Early in May, I helped Ed plant peas. Or, you could say that he helped me. Because really, I don’t know much about growing peas. Flowers, herbs – yes. I’ve planted my share over the decades. Peas? No.
Even though I have picked many a growing pea in my life. My grandmother’s garden in Poland had lots of peas, beans, and other climbers and periodically she would send me out before supper to pick her a handful. Loved that job. Tak, Babciu, oczywiscie, tak, od razu (yes, grandma, of course, yes, right away).
I so wish she had lived long enough that I could have told her how much I enjoyed picking peas for her. Kind of silly, I suppose. She probably knew.
And here I am, growing peas.
So often these simple acts become disproportionately important for reasons that have little to do with the final outcome. Peas. Big deal. I mean, it’s just peas.
But, the sweet pea -- it’s my birth month flower (do people still pay attention to birth month flowers?) and then there’s my grandmother…
Purchase photo 1892
So wonderful, so truly wonderful that we can make a big deal of these very small events.