Our beans are really coming in and we’ve been canning every weekend. The other day The Deer Hunter was getting a jump on breaking beans for a run of canning while I was finishing up a run of blackberry jelly.
He came into the kitchen and asked me what I wanted to do with a pod of beans that were solid black. I was so excited to see the beans! It was our first pod of the Cherokee Trail of Tears bean that we planted a few weeks back. As plants will sometimes do, one bean we planted is way ahead of the rest and is apparently already producing. It it the one closest to our greasy beans so it was so intertwined we didn’t notice it had beans on the vine.
After my jelly was in the jars and cooling I joined The Deer Hunter on the bean breaking chore.
Everyone has their own method of breaking beans. Some folks like to string them all and then break them all—separating the job into two distinct chores. Other people string and break each bean before moving on to the next one. I string a handful of beans, break them, and then start the process over.
As I broke a handful into the bowl I spied several blue beans. I was immediately taken back to a dusty garden row, standing in the hot summer heat with Pap’s mother, my Mamaw Marie. I could hear the chickens cackling, the jar flies buzzing, and feel the hot summer sun on my head as well as the warm dirt and rocks on the bottoms of my bare feet. I could feel the orneriness of a child who wanted to go in out of the hot sun and was pouting about the fact that she couldn’t. But mostly I remember the timbre of Mamaw’s voice as she enticed me to stay a little longer while she worked and the excitement I felt over her promise to find me a special bean that was real purty.
I don’t recall how long the search for the bean lasted but I do remember the wonder of holding a blue bean in my tiny hand once she placed it there.
I was only in 5th grade when Mamaw Marie died from a heart attack. Pap, his father, and brother tried to get her to the hospital, but she died on the way. She was 67 years old.
Even though I was so young, I have great memories of Mamaw. She babysit me for Granny so I spent lots of time with her. Some memories are sharp and clear, most are soft and hazy; but all make me feel safe and loved.
I’m guessing the blue beans I found were from a Cherokee Trail bean that hadn’t fully turned black. I wish I could ask Mamaw, Papaw, or even Pap if the blue beans that pacified a willful young Tipper were the same variety or a different one. Yet there’s no one left to ask. Regardless, I’m thankful for another sharp memory to add to my storehouse of cherished Mamaw moments.
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IIts alot easier if you have help. I just started getting the bush bean you don’t have to string.
Tipper, I have wonderful memories of the family sitting under the huge maple trees in our yard, breaking beans to can. Now I talk my grandchildren into helping me and they are such sweet helpers. We sit on the back porch for hours stringing beans. I also grow yellow eye beans and we often find blue beans in them. The smaller kids are always so excited to find those bright blue beans. I have no idea where they come from.
I missed out on so much growing up. Both sets of grandparents snd great Grandparents had passed on before I was born. Well I had one Grandpa, but he rarely was around. I am so enjoying your memories. Thank you.
We always said we snapped beans and we called them snaps. I’m from Richmond, VA.
Oh, sweet memories! You, Tipper, there with your Mamaw, sent me flyin right back to about age 6 with my cousins down at Nana’s house (my great-grandma). The women who were out in the yard were Nana, her sister great aunt Grace, Gramma (my maternal grandma, Nana’s only daughter), and even my great-great Granny Ivy (Nana’s mother!) All of us women, all Texas, Georgia, Louisiana born elders and us kids all born in central California. The yard was shaded with cottonwood trees and their fallen leaves were covered in sticky sap that stuck to our bare feet in the summer heat. The elder women were peelin peaches and apples from our orchards and us kids loved to sit and listen to the stories of how Nana and her sisters played with rattlesnakes, threw rocks and dirt clods at the boys in their youth, raced each other barefoot down old, country roads, and even great-great Granny Ivy told stories about her wagon train full of hopeful pioneers coming west for a new life. I can’t begin to express how blessed I feel that I was able to know, listen to and be part of generations of old that most people today wouldn’t have a clue about.
In our household, we didn’t ‘break’ beans but ‘snapped’ them. Guess my Pa’s Swain County heritage was lost in my mother’s Wake County heritage that gave us ‘snapping beans’.
Beautiful story as much for the writing as for the content. You’ve a way with words, Tipper Wilson Pressley!
Thank you for sharing them with us!
What a sweet memory! As for the green beans, I do it like my Grandma did. Get a few in my hand, then get the tip closest to the vine off first then the end and snap the rest of it. I wanted to comment also about the song Southern Moon that Pap and Paul sang. Tipper, I was catching up reading your past few blogs and Robert and I were sitting here and I played Pap and Paul singing that song and I have to say, we both agreed that was one of the most beautiful songs they ever sang. Absolutely wonderful!! Thanks for sharing!
