Corn squeezin's
Fall has finally arrived in this part of Virginia. Although the harvesting of field corn for silage has past in New England, this
arrival of Autumn has brought back to me the days of silage making on the dairy farm in Vermont. We did not have the equipment now used on modern farms. The corn was cut and bundled in the field.
The bundles were tossed on to a wagon which was then hauled up to the side of the large wooden silo, where a chopper stood.
No shiny metal silo such as seen now, ours was like an enormous barrel, made of wood staves bound together by metal bands. It stood upon a cement platform, taller than the roof of the barn to which it was attached. One man stood on the wagon and carefully tossed the bundles of corn to the track which pulled the corn into the whirling blade of the chopper. This was a dangerous job-easy to have slipped and slid onto the track and have a hand or arm carried into the blade. Thank goodness that never happened on our farm.
But my sister and I were never allowed near that chopper. Our task was to be inside the silo where the chopped corn was blown into a
heap in the center. We were equipped with pitch forks which we used to drag the chunks to the sides, keeping the rise even. We tramped around the edges to help pack the corn. Packed tightly it would begin to ferment in the heat of the waning summer days. Ferment without molding That was the idea. Fermented it would keep a long time, providing a nourishing food for the cows through the winter.
It was a hot, itchy job working in the silo. My sister and I took turns, one in the silo while the other one lay down in the feed cart
in the cool barn to rest. I guess now a days that would be considered child labor or something. I really enjoyed every minute of it and I am quite certain my sister, Patty, did too.
Another one who enjoyed it was the neighbor's dog, Dusty. Dusty was a good-natured, medium size dog of mixed parentage, perhaps
Eskimo Spitz and possibly Chow. As the corn began to ferment, the
juices seeped between the wooden staves of the silo, almost boiling in the hot sun. Before long a certain aroma rose from those juices.
It was a very pleasant odor. Made your mouth water-kind of a sweet, molassesy, sharp tang. It apparently smelled very delightful to Dusty too. As soon as there were puddles of any depth mellowing on the cement platform, up the road ambled Dusty.
He would lap the warm sweet juices until he reached his capacity limit. Then he would lap just a wee bit more, after which the clearly intoxicated dog staggered back down the road to his own yard where he would sleep in the shade for hours.
I had not heard of Moonshine then. Actually I did not know about Moonshine until 15 years ago when I moved to North Carolina.
I know about it now--and am most appreciative.
While it is prepared differently than what our silo produced, it is still basically corn squeezin's. Good for body and soul.
Trust a dog to know what is good!
arrival of Autumn has brought back to me the days of silage making on the dairy farm in Vermont. We did not have the equipment now used on modern farms. The corn was cut and bundled in the field.
The bundles were tossed on to a wagon which was then hauled up to the side of the large wooden silo, where a chopper stood.
No shiny metal silo such as seen now, ours was like an enormous barrel, made of wood staves bound together by metal bands. It stood upon a cement platform, taller than the roof of the barn to which it was attached. One man stood on the wagon and carefully tossed the bundles of corn to the track which pulled the corn into the whirling blade of the chopper. This was a dangerous job-easy to have slipped and slid onto the track and have a hand or arm carried into the blade. Thank goodness that never happened on our farm.
But my sister and I were never allowed near that chopper. Our task was to be inside the silo where the chopped corn was blown into a
heap in the center. We were equipped with pitch forks which we used to drag the chunks to the sides, keeping the rise even. We tramped around the edges to help pack the corn. Packed tightly it would begin to ferment in the heat of the waning summer days. Ferment without molding That was the idea. Fermented it would keep a long time, providing a nourishing food for the cows through the winter.
It was a hot, itchy job working in the silo. My sister and I took turns, one in the silo while the other one lay down in the feed cart
in the cool barn to rest. I guess now a days that would be considered child labor or something. I really enjoyed every minute of it and I am quite certain my sister, Patty, did too.
Another one who enjoyed it was the neighbor's dog, Dusty. Dusty was a good-natured, medium size dog of mixed parentage, perhaps
Eskimo Spitz and possibly Chow. As the corn began to ferment, the
juices seeped between the wooden staves of the silo, almost boiling in the hot sun. Before long a certain aroma rose from those juices.
It was a very pleasant odor. Made your mouth water-kind of a sweet, molassesy, sharp tang. It apparently smelled very delightful to Dusty too. As soon as there were puddles of any depth mellowing on the cement platform, up the road ambled Dusty.
He would lap the warm sweet juices until he reached his capacity limit. Then he would lap just a wee bit more, after which the clearly intoxicated dog staggered back down the road to his own yard where he would sleep in the shade for hours.
I had not heard of Moonshine then. Actually I did not know about Moonshine until 15 years ago when I moved to North Carolina.
I know about it now--and am most appreciative.
While it is prepared differently than what our silo produced, it is still basically corn squeezin's. Good for body and soul.
Trust a dog to know what is good!
Comments
Post a Comment