"The Corn Fed Family" by Julianna Rowe

"The Corn Fed Family" by Julianna Rowe"

I come from a "corn-fed" family. No, I'm not talking about the kind of corn you grow in a field, although being from Wisconsin, we've certainly have our share of that, too. I'm talking about the kind that grows on your feet, hurts like heck, and apparently requires an act of Congress to have removed.

Both my mother and father had funny feet. I mean not like they had deformities or "shot" like that. Just feet that required special attention. No, Dad had the most issues so mother followed behind him to the podiatrist and they were happy to take her money too. Wait, I do recall she walked more on the side of one foot but nothing terribly dramatic. I recall they both wore those hefty leather shoe inserts made in the 1980's. Dad, on the other hand, had some real beauties. Hammertoes! And not just one or two. His toes looked as though they were trying to curl up and hide from the world. He claimed they got that way because his "ladies," cows, had stepped on his feet so many times over the years. Apparently, dairy farming was a dangerous occupation for human feet.

So....wouldn't you know it? Here I am, all these years later, sporting four adorable little hammertoes on one foot. FOUR! And I have never milked a cow in my life. Not one! But the hammertoes aren't my biggest problem and I would have to say they are half hammertoes. In other words, still workable and walkable. I also inherited another one of Dad's little treasures. CORNS! Those miserable, painful little devils that grow on the bottoms of your feet and make walking feel like you're stepping on a handful of gravel. Dad had terrible corns. I remember him asking me to cut them off with a razor blade. A RAZOR BLADE! I told him, "NO WAY, JOSÉ!" It was bad enough as a kid I had to dig slivers out of his hands and fingers with a needle. I was dying the whole time and he said, "No, go ahead, it doesn’t hurt."   That was while blood was appearing or surrounding my child’s surgeon’s scalpel called mothers sewing needle. Anyway, Dad would cut his corns with a razor. Yes, he did! I swear he had no nerve endings. Back then there were doctors that did it. What they called GP's. General Practitioners. Not no more! I haven't found one that take my insurance. Oh wait, many take my insurance but exclude work on corns or calluses. Which brings me to another thought. What if an obstetrician decided to deliver babies but refused to cut the umbilical cord?

"Congratulations, Mrs. Jones! It's a beautiful baby boy! Now, about that cord. Unfortunately, your insurance doesn't cover cutting it. You'll have to find another doctor for that, and while you're at it, you'll need somebody else to clean things up."

Me, I just want to walk without pain. I could get a weekly pedicure but that would cost more than the monthly budget for groceries or gas. Close anyway. I suppose there isn't enough money in corns these days. Perhaps I should grow something more profitable on the bottom of my feet. Well, that's about how ridiculous this whole foot business feels to me.

Someone suggested regular pedicures. Oh, certainly! Why didn't I think of that? I could simply trot off every week and have my feet pampered. Of course, by the end of the month, I'd have spent nearly as much on my feet as I do on groceries or gasoline. And I'm not even sure a pedicure would solve the problem.

I JUST WANT TO WALK WITHOUT PAIN! Somewhere up in heaven, Dad is probably laughing. I can almost hear him saying, "Just get yourself a razor blade!" Sorry, Dad, not happening. We aren't on the farm anymore and this is 2026. After calling twenty podiatrists who say no, I now have a new title: "Investigative Journalist!" Although, at the rate things are going, I may have to start looking for a veterinarian. After all, if those cows caused his hammertoes, perhaps a cow doctor would know what to do with mine. And who knows? Maybe Medicare covers livestock.

MOO! 🐄

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