Shelling Peas
I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
E.E. cummings
“Jorge Luis Borges said there are only four stories to tell: a love story between two people, a love story between three people, the struggle for power and the voyage. All of writers rewrite these same stories ad infinitude.”
Paola Coelho
“If you know, you know. If you don’t, you don’t.”
Sarah Innerarity (at age 2 and 1/2)
When I was a child, I spent lots of time during the summer in Victoria and San Antonio, Texas. Besides aunts, uncles, and cousins in both places, my maternal grandparents resided in Victoria, and my paternal grandmother lived in San Antonio. Children had so much more freedom in the late ‘50s and the ‘60s. Organized sports for children did not exist, to my knowledge, but unorganized games of baseball (“Work- Up”, if there were not enough players for two teams), hide- and- seek, tether ball, Red Rover(which always resulted in at least one broken arm every year or so), chase, Keep Away, jump rope (remember “Hot Peppers?”), dodge ball,and more games that I will recall after I finish writing. We would play until it was pitch- black dark, then chase and capture fireflies in glass Mason jars, with holes punched in the metal lids to make lanterns. When mosquitoes had sucked most of the blood from our bodies, we would release the fireflies and retreat to the house for baths in clawfoot tubs that seemed the size of swimming pools.
The only air conditioning that existed in my grandparents’ houses was in their bedrooms- window units that blasted freezing cold air, twenty four hours a day. Eventually, window units were added to the guest bedrooms the adult guests used, but not the bedrooms we children were relegated to in the oppressive, hellish heat and humidity of South Texas. If this seems like an exaggeration, than you have never experienced an air condition- less summer in Victoria, Texas. San Antonio was better, but not by much. At least, when I stayed there, I was allowed to sleep with my grandmother in icy splendor! Nannie also let me stay up late watching The Tonight Show, starring Jack Parr, on the TV she had in her bedroom, while chewing Dentyne gum. How decadent and grown- up I was!
At Gaga and Tutu’s house in Victoria, in addition to ceiling fans, we had huge, noisy, scary fans at the foot of the bed. Still, we slept in puddles of sweat; usually sharing a bed with at least one or two cousins who radiated and reflected body heat. All of us lived in houses with central air conditioning. We could have stayed at my cousins’ house, (who lived in the same town but had decamped to my grandparents’ house because none of us could bear to be separated), rather than sharing a bed and trying desperately not to roll in the middle and touch another sweaty body. I admit that occasionally we did succumb to the thought of the siren song of a compressor chugging out sweet, cold air at my aunt and uncle’s house. Nevertheless, there was something delightful about being all together in a big, old, three- story house, built when Sam Houston was alive, the ghost of Judge Phillips ( the original owner), possibly floating down from the attic that was incredibly appealing in a terrifying sort of way. We all felt empowered and courageous upon waking up alive every morning.
Reflecting on time spent with my grandparents, I cannot help but think about how little my grandmothers had in common, even though they were approximately the same age, both born and raised in Kentucky. One similarity I recalled in August thanks to receiving a large bag of fresh black- eyed peas from my friend, Cynthia.
I have not shelled black- eyed peas since I was a child visiting my grandmothers. I must admit, when Cynthia told me she was bringing me some peas from their family’s garden at the ranch, I had no idea it would be a Hefty Tall Kitchen Garbage Bag that was was halfway full of unshelled peas. Perhaps, that is a slight exaggeration, but it was a gracious- plenty amount of peas. I put two large bowls on the kitchen island- one for the shelled peas, one for the empty casings, and reached into the bag for a big handful of peas to put on the island. As soon as my fingers touched those unshelled peas, I was transported back in time, to the front porches of my grandmothers.
The peas we shelled were in large paper sacks, recycled from The Piggly Wiggly by a farmer at a roadside stand. The bag was wrinkled, soft, holding that brown paper bag smell. Overwhelming the paper bag fragrance was the earthy, distinctive aroma of fresh peas, recently picked. It is a wonderful smell of dirt, sunshine, and summertime air in country. If you have spent anytime at all on a ranch or farm, among growing vegetables, freshly turned soil, with animals and trees rustling around you, you know that delicious, heavy air. If you haven’t, I feel sorry for you. It isn’t too late, you know. These places still exist!
Shelling those peas in my kitchen forgotten memories from over sixty years ago washed over me. I sat next to one of my grandmothers, , a metal bowl tucked between my knees, I ripped the string that ran the length of the bean , deftly pinched one end of the shell casing, and pressed it all the way to the other end so the peas rained into the bowl. I learned my technique from my grandmothers, watching and learning before I was old enough to do it myself. Whether in San Antonio or Victoria, the technique was the same.
I remembered conversations. My Victoria grandmother, Tutu, told me stories about my mama and her three older sisters. She told me about train trips from Victoria to San Diego to visit her sister who lived at The Hotel Del Coronado. Polio was a serious concern, no one knew how it was transmitted, but conventional wisdom was that the sea air was beneficial and would keep the virus at bay. History, and medical advances later disproved the theory, but my grandmother left my grandfather to his medical practice for the summer and fled to the seashore. Tutu was an avid reader. She had read the Bible many times, loved Webster’s Dictionary, and spoke beautifully. I learned the importance of a good vocabulary and proper use of grammar from her. She drank iced tea, with fresh mint and a lemon slice while we worked. I had a Coca Cola in a glass bottle, slippery and dripping with cold condensation.
I sat on the old, rusty front porch glider at Nannie’s house. She drank iced coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar, in a tall glass. I had my Coca Cola. We shelled peas, the glider glided, and she told me about my daddy walking across the street to Olmos Park with his little sister, my Aunt Martha, when they were in grade school. They had air rifles, sometimes BB guns, and on a good day, shot squirrels for supper . By fifth grade my daddy was taking a shotgun and a handful of shells and bringing home dove and ducks. Martha was his retriever until she insisted on being allowed to shoot, as well. Nannie entertained me with the tale of the chicken farmer who came by the house once- a- week. Nannie would go out to his truck, inspect all the chickens in the pen, and pick out the one she found to her liking. In the twinkling of a gimlet chicken eye, the farmer would grab the bird, chop off her head on the tailgate, and throw the chicken, still running around headless, on the driveway. So, I learned the true source of “running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”
These memories, and scores more, went through my mind as I shelled those peas Cynthia had given me. I thought of lots of experiences from my childhood as the peas rattled into the bowl. Some of my recollections were incredibly happy, others were extremely sad. No one takes an honest trip down memory lane without walking in shadows. Examination of the people, events, and choices that made us the complicated creatures we are today is cathartic and necessary to be able to deal with the present, in my opinion. Revisiting the past is worthwhile, just don’t stay there. Live in this moment, pay attention to what is going on right now, right in front of you, beside you. In spite of the chaos and the fear that sometimes threatens to overwhelm and engulf you, think of how far you have come. Be kind, be loving, be wise. You have significance. You are an original. And, “YOU GO NOWHERE BY ACCIDENT.”
Love and Grace,
Paige
