PHOTO BY JAN MCELHINNY

As Adam McElhinny bags ears of Evans City’s biggest cash crop, I chuckle at his T-shirt.

Above an illustration of a corncob and two beaming pats of butter are the words, “So good, even the butter gets excited!”

McElhinny Farm sweetcorn doesn’t need condiments. You simply shuck it, boil it and eat it like it’s your job.

Growing up in Cranberry, I was raised on McElhinny maize. On summer days, I’d ride my bike down winding, country roads, past barns and buffalo pastures, to experience the rural sights, sounds and smells of Evans City.

On the return trip, I’d pedal my heart out, inspired by both the fear of missing curfew and the likelihood that we were having corn-on-the-cob for dinner. (I bet Mrs. Korn, my gym teacher at Rowan Elementary School, would’ve been impressed by my year-round commitment to cardiovascular fitness.)

In addition to sweetcorn, I have an appetite for horror films directed by George A. Romero. He shot his 1968 masterpiece, “Night of the Living Dead,” on McElhinny Farm property, so I was thrilled to ride on a tractor with third-generation farmer John McElhinny as he harvested the day’s deliveries.

Freshness, he says, is the key to the crop’s famous flavor. John’s wife, Jan McElhinny, believes there’s another reason the sweetcorn is so tasty.

“The farmer makes a big difference,” she says. “It’s a lot of hard work.”

During the harvest season, which stretches from July to mid-October, crews are in the fields by 4 o’clock every morning. They pick seven days a week and haul the goods to roadside stands, farmers markets and wholesale retailers.

John’s grandfather, Paul McElhinny, purchased 300 acres on Brownsdale Road in 1931 to raise vegetables, pigs, chickens and 12 kids. The family sold eggs door-to-door on market routes throughout Pittsburgh.

PHOTO BY JAN MCELHINNY

In the ’50s, Paul started growing sweetcorn to supplement his income. By the ’60s, the stalks overshadowed the hens; wholesalers dove into the corn hustle during the disco era. John runs the operation with his uncle, Jerry McElhinny, but extended family members help out. There seems to be a relative for every row.

On the outskirts of the borough, the family dedicates 85 acres to bi-color, non-GMO sweetcorn that yields about 75,000 dozen ears annually. They also grow tomatoes, pumpkins, cucumbers, green peppers and field corn that’s starchier than its candylike counterpart and sold as livestock feed.

Even cows can’t resist Evans City corn.

The McElhinnys plant at the end of March and reap by the Fourth of July.

There are irrigation systems to help the plants through a dry season. Sometimes the farmers will speed up the sprout-to-tassel process by covering the fields with biodegradable plastic mulch, creating a miniature greenhouse effect.

When summer fades, it’s time for deep-rooted cover crops such as wheat and tillage radish to loosen the soil and blanket it through the winter. In the spring, it’s plowed under to prepare for the main event.

In addition to serving as the farm’s accountant, Jan runs the produce stand on Evans City Road. There, customers can get a dozen ears for $8.50, a buck-and-a-half cheaper than the price in the city.

During an August visit to the mom-and-pop(corn) stand, I ran into Dave McElhinny, John’s cousin and my former editor at Trib Total Media. Dave and his son, Adam, pitch in a few days a week and are paid in ears rather than dollars.

I watched my old boss heave a large sack onto his back like an agricultural Santa Claus and carry it to a customer’s car. Shucking sweetcorn is like unwrapping a present.

In 2019, Jan launched the farm’s first social media site. Their Facebook page provides a bounty of information and serves as a gallery for her photography (she snapped all of the shots accompanying this story). The page has garnered attention from foodies, chefs and diehard zombie enthusiasts like Larry DeVincentz.

When Living Dead Weekend was held in Evans City — it has since relocated to fellow zombie filming site Monroeville Mall — DeVincentz had the McElhinnys’ permission to lead hundreds of fans around the farm, including a portion of the land once dominated by a farmhouse where most of the onscreen action takes place. It’s hallowed ground to those who want to experience 1968’s black-and-white masterpiece in living color.

“We have offered Evans City corn at events in the past,” DeVincentz says. “When I take people on the property, I tell them where to buy the corn locally. It’s really “Night of the Living Dead” corn to us, grown on the very property.”

It’s a curious phenomenon to John, who has never seen the movie that put his farm on the cinematic map.

Like zombies, I am motivated by food, so, each summer, despite living within walking distance of several corn purveyors, I make the half-hour drive to Evans City to pick up a dozen ears. It gives me an excuse to revisit the past and get a bittersweet taste of nostalgia.

Maybe next time I’ll ride my bike there.