On Picking Snow Peas

I’m thinking about picking snow peas.  They are my favourite crop to pick. When I first started picking snow peas,  I was slow.  Snow peas are invisible. The green of the pea pod matched exactly the green of the foliage. I’d hold the plant in one hand, searching for the hidden jewel. 

Snow pea flowers are snowy white. They look like tiny fairy slippers.  I would look for a fading flower to catch where a new pea pod began.  It wasn’t a reliable method.  

I found that snow peas like to grow on the underside of the plant.  When I discovered that, I‘d flip the plant over and thrill when I’d find a cache of two or three.

That made me look more closely at the leaves.  The leaves of snow pea plants are rounded trefoils - like giant three-leaf clovers, and while the green of the plant may fade,  it’s always spring green - just like the pods, which I can’t see until I do. 

Picking snow peas is a little like those Magic Eye and two picture images where you have to shift your eyes to find a hidden 3D or unseen image.  

I’m in the pea patch thinking about this. I’m faster now.  My hands move automatically, and I’m dropping peas into the bucket.  I’m looking at the plants, searching through the leaves for the pods, but my fingers are faster than my eyes.   My fingers recognize a certain heaviness to the pod, and my eyes adjust so that I can adjust the pull 

I’m leaning into the plants, and I realize I’m listening. I love snow peas; they squeak when you find them. They sound like newborn kittens drawing my eyes and fingers toward them.

I look at my pail. I’m halfway down the patch.   I’m in the middle of a patch of snow peas. It’s my favourite place to be