The Green Beans Are Ready

Day 78 of 365

Sometimes, on our little farm, we get overwhelmed. Today, we are overwhelmed with green beans. “Good problems to have,” we always say. Still, as I am trying to work on the annual, care for chickens, make dinners, parent, and grade papers and Ron is trying to care keep the garden alive morning, noon, and night while also parenting and cooking, it’s difficult to find time to process green beans.

Still, good problems to have.

I love green beans. Green beans are the first thing I ever grew in the garden, and I fell in love with them. They are magical. They are generous. So generous. I mean, you plant one tiny bean, Ron adds water and chicken poop compost and works his magic, and just like that one tiny bean seed turns into 20 or 30 or 40 green beans. How generous is this?

Ron is processing the green beans right now. He just had me come look at the beans drying on the table and the side tables. I think there is enough for our family for the whole winter from this one harvest. And the green beans, generous as they are, will produce at least two or three more harvests of this size. I hope our farm share customers like green beans! I am sure they do. I mean, they are green beans.

They are magical and generous.

I wrote a poem about green beans. It is the first and only poem I have ever written. Maybe, one of these years, I will share it. Maybe. But I feel the fact that the first and only poem I have ever written is about green beans speaks volumes about the respect I have for this fantastic plant.

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Also, I have a quick Ruby update. Ruby has turned into the most difficult chicken I have ever seen, and I feel like there’s nothing we can do. When I put her in the coop, people pick on her. So I have to let her run around. Still, she has more and more and more just decided that she’s doing whatever she wants. This includes digging up the flower bed and using it for her dust bath and getting into the mama hens’ crates and trying to sleep there instead of roosting somewhere in the garage. Tonight, I had to drag her out of Juliet’s crate–TWICE! And each time, she screams at me like I have wronged her in a way that is beyond all wrongs. Oh, and when I come outside to check on people, she meets me at the door and demands treats about half the time–and by demand, I mean she screams at me.

I actually have a chicken who is a brat. I have no idea what we’re going to do about her, but she’s so cute and quirky that you just have to give in to her. Today, I was at the kitchen window, and I overheard this conversation:

Ron: Ruby, get out of there! This flower bed is not for you to destroy!

Ruby: loudly complains and argues with Ron

Ron: What are we going to do with you, little chicken?