Like the Bean

May the work beneath the surface always be the most important to us

Shelling Drying Beans - These are Flambo which are beautifully vibrant pink and dry to a purple and white

Right around the summer solstice, I trench a line in the warm soil and tuck away the first variety of beans for the year. The seeds are broad and green, but soon I will pull out purple, black, and even speckled pink ones to go into the soil as well. The long days offer the sun enough opportunity to radiate the essential heat into the soil to bring the earth to life beneath my feet. The air smells of green, and my favorite of all scents; warm soil. Running my bare hand into the earth, I feel the heat in the ground, which fills me in a new way as only summer’s warmth can. With the trench dug, my hands emerge dirty and black from the soil that I have given life to patiently for years. This soil pays me back now with its damp heat that promises to sprout the bean seeds I had saved from the year before, one year giving into another. Though I could use a tool, I am leaning into my desire to create a fully tactile experience of having my hands in the soil. After so many cold days when gloves protected my hands, I only want to feel the warm soil run over my hands and become intoxicated by the scent of the warm earth. I have missed feeling dirty and connected to the soil in this way. 

When the time comes for the beans to be planted, my kids always clamor to join in. The seeds are large as far as seeds go. They are easy to hold, and they are easy to plant. Planting a bean is a natural joy, offering instant satisfaction to those with short attention spans. This makes bean seeds the top choice for teaching children about life cycles, with seeds planted in clear plastic cups on the classroom window sill. It was the first seed I ever learned to sow. I remember my grandfather having buckets full of bean seeds. I would play with them as he dropped each one into the holes. I would thrust my small arms deep into the buckets to feel their smooth shells all over my skin. Later in the season, I would help him pluck the pods off the plants daily to keep their gifts coming. I would then run inside to my grandmother with buckets full of these slender pods to be turned into dilly beans or cooked for a bean salad later in the summer. Beans are the endless giver to the lazy gardener. 

Beans always are a great way to keep small hands busy in our home

In the Midwest, the green bean and the zucchini are the most prolific plants in the summer months. Any Midwesterner knows that if your neighbor asks to swing by to drop something off on a warm steamy August day, they will be coming to give you one of these two vegetables. If you are feeling lucky, it will be both. The number of times I have made the mistake of taking up my neighbor on their offer to "drop something off on my porch" in August may surprise you, considering how I have spent most of my life knowing the outcomes of these offers. Each time I naively accept and am greeted by two grocery bags full of green beans that smell of warm earth and a pile of overgrown zucchini that's only best used for zucchini bread. Of course, sometimes you don't have the opportunity to accept these generous offers from your community members. Once while attending a meeting, one woman forced a bag of snappy and slightly overgrown green beans on every person in attendance. There was also when my friend showed up unannounced only to say, "Oh, by the way, I have these zucchini for you." She then handed me a cardboard box full of four zucchini the size of my toddler. The zucchini never made it into my kitchen despite what she may have believed because they were rationed off to the chickens for grazing. The perils of a rural Midwesterner's life are quite treacherous, particularly when the beans are prolific, and the zucchini grow a foot overnight.  

I have learned over the years that beans don't just grow as slender green pods that we toss in butter and salt to be sautéed and placed next to a protein and potatoes. They are far more complex and exciting and come in an abundance of colors, sizes, and shapes, while each one offers a unique story of how it became available to be grown in our gardens. Even if we think only of the generic types we see while wandering aisles of any grocery store where we purchase our food, we can easily see that the varieties go far beyond just those slender green pods that snap when cooked just right. These are the beans that sit in plastic bags stacked together, collecting dust, and have names like Red Kidney, Cannelli, Garbanzo, Black Eyed Pea, and Black Bean that can be conjured to life with enough heat, water, and time to be a meal. Even under the fluorescent lights of a grocery store, each type of bean appears wildly unique. 

Despite their variety, bean seeds are abundant givers once they flower and create pods. They desire little to grow effectively other than rich soil, some warmth, and busy hands to pluck the pods to encourage more production. Some grow like a bush. Some grow like vines up to eight feet or more and can cover arches and shade lettuce below them. Some blossom purple or red flowers before the pods emerge. Some grow like a pole with alien-like fingers springing off in all directions, and some are best grown amongst a patch of corn and squash. 

Another Runner Bean variety - Chocolate I believe, growing amongst the tomatoes in summer 2021

I remember the first time I opened a seed catalog and realized there are over 400 varieties of beans, and it was then that I began to see the world that the bean alone can open up for us. Each bean seed holds a unique story that ties directly to human history, just as all seeds do. Beans are one of the pillars of the garden and humanity, and planting them in these first days of summer feels like setting the footing in the ground for a great garden year to come. 

Even amongst all this variety, beans all still grow the same way, and they always begin here in these first days, the same time year over year. I plant them two inches deep in a trench when the soil feels hot and warm to ensure they sprout quickly in the damp and rich soil to avoid rotting. I leave space between for seeding buckwheat, zinnias, corn, or anything that sounds exciting in the coming days after their first leaves emerge. I drop in the seeds one by one. Sometimes the seed packet instructions recommend soaking them for 24 hours before planting, but the rushed planting of summer doesn't always allow for soaking. Our season is short, and planting can feel like a whirlwind. I cover the seeds, pat them down, water them, or let the rain do it, and wish them well, hoping to see their first leaves very quickly.

