61 ~ There are snow peas, and snow beans…
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It was bitingly cold again yesterday, with the visible world pressed between a low gray sky and an equally dull remnant of old snow. Not even the crows were about. It was the kind of mid-winter day to be mindful of taking care of one’s psyche. With my ski trail hardly still worthy of the name, and no snow suitable for exploring animal tracks in the woods, in the afternoon I took to the garden trellises to harvest beans.
One thing I’m learning in this gig of producing my own food is, as much as possible, to plant things that provide good food without the pressure of a narrow harvest window. And also food that doesn’t need much labor to preserve. Cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh green beans and broccoli are all wonderful, and I grow them, but if you don’t catch and harvest them at prime time, and quickly put some labor into preserving them, well, there’s always the compost pile to feed. I often become a harried manservant to such vegetables in late summer.
My best friends on the other end of this spectrum are shelling beans. Once planted at the base of the trellis in spring, they need almost no care the rest of the summer. And their harvest window? It’s nearly unlimited, the most generous of anything in the garden. The beans I picked yesterday probably matured in August, at which time I just ignored them while I put time into canning, freezing and trout fishing. The pods dried idly on their own, and have hung there since, patiently. When I finally got round to them yesterday, the beans within were still beautiful. I shelled them by the fireplace last night, and it was like opening hundreds of small jewelry boxes.
Another thing I value as I move to living closer to and with the Earth, is living closer to stories of the place I inhabit. And beans have a deep story on this continent – beans, along with squash and corn, the “three sisters”. The names of some of my bean varieties reflect their stories, such as “Cherokee Trail of Tears” and “Hidatsa Shield Figure” (pictured above). When we cultivate food that has stories, we feed and help keep those stories alive, and those stories in turn feed us.
One thing I’ll make with the beans, with some veggies from the freezer and some rice I still have on hand, is this wonderful, warming and nutritious stew, kichari.
A reminder that if you’d like to learn more about shaping a garden that will feed you, and your spirit, throughout much of the year, with less work (such as planting beans!), please join my online class through Folklore Village on Saturday afternoon, February 26. Information here.
Be well, all.
You can’t keep alive anything by preserving it at arm’s length … that’s a mausoleum with exhibits called a museum. It has be to planted for real and cultivated back to life, your hands have to get muddy...
-Martín Prechtel