The Other Yukon Gold
I’m not sure how many of you remember, but when I penned my farewell to the late Catherine McIllwain a number of years ago, I spoke enthusiastically about the sweet corn she and her late husband George used to grow each summer. It was ambrosia.
Back then I didn’t have a clue which variety they planted, because the McIllwains guarded this secret with their lives. However, I can now draw back the curtain. A while ago, I met a gentleman in Alexandria who told me he enjoyed my column and admitted that he had been the source of George and Catherine’s sweet corn seed.
It turns out that the semi-retired farmer I ran into had also been a dealer of agricultural inputs and Northrup King seed. As fate would have it, forty or forty-five years ago while visiting one of his customers — the late Harold MacCrimmon — he made the acquaintance of Harold’s brother-in-law, George, who lived across the road.
George expressed an interest in growing sweet corn; he drove truck at the time and was looking for a part-time cash crop. Well, that was definitely Dunvegan’s lucky day. George took home 25 lbs. of NK’s very best hybrid sweet corn seed… and the rest is history. In fact, George’s first crop was such a hit, he made an exclusivity arrangement with the Northrup King representative: the McIllwains would be the sole growers of this variety in the region.
For years and years Dunvegan was blessed with a source of the finest cobs of sweet corn to ever grace a table. And George and Catherine generously shared their bounty with the community. When the late Murray MacQueen started organizing a grand Chicken BBQ Dinner as a fundraiser for our church, the McIllwains always showed up to contribute corn-on-the-cob cooked in an iron pot over a wood fire. Just writing about it brings back sweet, smokey memories. If you ever had the good fortune of tasting the McIllwain’s secret variety — either fresh from their farm or at the church as a side with your ½ a BBQ chicken — you know why they sought an exclusive deal.
Almost a half-century later, the name of this delicious corn on the cob can finally be revealed: Golden Yukon. I’ve done a quick search and it doesn’t appear to be commercially available any longer. Which is a real pity. A full-sized, all-yellow variety — none of this insipid Peaches & Cream nonsense — the McIllwains’ Golden Yukon corn was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. So much so that, when he drove truck to Toronto, George would take bags and bags filled to the brim with sweet ears of corn to sell at top city prices. And the bags always came back empty.
After this column first appeared in 2020, the original source for George’s seed showed up at my door with his last small package of Northrup King’s Golden Yukon sweet corn seed. I’ve been tempted to try propagating it so the variety can live on for future Dunveganites, and others, to enjoy. Before I do though, I want to check I’m not breaking any rules. I’m too old for jail-house tattoos.
