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I had a hankering to make hot pepper butter, only the peppers just weren’t happening in our garden this year. We planted them, but they haven’t produced. Yet, hark! My hankering for fiery heat was heard over the hill at the old farmhouse and my cousin told me I could come pick his peppers. I told him I’d split the hot pepper butter with him.
Georgia was waiting for us on the porch of the old farmhouse.
She waits well. If I was an hour and a half late, she’d still be sitting in that rocking chair. Waiting.
We went into the old farmhouse and rustled up some plastic bags then headed out to the garden.
The old wash house is still standing, by the way. (Not for long, though…..)
I’d decided, in my infinite wisdom, to plan this little lark at 3 pm on a day when our strange summer had turned into real summer and it was 90 degrees. Cuz, like, who doesn’t want to pick hot peppers out in the blazing sun in the middle of the afternoon? We were, however, on our way to volleyball practice, which meant I had my helper in tow.
Georgia stood by to direct us to the peppers. She’s not showing me up as much as usual because she’s going to have hip replacement surgery soon and hasn’t been able to work in the garden as much as she’d like this summer. Still, she has tomatoes and peppers and corn corn corn.
These are old field rods that she uses for tomato stakes. My great-uncle Carl used to work in the oil fields.
(The green beans are already finished and that portion of the garden mowed over.)
She has some weird orange squash.
But we were there for the beautiful peppers.
I said, “How come you have so many fabulous peppers, Georgia, and I have none?”
Georgia said, “You can’t ever tell.” Georgia’s two favorite lines: “Well.” (This expresses all manner of shock.) And: “You can’t ever tell.” (This expresses all manner of shock.)
She’s mysterious, our Georgia.
Morgan: “Your peppers know you want to eat them. They don’t want to die.”
Me: “Georgia’s peppers don’t think she wants to eat them????”
Morgan: “They respect her so they do what they’re supposed to do anyway. Your peppers don’t respect you.”
The vegetables, they don’t respect me! THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING.
