First there were the radishes.  They seem like a distant memory to me now.  They grew, we ate, we conquered.  And for the first time, I decided to grow some peas– sugar snap peas to be exact.  If the the radishes were gratifying, these peas are, well… joyous.  Joyous?  Yes, joyous!

The fence that Brian and I grew the peas against was slippery, and plastic, meaning it would have to be nail-free.  So we constructed a trellis out of some tall bamboo stakes plunged into the soil, and some natural twine.  At first they were slow going.  I would run out to the garden each day, and all that I saw was a pile of plants.  But then, ever so slowly, the snap peas shot out frail tendrils.  The tendrils are what did it!  Like pieces of ABC (already-been-chewed) gum, each tendril was sticky, reaching for a stretch of twine.  And then one morning, on my usual jaunt into the backyard, I saw several tendrils grasping the twine.  That delicate bit of greenery was holding an entire plant, pulling it upwards.

And then they were off!

Soon the vines grew, and quickly.  Each day it seemed like they grew another six inches.  The greenery was robust, working itself around the makeshift trellis and then back again.  The vines began to house  pure white flowers, reminiscent of popcorn.  And then, the most exciting thing of all– from the depths of each flower grew a perfect pea!  The flowers withered, but a pea emerged, shedding its floral skin.

I waited– let photosynthesis do its work, let the sun do its magic.  The pods got fatter; I was patient.  And then, this weekend, I had a mini harvest.  Brian and I got a bowl from the kitchen and selected only the plumpest sugar snap peas.  I had every intention of incorporating them into our dinner– a salad, or lightly seared in sesame oil.  But the peas never even made it back inside.  Brian and I sat in the garden and ate most of those snap peas.  We couldn’t believe how sweet and juicy (who knew that?) they were.  We couldn’t believe our garden luck!  Maybe my thumb is not black after all.