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/From the border we traveled southwest across the wine country of
New York and northern Pennsylvania, where endless vineyards fl ank the
pebbled shore of Lake Erie. Another day’s drive brought us into the rolling
belly of Ohio, where we would be visiting friends on their dairy farm.
Their rural county looked like a postcard of America’s heartland, sent
from a time when the heart was still healthy. Old farmhouses and barns
stood as quiet islands in the undulating seas of corn, silvery oats, and au-
burn spelt.
We pulled into our friends’ drive under a mammoth silver maple. Lily
sized up the wooden swing that twisted on twenty- foot ropes from one of
its boughs. A platoon of buff- colored hens ignored us, picking their way
over the yard, while three old dogs trotted out to warn their mistress of
our arrival. Elsie came around the corner, beaming her pure- sunshine
smile. “Rest on the porch,” she said, drawing us glasses of water from the
pump in the yard. “David is cultivating the corn, so there’s no knowing
when that will fi nish.”
We offered to help with whatever she’d been doing, so Elsie rolled the
wheelbarrow to her garden and returned with a tall load of pea plants she
had just pulled. We pulled lawn chairs into a circle under the cherry trees,
lifted piles of vines into our laps, and tackled the shelling. Peas are a crea-
ture of spring, content to germinate in cold soil and flourish in cool, damp
days, but heat causes them to stop flowering, set the last of their pods,
and check out. Though nutritionally similar, peas and beans inhabit dif-
ferent seasons; in most gardens the peas are all finished before the fi rst
bean pod is ready to be picked. That’s a good thing for the gardener, since
each of these plants in its high season will bring you to your knees on a
daily basis. Tall, withered pea vines are a sigh from the end of spring, a
pause before the beans, squash, and tomatoes start rolling.
We caught up on news while steadily popping peas from their shells.
Over our heads hung Stark’s Gold cherries the size of silver dollars. The
central Ohio season was a week or so behind ours, and it was dryer here
too. Elsie reported they’d had no rain for nearly a month—a fairly disas-