Jill and the Beanstalk

At the end of May, a sweet friend gave me some dried beans which, at the time, I only knew to be called scarlet runner beans. Very well, I thought, they probably have scarlet flowers or tendrils and I shall plant some below a trellis against the fence and hope that they eventually form a wall of green.

They are now taller than the fence, constantly trying to defy gravity, fighting to climb higher, forcing me to bend and lead them back down the trellis. They do not like this; no sooner do I weave them pointing down or the next shoot will grow an inch overnight and start heading up again. The foliage is a dense mat into which I've seen birds and chipmunks disappear.

It is quite obvious how the children's tale was born.

They did make the most beautiful orange-red flowers at the sites where big clusters of pods hang now. Tonight, when I picked one and carefully sliced it open, this is what I found. I plan to collect a handful tomorrow and steam them to find out what they taste like.