The
Woman Who Changed Everything
Or
A
Brief History of Beans
by Howard Loring
Even as a child, things that grew had
fascinated her. Of course, as gathering wild plants was within the
female realm, this was fortunate. Other women in the tribe were good
at the task, as she became, but she really enjoyed it, as well.
When the foraging parties had left
each morning, she dashed ahead, eager, anticipating. If the gathering
was good, the women’s baskets were soon full and the young girl was
then free to roam on her own. She used that time to look at plants.
It didn’t matter if they weren’t
edible. Often the most captivating ones she found were not. She just
liked things that grew, for they were always interesting.
As a toddler too young to gather, her
chores had included helping, as best she could, the older women as
they engaged in cleaning in and about the family’s tent. This
involved tagging along as the toothless ones dumped the garbage at
one of the various pits the tribe used for the purpose. It was there
that the young girl had first noticed the newborn growing things,
struggling to live at the pit’s edge.
Why would plants live in such a
smelly place, she wondered? Still, they did, pushing their spindly
stalks to the sun. They even moved their new, tender leaves towards
its direction, and how did the growing things know to do this?
Later, after turning old enough to
forage, she discerned even more intriguing things, details the others
didn’t notice or care about. They couldn’t be bothered for their
only concern was filling their baskets, and looking at things that
you couldn’t eat held no fascination for them. She, however, was
always captivated.
Her primitive tribe of hunter-gathers
had no permanent home but perpetually moved about, yet often as not,
if the local game was plentiful and the men and their dogs successful
in the hunt, it stayed put for more than a season at a time. And,
when this did happen, through all the year the inquisitive girl had
carefully noted each change occurring in the many growing things.
Soon, no matter the season, she could predict what would happen to
them next, and she was always proved correct.
A few times, while still very young,
she tried to grow plants but this had never been successful. She’d
dug holes and placed sprouts from the pit’s edge into them, but the
plants had perished, drying up in days. Then she’d tried planting
them closer to the river but these, having little sun, also died.
Undaunted, on the next occasion she
once more planted in the sun, but this time she watered the sprouts.
A neighbor boy she knew, whose father
was headman of her clan, thought this whole idea very foolish. Why
work so hard to grow something that just grew elsewhere? What was the
purpose, given you could simply go out and find it?
Still, she persisted and carried out
her idea. Because the boy liked her, he feigned interest, and he even
helped her tote the water. But the experiment proved inconclusive,
for the tribe had traveled on before the outcome became apparent.
She resolved to try again once the
proper conditions permitted, but thinking in this next effort of
using a different kind of plant.
In the meantime, her life moved
forward, as did her wandering tribe. Once the boy became a man, he
took her, now a fine woman, as his mate. They were happy.
She quickly became a mother several
times over, and for a while this halted her excursions. Yet she never
forgot her plan. In fact, she thought of it often as her offspring
aged, for each reminded her of how the plants also grew and changed.
When her children were toddlers she
resumed her foraging, for they could now accompany her. However, as
they demanded much attention, she had no free time to implement her
long simmering idea. Yet, once adolescents they began to have chores
about the camp, and this at last allowed her to consider it again.
The tribe’s currently claimed area
turned out to be bountiful, and the tribal elders, who were the
headmen from each clan, announced their decision to stay for as many
seasons as the abundant game continued to thrive. So, the young woman
judged the time to try once more might never be better. But what
growing thing, she constantly wondered, would she endeavor to
cultivate in this newest attempt?
Then, one day late in the afternoon,
she discovered a peaceful meadow cut by a lazy stream encircled and
hidden by the deep, surrounding forest. The open field was thickly
covered with many vines that twisted and climbed amidst each other.
From long experience she easily recognized these plants, now in full
flower.
Soon, she knew, these vines would
bear pods, and these pods would then grow the tasty beans so prized
by her kind. She also knew that other gatherers would take them if
they could, even before they were ripe, for everyone in the tribe
enjoyed their hearty flavor. Therefore, the young woman told no one
of her find.
