Never Again!

Forty years ago, in the summer of 1971, I was still in graduate school.  Hubby had a teaching job in West Bend starting in September of that year.  He had just finished a semester of teaching in Riverhead NY and I had interned as a teacher in West Bend.  I had applied for a job there and did not get the position.  It was given to a guy who promised to coach Golf in addition to teaching German.  (Twenty some years later I took over that guy's job at the high school.  He coached Golf for only one season.  He really never did like teaching, and he finally got out of the profession.)

Because we could sublet a friend's apartment in Madison fairly inexpensively for the summer and Hubby was enrolled in some classes at UW-Madison, we chose to live in Madison.  However, we were quite strapped for money, so while Hubby was taking classes and studying, I looked for a job.  The only job I could find for a limited term (we were going to be moving to West Bend at the end of August) was a job in a canning factory in a community outside of Madison.

I rode the factory bus from Madison to the cannery.  It was late July and they were canning corn and beets.  I was assigned to the corn cutting floor.  I worked ten hours a day, seven days a week.  I had one 15 minute break in the morning and one 15 minute break in the afternoon in addition to the 30 minutes for lunch.  I don't remember how much I made.  All I know was that it was below minimum wage and there was no overtime pay because agricultural workers don't fall under the wage and overtime guidelines.

It wasn't so much the long hours and low pay that got to me as the monotony of the job.  I had to stand at a cutting machine and feed the corn cobs through as they came down the conveyor belt.  Many times I almost fell asleep.  I never did develop any kind of technique to occupy my mind while doing the job.

Everyone wore a plastic shower cap across their hair, a large plastic apron, and rubber gloves.  It was hot and steamy in the factory.  When I got home (on the bus) each night I was caked from head to toe with pieces of corn.  The first thing I did was get out of my clothes and take a shower.

I think I worked for three weeks, maybe four, and then I quit.  But I decided then and there, if there was anyway I could avoid it, I would never work in a factory again.

Of course, I have been fortunate enough not to have to do that.  But little did I know then that I would spend many a summer hour over the years cutting corn, as I did today.

These are the tools I use now:

Before using these, though, the corn has to be husked and then either steamed or blanched for about five minutes.  This is to kill the enzymes which would continue to cause the corn to mature, and ultimately rot.  Hubby picked and husked the corn.  I did the rest of the preparation.

After plunging the ear into cold water to stop the cooking, I have to push the ear of corn across the blade:

This is a messy and time-consuming process, but not nearly as messy as in the factory.  And I can listen to the radio, stop and take a rest if I want to.

This was the result of about 1 1/2 bushels of corn:

Then the corn has to be packaged and marked before putting it into the freezer.

And, of course, I record in my freezer inventory notebook how many packages there are before placing them in the freezer.

It's still messy, hot, time-consuming work, but at least it's not in a  factory!!