Last month I had the luck to participate in a bean harvest.
I wasn’t allowed to pull out the plants, probably because when I pulled out the coriander plants a couple of weeks before, I fell on my butt. Insert a huge pause here. I mean, all my farmer genes… and I fell ON MY BUTT, of all things, pulling out some innocent coriander. Even my mother laughed at me.
So, after the plants were pulled out we took all the pods. I only saw ONE worm in the process, and it wasn’t even a butterfly worm, which left my biologist disappointed. And then we took all the grains out of the pods.
Summer hadn’t kicked in full yet, it was breeze outside and we sat in rockers talking while we harvested the food that the earth gave us and I could imagine how it was so many years ago that families sat together doing the same thing. No TV, no Nintendo’s or Playstations, just them sharing their days… their weeks. The beans felt so new in my hands and the afternoon was spent so placidly, I thought everything ought to be more like it was before and less like it is now.
The beans taste amazing. I bet the care and tenderness that went into their harvest comes right out when we cook them.