Every few days she went back to
assess the bean plants, knowing that once the pods ripened they would
soon pop open. When they did, of course, the beans were released and
fell to the ground, thus becoming harder to gather. So, each day she
tried to pick the ripest pods just before they popped, correctly
judging from both familiarity and long experience the most opportune
moment to harvest them.
Indeed, they were very tasty.
As the pods ripened at various times,
her harvest continued for several weeks, but soon almost all of them
were gone. She noticed, however, a few of the plants had pods that
although ripe had failed to open, as if to protect the beans inside.
Finally, when the days turned cold, she picked these now hardened
pods, as well.
Yet, she didn’t cook the now
sleeping beans they held.
She put these pods, only a handful,
in a hollowed-out gourd she used for storage. From time to time she’d
crack one open, finding the beans in perfect condition. Once the
weather warmed, her long considered plan was fully formed.
She picked a sunny hillside not far
from her tent, and set her children to clearing an area sufficient to
accommodate her beans, now seeds of the next generation, which
numbered well over twice the amount of all her fingers. She then
scattered them about, lightly covering them against the birds that
also appreciated their delicious flavor. She carefully watered them,
and waited.
Yet they did not grow. She resolved
to find out why. She then dug up a few and examined them.
They still seemed perfect, and she
was confused. Next she decided to visit the original meadow, to see
if any beans were growing there this season. None were, but she found
something else in the clearing, something quite unexpected.
A strange man, not of her tribe, was
there. She abruptly stopped, leery once she finally saw him sitting
in the meadow. Yet he only smiled sweetly, and nodded.
She thought of running away, but she
didn’t. She sensed no danger, oddly none at all and, after a bit
she stepped closer, now only wondering who he was. At her steady,
determined approach, the strange man slowly stood.
He was thin and very tall. He was
also dressed strangely, for he wore garments unlike any that she had
ever seen. No clan she knew of had such an eccentric covering.
“Welcome,” he said to her, “I’ve
been waiting for you.”
This statement she didn’t believe.
Still, she laughed a bit, for he was a man and she thought him only
flirting, as most men would do with any unattended female. Yet the
stranger politely persisted, quickly dispelling her misplaced
conclusion.
“The ground remains cold,” he
informed her, “too cold for your still sleeping seeds. Just have
patience. It won’t be long.”
Following this profound
pronouncement, she did become wary. The feeling, however, was
fleeting and soon passed. She looked him in the face, now highly
curious.
“How do you know such?” she asked
of him.
The man bid her to sit. He sat also,
across from her. Then he smiled again, in reassurance.
“I know many things,” he answered
her. “I know of your long interest, and of your newest intent.
And,” he added for emphasis,
“I also know your vision is a true
one.”
At this, she smiled at him, for under
the bizarre circumstances she was compelled to accept this stranger
at his word. It was an easy thing for her to do. The woman still
didn’t know who he was or why he was helping her, but nevertheless
she somehow understood that he had only her best interests in mind.
Indeed he did. He was most eager to
assist her, it was his sole, singular goal. The tall stranger was
from another Timeframe, and aiding her was his direct mission.
Soon the beans grew. Every evening,
she checked on them after her daily chores had been seen to, and
shortly others in her clan took notice, as well. Her mate was much
amused by all this attention, seeing no real value in her
self-imposed, added labors.
Nevertheless, the beans thrived in a
perfect growing season. Nothing went amiss. The rain was always
gentle and no pest, insect nor animal, attacked her plants.
Now more than her clan was engrossed.
Word was spreading. The local men who came to gawk were well
entertained by all the heavy interest, as her mate had been, but the
hard-working women in the tribe saw and appreciated the inherent
advantages.
They offered their help.
The young woman politely refused.
