Jimmy Crack Corn

It’s 9 p.m. on a Thursday in June and the fresh breeze blowing in through the open windows has distracted me from useful occupation.

I could be doing the dishes, or cleaning up after last week’s sale, or vacuuming.

But I am doing none of that because this breeze is so novel and so welcome that I cannot concentrate on anything but its freshness.

It’s been like this all day and I scarcely could decide what best to do to celebrate it.

I ended up scrubbing a moldy rug on the driveway and then heading out to an auction. Once I snagged some collapsible sawhorses and a handful of good old shovels, I abandoned the auction for a trip to Culver’s.

The young man who took my chicken salad sandwich order was also filled with the joy of the day.

“Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care if it keeps up like this,” he said with a wide grin.

I was so struck by his cheerfulness that I wanted Jimmy to crack corn, also.

I munched the sandwich by an open window and then wandered the yard, contemplating what my hard work and God’s grace had wrought in the garden. I am breathing in as much of this fresh breeze as possible, delighting in the feel of a sweater in June and the fresh scent of the garden wafting through the house.

If tomorrow is a duplicate, I’ll be giddy with joy. If not, it is enough I was able to experience this one perfect day.

Now, Jimmy, let’s go crack that corn because no telling how long this breeze will last.