Along summertime, the cornstalks stood high as they reached up toward the sun. The tiny ears that peeked out of each stalk grew plumper as the days strove toward the solstice. Daddy proclaimed there would be a bumper crop and, if we did as well as he expected, he would give us a celebration we would long remember. I suppose the thought of that upcoming surprise made us proud of our work in the fields. We all strove to do better in expectation of things to come.

As anyone who knows anything about farming corn, where there are big plump kernels growing on tall green stalks, there are crows. Not only did we have a bumper crop of corn but, sad to say, a full murder of crows took up home within that marvelous crop. It was Al who noticed them first. Full of vim and vinegar, the eleven-year-old boy rushed into the kitchen just before lunchtime of a July day shouting with his full voice. "CROWS!" was all he had to say to make momma turn pale as a ghost. Without much ado, she yelled out the backdoor toward the barn where daddy was working and, grabbing the shotgun from above the door, strode out to the field and began shooting. Father and Andy rushed after her with their own guns. All day long all we could hear was the firing of gunshot and the cawing of the greedy black birds that had taken up residence amongst our crop.

Those of us who were old enough to handle the shotguns took turns patrolling the fields from dawn to dusk. Boys and girls alike, we didn't stop walking up and down the rows of corn, shooting at the crows until the entire murder had been eradicated. Janie, who wasn't at all like the rest of us, took to lecturing the ungainly straw-stuffed scarecrows for not doing their job. Snatching the worn hats from their heads, she commenced to beating them silly, thinking they would straighten out and start scaring the crows away. Silly child...she couldn't help it. Never would we think to laugh at our sixteen-year-old sister who acted more like she was four. Nor did we attempt to make her see the senselessness of her actions because, of course, we loved her all the same.

It was a hardworking summer. Six days a week we worked the fields and kept an eye out to make sure those darned crows didn't take up residence again. Saturday night, Andy, May Belle, Tommy and I piled into the old blue Ford truck and rattled off to the Dew Drop Inn for a rowdy night amongst our friends and acquaintances. It was said the Amberley's were the life of the party. We could shake the house down drinking and dancing and just causing a general uproar. How flirtatious blonde little May Belle loved being the center of attention. Surrounded by beaux from all across the country, she made them promises she knew she could never keep while us boys made sure things didn't get too out of control.

"Jimmy Bob, go away," she would exclaim if I lingered too closely to the royal court she held around the bar. "You're stifling my ambitions." I would slink away to rejoin my old school friends, but she was always in the corner of my eye.