Betty Levin - Starshine and Sunglow

STARSHINE
AND
SUNGLOW

Betty Levin

Illustrated by Jos. A. Smith

FOR
MAGGIE AND DAN
AND
GREG AND RAFIQUE

Every spring, after the frost is out of the ground, Mr. and Mrs. Flint plant a crop of sweet corn. All their neighbors take an interest. So do the red-winged blackbirds, who like to tweak the first green shoots that poke up through the earth. So do the crows, especially later in the summer when the ears grow plump on the stalks. The crows perch on nearby branches to spot the corn; they call to one another in harsh, eager voices, noting the progress of the coming feast. Some crows probe through the green husks as soon as the kernels form.

But the raccoons bide their time. Only when the kernels are perfectly ripe do they come at night to raid the corn plot. After they have sampled one ear here and one ear there, after they have downed this stalk and that, they leave before daybreak.

In the morning Mr. and Mrs. Flint pick whatever remains of the good ears. Most of the corn is tossed in the pickup and driven across town to be sold at a farm stand. But some corn is always left in a bushel basket in the shade of an apple tree, where the neighbors on Flint Farm Road can stop to get todays corn and to leave money for it in the soup can that hangs from the lowest branch.

Often the children are sent to bring home the corn before the day grows warm. The fresh tender ears are best when kept cool, as everyone on Flint Farm Road can tell you. All the neighbors are experts on sweet corn. How can they go wrong with their daily supply? Who wouldnt take an interest in the bushel basket under the apple tree and in the corn plot where those green-sheathed ears ripen?

The three of them had finally settled on something to do this afternoon. As usual Kate and Ben charged ahead. As usual Foster lagged behind. They were the only real children on Flint Farm Road. Kates older brothers and Bens little sister didnt count, because they couldnt or wouldnt join in any of the childrens projects. Today the three were on their way to let Mrs. Flint know about their favorite kinds of corn. There was probably still time before she went off to buy her seeds.

Just before they met up with her at her mailbox, Mr. Torpor came slouching out of the woods way down behind the corn plot. Tall and bent, he moved stiffly as he peered about him. Ben and Kate slowed to give him time to greet Mrs. Flint and go on his way. They had a funny feeling about him. His was the only house on Flint Farm Road that was always dark at night when all the others had lights in their windows.

As Mr. Torpor passed them, he nodded without speaking. He was carrying some kind of pad or book. His field glasses hung from a strap around his neck.

Mrs. Flint looked up from a letter she was reading. When the children told her why they had come, she shook her head.

No corn this year, she told them. Were giving up.

No corn! exclaimed Ben. Its our favorite thing.

Your families can buy other peoples corn at the farm stand, Mrs. Flint said. It just isnt worth it for us anymore. Its a losing battle. We cant fight the critters.

The children understood that the critters were all those creatures that came uninvited to feed on the crops.

But you grow enough for the critters, Kate said. She was thinking of the words Mrs. Flint always chanted as she dropped the seeds into the soil:

One for the blackbird,
One for the crow,
One for the raccoon,
And one to grow.

Mrs. Flint nodded. But every year the critters keep taking more than their share. No matter how hard we fight, we keep losing.

It sounds like war, said Ben.

And so it is, Mrs. Flint told him. First we get the air strikes. Squadrons of red-winged blackbirds. Then come the crows with their sneak attacks. And finally, just when we think weve made it to harvest, the raccoons hit us with their slash-and-burn tactics.

The raccoons burn? exclaimed Kate. How do they do that?

Mrs. Flint sighed. Thats only in a manner of speaking. What they do, she explained, is ruin what they dont eat. Thats how theyve won.

But theyll lose, too, Ben argued, because there wont be any corn for them, either. Youll lose because you wont have corn to sell, and well lose because Flint Farm corn is the best corn in the world.

Maybe so, Mrs. Flint replied, but whats to be done?

The children gazed across the road at the big, sloping field of ryegrass. Way up in the far corner, where the bare trees bounded the open land, Mr. Flints tractor chugged and rattled as he began to plow the ryegrass into the earth. That was where corn for the cattle was grown.

What will you feed the cows? asked Kate.

Oh, well still grow field corn to put in the silo. Raccoons or not, we cant do without it. But as for the sweet corn She spread her hands. We just have to cut our losses.

The children looked over the corn plot with the stubble still showing from last years stalks. Then they said good-bye to Mrs. Flint and headed home.

Everyone took the corn for granted, said Ben. Kate repeated Mrs. Flints words: Whats to be done?

We have to get all the neighbors behind Mr. and Mrs. Flint to change their minds.

Kate glanced up toward Mr. Torpors house, the nearest one to Flint Farm. How do we get the grown-ups on our side? Especially, she added, him.

Ben frowned. Mr. Torpor liked to paint pictures of cows and of Mr. and Mrs. Flint working on the farm. Ben had never seen Mr. Torpor doing anything else. Well, Ben answered, hes home a lot. So we can ask him just to be on hand.

On hand for what? Kate demanded.

For whatever Mrs. Flint needs to keep the critters away. Maybe he can stand guard, Ben added, remembering that this was like a war.

Kate made no comment. She was trying to imagine Mr. Torpor marching back and forth in front of the corn plot.

The children trudged on. When they came abreast of Kates house, they paused.

Anyone home? Ben asked her.

She shook her head.

Well go to my house, Ben declared. My mom knows how to organize things.

They found Mrs. Addario mopping up something awful from around Daisys high chair.

No corn this year? Mrs. Addario exclaimed. She listened to Bens idea about getting the whole neighborhood to help. Then she lifted Daisy out of the chair. No harm trying, she said. She carried Daisy through to the hall and called back to them, But we mustnt leave the Flints in the lurch. Its up to you kids to be sure people understand whats expected of them. She paused at the foot of the stairs. I hope youre not biting off more than you can chew.

Chewing makes me think of corn on the cob, Ben said. I was going to ask for the kind with the big yellow kernels.

Kate said, I like the mixed-up yellow and white kind. She turned to Foster. Whats your favorite?

He shrugged. He didnt really know. Then he said, I like the names best. Butter and Sugar. Peaches and Cream. Sunglow. Miracle. Starshine.

You cant eat names, Ben told him. Still, its good you know so many of them. Itll get people thinking about what the corn tastes like. Well go to everyone on the road and take a survey and write down what kind of corn they want. Then well tell them they wont get it unless they promise to help.