Thursday, August 28, 2014


The green beans and tomatoes are climbing up the sunflowers. The fences are covered with false cucumber, blooming sweetly. Spikes of greeny-white blossoms with a strong sweet smell. The sunflowers are 10 to 12 feet high, so I have to climb to reach the beans. I walk around and look for beans, but I have to sit too, to see them all. I sit and look, be the bean. Where are you all?

It's cooler today, so the bees have retreated from the sunflowers. Yesterday I picked a big bag of beans, sweat dripping down my face. Today cool and dry. I wore a sweater. I could get around the sunflowers, no bees, and found lots of fat long beans. I picked another mess of beans today. Another big bag.

What to do with the all? I asked my son if he wanted some. "Well, we don't eat many beans," he replied. That means no.

I cook them hot and fast; add vinegar, honey, pinch of salt, and hot peppers. Chill. Good in salad.

I used to bring extra vegies to my office friend, now moved on to another job.

The garden is most beautiful in the early morning. The slanting sun hits the leaves and flowers, morning glories bloom everywhere: deep purple, hot pink, and dark blue. Intense, ephemeral, searching.