 |
| My empty KENTUCKY WONDER POLE BEAN seed package |
When a child, I thought the only green
bean was the Kentucky Wonder that grew up corn stalks in Granny’s and my
uncles’ vegetable gardens. Wherever Dad drove us along Peter Creek on summer
vacations, these Appalachian staples appeared in tidy rows nearby a house.
I
loved Granny’s delicious beans “cooked down” with a ham hock and onion in the
pot, served with a slice of her hot, buttered cornbread.
Every summer when
Granny called Mom in Michigan and said, “Sadie, the garden’s in,” Dad drove us
south with Mom’s empty canning jars in the trunk.
Granny’s garden
yielded more than enough for Poppy Roy and her, their neighbors, and our
family. While Mom and Granny sat under a shade tree, stringing and snapping beans
and cutting corn off the cob, my sisters and I ran in Granny’s alley with
neighbor children.
When we left
Granny for Michigan, Dad filled his trunk with boxes of canned corn, beans,
tomatoes, and bread and butter pickles. Mom rationed their labor until Granny
called the following summer and said, “Sadie, the garden’s in.”
After Mom and Dad
settled our family into the first house they bought on the extended G.I. Bill,
Mom planted some of Granny’s Kentucky Wonder seeds along our backyard chain-link
fence. She watched closely as the vines climbed and bean pods grew.
“Now, don’t you
girls bother my beans,” she’d say.
“We won’t!”
Unbeknownst to my
mother, the woman who lived in the house that shared our backyard fence didn’t
understand the pods were beans. When her young boys pulled off a few and
nibbled them, she panicked and called the City of Warren.
“Mrs. O’Brien?”
asked the City official when Mom answered our doorbell.
“Yes.”
“Your neighbor
behind you has filed a complaint about what you’re growing on the fence you
share. She’s concerned the vines are poisonous.”
Shocked, Mom gripped
the doorknob. “Sir, those are beans. Pole beans. I grew up on them. My children
eat them.”
“Nevertheless, your
neighbor has filed a complaint. I’ve orders to remove the vines.”
My mother
submitted.
I knew nothing of
the incident until I planted my first Kentucky Wonder seeds and shared the good
news with Mom. As if my crop vindicated her loss, that summer I filled my
freezer with Kentucky Wonders.
I’ve since planted
Greasy and Turkey Craw bean seeds that my Uncle Tab saved and dried from his harvests.
As Uncle Tab is no longer with us, last summer my husband planted string-less
bean seed that didn’t produce well.
However, God knew
the desire of my heart. I spied KENTUCKY WONDER POLE BEAN seed packages in the
grocery store this week—$6 for two 100% certified organic packages distributed
by SEEDS OF CHANGE.
Dear Reader, my
cousin Barry helped Uncle Herm, my last surviving McCoy patriarch, plant
Kentucky Wonder seed beside rows of corn seed along Peter Creek.
I planted seed along a fence within a deer-proof fence in our backyard.
I wonder who to call when the
garden’s in.