After I seed them, I wait; but they are doing anything but waiting. They are working extremely hard. Deep under the surface of the rich soil, they begin to swell to twice their size. I keep the watering consistent to ensure the swelling leads to them driving their root deep down into the soil (the most important thing). The bean uses the organisms and nutrients in the ground to establish itself and connect with its community. Though the roots aren't what we harvest, they determine the quality of what will be gathered. The work beneath the soil is dirty but must be done correctly to create the harvest we desire. 

Usually, on a warm day at the end of June, the first true leaves unfurl; from there, the beans grow as quickly as summer passes. They are wild. They climb. They flower. Eventually, the pods form nearly overnight. We marvel at the colors, textures, and how the pods swell and grow with such intention. The beans' completed work is evident in those moments. Their color, size, flavor, and more tell the story of who they are. We pick and pick until we can no longer fathom more beans. We then leave them to dry on the vines where they grow and will naturally save their seed so we can place them in jars for soup months later when snow covers the garden. 

The stages of the Flambo bean as it dries out its shell

I am fascinated by the bean's journey in our garden and how it can teach us such immense knowledge about properly rooting ourselves. Even as a seasoned gardener, it is still a miracle that these tiny seeds give so much life in such a short time. I am constantly reminded by the bean just how vital the unseen work in life is to ensure we develop our best selves. 

Watching it all unfold, I have taken notes and can reflect on how I have caught myself focusing on the show I put on rather than on my roots. How do I look? What will garner more likes? Am I offering something interesting to the world? Am I relevant? Too often, I have seen the show above the soil as being more important than well-established roots. After all, what sort of bean plant grows a great bean that doesn't first build great roots? The beans that develop their roots will never worry about how their flowers unfurl, or their pod grows. Instead, when a bean doesn't establish healthy roots, this results in poor harvests that come up short. I can easily make the correlation in my own life. If I am not careful, I, too, can create half-sized productions and lack proper grounding, leaving me vulnerable to winter storms. 

How often do we pass the things we have planted in the ground and forget to follow their wisdom? How often do we pass the same trees and blossoming hedges on our daily walks and never see the silent conversations they have all around us? How often do we forget that these plants are teachers for us? I watch my plants closely now in these early days of summer. I want to know their stories just like I want to know my neighbors' stories. What brought them here? What shaped them into who they are? Why do they make their choices when they move through the growing season? How can I learn from their processes? Though the plants don't speak audibly, I have learned to listen by observing them. I listen by watching the cosmos blow their pink and white blossoms to the whim of the wind or how the bean chooses to climb the stalk of the corn to reach the sun. I watch how the tomato has learned to root from its stem and how the cabbage leaves create an iridescent color reminiscent of how the sun glistens on Lake Michigan in an August sunset. I notice how the nasturtium uses its vibrant orange blossoms to trap many bugs, we don't want around. When I wander the garden in summer, every sense is filled with lessons. All I have to do is observe, and even now, I can hear the conversation that hangs just above the cricket's song.  I realize just how much there is to be discovered and heard amongst these plants. There is so much left to learn. The question then arises of whether I am willing to listen. Though this conversation won't grab headlines or garner likes, it is one that will open new pathways as to what it means to be alive, and I am learning every day to prefer that far more.  

Mid - July in Summer 2022 as the Scarlet Runner Beans grew up our trellis over our new brick path.

The more attention I pay to the bean, the more I focus deeply and patiently on doing the work under the soil myself. This quiet work is not what others see. The rooting in ourselves comes from what we do internally and in our small decisions to focus inward. It is time we take to recharge and listen to ourselves. These are the moments when we breathe deeply or remove things from the list of activities in our lives. This happens when we consciously tend to ourselves. In the past, I would have rushed the leaves. I would have believed I must show who I am. Now, I am asking, am I being true to my roots? Is this the best path for me? Does this align with my deepest desire?

During these crucial times when I tend to my roots, I naturally dive into nature, make time for myself, and slow down life to leave space for what I need. These moments cultivate the space for solid roots to take hold that will build confidence and resilience so I can bloom when the moments are right. There is no desire to share this part of the process with the world, but as the bean has taught me, these times matter the most in creating a productive, well-lived, and intentional life.

Summer harvests of green beans, tomatoes, eggplant, and flambo beans, along with volunteer tomatillos

Holding these bean seeds in my hand on this warm summer day, I am reminded that they have been doing it this way for centuries, and look at them! Beans are a complete protein when paired with rice and can feed entire nations. They carry some of the most profound stories of the human race. These pillars of the garden and food system are not just worth observing but hold immense wisdom that can feed us even more deeply than the warming bowl of beans and broth that will fill us in the winter months to come. The more I watch them grow over the years in the garden, the more I realize just how much there is to learn.