Beans

In September, these were on the vine (a Scarlet Runner Bean that I planted merely for the red flowers). I harvested as many as I could when I cleaned out the garden in October, and dumped them on a table in the basement.

Today I realized they were crisp and dry.  The pods are huge -- 10 inches (25.4 cm) on average.  They were easily cracked open, and the beans inside removed.

The beans themselves are lovely. Bright pink (not "scarlet", according to my personal color definition), shiny and plump.  A very few had gone moldy -- the rest are perfect. I've got almost two cups worth -- now I have to figure out how to cook them.  I mean, what seasonings -- cooking will be easy.

I might save a handful to grow again this year.

"Can't you see, Jane," Adam continued, "that there's magic all about us? None of it can be explained and there isn't a single soul who really and truly knows the secret.  Supposing, for instance, you tell me how this is done." He picked up an old, brown acorn from the ground and, holding it between thumb and forefinger, he indicated the spreading branches and shining leaves of the ancient tree towering above their heads. "From this, comes that," he said. "Well?"

"It -- it just grows."

"Oh, yes. But how does something so tremendous come from something so tiny? And why? And when was the first one? And how did it all begin?"

Jane reflected. It had never occurred to her before that oak trees, or for that matter any tree, must have had a beginning.  Now, no longer quite so sure of herself, she replied, "I don't know."

"Can your father, or Malvolio, or Fussmer, or anyone in Mageia do this trick?"

Jane whispered, "No. But you made a real rose come out of a staff and put an egg back together again."

"Is that so very remarkable?" Adam asked...

From The Man Who Was Magic, by Paul Gallico (1966)