By careful inspection of the remaining stalks I find four ears that can be eaten, the minimum I need for us and the company coming that night. I break them off and shuck them in the garden. I turn the warm cylinders over and over under my nose, smelling my childhood. That evening I cook them on the grill, and eat my allotted ear of corn with supper. The next day I go to the garden, and the rest of the corn is nibbled or pulled down.
Nothing is salvageable.
In terms of pure calories, I probably harvested about twice the energy that I planted. My labor has been cheap this year. I set about to pull up the rest of the destroyed crop. When the stalks are in the compost heap, I stretch my back in the crisp fall air, the drying sweat of my effort augmenting the early autumn chill, and remember the exquisite taste of my own corn.