I wonder what it was like to have family all around, sitting on the porch, sharing stories, and shelling peas as if time stood still. I picked my purple hull peas just before sunset Tuesday night. There are no shortcuts to having peas on the table, but time does occasionally slow as the process unfolds. The progression is slow, and I don’t always have family on my porch to help, but my purple hull peas still give me more than just dinner.
A Practice In Solitude
Even after considering skipping the process of planting a garden this year, I ended up with a garden that has brought more happiness than in previous years. This year’s garden has been a practice in solitude. This little plot of land has been a fortress for me, myself, and I. I am not complaining. Others have been busy with their ventures, and this has left me here in the quiet. My individual space is full of stories and curiosity.
Lose Yourself
This year I reconfigured my garden. The plants are growing in a way that requires me to ramble. I imagined my garden as a labyrinth. There are no hedges, and you won’t be hidden. The plants create a walking path that is winding. It is not big enough to get lost in, but it is just enough green goodness for you to lose yourself.
Purple Hull Peas
The purple hull peas create the wildest corner of the garden. I create wide rows and let the seeds randomly fall from my hand to find their place in the soil. These plants always deceive me. At the start, they grow quickly and straight up towards the sky giving the impression of roominess. Why do I always forget that this is not how they live most of their summer-time life?
Soon, the rich brown soil is out of sight, and the bushy vines trail and entwine anything within reach. This year they have befriended the cucumbers and together they have created quite an alliance. I planted 2, 8-foot rows of purple hull peas. As I join the pollinators to pick the purple hull peas, I struggle to find those two tidy rows that started it all. My feet step lightly. Snakes and frogs love the shade offered by the large leaves and I would rather not introduce myself! My best defense is my noisy metal bucket and fingers crossed.
The Sun Has Set
The sun has set by the time I finish picking the peas. I have just enough time for a few pictures as John shakes his head. I shower as he muses how I will fit them all in the refrigerator until morning. A bowl on this shelf, a basket next to the twenty-three cucumbers, and a few leftovers in a basket by the air conditioning vent. The process continues tomorrow.
A Basket And A Bowl
So far, I have shelled about three quarts of peas. I know of no worthwhile shortcut, so I sit on the porch with my faithful companion, Sug. A basket full of purple hull peas by my feet, my favorite green bowl in my lap, and Sugar finds her spot in the sun. After shelling a dozen or so, my mind clears before it begins to drift. This might just be the best part about growing peas. Today, I don’t have others to share stories with but a sense of quiet in a cloudy world creates my story. The basket empties and the bowl fills. I’ll blanch and freeze a few quarts and hold out a few for dinner this week. A few had already dried on the vine, so I’ll be ready to start over again next spring.
Peas, More Than a Dinner
My grandparents most likely shared this quiet time. My life has not offered slow moments on porches shelling peas with loved ones. However, planting, growing, harvesting, and shelling purple hull peas has given me time to myself. A sense of quiet overcomes the garden and the crowded space in my mind is cleared. As clichéd as it may sound, I’m guessing friends in the past received the same gift. Peas for the table and peace for the soul. That’s the story my garden has given, and it is so much more than a dinner.
Stay Curious,
2 Responses
I grow those same peas. We call them pink eyed peas. Tasty aren’t they? And prolific.
Yes! They are my favorite. We also call them pink eyed peas. I have a friend who calls them purple hull pink eyes. Either way, they are the best and grow like crazy.