Looking for Gold in the Corn Field

I took a short cut through the corn field and stepped into my childhood. Burlap bag in tow, I walked through the harvested field, looking for ears of corn the combine missed. I stepped on husks, hoping to feel the hard cylinder of corn instead of the pillow of cob. After what seemed like hours, I dragged the bag of corn home. Twice a day, I gave the horses their corn on the cob, and watched in delight as their teeth zigged down the ear, leaving only the cob behind.