These are some baby ones we pulled to thin our row of purple-topped globe turnips. Jack cooked these whole in the InstantPot with a double-handful of ham-hock flibberts, and they were delicious.
With cornbread.
Maybe I bragged too much about my beautiful, wonderful, perfect peas and jinxed them.
Because GodLord, they're now miserably miserable. Two three teepees'worth have completely given up.
When they fell off the supports, slumping toward the fence instead of growing upward, I lied to myself and said they were just confused, redirecting them, lovingly tying their sad arms to the teepee.
They aren't confused; they are dying.
The soil in that bed is heavy and not ideal for peas, which I knew from the get-go, but I sincerely believed my enthusiasm and good seeds would overcome dank and fungus and too many gravels and too much shade. We grew nice tomatoes in this same bed during the summer, but my pea crop is proof that "good dirt" for one thing isn't "good dirt" for all things.
The snow peas along the fence aren't as near-death as the snap peas on the teepees, but they're close. They look OK at the roots, but have developed what appears to be powdery mildew, and other thing I worried about from the get-go.
We had okra in that bed all summer, and by the time I planted peas in late August, the leaves on the okra plants were completely consumed with mildew. The plants were still producing, but they were sick and looked horrible with shriveled, powder-covered leaves. I probably should have held off on planting peas until those were torn out and dragged off, but again, I believed in my enthusiasm.
Now, the pea plants are consumed with leaf mold or dying of dank dirt cooties, and my incredible effort in the pea patch goes down as just that: incredible effort.
Oh well, lessons learned...
In the next few days, I'm pulling those peas out, dis-assembling the teepees, and regrouping for another attempt at "pea-topia" for Spring 2022.