As is often the case, I was completely entertained by Tipper’s latest post even though it does also evoke some sad memories, especially those regarding lost Grannies. I remember complaining about all the work pickin beans and having to break them on the back step with an aching back. If I complained too much, one of the women would promise me a “yankee dime” when I finished. I soon learned that a Yankee Dime was nothing but a hug, which I really didn’t want. I suppose that term was a throwback to the days of the Civil War, Yankees and such.
That’s a sweet memory and now you have it documented so your family and friends can cherish it too. Thank you for sharing it with us!
So much love wrapped up in those memories!
I often asked questions as a child thar popped up regarding “The Old Days”. Now other than Cousins, there’s nobody to answer questions. Trouble is, they all lived at least a good 2hr or more drive away while I was growing up.
My grandchildren never asked about my growing up days. When they were young, I worked full time & when their mother went somewhere thankfully she made arrangements other than when her youngest needed some care because he was born premature with ALL the issues. That would be a time when Mondays would find me just as tired when I returned to work.
At that time I worked in childcare. Didn’t mind at all taking in kids when parents worked & went out of my way to be early for moms who needed to be at work early. What I grew to resent was moms that went shopping etc after work. The kids were tired & I & staff were tired and they were off ‘gallivanting’. Always questioned why folks had kids they didn’t want. I kept my children close when they were coming up. Mostly because I didn’t have family nearby. And I really loved mine and wanted them to have good memories.
About 21 yrs ago, my father died & a question popped up. He had been put in an orphanage at age 3 with the sister right above in & she was aged 6 or 7. Seems their mom died & my dad was the youngest of 6, so grandfather placed the older ones with family cause they could work. Obviously a toddler and older sister was a problem. Finally found a wife & he reclaimed the ‘orphans’. The question I had was “did my dad have shoes?as a kid.
My closest cousin managed to answer that when she found an old photograph of my dad. Yes, he did wear shoes.
I have done childcare, too, Kate & found the same problem. One time the parent is late like 5 minutes you let it go. Next thing you know, they are coming in 1/2 hour + all the time & not compensating you enough for it. Or the ones that “forgot their money” that day and you have to wait until Monday to get paid. Got tired of it. I kept my kids close, too, never really imposing on anyone to watch them – least of all my mom. I wanted her to ‘want’ to be with my kids for fun, not to wear her out and her be resentful (also my mom was not done raising her own kids when mine came along). I am glad I did this because I have such nice relationships with my two teen daughters. They are so loving & we have alot of laughs together. My great grandmother had a similar experience as your father. Her father ‘disappeared’. He got a job offer in Buffalo, NY (4hrs driving away from us) and started out on foot. He never got there & never came home! They tried looking for him, but in those days no one carried ID. He was a diabetic, so one theory is that he had a medical issue (sugar coma) and no one knew who he was & he died. But also, his wife, My great-great grandmother was quite a bossy woman & some say he just walked out. But then she couldn’t take care of all the children. My great grandmother was farmed out as a governess to a very wealthy family from Long Island (That moved up near me, due to kidnapping scares) and the others were farmed out to local farms. Their family never lived under one roof together, but the siblings remained pretty close to each other (but not to their mother, which makes me believe the father DID disappear on purpose) A mystery, for sure.
Wow, do you bring back memories of my Grandmother and Grandfather…the memories are different, but nonetheless wonderful memories. You are truly Blessed. Have a wonderful day and for myself, I snap off the end that held the bean to the vine and leave the other end intact. That little chore allows a lot of talking and rocking on the front porch. God Bless
You sure have a way with words! That bean was magical as it has lasted in memory for so many years and brought it up all this time later for a pleasant visit with your history.
I think this post goes a long way to explaining by illustrations your passion for Appalachia. I could read it many times and each time catch a different glimpse. The Blue Bean was an open sesame to a storehouse of vivid memory. (I capitalize it because it would make a great story title; actually it just did.) And though set in Appalachia, what you speak of is universal to the human experience. That is one great reason why you have readers from all over the world.
I wonder. I think the truest friends must be those who know their spirits are in agreement. That is the meaning of “kindred spirits”. The ‘kindred’ part differs in degree though. Anyway, I’ll think on it.
Mom used to raise beans that were blue. She called them fall beans that resembled Romas. I ordered some Trail of Tears bean seeds several years ago. I didn’t have much luck getting them to produce the first year so I just gave up trying.
