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The Bean…Field
Meanwhile my beans； the length of whose rows； added together；
was seven miles already planted； were impatient to be hoed； for the
earliest had grown considerably before the latest were in the
ground； indeed they were not easily to be put off。 What was the
meaning of this so steady and self…respecting； this small Herculean
labor； I knew not。 I came to love my rows； my beans； though so many
more than I wanted。 They attached me to the earth； and so I got
strength like Antaeus。 But why should I raise them？ Only Heaven
knows。 This was my curious labor all summer to make this portion
of the earth's surface； which had yielded only cinquefoil；
blackberries； johnswort； and the like； before； sweet wild fruits and
pleasant flowers； produce instead this pulse。 What shall I learn of
beans or beans of me？ I cherish them； I hoe them； early and late I
have an eye to them； and this is my day's work。 It is a fine broad
leaf to look on。 My auxiliaries are the dews and rains which water
this dry soil； and what fertility is in the soil itself； which for
the most part is lean and effete。 My enemies are worms； cool days；
and most of all woodchucks。 The last have nibbled for me a quarter
of an acre clean。 But what right had I to oust johnswort and the
rest； and break up their ancient herb garden？ Soon； however； the
remaining beans will be too tough for them； and go forward to meet
new foes。
When I was four years old； as I well remember； I was brought
from Boston to this my native town； through these very woods and
this field； to the pond。 It is one of the oldest scenes stamped on
my memory。 And now to…night my flute has waked the echoes over that
very water。 The pines still stand here older than I； or； if some
have fallen； I have cooked my supper with their stumps； and a new
growth is rising all around； preparing another aspect for new infant
eyes。 Almost the same johnswort springs from the same perennial
root in this pasture； and even I have at length helped to clothe
that fabulous landscape of my infant dreams； and one of the results
of my presence and influence is seen in these bean leaves； corn
blades； and potato vines。
I planted about two acres and a half of upland； and as it was
only about fifteen years since the land was cleared； and I myself
had got out two or three cords of stumps； I did not give it any
manure； but in the course of the summer it appeared by the
arrowheads which I turned up in hoeing； that an extinct nation had
anciently dwelt here and planted corn and beans ere white men came
to clear the land； and so； to some extent； had exhausted the soil
for this very crop。
Before yet any woodchuck or squirrel had run across the road； or
the sun had got above the shrub oaks； while all the dew was on；
though the farmers warned me against it I would advise you to do
all your work if possible while the dew is on I began to level
the ranks of haughty weeds in my bean…field and throw dust upon
their heads。 Early in the morning I worked barefooted； dabbling
like a plastic artist in the dewy and crumbling sand； but later in
the day the sun blistered my feet。 There the sun lighted me to hoe
beans； pacing slowly backward and forward over that yellow gravelly
upland； between the long green rows； fifteen rods； the one end
terminating in a shrub oak copse where I could rest in the shade；
the other in a blackberry field where the green berries deepened
their tints by the time I had made another bout。 Removing the
weeds； putting fresh soil about the bean stems； and encouraging this
weed which I had sown； making the yellow soil express its summer
thought in bean leaves and blossoms rather than in wormwood and
piper and millet grass； making the earth say beans instead of grass
this was my daily work。 As I had little aid from horses or
cattle； or hired men or boys； or improved implements of husbandry； I
was much slower； and became much more intimate with my beans than
usual。 But labor of the hands； even when pursued to the verge of
drudgery； is perhaps never the worst form of idleness。 It has a
constant and imperishable moral； and to the scholar it yields a
classic result。 A very agricola laboriosus was I to travellers
bound westward through Lincoln and Wayland to nobody knows where；
they sitting at their ease in gigs； with elbows on knees； and reins
loosely hanging in festoons； I the home…staying； laborious native of
the soil。 But soon my homestead was out of their sight and thought。
It was the only open and cultivated field for a great distance on
either side of the road； so they made the most of it； and sometimes
the man in the field heard more of travellers' gossip and comment
than was meant for his ear： 〃Beans so late！ peas so late！〃 for I
continued to plant when others had begun to hoe the ministerial
husbandman had not suspected it。 〃Corn； my boy； for fodder； corn
for fodder。〃 〃Does he live there？〃 asks the black bonnet of the
gray coat； and the hard…featured farmer reins up his grateful dobbin
to inquire what you are doing where he sees no manure in the furrow；
and recommends a little chip dirt； or any little waste stuff； or it
may be ashes or plaster。 But here were two acres and a half of
furrows； and only a hoe for cart and two hands to draw it there
being an aversion to other carts and horses and chip dirt far
away。 Fellow…travellers as they rattled by compared it aloud with
the fields which they had passed； so that I came to know how I stood
in the agricultural world。 This was one field not in Mr。 Coleman's
report。 And； by the way； who estimates the value of the crop which
nature yields in the still wilder fields unimproved by man？ The
crop of English hay is carefully weighed； the moisture calculated；
the silicates and the potash； but in all dells and pond…holes in the
woods and pastures and swamps grows a rich and various crop only
unreaped by man。 Mine was； as it were； the connecting link between
wild and cultivated fields； as some states are civilized； and others
half…civilized； and others savage or barbarous； so my field was；
though not in a bad sense； a half…cultivated field。 They were beans
cheerfully returning to their wild and primitive state that I
cultivated； and my hoe played the Rans des Vaches for them。
Near at hand； upon the topmost spray of a birch； sings the brown
thrasher or red mavis； as some love to call him all the
morning； glad of your society； that would find out another farmer's
field if yours were not here。 While you are planting the seed； he
cries 〃Drop it； drop it cover it up； cover it up pull it
up； pull it up； pull it up。〃 But this was not corn； and so it was
safe from such enemies as he。 You may wonder what his rigmarole；
his amateur Paganini performances on one string or on twenty； have
to do with your planting； and yet prefer it to leached ashes or
plaster。 It was a cheap sort of top dressing in which I had entire
faith。
As I drew a still fresher soil about the rows with my hoe； I
disturbed the ashes of unchronicled nations who in primeval years
lived under these heavens； and their small implements of war and
hunting were brought to the light of this modern day。 They lay
mingled with other natural stones； some of which bore the marks of
having been burned by Indian fires； and some by the sun； and also
bits of pottery and glass brought hither by the recent cultivators
of the soil。 When my hoe tinkled against the stones； that music
echoed to the woods and the sky； and was an accompaniment to my
labor which yielded an instant and immeasurable crop。 It was no
longer beans that I hoed； nor I that hoed beans； and I remembered
with as much pity as pride； if I remembered at all； my acquaintances
who had gone to the city to attend the oratorios。 The nighthawk
circled overhead in the sunny afternoons for I sometimes made a
day of it like a mote in the eye； or in heaven's eye； falling
from time to time with a swoop and a sound as if the heavens were
rent； torn at last to very rags and tatters； and yet a seamless cope
remained； small imps that fill the air and lay their eggs on the
ground on bare sand or rocks on the tops of hills； where few have
found them； graceful and slender like ripples caught up from the
pond； as leaves are raised by the wind to float in the heavens； such
kindredship is in nature。 The hawk is aerial brother of the wave
which he sails over and surveys； those his perfect air…inflated
wings answering to the elemental unfledged pinions of the sea。 Or
sometimes I watched a pair of hen…hawks circling high in the sky；
alternately soaring and descending； approaching； and leaving one
another； as if they were the embodiment of my own thoughts。 Or I
was attracted by the passage of wild pigeons from this wood to that；
with a slight quivering winnowing sound and carrier haste； or from