Jill Churchill - War and Peas

It was quite a charming place, now that she was able to really look at it. The museum was badly overstuffed, but she liked old-fashioned museums that were crowded with alcoves and dead ends full of surprises. There was, no doubt, a lot to be said for the more modern facilities with plenty of open space and displays featuring a single, well-explained item, but Jane personally preferred the garage-sale look.

As she was examining a Victorian Hair Wreath, which was both fascinating and revolting, she noticed Casper Snellen standing in the doorway of the room. He was obviously looking for someone, but his gaze passed over her as if she were merely another dusty display. To her relief, he turned on his heel and left. A few minutes later, Sharlene came into the room carrying a posterboard. Jane oozed around behind a piece of farm machinery out of sight. She wanted a few more minutes of just looking around before starting to work. Sharlene was intent on making a bit of room for setting up the poster and didn't even look in Jane's direction.

“Hello? Do you work here?" an older man's voice said.

“Yes, sir, I do. Can I help you?”

Jane peeked out from behind the machinery. The man was a dapper elderly individual in a retirement "uniform" — golf shirt, polyester trousers, and a soft khaki hat.

“Well, no. But I wanted to talk to someone here. My wife and I are doing a little traveling. Got a brand-new mobile home, you see. Visiting our daughter and her kids while they're out of school for the summer. And I've always wanted to come here."

“How nice," Sharlene said with apparently sincere warmth.

After a rather lengthy monologue on the joys of motor homes, retirement, and grandchildren, with a mercifully short excursion into Medicare injustices, the elderly man got to the point. "See, I was a boy in Arkansas during the Depression and have never forgotten Snellen's Little Beauty."

“Little Beauty?" Sharlene asked. "I don't think I've heard of—"

“Oh, you wouldn't have. You're much too young. But old Snellen sold it back in the early thirties. My old man was a farmer then. He got a couple bags of the seed and tried it out. It was the funniest-lookin' pea plant you ever did see. Supposed to be a bushy variety, but it just laid on the ground. Real green and pretty and had lots of peas, but you couldn't harvest the damned things without crawlin' around on your hands and knees. Mind you, in those days we didn't mind too much crawlin' for food."

“I'm sorry to hear that," Sharlene said politely.

“Don't be. Wasn't a complaint. See, that's not the end of the story I wanted to tell you folks. My old man ordered three or four bags of seed, but forgot one of them and left it in the barn. Next summer he planted potatoes instead and came across this one bag of peas left over from the year before. Too dry and old to eat, but he wasn't one to let anything go to waste. It was dust-bowl days, you know. And those durned peas really grew like mad even in dry ground, which is odd for peas, so after he got his spuds in the ground, he threw the last bag of peas around 'em. Just to hold the soil down, don't you see? Well, I tell you, little lady, we had the biggest, best potatoes in the world that year.

You could make a fine meal on just one of them. I can still remember how great they were. We didn't have any butter — my mother would make gravy with a dab of bacon drippings. Never had as good a spud the rest of my life. Well, my old man didn't know much about science, but he could tell a good crop when he saw one. He figured the peas had something to do with it."

“And did they?" Sharlene asked.

“I dunno. But he had all us kids out in that field that fall on our hands and knees picking every last pea. Three years in a row he used those peas for ground cover. Put 'em around beets and turnips and carrots and they grew like crazy. Saw us through bad times, those Little Beauty peas did. Then we lost them."

“Lost them?"

“Late frost. Killed every last plant before it could set flowers."

“Oh, no! Why didn't he get some more?"

“He tried. Boy, oh, boy, did he ever try. Went around to neighbors he'd shared a few seeds with, but theirs had all died, too. Even wrote to old Mr. Snellen himself, telling him about them and asking for more, but he got a letter back saying the company had quit selling them when folks had complained the first year about not being able to pick the things."

“What a shame," Sharlene said.

“I reckon it was. Anyway, I've thought back on those years a lot lately. Guess it's part of getting old. You start remembering your childhood. So when I saw an ad for a Pea Festival in the paper last week and saw the name Snellen, I recalled those peas and wanted to come tell someone here about them."

“I'm so glad you did. That's a wonderful story," Sharlene said. "Would you have the time to come to my office and let me make a few notes about it?"

“Oh, ma'am, it isn't all that important. I don't want to take up any more of your time. Just wanted to get the story off my chest."

“No, please. I've got plenty of time and I'd like to make a record of this.”

As they left, Jane emerged from her hiding place, smiling. She'd thought of a pea museum as sort of a campy joke, but here was proof that even peas could be important to someone. Lifesaving to a whole family, even. She was glad to have eavesdropped on such a pleasant conversation. And glad, too, that the old gentleman had accidentally picked someone as kind and patient as Sharlene to tell his story to. She wondered if the board of directors realized what an asset Sharlene really was and resolved to share that view with anyone who would listen.

Jane completed her tour of the room and was heading for Sharlene's office when she passed the main door. Shelley was just coming in. "Remind me to tell you about a conversation I overheard," Jane said.

“Something to do with Ms. Palmer's death?"

“Oh, no. Just a very nice, heartwarming story." She lowered her voice. "This must be the old man who told it.”

Sharlene was ushering him out a door labeled STAFF ONLY. He was loaded down with pea‑ museum memorabilia, including a pile of T-shirts for his grandchildren, and he was still trying to pay for it, an offer Sharlene wouldn't hear of.

When he'd gone, she turned to Jane and Shelley. Today she was wearing a proper black suit with a creamy white blouse. Her wild red hair was somewhat confined by a black velvet ribbon. She looked extremely professional.

She said, "I guess you know we're in kind of a mess today, but it shouldn't keep you from working. Thanks again for coming."

“Let's get on with it, then," Shelley said. "The same room I was in last week?"

“Yes, the boardroom.”

They entered the STAFF ONLY door and Jane found herself in a rabbit warren of offices almost as cluttered and interesting as the museum itself. She could suddenly understand the desire to have a new facility. It would be maddening to have to work around such clutter, no matter how well organized it was. The boardroom was the least crowded spot, but even it had things stored and stacked in cartons.

“I can bring Jane up to speed, Sharlene," Shelley said. "Now, Jane, here's the computer.”

As Sharlene departed, Jane said warily, "Why are you telling me this?"

“Because you know how to operate a computer."

“Shelley, all I have is a little PC with a word-processing program, a checkbook program, and a bunch of games. I don't know anything about—"

“You'll figure it out. It's just a matter of transferring data from a written sheet to the database—"

“Database," Jane groaned.

“—and assigning a number. Here's what we do: each item in the museum will be assigned an identification number — there's a sheet Ms. Palmer drew up explaining how to determine the number. Then each item has a description — what it is, approximate date, how and when it was acquired if anyone knows, value if known."