Purple Hull Pea Pickin'

The hot July summer sun relentlessly bakes what remains of our spring crop into the ground.  This poor zucchini that brought us a bountiful harvest of beautiful, large zucchini that we've eaten for weeks slowly fades...

Her neighbor desperately clings to a tiny sliver of life, but resistance is futile.  The cycle of life of a zucchini in South Louisiana draws to a close.  We've still got some in the vegetable drawer in the fridge, but once that's done, we'll wait until next year.

The cucumbers are dealt a similar cruel hand by nature.  The once green vines filled with yellow blossoms and cucumbers in all stages of maturity now are only skeletal remains, a dry reminder of crisp, cool cucumbers sliced in the fridge.  We have a few more and then it's all done. 

But there is one crop just coming on.  It scoffs at the heat and dry conditions.  "Bring it on," it mocks.  That would be Purple Hull Peas.  I walked out to check on the progress and noted that I could go ahead and pick a half bucket.  They were just beginning to ripen with lots more to come.

The neighboring row has peanuts and then blackeyed peas on the next row thereafter.  The blackeyes will be ready real soon.

I quickly pick all the peas in which the pods are mostly purple.  It doesn't take long.  There are many more to come in various stages of maturity.  I'll have to pick every other day to keep up.

You can see why they get their name: Purple Hull Peas.  It is a southern staple.  We had a preacher that grew up in the Great Depression.  He used to tell us that they were very poor but always had food on the table that they grew from their land by the sweat of their brow.  He'd always say, "We'd have rice and beans one night and then momma would mix it up and the next night we'd have beans and rice!"

They are a good source of protein and are just good to eat.  Served over rice with some tasso or smoked sausage for a little flavor and maybe a skillet of hot buttered cornbread on the side - wow!  That's some good food, right there.

It is always a relaxing thing to sit down in the evening and shell peas.  The rhythmic plunk, plunk, plunk of the peas being released from the shell and slowly filling the bowl is a comforting sound - a sound of sufficiency, a sound of sanity in a crazy world.  Pass the peas, please.