“It’s important to have a twinkle in your wrinkle.”–Anonymous
Green beans Days of summers past
During the summer months, my grandparents typically made a weekly trip to the local produce market to buy fresh green beans. Once home, they sat kitty-corner from one another, an open width of newspaper in front of each of them, a pile of green beans in the center of each, and a large bowl between them. Then, they went to work.
Over an advertisement or yesterday’s news, they would string each side of a bean, break each one into two or three pieces, and toss the broken beans into the bowl.
“Pinch, zip, crack, plink. Pinch, zip, crack, plink.”
The bean strings would pile high like tangled pieces of a preschooler’s hair on the floor of a barber shop after their first haircut, and the bowl would gradually fill with broken, strung beans. Sometimes Grandmother and Papaw talked; other times, they simply tuned into the percussive beat of their efforts, but never for long.
Once Chessie, their large, solidly gray, and very temperamental cat, heard the pinch, zip, crack, plink of the beans, her head would raise from her designated napping spot, and she would come trip, trop, trotting into the kitchen, tail raised, and voice meowing. Grandmother and Papaw would both talk to Chessie in that unique sing-song quality used only with pets and children. She would meow incessantly, rubbing and darting in and out of their ankles until given an unstrung bean with which to play. Bean gently held between her upper and lower jaw, she pranced to the center of the kitchen, plopped the bean onto the floor, and proceeded to bat it around between her front paws, then pounce on it, pick it up in her mouth again, carry it to another area, drop it onto the floor again, and repeat the entire process enthusiastically entertaining herself for long periods of time.
Once the beans were strung and rinsed, they were placed into a large pressure cooker pot on the stove, and the cooking commenced. Steam would belch and burp out of the “jiggler,” aka the weighted valve that released pressure. All the while, Chessie still toyed with her bean, often pausing to rest with her front paws on top of the bean, as if it were a treasure, while the redolent aroma of beans filled the air.
The scent saturation grew even stronger once the lid was removed and Grandmother seasoned the beans, adding this and that from an unseen recipe forged into her mind over the years. Those green beans cooked all day, and by the time supper rolled around, Grandmother and Papaw made a meal that mostly consisted of those beans.
What is ‘real’ seasoning?
Real magic occurred, according to my grandmother, once the beans were cooled and stored in the refrigerator. That’s when the real seasoning began–over time. I would see them eat on those beans all week long, heating them up each time, and diligently returning the leftovers to the fridge, declaring that the beans were better tasting as the week progressed.
“They’re good and seasoned now,” Grandmother would say mid-way through the week.
Meanwhile, Chessie’s green bean also became “seasoned.” That bean would be hidden, seemingly lost, only to be found again, looking more ragged as the week progressed, but it appeared to grant her the same pleasure nonetheless.
I found myself smiling recently, reflecting on those green bean days of summer so long ago, when I heard someone say, “Oh, I am proud to say I’m a seasoned bean, I mean, seasoned being. My gray hair and wrinkles remind me that I am seasoned like the best food on the table.”
The Gifts of Seasoning
I had stumbled across a podcast discussing the finer points of aging with the overall premise being that the definition and understanding of aging is changing. The speaker pointed to the shifting of retirement age to later years for many healthy adults. She further promoted the importance of wellness, preventative care, and longevity practices as a valid part of this cultural evolution in work life.
Honestly, I tuned out a large portion of the podcast because I was so wrapped up in remembrances of Grandmother, Papaw, Chessie, and seasoned green beans. Even so, the speaker had a point, wrinkles and gray hair don’t hurt–at least not physically. Sure, the body does not respond like it once did–parts shift, aches and random discomforts are more frequent visitors–but would I really want to go back to my former self with all her insecurities and self-doubt? Nah!
Therefore, I must take the good with the not-so-good, and find the sweet-spot for which to be grateful. Afterall, the longer those beans were from their “birth” in a pressure cooker, the better their taste, and that, my friend, is true of so much in life.
When I reflect over the years, and recall long-ago moments that will never return, such as time spent in my grandparents’ kitchen, I appreciate the seasoning that got me to this point–the good, the bad, and the oh-so-ugly. Each moment provided lessons–many of which I am still learning, but that’s part of the process–similar to the way in which Grandmother’s beans got better over time. With each year of seasoning, the more our knowledge, understanding, and patience expands.
Sure, not every day of life can be idyllic, but I find that with age, I want to capitalize on days, or even moments, that are good because I now better appreciate the value and rare exquisiteness of such moments. I accept–most of the time–that there are going to be bad days and moments, sometimes as high pressure as that old pan of green beans cooking on Grandmother’s stove, but it’s the part of the seasoning process, albeit, sometimes wrinkles and gray hairs are sure to be a byproduct of those moments!
The point of being a seasoned human-being is to realize and appreciate what we have been given, move on from mistakes of the past, and focus-forward on the goals still to be achieved. Depending upon our stage in life, Dear Reader, some of us are more seasoned than others, but we can all use our current level of seasoning to help/mentor others, enjoy the way that extra-seasoning often enhances our understanding of numerous situations, and continue to sip enthusiastically from the life for which we are still living.
Here’s to our continued seasoning, my friend!
Steph Simply 