A GLEANER WENT OUT TO GLEAN . . .

I can hardly stand it. I’m sitting in the midst of acres and acres of post-harvested garbanzo fields, which means there are beans for the gleaning.

 

Did you know that another word for “gleaning” is “scrounging?” I’d rather be a gleaner than a scrounger. I don’t think it’s scrounging to glean in one’s own fields, is it?

Yesterday I picked up a gallon of mostly un-husked garbanzo beans. That’s hardly any compared to what’s left out there. So, I decided to get up early this morning and fill another container. I was awake at 5:00, but it was still dark. I stayed in bed until 5:45 when there was a hint of daylight.

“Do you think I’m being stupid to glean the garbanzos?” I asked Mike.

He laughed. “I don’t know. I do a lot of stupid things myself,” he said. (Hmmmm. Diplomatic answer that translates to “yes.”) We agreed that he was probably the wrong person to ask. We’re both compulsive personalities along the lines of our own interests.

So, after breakfast I took another pail and picked up more beans. The tough part is bending over and kneeling down. Soon I learned to pull a plant out of the ground and quickly remove the beans.

Thinking of the old days when threshing was done on the barn floor (at least, I think it was done on the barn floor), I commented to Mike that there must be a better way.

“Oh, there is,” he replied -- “a seven-hundred-thousand-dollar machine.”

I’m sure our farmer’s operation was efficient, but I swear there are enough garbanzos left behind to feed a small community for the winter. Okay – that’s vague and I don’t really know, but there are lots and it’s not practical to pick them up. I suspect I’d do more for the industry by buying my garbanzo beans in the grocery store.

But – as long as those beans are out there, they will continue to call my name. And I’ll continue to glean a few a day when I can – until the fields are re-planted or it rains or it snows or the deer eat them all or . . . KW