Corncobs and cucumbers are what I fed my little flock of chickens this afternoon. (I have twelve again... at least for now.) "Corncobs and Cucumbers" could also be a book about my father who left us for heaven seven short years ago today.
Long after Dad stopped growing a garden, there continued to be corn on the cob for supper, because Dad loved it so much that he found a farm stand where he could stop on a regular basis, ensuring his continual corn consumption. And cucumbers? Oh, yes! There were almost always cucumbers too.
I think, perhaps, if I should ever publish a book in his honor, "Corncobs and Cucumbers" would be a great title.