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The Corn Cob Pipe

By Doug Hanson


In the late 1940's and early 50's there wasn't a lot that a ten year old boy could do for excitement in a small, sleepy farming town. Or, At least, could do without getting into a lot of trouble. There was always fishing in the mill stream and skipping flat stones over the mill pond. Swimming was fun, but the ponds were a five mile walk away and now they were charging money to swim at the best one. Money I never had. We used to sneak in over the fence now and then, but usually got caught and showed the gate with some unfriendly, and unchristian -like words. The other pond was smaller, free and ok to swim in , but you always came out of the water with a few bloodsuckers (leaches) stuck on you. You really needed to swim with somebody else so he could check your back side, and likewise, you check his.

In the fall, came fruit picking time. The time when young kids could actually earn some good money in town. The towns orchards grew apples, peaches, pears; several varieties of each fruit. The work was hard and you didn't get a lot but it was real spending money. You also got to ride around on the tractors and back of the trucks. That was a big deal at ten years old. We would ride on the truck tailgates and toss apples off the truck to little kids along the street. That was until the orchard owner found about it.

There was another thing about fall that we all looked forward to each year. That was the corn harvest. Now if you think that hand picking and shucking corn is fun, your is serious need of some professional help. It was darn hard, hot, dirty work. But, the secret to the corn harvest was corn silk and a good corn cob pipe. They say that the corn cob pipe and smoking dried corn silk was invented by the Indians or the pilgrims or some one of those guys, way back a long time ago. At the time, It didn't really matter to us whose idea it was.

You scoured the corn fields looking for just the right ear of corn to make the perfect pipe. Then you checked ear after ear of corn for those tufts of dried brownish-red corn silk sticking out of the top. If you couldn't find enough dry silk it meant you had to collect the green silk and let it dry in the sun on a rock for several days. Something an impatient ten year old could almost never stand to do.

With all the makings in hand you went somewhere special, out in the woods, or maybe you hid behind the garage or in your cellar. Some place no one would see you. My favorite place was on a little island of about ten foot long and 5 feet wide that was in the middle of a stream near my house. I went there to fish in the stream or when I need to be alone and think. Most other kids didn't even know it was there.

Now you set to work. You cut off the cob about three inches up from the base of the corn cob with your jackknife. Then you whittled out all of the white, softer inside part leaving the hard outer ring of the cob to form the bowl of the pipe. A hole was whittled in the side about an inch up from the bottom. A sturdy piece of straw freshly cut from one of the many hay fields in town was inserted in the hole. It was about three inches long. If you got the straw to short you ended up burning your nose. Not that I ever did that, of course, but others did. And there it was, a corn cob pipe fit for a king and ready to go into action.

There were only two things left to do. First, check all your precious silk cache and pick out any green stuff. The green strands gave a bitter taste to the smoke. Second, get a hold of your friends and tell them "it was time".

Our town had been in existence since the 1730's and there were many things in town that were made for protection from the Indians in the both the King PhillipWar and French and Indian war. The town was on what had been one of the major Post Roads of those days as well. Stagecoaches traveled through the town from Boston to Albany and beyond. Many travelers stopped and stayed at the local Inn. One item that was left over from that period was a brick powder house that had been build deep in the woods and high up on a ledge where it could be defended from attack. The settlers kept their powder and supplies there to keep them dry and guarded. Despite the ravages of the years, the structure was still mostly intact. The Town Historical Society had taken possession of it and were restoring it a little at a time with a plan to restore it fully someday when they got the money.

This was our special meeting place. We would all be ready. The word would go out to my best friends, Kenny, Philly, Gerry, meet me at "Powder House Hill" and a date and time would be set. Very secretive, hush hush message. We probably would have sent it in code, but at ten years old, we didn't know any.

The first one to arrive at the Powder House always had to check around to be sure there was no one else there. No one to witness the event. No one to go back and get us in trouble with our mother. The first guy also had to go in the building and bang around with a stick to be sure there weren’t any black snakes in there. We had large black snakes in those woods, 3-4 foot long, and in the day time they liked to get inside and hide where it was cool.

