well, bless my little pea-pickin’ heart
As I look back through the photos of the last week, it strikes me that they are on the whole pretty melancholy shots, lots of greys and browns and sepia. I thought I should brighten it up. All of us in the Northern Hemisphere could probably use a shot of color right about now anyway.
This is the ornamental kale, photographed while standing under the eave of the house carefully shielding the camera from the pouring rain. (Can you see the drops actually falling in the shot?)
I’m sure my neighbors thought I’d lost it for sure, or perhaps wasn’t the smartest of human beings to begin with.
“Her porchlight doesn’t shine very bright, bless her heart,” as they say in the South.
On a side note: Why is it that Southern women, when we are saying something vaguely insulting, add the phrase “bless her heart” or “bless his little heart” to the sentence? I’m not sure any heart but our own needs blessing when we are gossiping and speaking less than kind words. Nonetheless, I find it a strangely charming affectation. (Such is the power of culture, I suppose.)
My mother took it to new heights whenever we would pout or whine as children, saying in tones dripping with mock sympathy, “Well, bless your little pea-pickin’ hearts, y’all have got it so bad!” And it always made us laugh and realize we were being rude and ungrateful.
If I’m able to restore part of that garden plot, I may be pea-pickin’ for the first time in my life. (Well, unless you count crowder peas.) After yesterday’s flash flood damage, I’m even considering growing the peas in pots and letting them vine up the porch railing.
Has anyone grown peas in containers? I’d love some advice.
No damage was done to the area slated for cabbage. (Knock on wood.) In fact, this photo makes me imagine the fat red heads of cabbages to come. My transplants are arriving the second week of February, and according to my regional info for the Piedmont of South Carolina, we can plant as early as Valentine’s Day.
Wonder if F. will think I’ve lost it if I suggest that the gift I really want on lovey day is some help putting in the transplants and generally getting everything spiffy out there for the spring season kitchen garden. Hmm…
Ah, well, he knows all about my porch light’s eccentricities by now. After all, I wrinkled up my nose at the idea of a diamond but squealed with excitement when he bought me some red worms in a plastic bucket.
Bless all your little pea-pickin’ hearts this Friday — even though I am sure you are never rude or ungrateful, but always lovely and kind. If your comments are anything to go by, readers of this blog are the soul of graciousness and gentle wit.