Hittin' the Fan

You know, these are tryin' times!

Peas of Mind

I have to say, I was scratchin’ my head this weekend while enjoying the free-for-all in Bobby’s garden. He and Dianne had gone into town for the birth of their sixth grand-child and told Buck and me to pick the garden so things wouldn’t go to waste. Well, you don’t have to tell me twice to pick a garden; I only hesitate when I fear I might come off too greedy, I didn’t want Dianne to come back home and wonder if a plague of locust had been through.

That bein’ said, Buck and I set out, like a pair of hungry trick-or-treaters, baskets and bags in hand, across the short divide between Shipman’s Farmacy and the Oley Garden O’Plenty.

Buck headed straight for Dianne’s garden shed to “rest-up” from the stroll, while I made a beeline for the heirloom tomatoes.

You can always tell an heirloom; it doesn’t care if it’s pretty, it grows just as lobed and split-ugly as it wants to be, cause in the garden it’s not about bein’ pretty, it’s about the taste and heirloom tomatoes are bread for glory. When pickin tomatoes, it’s a good idea to carry a salt shaker in your back pocket just in case temptation strikes.

So with a “not-to-greedy” bag filled with tomatoes, it was time to move onto the more back breakin’ task of pickin beans. Now I have to say that while I know some things about pickin a garden, I got a little confounded when it came to the corn and black-eyed-peas. I had to take pause cause, they looked ready, but we all know that “lookin ready” and “bein ready” are two different things and not knowin’ the difference can get you in a bunch of trouble, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, those black-eyed-pea vines were loaded with what looked like long green knotty fingers, five beans to the palm. I knew each one of those knots was a precious pea but I was still baffled ‘cause some of the pods were as green as the vine; some were changing over to a soft pinkish brown, and then some were as tan and weathered as my grand-momma’s hands.

I have to say, the whole experience got me to thinkin about life and potential; about recognizin prime and bein’ in season. It was one of those moments when I wish I had paid closer attention…to a lot of things.

But I was in the garden and I figured I would just have to use my senses to figure things out; do they cling to the vine or release with a touch, do they smell “green” or has that given away to a hint of maturity, do they give to touch or resist? I just figured there was wisdom in the garden and if I wanted to eat black-eyed-peas, I was just gonna have to tap it, one pea-pod at a time. So not unlike that little trespasser, Goldilocks, I set out to find what was “just right”.

The green ones were full enough but not willin to give into the harvest, they hung on for dear life and defied every effort to open up. When they did, the pea was as pretty as a little emerald and just as hard. Searchin back as far as I could, I could never remember eatin’ a green black-eyed-pea so I decided these ladies were not ready to leave the vine.

Movin on to the pinkish brown ones, they popped off the vine with little effort, and while not quite as eye catchin, they opened as easy as a new zipper and surrendered perfect cream colored peas with shiny black eyes that I swear seemed to twinkle! The taste test said it all, they were as good raw as they would be after a slow simmer in nothing but black pepper and a pinch of salt. I had found the princess pea-pod and was ready to pick my fill.

But while I had deduced what was prime, what about the old ladies of the vine, the ones with parchment thin brown fingers and “knuckles” that seemed to have shrunken and hardened in place? With all due respect, surely they had a destiny other than the compost pile.

Curiosity got the best of me and as I cautiously peeled back the pod, somethin that sounded like pearls from a broken strand, tapped, bounced, and rolled across the table. You could have knocked me over with a ham-bone, ‘cause inside, pretty and bone white as you please were perfect little dried peas, just like what you see stacked up in the grocery store on New Year’s Eve. I was so excited ‘cause I swear I could almost hear the old girls whisper with well preserved dignity, “now you know.”

So with baskets full of peas for dinner and some for luck, Buck and I closed the garden gate and headed home for the peace that comes with shellin’ beans on a hot summer day.


Note:
Special thanks to Bobby and Dianne Oley for sharing their bounty each and every time we return to the Farmacy. Your garden is a treasure and a testament to your caring, nurturing ways.

Set no Trap....Take no Bait

I remember one time VerDell asked me, "So just how important is it for you to have the last word?" She does stuff like that, asks questions that just shut you up for a minute. But it got me to thinkin about bait and traps and how some folks just enjoy settin'um up.

It got me thinkin about my Daddy and how much he loved to argue...or debate as he used to like to call it. Only thing was, he knew exactly where he wanted to go with the "open discussion". He was a master and the path was filled with traps and "gotcha's" and dead ends. After he retired, he and my Uncle David would sit in the livin room and go at it all day, and bein it was our house, Uncle David would usually storm out and say sumthin like, "You're just full of it Jimmy," and Daddy would shake his head, flash a smile and say, "Wore him down again..but he'll be back for another round." As usual, he was right, and by lunch time, it would start all over again.

When Radcliffe's get together it's like that sometimes. Others look on like they're watchin' a tennis match and we're pretty much oblivious to their bewilderment...or discomfort. It's a strange head-strong family, we just do what we do cause it's what we did..keep three reason's ahead!

I'm not sayin it's right and it doesn't sound pleasant, but in a way, it was good family fun and Daddy always said, the minute you start cussin, everybody stops listenin' so callin somebody a stupid shit-head was an automatic default. Daddy wouldn't listen to cussin; and some days he wouldn't even listen to reason. But he loved it, sittin there in his big ole chair, usually with a cat on his lap and cigarette in his hand; Lord Know-It-All on his throne.

I just want you to know I say all this with a smile and a touch of nostalgia. I'm m not dissin' Daddy. Nope I could stand my own thanks to him and much to my Momma's dismay. Last thing in the world she ever wanted was another strong will to contend with but that's what she got in my brother and me.

But I digress, I'm thinking about all this because Daddy died fifteen years ago this week, on the hottest day on record. He'd do just that and say, "told you it was hotter'n Hades here".

I do miss him and thank him for teachin' me about not cussin' when I'm fussin, how to spot a bullshitter (I didn't say he wasn't colorful at other times) and how to reach down deep for stuff. There were times when his style served me well, but these days I'm learnin that, "Really?" is a good answer too. I'm conservin' energy and pickin my battles, cause some aren't worth the sport.

RIP Big Jim!

Slippery

I feel bad, I haven't been cuttin "the Mustard" because I felt like this was a place to do something special, you know, keepin the stories alive and all. But I'm lonely here because nobody else writes and for Godzilla's sake folks, Lurlene needs bait, a carrot, sumpin to go after, so toss me a bone!

So anyway, I decided that I would start to put a few comics from the Book of Lurlene up. After all, they're a part of the moment too. You know like when you go out and somebody says somethin so darn funny or "pointed" as my Momma used to say, and you think, to yourself, "now I'm just gonna remember that forever" and five minutes later not one person can remember exactly what it was, but everybody agrees it was good and it could have been published in the Reader's Digest, if you could just remember it. Well, that's what these are like for me.

This one is "through" VerDell. She and I talk on the phone in the morning, it's like our little "pic-me-upper so I can get through this day Lord" time. I say somethin that has no meaning and is probably not based on any fact and she calls me out on it and we get into a rant or she just says somethin profound without even knowin it, kinda like the other day when we were talkin about how often we find ourselves between in a rock and a hard place and she said, as dry as you please, "good thing we're slippery". Simple as that! Well, I was no more good, I rolled and told her I was gonna write that down and I did, sorta.

So thank you to all my muses and while these won't ever appear in the Reader's Digest, they'll cut the Mustard when words fail me!