I made a big pot of corn chowder today. The recipe called for five ears of corn, which I had to shuck and then de-pulp. This took a long time.

Shucking the corn reminded me of harvesting corn from our garden when I was kid. We'd pick the ears and then find the cows where they were grazing and approach the fence nearest to where they were. When they heard the shucking they turned and trotted over, giddy for the fresh green husks. I remember the soft yellow light of the late summer, cottony seeds afloat around us and glowing in the waning daylight.

It was so long ago now that remembering is like an archaelogical exercise: From some quotidian action springs a treasure of memories. For example, I'm surprised that in the store I never see people pulling back the husk to check that the ear is a good one, and then I remember walking in the cornfield and checking the ears, selecting the mature ones and walking out of the garden over to the fence. I remember slicing the cooked kernels from the cobs in great batches that we froze in bags. We had enough to last us the year, and sometimes for more than that. And I remember that when my mother ate corn on the cob she cleaned the cob completely, skins and all, so that the cob looked as clean as a cob on a corn-cob pipe. I've tried doing that, and you have to bite deep. It isn't worth it, and I'm left to ponder why she thought it was.

The chowder is rich and flavorful, with shiitake mushrooms, basil, marjoram, cream, and wine. I'm looking forward to having it for dinner all week.