Shelling & Snapping

On the days we are lulled into thinking winter is gone, I look for the first little green fingertips to claw their way through the cold dirt. This year, the confused little blooms burst onto the scene in late February, ready for their close-ups. Don’t believe it. I’ve seen April snows.

Gardens are in my DNA. In 1920, Florida sought out healthy young men from eastern Europe with a promise of 20 acres if they made the land produce food. What they found was land no man could break. It was horrendous — sand under their feet and scrub pines over their heads and bayonet palms that could sever arteries.

My father was born in the family home there. It had a bathtub in the kitchen. I loved it when my great grandmother and my great aunts would bathe me in it. I’ve walked that land throughout my life, loving the feel of warm earth on my bare feet, the smell of the horses and cows, the cackling of the hens as I retrieve their eggs, still warm. There were huge navel orange trees — 70 years later only one remains, but it has the juiciest, sweetest navels you ever tasted.

In Atlanta, Dad used about a quarter of an acre in our backyard for his garden. Every spring he would till it, turning over at least a foot or more. I would help to spread in compost and manure from the horses a few streets over. He meticulously laid out the strings to set the rows. He taught me project management, goal setting and problem solving. We would work and tend, then pray and wait.

I’d help my little French grandmother gather her beans and peas on Saturdays. We would talk and laugh and giggle like two little girls. She’d make me a full glass of shaved ice, Coca-Cola and cherries. We sat on her back porch with a clickety oscillating fan as the sun turned golden. She’d grown up in New Orleans’ French Quarter and I knew all the stories of her family now long gone. Besides my grandfather, she’d loved a young man called Peach.

Wearing colorful flowered aprons, we sat for hours snapping green beans and shelling peas, laughing, talking over the secrets to life and love. She cooked her fresh little carrots with ginger and always put carved radishes and violet leaves in her salads. She taught us sense of place, the relatives gone before, who we are.

Twenty-five years later, my two girls would run barefoot through their grandpa’s garden. They’d pick tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, and rows of beans. They would hold up the hems of their shirts in front of them, forming a bowl, and race to see who could pick the most. I can still smell Dad “burning some chicken” that he would barbeque.

They’d run carelessly, squealing, laughing, curls flying, up to the house where we would sit, four generations of daughters sharing dreams and stories as we’d snap beans and shell peas and drink Coca-Cola with cherry juice.

Today, I am the oldest remaining member of my shrinking family. My garden is now full of grandchildren. They run barefoot and can never walk past plants without seeing what is growing and betting when it will be ready to pick.

For a few years now, they have worked together to make pickles from an unexpectedly large bounty of cucumbers, bottling them and selling them out in the driveway from their lemonade stand.

They laugh and their curls fly, and now I share the secrets.

Southern Pea Salad

This was our go-to for family gatherings and potlucks with friends.

Ingredients

• 3 cups fresh shelled peas
• 2-3 stalks of celery, finely diced
• 3 spring onions, finely diced
• ¾ cup sharp cheddar cheese cut into half-inch cubes
• 1/3 cup Miracle Whip (for the tang)
• 1/3 cup sour cream
• Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation

Pour peas into a pan of boiling water for about two minutes, just long enough to blanch them.  Remove from heat immediately and pour into a colander, running cold water over them. Top colander with ice and allow to drain. If peas are out of season, use one large bag of frozen. Thaw them and use cold.

Stir Miracle Whip and sour cream to make the dressing. Add all ingredients, tossing well for good distribution. Chill at least an hour or two before serving. Top with chopped fresh parsley.

You may substitute Tony Chachere’s Cajun Seasoning for salt, and add 2-3 tablespoons of sliced olives or drained capers to taste.