We sat in near silence, the child warm and soft upon my lap. She chattered occasionally telling me about the beans we worked on or counting them carefully, “two, two, two”. The sweet scent of a child rose to my nose when I brushed against her hair. Slowly the bean pods, picked out of the dirt in the frozen fall garden, fell apart releasing the beans from their shells. The creamy Dragons tongue with its purple spots like an appaloosa. Huge dark purple beans speckled with lavender, more of a roan in coloring, along with smattering of beans in browns and white and a near black. At first her tiny fingers fumbled clumsily crushing the pods as she added them to our bowl with the beans. She worked happily and diligently though, to the music of beans bouncing on the floor.
Soon the two year old attention span won out and she slid down wanting food and a drink. With those needs satisfied she remained in her own chair regally demanding her own bowl for beans. Supplied with a handful of pods she went to work. The pods of the purple pole beans came apart easily and her tiny fingers were comfortable grasping the giant beans. With her head bent to the task her concentration was intense as she shelled beans, fingers becoming more nimble with each pod.
With her happy hard working company the chore became a pleasure and together we quickly worked through the bucket. Tomorrow we shall eat bean soup.