The Garden
B ack in the day, I remember Saturdays spent shelling peas and butter beans. It was the worst of Saturday duties for me. I wanted to be out and about. I can still feel the cold pan, full of beans, wedged between my legs as I peeled purple-hull peas. My fingers turned purple and became sore long before I reached the end of my pan of peas. And I can still smell those fresh peas, there's really nothing like that richness. My parents weren't true gardeners until my daddy retired and I had left home for college. Daddy only had a small garden but it bore much produce which meant picking, peeling and "putting up" the fresh crop. We have friends in Tuscaloosa who have a large garden plot. They work the soil, fight the deer, water, weed and love the work and effort and reward! I love the spoils of their hard work. (I've been promised fresh veggies and in late summer....Fig preserves!!! Oh my!) And then, there are other...