P is for Peas

 

Picture it. It's 2 am, and peas are flying all over the kitchen. Let me set the stage for this scene.

When I was growing up, my father raised huge vegetable gardens--an acre or more. We lived in Town without a very big yard, so friends would let him use land on their farms for his plantings. Every evening after work, he would go tend the garden, and sometimes, my sister and I would join him to work on our jobs - weeding and/or picking. But our main job was when we got home - processing the produce.

When we were younger, we helped our mother and learned the ins and outs of proper canning and freezing. When we were older, we did all of the canning and freezing since our mother worked long hours at her nursing job. We knew that when freshly picked peas or corn came into the house, they had to be frozen (this was preferred over canning because of taste) as quickly as possible because the natural sugars in them started to change into starch as soon as they were picked, degrading the quality. 

So it would go something like this. After an evening in the garden, we would start washing and shelling peas around 9 pm. When we got enough peas shelled, one of us would start blanching them while the other kept shelling. After the blanching, we would cool them in a big dishpan using ice we had frozen in orange juice cans. Then, they went into containers and into the freezer. This would go on until we finished, usually until the middle of the night sometimes.

If you would like to try one,
 I found this on eBay.

We'd then go to bed and get up the next day to handle whatever else there was that hadn't needed to be processed immediately. And so it went. That was until one day when my mother bought a gadget that she thought would help - The Magic Fingers Sheller.  It was a yellow plastic box that hooked up to a hand mixer.  The mixer ran two electric rollers that you fed peas through. The rollers would squeeze out the peas in one direction and the shells in another. And it worked, except when it didn't. Sometimes, the peas would get stuck, and you would have to retrieve them and restart the process. Other times, the peas would fly out of the rollers and land who knows where. 

At first, my sister and I found the stuck and bouncing peas very aggravating, but as the night wore on, we found it funnier and funnier. As those peas ricocheted around the kitchen, sometimes we laughed until we cried. I guess you had to be there to really get it, but those late nights with my sister and the pea-sheller are among my favorite memories of growing up.