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Rural China at this time of year is all yellow. Everywhere that Penelope and I went, the villages seemed to be carpeted in corn harvest. Huge walls of corn cobs barricaded homes and stores, while corn stored on roof tops gave the impression of delicate decorations.
Of course they grow other things here too; roadside stalls sell a variety of fruits including my favourite, the Nashi Pear (which has the texture of an apple and the flavour of a pear). But nothing is so dramatic as the bright yellow radiance of corn, which overtakes whole villages in incredible abundance.
On our way down to the Yellow River we asked our driver to stop at an isolated village. He waited by the car as we wandered along the main street. The residents were wary of us intruding foreigners, so I whispered to P that we should keep a low profile. Corn was everywhere and we strolled along in wonder.
I admit that the sight of the corn made me a bit peckish and, at one point, P’s stomach made a serious growl. We had not eaten lunch. I used to skip meals when travelling, but I now subscribe to the theory that a hungry travel partner makes for an unhappy trip. As such I approached a farmer who stood sweeping his stoop and politely asked if we could taste a small cob of corn. The gentleman was very friendly and, after a few moments, nodded.
Now Koalas are famous for living on a diet consisting almost exclusively of eucalyptus leaves, so I assumed that a small bite of corn would satiate the litter critter.
Well.
I told young P that she could have a small bite, but she must have been starving because, before I could say anything else, she jumped on a large heap of the stuff and started zipping through it like a lawnmower. Within minutes the wall of corn had been transformed into a pile of cobs!
I was, as they say in Australia, “embarrassed as”, but there was so much corn there that the farmer just laughed at the sight of Penelope’s feasting. Red faced, I apologised and grabbed Penelope, running back towards to the car. Other villagers had heard the farmer’s laugh and were starting to crowd around to see what was going on. I looked up at my driver and wanted to yell “step on it!”, but of course it is not one of those things they teach you in Mandarin lessons. “Thanks, please go” I sublimely said and we started on down the road.
I just had to laugh at the whole situation. P, of course has had a sore stomach ever since, which just serves her right. But I can’t help feeling sorry for her.
I wonder if she has ADHD?
Of course they grow other things here too; roadside stalls sell a variety of fruits including my favourite, the Nashi Pear (which has the texture of an apple and the flavour of a pear). But nothing is so dramatic as the bright yellow radiance of corn, which overtakes whole villages in incredible abundance.
On our way down to the Yellow River we asked our driver to stop at an isolated village. He waited by the car as we wandered along the main street. The residents were wary of us intruding foreigners, so I whispered to P that we should keep a low profile. Corn was everywhere and we strolled along in wonder.
I admit that the sight of the corn made me a bit peckish and, at one point, P’s stomach made a serious growl. We had not eaten lunch. I used to skip meals when travelling, but I now subscribe to the theory that a hungry travel partner makes for an unhappy trip. As such I approached a farmer who stood sweeping his stoop and politely asked if we could taste a small cob of corn. The gentleman was very friendly and, after a few moments, nodded.
Now Koalas are famous for living on a diet consisting almost exclusively of eucalyptus leaves, so I assumed that a small bite of corn would satiate the litter critter.
Well.
I told young P that she could have a small bite, but she must have been starving because, before I could say anything else, she jumped on a large heap of the stuff and started zipping through it like a lawnmower. Within minutes the wall of corn had been transformed into a pile of cobs!
I was, as they say in Australia, “embarrassed as”, but there was so much corn there that the farmer just laughed at the sight of Penelope’s feasting. Red faced, I apologised and grabbed Penelope, running back towards to the car. Other villagers had heard the farmer’s laugh and were starting to crowd around to see what was going on. I looked up at my driver and wanted to yell “step on it!”, but of course it is not one of those things they teach you in Mandarin lessons. “Thanks, please go” I sublimely said and we started on down the road.
I just had to laugh at the whole situation. P, of course has had a sore stomach ever since, which just serves her right. But I can’t help feeling sorry for her.
I wonder if she has ADHD?
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