Sweet pea at dusk.
The sweet pea was the last flower I expected to see in our garden this year. Somehow, the delicate Lathyrus odoratus wears the mantle of the most unanticipated marvel- the beauty made all the brighter for being unharmed by expectation.
Add to this the fact that we did everything wrong (waiting until the weather was warm before planting the seeds directly in the soil) and I'm amazed that we get to see anything at all... But the tiny plants continue to flirt with their teepee... their tendrils beginning to curl and reach out.
"Treat it like a found poem," I urge the Eldest. He weighs the possibility of laying claim to treasures discovered by other pirates.
"No," he replies, "I'm going to find my own found poem in another plant." Suit yourself, I think, remembering those days fondly, the ones where every secret worth saving needed to be entirely my own.
The surprise of the pea flowers enchants, keeps me from writing, the language of shoots and bulbs creeping into dialogue between characters. I need a technical distraction or some magical means of refocusing.
Sweet peas grow in full sun to partial shade and require rich, well-drained soil. A local green thumb I know warned me that sweet peas are heavy feeders, doing best with a few organic fertilizer treatments during the growing season.
Word also has it that deadheading encourages a longer season of bloom.
Pea Shoots brochure, filled with delicious recipes
on how to cook those splendid pea shoots
3 FREE LAPBOOKING PAGES ON GARDEN PEAS
A SEASON IN THE LIFE OF A PEA (1 narrative bi-fold)
SWEET PEA FLOWER AND VINES (2 bi-folds with diagrams)
