The old farmer sat in his stand all day in July and August. He sold corn for $5 a dozen, and counted change out of an old cigar box. He sat with a wide straw hat, and I used to pester him for permission to take a photograph. He said no, for about three years, but I used to be a reporter and it never bothers me when people say no, hardly anyone likes reporters and  I learned to be thick-skinned and determined.

The old farmer’s corn was highly regarded, and he had many regular customers who would only buy it from him.  Up here, we all have our favorite farms and we all compare notes about whose corn is biggest, freshest, tastiest. The tourist  stands on the big roads have the worst corn, by the time the tourists get home and eat it, there is no point in complaining.

None of us would be caught dead buying corn in a supermarket, farmers are still respected her, we know we need to support them in every way we can. And their corn is the best. I know the old man’s name know, I’ve gotten his story.

There is some confusion about where he is gone, he may have passed away – he was very sick last year – retired from selling corn, or moved to some other place. Eventually, I will run into someone who knows.

I can’t find the old photograph I took of him, I have taken so many. I saw his chair up on the counter of the farm stand today, I stopped to take a photograph of the chair and of the old $5.00 sign that seemed to be up there for years. The last time I saw him, he was sitting in that chair, pale as a ghost, so think you could almost see right through him.

There is another farm stand just down the road where I go now, the corn is delicious and fresh, I eat some every day. When the country and it’s politicians and economists abandoned the farmers because they were too small and inefficient to compete in the global market, they gave up a lot more than they got, I think.