Freshly picked Ohio corn.
For years, I hated telling people that I was from the Midwest. I lived in dread of hearing, “Ohio, huh? Isn’t that all cornfields? Are you a farmer?” It felt like an insult and I would painstakingly try to describe how cosmopolitan Cincinnati was and how I lived with nary a cornfield in sight. Well, a lot of time has passed since then. I haven’t lived in the Midwest for eight years. But you know what, I am proud to say where I come from these days. Besides, I love a good ear of corn, freshly picked. It tastes like summer to me.
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