In late April I planted a row of Blue Lake green beans along a makeshift trellis by the side of my house—old metal fenceposts and jute twine, same as I use for tomatoes. I wove a soaker hose through them to keep the soil wet through a dry spring. They sprouted. They grew. They occasionally flowered. They did not make a single damn bean. In mid-July I gave up and quit watering, and since two wet weeks in early August they have had no more than a sprinkle or two.
Early this month I noticed a half dozen beans. That was something, I thought. Then in the last two weeks I have harvested three pounds of beans, good, full, and flavorful. Almost two pounds last weekend, pictured here. You can see what the vines look like. This near the equinox they don’t even get much direct sunlight.
Really I don’t know what I did wrong, or right, or what to do next year. Consult the star charts? Plant them in my basement? After thirty years’ gardening I feel I ought to have more of a clue, but I’m left scratching my head as fall settles in.
Rage against the dying of the light, o beans! I’ll keep eating your fruit as long as you keep refusing to go quietly.
