A Short Story
by
Joyce Lang*
The sun was out and, while it was still pretty early in the morning, the
humidity and heat were already engulfing the earth as the Old Lady picked up
her basket and headed out to the garden. Thoughts of Papa came to her mind.
Every morning, after pouring a cup of fresh ground coffee into the iron pot
of boiling water, Papa would walk out onto the porch of the old section
house in South Louisiana, peer up from under the eaves, turn his head from
side to side, and look up into the sky. After a few moments, he would shake
his head and predict the day’s weather. In August, Papa’s prediction was
usually the same and usually right. “It’s gonna be another hot one.” He
would say.
The Old Lady didn’t have a porch but lately she found herself predicting the
day’s weather as Papa had done back there in the thirties. Every morning she
would walk out in the yard with a cup of coffee in her hand, look up into
the sky and predict the day’s
weather as Papa had done many years ago. Today was definitely “gonna be
another hot
one.”
The summer had been hot and dry. About the only thing left in the garden to
pick was peas and they didn’t show any signs of slowing down in their
production. As a matter of fact, the things were still coming up. There were
three or four little plants coming up out of the ground right there in front
of her.
Now then! The Old Lady never planted peas and she had a reason. Several
reasons as a matter of fact. Reason Number One! She only had a small garden
and peas took up too much space. The vines spread out all over the place
crowding out other plants. Number two! She would never forget picking peas
as a child and getting caught up in the vines and always falling down.
Reason Number Three, and perhaps, the most important one. Ants, bees, and
wasps! It seemed peas attracted these varmints. She still flinched at the
thought of all those ant, bee, and wasp stings she had suffered back there
in Louisiana picking those crowder, field, and purple hull peas. But these
peas kept coming up and she kept picking them.
The peas first appeared three summers ago. It was a dry year with record
breaking temperatures and, even with watering, nothing else seemed to grow
and produce. The peas appeared about the second week of June. The old Lady
had noticed several little pea plants which she immediately pulled up. They
continued to come up so, since nothing else in the garden was doing
anything, she left them alone. She had no idea where they came from. Maybe
birds had dropped them but no one else in the neighborhood planted peas. If
they had been mixed with seed she had bought, she would have seen them. No!
These peas appeared from nowhere and were unlike any the Old Lady had ever
seen. Little green peas!
The Old Lady dutifully picked the peas and gave them to neighbors or took
them over to the Seniors’ Citizen Center. One of the elderly ladies at The
Center became very excited and asked where she had found the seed. The Old
Lady explained to her they had not been planted and, having never seen this
kind of peas before, she had no idea what they were. They were just strange
short hulled and little green peas. It was then the elderly lady exclaimed,
“They are southern cream peas. My Mama always planted them.” She then went
on to rave about them being the best kind of peas she had ever eaten and
that every body always planted them in this area.
And now, for the third year, the Old Lady was picking peas again. She
stumbled in the vines and hung on to a tomato cage engulfed with the vines
to keep from falling. She picked a handful of the peas inside the wire cage.
No matter how many peas she picked, she would look back and see three or
four she had missed. There were no bees to dodge but the volume of ants and
wasps made up for the lack of them.
It was almost noon when she sat the basket of picked peas on the side of the
garden and reached for a smaller one to finish the pea picking job. She
wiped the sweat from her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. The effort was
useless as she was saturated with perspiration. She laughed as she thought
of Mama. Mama always said ladies didn’t sweat. Mama said ladies perspired.
“Well, Mama! I must not be a lady because I ain’t perspiring. I am sweating!
Lord! How I am sweating.”
The basket and a half of peas picked, the Old Lady walked back to the house.
She’d be up to midnight shelling and washing them. Here she was! Three years
after the first little green peas had appeared in her garden. Picking peas.
Well! Maybe God had a purpose for these peas. Maybe He wanted her to pick
and shell peas. Nobody else had peas just coming up from nowhere in their
gardens. One old guy at the Seniors’ Center was disappointed because the
deer had eaten his pea crop. He said they ate it every year in spite of all
he did to keep them out of the garden. He, too, was pleased with the little
green peas. Goodness! The deer sure didn’t have a craving for these peas and
sometimes the Old Lady wished they had. The only things having a craving for
these peas was wasps, ants, and the elderly people at the Seniors’ Center.
The Old Lady had given the peas a name. She called them “God’s peas.” God
must have planted them for she surely didn’t. No way was she going to plant
peas! After the second year they came up she had figured God intended for
those peas to grow. He had a reason for those little green peas to be in the
Old Lady’s garden. Papa had taught her God has a reason for all of his
gifts. That reason is to take the gift He has given you and share it. So,
share your God given gifts. Share them even if they just happen to be little
green peas.
By the way! The Old Lady was right with her weather prediction. It was
“another hot one.” As she wiped the sweat from her face with a towel she
wondered,” Do you suppose those little green peas will come up again next
year?”
_______________
* Joyce Lang is from Brenham, Texas. She is originally from Louisiana, and
calls herself a Cajun. We met at the VOW exhibit booth at General Assembly.
She has been part of the VOW network for some time, but this was our first
face-to-face meeting. As we visited, she told me that she wrote stories. I
asked if she’d shre one with us. This is the story that she sent. I hope
that you enjoy it as much as I did. Sylvia Dooling