September 27, 2002Florida Filler Update: (Yes, I am a geek, why do you ask?) Florida is very warm and humid. I love some of the wildlife here, the little lizards like we had when we lived on St. Thomas, the little toads like when we lived in Cincinnati. Family anecdote: I would collect these tiny frogs and put them in old Cool Whip containers with holes in the lid that I would bring with me everywhere. One time my mom was driving with me in the back seat, she assumes I'm asleep because I'm quiet for so long, and then she hears "got 'em all back now, mom!"...related family-in-law factoid: Mo's dad helped invent Cool Whip.
"Wait!" cried the last two peas in the can. My hand stopped its arc to the garbage.
"What do you want?" I asked them, the two peas that clung in the slivery cylinder.
"We want out."
"What do you care? You're peas."
"That's right. We're peas. What is there for us but the fork and the plate? How can you deny us our place on the plate? We've lived on the vine, huddled in our pod on cold nights, striving away for greenness and roundness. It's all been in vain if you throw us away."
"I didn't know peas had feelings," I said.
"We do," they replied, "and this is our moment. We have nothing higher, no krishna, no green goddess, no madonna of the vegetable garden. This is our calling, no other, the climax of sun and rain and humus, green energy pushing through our vines, this is us, this is what we are. We are the peas."
"How can I help?" I asked them.
"Give us butter and salt," they said, "and maybe pearl onions."
"You know you'll be eaten." I said.
"Does it hurt?"
"No one knows," they answered.