I love beans.
I know it’s not the done thing, after all ‘Beanz Meanz No Friendz’, but after reading thegardensmallholder‘s recent post I had to confess.
Where did it all start?
The earliest memory of gardening I have is seeing a runner bean germinate. It was primary school, and I’m sat in front of a jam jar filled with a moist green hand towel. Stuck to the inside is a large runner bean seed with its thick white root racing to the bottom of the jar and the green shoot just lifting its head towards the top. The excitement of that time is still with me every time I see something germinate. It’s not surprising to me that a plant with a big fat seed that I can squish into damp compost will always make me happier than scattering dust-like seeds into oblivion: I’m never sure whether they end up in the right place.
Give me a beautiful, shiny, smooth and substantial bean any day. It’s the main reason I persist in trying to get Ricinus to germinate for me. The beetle-like seeds make its stubbornness to get beyond the stage of poking tantalisingly through the compost worthwhile. Runner beans are much more obliging; what’s better than a sturdy, turgid seedling with huge leaves? They look so eager to get going and growing, almost grateful, and as a thank you for getting them started they put in as much effort as they can.
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