From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it’s different. Consider again that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it every corn you love, every corn you know, every corn you ever heard of, every cultivar that ever was, lived out its life. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident recipes, listicles, and culinary doctrines, every shopper and forager, every binger and dieter, every planter and harvester of fields, every succotash and popcorn, every monoecious couple in love, every pistil and stamen, hopeful seedling, barbecuer and chef, every eater of cornmeal, every corrupt subsidy, every cob and kernel in the history of our tummies lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.