The Powder House itself was about ten feet long by twelve feet wide and stood on top of a ledge that was about 60 feet high. The settlers had carved steps into the ledge so one could climb up pretty rapidly. However , over the 200 years or so since the structure was actually used, nature and gravity had pretty well wipes out all of those stairs. Thus the climb up the ledge was hand over hand by the best route you could find. As each boy climbed up the face of the ledge to where the powder house stood, it would clearly show on his face that he was ready for this big annual event. We would lay out our new pipes and silk on the rocks and promptly start to point out the flaws in the other guys pipes, each of us striving to show that his was the best this year. This would usually last about 10 or 15 minutes and end with all of us laughing at the each other together. In reality, the pipes were all alike. It's hard to be real creative with a corn cob and a straw.

Now it was time. Everyone would pack their pipe with their best silk, touch a match to the edge of the bowl, then puff several hard puffs until the silk glowed red. We would all sit back against the brick wall of the powder house and puff away. As the smoke rose up around us we would tell jokes or stories and for a little while be in a land of our own. We were top of the hill, surveying our countryside. The aroma of burning corn silk is somewhere between that of burning shoe leather and burning grass. Sure it wasn't great like the wonderful smell of the Prince Albert Special Blend, in the big red can, that my Uncle Charlie always smoked. But, it was ours and for the moment nothing smelled better.

When the first pipes were finished most of us would go for a second round. Commenting profusely on how good the first round had been and how this was the best silk that we had ever found. Sometimes we would trade some silk with one another or mix two or three together. The conversation would remain light with more stories and a little talk about which girls we liked in school and which ones looked like cows. We were still to young to get into serious talk about girls. That would, however, come soon enough.

When we were all done, we would carefully empty the ashes out on the rocks and put out all the fire. Now that might sound real responsible for ten year olds, but in reality one of us had carelessly set the woods on fire two years ago. And although we were able to get it stamped out eventually, the thought of going home and telling our parents we had just set 250 acres of prime timber on fire was something none of us wanted to face.

After we packed up our gear and ate up any additional snacks we had brought with us, we started the climb down the ledge. It was only 60 feet, but it was straight down in places. It was always a lot easier to get up their then it was to climb down. However, in all the years no one had ever fallen off the ledge. A few scraped knees and elbows were the worst of the battle scars we could come up with.

We would start out trek thru the dense woods back to the center of town, a distance of about four miles. The first mile of two were usually ok. However, we all knew that at about the half way mark some one of us was going to get sick. We all silently prayed to God, "don't let me be the first one, please". Eventually one of us would suddenly veer off the trail and head into the deeper woods. We would all stop and patiently wait. We would try to keep from laughing as we heard the faint "ayaah, ayaah, wroop" coming from the distance. Try not to laugh because sooner or later before we got home each of us would also be out there doing the same thing. Then all the others would be back on the trail laughing and giggling at you.

As we approached town we would all be making vows of "I'm not doing that again, ever". But, of course, we all new in our hearts in a couple of weeks we'd do it again until that years crop of the "Best Corn Silk Ever" was gone. At the edge of town we all stopped at the abandoned lumber mill where there was an old well. We would get water there to wash our mouths out, wash our faces and maybe drink a little too. Although, experience had taught us not to drink to much water or we would be back behind the lumber mill barn barfing again.

All of us would stand around and talk for a while until everyone felt his legs were steady and he could get home and get past his parents. Then we would leave each going a separate direction to his own homes.

They say when a man has a heart attack his skin will often look gray from lack of blood and oxygen. When you get jaundice your skin turns yellow. Well there is a definite green color that ten year old boys turn when they smoke corn cob pipes. Its hard to describe but is definitely there, and it pretty hard to hide.

I've always suspected that my mother saw that green in my face and knew what it was every time. Especially when I would just go sit and read a book for the rest of the afternoon, or take a nap. At dinner time it was usually "well, I'm not very hungry tonight, just a little please". I'm sure she could have given me hell and grounded me to the house. Maybe even call my friends mothers too. But she didn't, some how I think she knew that the hike back from the "Big Event", plus the way I would be feeling the rest of the day, and probably part of tomorrow as well, was punishment enough.

As I grew older I never became a smoker, never had any desire to. I have no idea whether this was because of some deep subconscious remembrances of being on my knees and puking in the woods long ago or not. It would be impossible to tell. But with all the cancer and pulmonary disease out there, maybe all ten year old kids should smoke corn cob pipes a few times. Maybe they wouldn't become smokers either. Who knows it might work.

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corn silk is a gateway drug

he got off easy

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