Truthful Lies of my Childhood

I am sitting in the chair in front of my computer, contemplating what topic that I should address for my next episode.  I had earlier this morning spent a few leisurely hours in my garden doing various necessary chores such as weeding and watering and harvesting.  One stupid chicken has frequented it also, relieving nearly all of my bounty of strawberries and now has started to peck holes in the nearly ripe tomatoes.  The entire brood of poultry belongs to my granddaughter, Joselyn, who claims them as pets.  As such, no one is allowed to torture or to perform any other physical abuse on them; they definitely cannot be eaten, heaven forbid, except by an occasional hawk or buzzard, raccoon or fox.  I have devised a plan, which I will extrapolate on at a later time, but for now I am thinking green beans.

This year, I have planted the pole variety of bean.  Fifty or sixty years ago, all the Emanuel clan knew was the Blue Lake Bush Green Bean.  I have already expounded to quite a length in previous stories on the picking techniques that were involved and the misery obtained to acquire the measly sum that was our “reward,” so I feel further elaboration is not needed here.

                                                                  
The trellis of sorts that I constructed was of concrete reinforcing mesh bought from the local lumberyard.  The #10 steel wire is factory tack-welded into 6” squares, or grids, that end up on a roll 60 inches wide X 50 feet long.  “Tee” posts are utilized at 10 to 15 ft intervals, and 20 ft lengths of re-bar are wired to the top of the posts.   The fox-wire, layman’s term for the wire mesh, is then secured to the re-bar.  After tilling the soil, bean seed is planted on both sides of the trellis.  This method limits the stooping and bending at picking time to a tolerable amount; personally, my back thanks me vehemently every morning as I pat it and say, “Well done, self!  Good idea!”

At exactly 8 o’clock today, I heard the green beans pleading and imploring me to take them out of the high temperature, high humidity that was there in the garden, both of which were already approaching 85, on the way for a daily high just short of the century mark.  They had no regards for their longevity, but were merely seeking immediate relief.  I know that you are questioning my sanity, for you, in all probability, do not know any other mortal who not only talks to plants, but also listens to them. . .and obeys their wishes and commands.  In just a few minutes, I had a plastic Wal-Mart bag filled to the overflowing as they literally jumped the promised destination    After giving them their just reward of a refreshing shower underneath the kitchen sink aerator, I reverently placed them into a gallon size freezer bag, then laid them to rest on the bottom frost covered shelf of the freezer.  As I closed the freezer door, I could hear their mumble jumble humble thanks as they in unison cried “AH, COMFY!”