Peas, If You Please

The cowpeas we have planted are producing in big quantities right now.  Each day I'm picking a gallon.  We have four different varieties planted and I'll show you three of them today.  We've talked about it before, but shelling peas is such a therapeutic activity.  You sit down with a bowl and start shelling, removing the peas from the pods.  The pods go in a big bowl to be composted later and the peas go into another.

These, off course, are blackeyed peas.

These are an heirloom we've grown to like.  They are called Ozark Razorback peas.  They are smaller and more round than blackeyes.

Finally, here is another heirloom variety I picked up at a seed swap.  They are called whippoorwill peas.  They are smaller than blackeyes and Ozark Razorbacks. 

Each year I save some of the seeds to keep for next years' crop.  The Ozark Razorbacks and Whippoorwill peas germinated from some really old seed I had.  

We don't separate the peas.  "Variety is the spice of life, That gives it all its flavor." is a quote from a poem by William Cowper in 1785.  It holds true today.  We shell all the peas into one bowl.  Aren't the different colors and sizes pretty?

In addition to freezing a bunch of these in bags, we eat a bunch of these, too!  They are nutritious and full of flavor, like the poem says.  We put them in a big pot with some water and cut up some smoked sausage along with peppers and onions.

Once a pot of rice is cooked and these peas are served over rice...  Mmmmmm.  One thing that kicks it up an extra notch is to serve the peas over some homemade cornbread with a good many dashes of hot sauce on top.  Comfort food at its finest.  My wife tells me I'm easy to please in that regard because fresh shelled peas over rice is a favorite dish of mine - especially in the winter.

Slowing The Pace Down

For the past three weeks, there hasn't been much time at all for life on the farm - for me that is.  I have a great and supportive family.  My wife and sons have pitched in and taken care of business, cleaning up the yard, patching a hole in the barn roof, and taking care of the animals.  I was able to leave a little early from work this weekend, and Sunday was the first day that I was able to see Our Maker's Acres Family Farm in the daylight.  It was nice.

I went out to the garden and picked a 5 gallon bucket of black-eyed peas and purple-hull peas.  Some were ripe for the pickin'.  Others were over-ripe and dried, but that's okay.  They'll eat just fine.  I walked back to the patio and sat down and just gazed at the peaceful surroundings.  I looked up in the live oak tree and saw large "widow-maker" branches that had been broken by the 100 mph winds.  The limbs broken by violence of nature sat juxtaposed against the peaceful backyard and the enjoyable event that was about to take place.

It was time to shell peas.  All you need is time.  Some people have automatic pea shellers and there may come a time when old-age and arthritis requires that we get one.  For now, shelling peas by hand is just fine.  You need a bowl and a bucket to throw the pods in.

Pea shelling is one of those rare things in life in which you get immediate gratification of seeing the fruits of your labors.  A full bucket of fresh-picked peas quickly is transformed into a bowl of shelled peas and a bucket of pea pods that will be returned to the earth when we compost.

Watching the peas in the bowl grow in volume is a satisfying event. Often Russ will come sit down with me and shell some.  You can observe in the bowl below why Black-eyed peas are called black-eyed peas.

You can tell which peas were dried by their sun-bleached color and which peas were ripe, but not dried, by the green color and plump girth of the peas.

Cowpeas are a crop that seems to thrive in the harshest of conditions.  Even in the peak of summer months, they scoff at the heat and drought that assaults them.  And they produce peas packed with protein that will feed our family.

Pea shelling is a satisfying exercise that allows you to slow down the hectic, frenetic pace of modern life into a peaceful, slow, but productive endeavor.  As your bowl increasingly fills with peas, your stress level is reduced.  There's only one thing better than shelling them - eating them.  Tricia will put on a pot of rice and in another pot, shell cook the peas with some smoked sausage.  If I'm lucky, she'll cook some cornbread to go along with it.  It is an easy, but satisfying meal that reminds me of childhood and simplicity and honest country living.

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.