In the cool of the evening
I go out on the deck
All alone
To break the ends off the beans.
Triggering memories of sitting
Out on the front porch
With a stream rushing by
When I was a child,
Visiting as we broke the ends off
and cut up the beans.
Visiting. Visiting. Visiting.
Family, friends, neighbors.
Even the menfolk joined in.
Tonight I had just enough beans for one meal
While back home, the next morning
We bottled 100-200 quarts of beans
Canning peaches was communal
When I was young too.
So many women crowded in our little kitchen
Peeling peaches.
Aunt El invariably came over to help.
(Mama’s aunt; our great aunt.)
She carried news from one end of the town
To the other on her daily route.
No telephones. No TV.
Just the human touch.
How lonely canning has been since,
Even with telephone and television.
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