Finding Treasure with Painted Pony Beans

Last updated on: January 19, 2016 at 9:21 am by Margaret Rose Realy, Obl. OSB

Finding Treasure with Painted Pony Beans 2016-01-19T09:21:04-05:00 Margaret Rose Realy, Obl. OSB

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

When my friend, Linda, and I bought this split-level house nearly thirty years ago we had to literally dig out the basement with coal shovels. It looked like a hoarder lived downstairs. With the help of her family the basement was eventually cleared, scrubbed and white-washed.

One January there was extensive (and expensive) work done in our unfinished basement. The ducts had to be cleaned, patched and insulated. The furnace too had to be repaired. Then there were the five slow leaking water lines that my repairs had been insufficient to stop, and the plumber wasn’t called until the washing machine hoses gave out. It’s not that I’m negligent about maintaining a home, it’s about financial priorities when poor.

With all the upheaval, the stacks of boxes, stored furniture, bins of lumber, shelves of paint, and crates of gardening supplies were displaced or covered in a thick layer of dust. I was startled after the last repairman left; the basement again looked like a hoarder was living there.

I was overwhelmed by the amount of effort needed to clean up the mess. I have physical limitations and knew the basement had to be cleaned…somehow. The only way I could accomplish the task would be in small bursts. My goal was set: 30 minutes a day, four days a week until. I prayed for endurance.

The journey of a thousand steps (remember, I’m in a basement) began with the area under the stairs. This was my gardening hold that over the years had encroached nearly four feet into the laundry area. Wearing face mask and gloves, I wiped down and sorted through hundreds of vases, containers and pots. I allowed myself only one box for items I would keep. The sorting resulted in three large boxes for donation, four bags of garbage, and five crates of terra-cotta pots and saucers for a friend who would crush them for a small path in her garden.

Some items carried memories of a place or a person, and though I hesitated a moment to allow the memory to float through, most of the objects were easily passed along.

That was except for when I came to several crates of nature elements.

Inside a paper grocery bag were ten-inch long by one-inch wide canoe shaped pods from a trumpet vine. The back of the light brown pods were smooth and as soft as flannel. Each pod was slightly curved, and nested in that bag they looked like little wooden smiles appropriately sized for snowmen.

My fascination with dried beans goes back to childhood when I would stir the farm market’s bins of seeds with my hands. That enchantment is still with me fifty years later. A two-gallon apothecary jar contained Painted Pony beans, coppery-brown with speckled white rumps. There were three two-quart mason jars filled with shiny black Turtle beans that have a white dotted midpoint; I had planned to create a small mosaic-like plant stand with their little dots facing up. I also had jars of magenta striped Crimson beans, large Lima’s, and chocolate-on-honey Pinto beans.

The next crate had cones. Pug-nosed sequoia, long papery spruce, feathery Douglas fir, and pine cones with their incrementally spiraled crowns.

Another crate had palm-sized rocks gathered from lake sides and woodlands, and a small 50# kraft bag of white sand. Peeking into a 35-gallon bag, I found it filled with driftwood.

What was it about these items that caused such resistance to being discarded? I easily pass along purchased items or gifts from friends, but these—these unearned gifts from nature—I was unwilling to part with.

Standing there circled by crates of pods and beans, rocks and wood, I found myself in a revealing paradox. “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Luke 12:34). And I wondered…What is this hold that nature has on me? How, in my cloistered life, do I connect with others?

I sat down on an empty crate and picked up the jar of Painted Pony beans. Placing my hand inside, I stirred them with my fingers and wondered where I needed to let go.

(11/2013) Image By Liveon001 © Travis K. Witt (Own work) ( http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html ), via Wikimedia Commons

Previous Post

January 12, 2016

Keep Shoveling, Dearie

Next Post

January 27, 2016 Storms When Everything Went Dark

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category @pontifex Aleteia Ask the Pope Book Reviews Caring for Houseplants Catholic Garden Christmas Christmas decorations Christmas Gifts for Gardeners Christmas Plants Christmases Past Equus Passage Faith and Gratitude Fasting and Virtue Flowers Fun Stuff Garden Catechism Garden Saints Garden Walk Gifts Gardener God's Timing Houseplants How to say thank you Language of flowers Letting Go Life of Christ meaning of Christmas Photo Challenge Practical Gardening Prayer Prayer for Priests Prayers for Sisters and Nuns Prayers Needed Pro-life Quote Recipes Saints Starting Seeds symbolism of evergreens Synod of Bishops Uncategorized Writing

Select a Month May 2017 March 2017 August 2016 July 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz