The Bean-Field

Meanwhilemybeans,thelengthofwhoserows,addedtogether,wassevenmilesalreadyplanted,wereimpatienttobehoed,fortheearliesthadgrownconsiderablybeforethelatestwereinthegroundindeedtheywerenoteasilytobeputoff.Whatwasthemeaningofthissosteadyandself-respecting,thissmallHerculeanlabor,Iknewnot.Icametolovemyrows,mybeans,thoughsomanymorethanIwanted.Theyattachedmetotheearth,andsoIgotstrengthlikeAnt?us.ButwhyshouldIraisethem?OnlyHeavenknows.Thiswasmycuriouslaborallsummer,—tomakethisportionoftheearth’ssurface,whichhadyieldedonlycinquefoil,blackberries,johnswort,andthelike,before,sweetwildfruitsandpleasantflowers,produceinsteadthispulse.WhatshallIlearnofbeansorbeansofme?Icherishthem,Ihoethem,earlyandlateIhaveaneyetothemandthisismyday’swork.Itisafinebroadleaftolookon.Myauxiliariesarethedewsandrainswhichwaterthisdrysoil,andwhatfertilityisinthesoilitself,whichforthemostpartisleanandeffete.Myenemiesareworms,cooldays,andmostofallwoodchucks.Thelasthavenibbledformeaquarterofanacreclean.ButwhatrighthadItooustjohnswortandtherest,andbreakuptheirancientherbgarden?Soon,however,theremainingbeanswillbetootoughforthem,andgoforwardtomeetnewfoes. WhenIwasfouryearsold,asIwellremember,IwasbroughtfromBostontothismynativetown,throughtheseverywoodsandthisfield,tothepond.Itisoneoftheoldestscenesstampedonmymemory.Andnowto-nightmyflutehaswakedtheechoesoverthatverywater.ThepinesstillstandhereolderthanIor,ifsomehavefallen,Ihavecookedmysupperwiththeirstumps,andanewgrowthisrisingallaround,preparinganotheraspectfornewinfanteyes.Almostthesamejohnswortspringsfromthesameperennialrootinthispasture,andevenIhaveatlengthhelpedtoclothethatfabulouslandscapeofmyinfantdreams,andoneoftheresultsofmypresenceandinfluenceisseeninthesebeanleaves,cornblades,andpotatovines. Iplantedabouttwoacresandahalfofuplandandasitwasonlyaboutfifteenyearssincethelandwascleared,andImyselfhadgotouttwoorthreecordsofstumps,IdidnotgiveitanymanurebutinthecourseofthesummeritappearedbythearrowheadswhichIturnedupinhoeing,thatanextinctnationhadancientlydwelthereandplantedcornandbeanserewhitemencametocleartheland,andso,tosomeextent,hadexhaustedthesoilforthisverycrop. Beforeyetanywoodchuckorsquirrelhadrunacrosstheroad,orthesunhadgotabovetheshruboaks,whileallthedewwason,thoughthefarmerswarnedmeagainstit,—Iwouldadviseyoutodoallyourworkifpossiblewhilethedewison,—Ibegantoleveltheranksofhaughtyweedsinmybean-fieldandthrowdustupontheirheads.EarlyinthemorningIworkedbarefooted,dabblinglikeaplasticartistinthedewyandcrumblingsand,butlaterinthedaythesunblisteredmyfeet.Therethesunlightedmetohoebeans,pacingslowlybackwardandforwardoverthatyellowgravellyupland,betweenthelonggreenrows,fifteenrods,theoneendterminatinginashruboakcopsewhereIcouldrestintheshade,theotherinablackberryfieldwherethegreenberriesdeepenedtheirtintsbythetimeIhadmadeanotherbout.Removingtheweeds,puttingfreshsoilaboutthebeanstems,andencouragingthisweedwhichIhadsown,makingtheyellowsoilexpressitssummerthoughtinbeanleavesandblossomsratherthaninwormwoodandpiperandmilletgrass,makingtheearthsaybeansinsteadofgrass,—thiswasmydailywork.AsIhadlittleaidfromhorsesorcattle,orhiredmenorboys,orimprovedimplementsofhusbandry,Iwasmuchslower,andbecamemuchmoreintimatewithmybeansthanusual.Butlaborofthehands,evenwhenpursuedtothevergeofdrudgery,isperhapsnevertheworstformofidleness.Ithasaconstantandimperishablemoral,andtothescholarityieldsaclassicresult.AveryagricolalaboriosuswasItotravellersboundwestwardthroughLincolnandWaylandtonobodyknowswheretheysittingattheireaseingigs,withelbowsonknees,andreinslooselyhanginginfestoonsIthehome-staying,laboriousnativeofthesoil.Butsoonmyhomestead