Bean There, Done That

When I was in fourth grade my mom helped me with a science fair experiment. We wadded up paper towels, dampened them, and then stuffed them in an empty peanut butter jar. Next, we carefully tucked dried kidney beans into the folds and then set the jar on a windowsill. What followed was miraculous to my nine-year-old brain: the beans sprouted, sending roots toward the bottom of the jar and emerald green shoots toward the top. I hadn't realized that beans were seeds, and seeing them grow was an awakening for me.

I hadn't thought about that experience in decades until last weekend. I was feeling bummed that I hadn't planted any shell beans. My students and I had several little plants growing on the window sill in our classroom, but I wasn't sold on just dropping a bean in a dixie cup full of soil. It occurred to me that there was a way to give them a head start, and so I grabbed a mason jar and some paper towels. Next, I pulled the yellow-eyed beans I ordered from Maine from the pantry, and just like my mom and I had done all those years ago, I placed my beans in the damp folds of the paper towel.

I brought the jar to school and placed it in the sun next to the little plants. By Friday? The beans had swelled and opened, tiny roots clinging to the paper towel. I carefully placed each bean in a cup of soil, watered them, and went home for the long weekend hoping for the best.

Oh my! The six-inch plants waiting for me this morning surpassed my wildest dreams! They were actually ready to be transplanted into the garden this afternoon. Where two weeks ago I was beanless, today I have the promise of several quarts to shell, if the garden gods will it so.