It's Like A Jungle Out There

Summertime.  The long, hot, steamy, baking days of summer.  The crisp spring days are long gone.  Only the strongest survive.  Let's look today at one of the survivors of the dog days of summer.  This crop scoffs at hot weather.  It thrives in harsh conditions.  If Mars was ever to be colonized, the astronauts would be wise to plant this crop.  I must warn you, this portion of the garden in the side yard is not manicured.  It's not growing in neat, tidy rows.  It's a jungle.

"Kyle," you might say, "You let the garden get away from you.  Weed eat all that down and start planning your fall garden."  If I was to do that, I would miss out on one of my favorite meals.  You see, we're looking at a row of purple hull peas and black-eyed peas.  Okay, I'll admit, there's some morning glory growing in there too.  But can you see the purple hulls?  That means they are ready for picking.

The purple hull peas are planted dangerously close to four hives of pretty aggressive bees, so I've got to be alert, quick and sneaky as I quickly get in the patch and get back out.  Like a special forces operator, I get my gear which consists of a wicker basket I use for picking.  Up and down the rows I go, looking for purple hulls.  

In short order, my basket is full, and I'm on the back patio shelling peas.  Shelling peas is a relaxing and rewarding endeavor.  It's an old-timey activity evoking memories of sitting on a rocking chair on the porch shelling peas.  If you listen closely, you can hear the "ping" noise as the peas hit the bottom of the big stainless steel pot you're shelling them into.  The hulls go in a separate bucket to be composted.  There's almost nothing that we don't compost.  The garbage men must scratch their heads when they pick up our weekly garbage can that's almost empty.

Once you get in a rhythm shelling, it's a rewarding experience rescuing the peas from the confines of the purple hulls.  "Freedom!" the peas yell as they are liberated.

Before you know it, you have a 'mess' of purple hull peas.

I was happy this afternoon when, less than 24 hours from shelling, my wife had a pot of rice going, a black cast iron skillet with buttered jalapeno cornbread cooking in the oven, and a big pot of purple hull peas cooking on the stove with onions, peppers and green onion garlic sausage simmering.  I served a big "ant pile mound" of peas over rice on my plate, and my wife asked, "You goin' on a trip?"

That's a nice way of telling me that I was being gluttonous.  When she was growing up as a young child, her brother, David, was running away from home.  Word had gotten out to Tricia's Dad that David was planning to run away.  In his plan, he was going to eat one last meal - a big one, before running away.  As he sat at the table with WAY too much food on his plate, Tricia's Dad asked David, "You goin' on a trip?"  As for me, I'm not going anywhere, but I'll always serve a huge plate of purple hull peas over rice and homemade cornbread.