Hair-Brained Scheme No. 487

What yer lookin' at here folks is the contents of a combine's stomach. Yep, combine vomit. Harvested corn that never made it all the way through the cleaning process. Seems combines can get clogged up and farmers have to do the equivalent of sticking their finger down it's throat. This leaves a big ol' pile of combine vomit just laying around. This does not make the farmer happy. If you happen to mention that it would be a shame to leave it there because your sheep could eat it, the farmer will gladly tell you where he thinks you should put it. (To say that my parents are having issues bringing in this year's harvest would be an understatement. Something about it being the worst farming year ever.)

The Golden Girls don't eat a lot of corn, but they do get about a handful every day as a treat. I'm not entirely sure it would be good for them to eat it whole. I don't know if their digestive system can break it down easily or not? And if I could crack it I could feed it to the chickens, too. So hair-brained scheme No. 487 was developed to crack my own corn. It seemed simple enough.

First we needed to finish the job the combine started and figure out a way to separate the corn from the chaff. We've tried everything we can think of including a sieve and even the kitchen colander. There simply is no easy way to do this by hand. It's like that static cling mini packing peanut stuff. It will Not. Go. Away. Our only option left is to wait for a really windy day and hope it floats off in the breeze as we pour it from bucket to bucket.

That didn't stop us though. Nope we forged ahead, searched high and low and finally picked up an old universal grinder for a couple of bucks at a flea market. After sorting some of the corn by hand we cranked up the grinder. It works, but it's turning out to be more of a cracked corn/cornmeal mix.


"Mmm, cornbread!"


No, Dorothy. I'm not baking for you, too. No. I gotta draw the line somewhere. I'm sorry.