What a wonderful post! You made me feel like I was you. I could feel that hot sun on my head, and the hot dirt on my bare feet. I could even hear your grandmother rustling the bean vines as she pulled each pod off, and hear the beans hit the others in the bowl as she dropped it in. I love when you share your memories. They are the kind of books I love to read.
Donna. : )
What a treasure of memories! My memories are intertwined with the different names of vegetables I heard over the years. That is the sheer joy of growing up with beloved family who kept us close to the earth. Mom was always 100% a Straight Eight, Missouri Wonder, half runner, and Black Seeded Simpson fan. Every time I see a pack of Kentucky Wonders I pass on by remembering always hearing how Missouri Wonders were best. Even if I had not been such a gardening nut, I would have remembered these favorites. My aunt was not so dedicated to a specific brand, and she grew some of greatest variety of everything I have ever seen. No matter how much I think I had learned, I am continuously impressed with young people on YouTube growing their own vegetables. One young lady exclusively bought seeds from Dollar Tree, and her garden looked so lush and green.
I think I will always love the way you take the simplest of things in our everyday life and show us their importance. Occasionally, as time permits, I go back and read an older post from your blog. I am fascinated by your knowledge of everything, and your own blog is a priceless collection of Appalachian History.
I love the way you wordsmith such beautiful stories from so many sweet memories.
I planted pinto beans (from a bag of cooking beans I got from Walmart) and they are loaded with pods. As a northerner, I am so confused about the leather britches – are they dried for the green bean (pod) part or for the bean inside? I have read about leather britches, but don’t know how you’d cook them? Do you shell them & then cook, or cook the whole pod that was strung???? I have hazy memories of my paternal grandad’s garden, although I do not think we helped in it at all. I know he grew quite a bit of sweet corn and taters. We spent visits there, but not a ton of time, because my mom didn’t get along with her mother in law too well. My dad & I have an argument, because I distinctly remember my grandad growing peanuts, but my father says that can’t be. We both have awesome memories, so I don’t know who is right! My other grampa didn’t have a garden. I was just like you Tipper, I was in the end of 5th grade & he was 67 when he died of heart trouble & emphysema. He’d had a couple major heart attacks. I never really got to know him well, as he had 10 kids & soooo many grandkids that we didn’t get special time with him (my gramma died the year before I was born & he was kind of left in a lurch w/all those kids). You are lucky that you have your memory of your special granny and that she loved you enough to entice you with a pretty blue bean. I have lots of questions I’d like to ask my grandparents now, that I didn’t think of back then & they’ve been gone for oh, such long time.
Patty-here’a video I made about leather britches you can check out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HU77bD0c-OY We eat the dried pod and the bean 🙂
Tipper , Your posts are so wonderful! I Loved your Mamaw Marie ! She was a wonderful lady . She and one of her sisters sat up with my Dad , her Uncle at the hospital before his death . Back then stringing and breaking green beans and canning was really survival and I still can a lot of beans ; my family all like home grown , home canned green beans but not many of them plant a garden and can them like Phillip and I do . Phillip picks them and if he doesn’t have other chores to do he will string a pan full and then I’ll break or cut them up and can them . They sure are better than a snowball in the winter !
Love your post !
Wonderful memory…
Tipper, the way you write, it’s as if I’m a bird watching the whole thing unfold before me. Grandma Marie sounds like a treasure indeed! I got the Trail of Tears beans (from the same Asheville Bohemian idiots you did I guess) and they’re pretty. I bet it’s that bean Granny Marie found for you. I wish every child could know the love you knew as a child! I know that’s why you’re the beautiful and wonderful hardworking lovely soul you are today!!!! Btw, I wanted to say (but forgot) your Pap is singing with the angel choir now and what a wonderful addition, huh? I like to think of my grannies watching me from heaven and giving me advice or warnings from time to time. I know granny Pearl came to me that day years ago when I needed her the most…sometimes I think I hear her singing in her off key voice and I’d pay all I have to hear it once more and hug her while telling her how sorry I am for giving her one moment of grief… I mean that too.
You have such a beautiful way of bringing your readers into your Appalachian memories. Thank you ❤
Green beans are a wonderful food! I remember the canning jars that filled my grandmother’s basement and there was more of the jars filled with green beans than any other item. It was a mainstay served every day. Think about it, in my grandmother’s day if they didn’t put up food they didn’t eat. There was no grocery store to go to then.
So. Precious.
Love the images in this story.
Thank you.
Your story took me back to my childhood. My grandmother always had a large garden that seemed to produce in abundance every year. She taught me me how to pick green beans and how to string them when I was very young. She cooked the best green beans that I have ever eaten.
Beautifully written, Tipper! Memories that make us feel safe and loved are the BEST!!