angelkeep has found random locations of growing stalks of corn. Chipmunks usually are blamed for the relocating, but squirrels could have been just as guilty. The spot cornstalks have never become significant. Never a food product has resulted. Yet! The largest ear ever grown at Angelkeep measured only a bit over an inch.
An abundance of birds dine on kernels intended to attract deer. Jay’s love it, as do some cardinals, redwings, and sparrows. All of these birds are guilty of transplanting many forms of seed, including perhaps corn. Again it’s the “what goes in, must come out,” scenario without giving credence as to a proper location. No furrow intended.
Larger birds are just as guilty. Take for instance the mallards. Corn intentionally tossed about two feet offshore into Angelpond invariably gets the mallards dabbling, head down/bottom up, dining on the submerged kernels. Such fun to watch. Later they are sowers of seed. Wood ducks do the same thing. Canada geese, a bit more dignified, have never been seen dabbling in the water for the corn, but they do imbibe in the corn kernel piles along the shoreline where the deer, minus the antelope, come to play.
There came in 2022 a challenger to the corn kernels tossed into Angelpond for the mallards. A pair of muskrats, new arrivals for this season, typically dine on aquatic plants. They are laborious about harvesting and returning excess plant life to their burrows or dens which are constructed underground in the embankment of Angelpond. They pick a room in the den for a pantry and fill it up. And a second, if food is available.
Who knew that muskrats also liked corn kernels? They can be seen with tail on the surface and swirling in the pond water over the corn location filling their own cheeks with kernels, combining the habits of mallards with that of chipmunks. They then swim back to their den under the pond-side sycamore tree and deposit their golden cache. Planters of corn. Guilty.
The funny thing about corn farmers and nature’s animal corn planters, by June the former has completed the task for the year. For the army of animal corn planters, June is only the beginning of summer, a second season of corn planting for most. Autumn will become the third.
Thus the potential of a massive cornfield between Angelpond and the house begs the question of who will come running when the corn has grown and harvest is nigh? Who will cut down the stalks that evaded the mower? Who will shock them into those delightful bundles loved to be seen in the fall season? Who will shuck the ears from the stalks, and then remove the kernels from the cobs? Only then will the new crop be ready for placing in piles for the visiting deer.
“Not I,” says the little red hen.
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their backyard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
