Meanwhile my beans, the length of whose rows, added together, was seven miles already planted, were impatient to be hoed…What was the meaning of this so steady and self-respecting, this small Herculean labor , I knew not. I came to love my rows, my beans, though so may more than I wanted . They attached me to the earth, and so I got the strength like Antaeus. “The Bean Field”-Walden-1854.
pic from tim’s bean patch! thanks for reading tim’s weed patch today.