Highway Corn Hustle

  In Clear Lake, Iowa, you don't find the sweet corn...
The sweet corn finds you.

Usually when you're cruising down the highway in mismatched flip-flops, sipping iced coffee that's more like milk than caffeine, and your baby finally fell asleep in the backseat. That's when you see it—a truck pulled over on the shoulder, tailgate down, loaded with rows of sunshine in husk form. 

Right beside it? A sign propped up in the grass:

"HARRINGTON SWEET CORN- $6/DOZEN"

You slam on your breaks like a true local. 

Because in this town, seeing that Harrington sign means it's go time. You don't wait until tomorrow. You don't compare prices. You pull over. you park, and you thank God you have a crumpled up 5 and some change in the diaper bag. 

The guy running the show is usually friendly, tanned from the sun, and already halfway through his second Mountain Dew by 9 a.m. He doesn't rush you. He knows the rhythm. You nod, you pay, you exchange a "Gonna be a good batch this year" like it's gospel truth. 

I'm not over here prepping for a county fair or throwing some big ol' shucking party. I'm a mom. I'm balancing a baby on one hip, praying I rememered the burp cloth, and trying to grab two dozen ears without dropping my keys (again). 

But that corn? It makes the chaos worth it. 

I boil it while bouncing a baby on my hip, slather it in butter like it's self-care, and eat it standing over the sink because honestly, I don't have the patience to sit down. 

It's not just corn—it's comfort.
It tastes like home.
It smells like summer.
It reminds me that sometimes, the best parts of life show up right there on the shoulder of the highway. 

So if you're rolling through Clear Lake and spot a truck, a tailgate, and a flag that reads "Harrington Sweet Corn"— don't think. Just pull over. 

Your dinner—and your small-town heart—will thank you.