JOY ALONG THE WAY: BASKIC NEWS GRABS ATTENTION

When readers slip the daily paper from its waterproof covering, unfold it, glance at the headlines, they are members of a vast union of people who approach the paper in this way, but from thereon they follow diverse and personal habits of ingesting the news. Some, so very orderly, begin with the first page. They read every article, even turning to the continuation page if necessary, before moving on. In the same manner they cover the second, third and so on pages to the very end, by the time they have a good grasp of what is going on locally, statewide, nationally, and even bits from the international scene -- Zimbabwe, Pakistan, Sulawesi.

Other readers, departing from the initial unanimity, turn the page quickly, looking at headlines, then return to read the first headline that piqued attention, then on to the second, third and so forth, sometimes skipping those that were of no interest or seeming importance to them. I belong to this group.

In a recent edition, among all the articles printing out the raucous discussions about the peculiar presidential election, my eye caught and held on a headline proclaiming, "Record corn output forecast for Missouri." I read it quickly and with much interest. I imagine this raises an eyebrow or two in wonderment about whether, in the midst of the national bewilderment, I'm still "with it." Perhaps I should explain.

My earliest understanding of what made the world go around, with everything in order, was corn. Our wide fields of corn and those of our neighbors, were the fundamental principles of our physical existence. I understood clearly that it was the firm golden nuggets up and down the ear that kept our farm livestock and chickens going so that we would have food, clothing and shelter, enabling us to plow, plant and harvest this corn so that the animals could be fed, so that ...

With real horsepower pulling the machines, these horses, along with Grandpa and Dad planted the long rows. When the corn came up, we all, four adults and three young 'uns went up and down the long rows with hoes and pockets full of seed corn to replant where the original planting failed to come up.

After that when the weeds appeared, we chopped them out thoroughly. If by some errant swing of the hoe, we cut down a young corn sprout, we immediately replanted the hill.

With the help of the good summer rain and sunshine and occasional cultivation, we all went forth in the autumn to rip the mature ears from the stalks and throw them against the bang board in the big farm wagon which, horse drawn, moved up and down the rows with us.

When the last ear was flung, we all mounted the heaped bed of shuck-covered ears, stuck a bedraggled scarecrow as a banner in the middle and went, rejoicing, home.

With the corn bins and outlying cribs filled to overflowing we felt rich and satisfied with the result of our labor and our place in making the world go around.

From those early days, I've always loved the feel of a good solid ear of corn in my hands. A bank of it now hangs by my doorway. It hangs there all the time unless the clever squirrels figure a way to get to it. So when I saw a headline somewhere in the depth of the paper that stated an estimated 137.7 bushels per acre of corn are predicted this year, it would be the largest corn production on record. So Florida, Al, George, Putin, Arafat, Barak and Saddam will have to wait a minute for my attention. Am I "with it" or just corny?

REJOICE

Jean Bell Mosley is a writer and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.