Their labor was currently unneeded,
she knew. The strange man in the secret meadow had explained
everything in detail.
“Maybe next year,” she said.
Her bean plants soon produced a
bumper crop. When this happened, word really spread. Even the most
hardened of the tribal men were impressed, for they all loved beans
as much as meat, and now they saw the obvious advantage, too.
Beans, after all, while being quite
an enjoyable meal were generally hard to come by.
The young woman shared her bounty
with her clan, and her mate shared in the gratitude that followed. He
was most proud of her. Undeniably, she was a good woman.
She did ask her female kinfolk for
help in shelling the beans. It was a big task taking much time, for
there were many full baskets of pods. The women sat in a circle as
they worked and talked of the future, laughing together at every
opportunity.
The beans were carefully graded
before being doled out. Many of them were an average size or smaller,
and these were the ones equally divided and dispersed, a most
succulent bonus. A substantial number, however, were bigger than the
average, and the woman kept these back to plant in the next season.
The next season never came. The
tribe, after two years, moved on. Sadly, its new territory was
heavily wooded and held no area sufficiently suitable for her beans.
She and her mate then argued over
them. He wanted to eat her tasty seeds, and he boldly stated they
would go bad if they didn’t. She’d always check first, but after
finding them still only sleeping, each time she stiffly refused to
comply.
Then, in the warming time the tribe
suddenly returned to its previous location. The cautious elders now
judged moving a hasty mistake. The available game was still plentiful
and there was abundant water to be had close by.
The woman staked her rawhide tent by
her old, sunny hillside.
Now they came, scores of women from
many clans in the tribe. Their mates all wanted tasty beans. Teach
us, they pleaded, the secrets of how to grow them.
She did, but she demanded a price.
The women would learn by tending her plot, under her instructions,
some of every day for a season. She would initiate them, and also
give them beans to plant, but only after her harvest was completed.
This was a stiff bargain. Men didn’t
like waiting. More importantly, they wouldn’t understand such a
strange and novel arrangement, and they’d only see their women
working for someone else, an unheard of thing.
The now fully mature and resolute
woman replied only, “If we start soon, and the early air is warm
enough, we can have two harvests. Your men will have beans later, in
the cooling times, but still this season. Or,” she casually added,
“only my clan will assist me now, and next season you can ask them
for help.”
The tribe’s women saw wisdom in
this, for it was a good plan. Enlightening their mates would be a
different matter. Still, after using her argument, they did.
This time, there were problems. First
there was too much rain, and later the fat, green worms arrived.
Luckily, many men, always impatient for beans, came by to check on
things and ended up eating most of the juicy insects.
Some plants did die, but many more
survived and again there was a bumper crop. As earlier stipulated,
the growing season was only halfway done and the mentoring woman then
held to her part of the bargain, dispersing seed to her now trained,
former helpers. All of the women were excited, and they eagerly
rushed home to quickly create their own, small garden plots.
After her second course of beans was
planted, she returned to the hidden meadow in hopes that the strange
man would still be there. He was. Again they sat.
“You’ve done much good,” he
told her.”
“Yes,” the woman concurred, “this
is a wonderful thing for the tribe, but I’m most concerned. There
are times that I cannot grow tasty beans, for often the forest is too
thick and the sun is blocked. Tell me how to raise my plants then.”
The time traveler answered quietly,
saying, “You must grow your beans in a new and different way. Your
people must have fine fields, always. Your tribe should not move but
forever stay, and grow many beans in many fine fields.”
“But men hunt,” she answered him.
“They follow the prey to do so. The tribe will move, it will always
move, it must.”
“You can trade for meat,” was his
rejoinder, “for other tribes will savor your tasty beans, too. Many
tribes would gladly trade good meat for good beans. And your men will
be busy with another thing, a vital thing they must do now.”
“What thing,” she asked, “helping
grow beans?”
“Not yet,” he instructed. “That
will come later, but for now the men must do something else of great
importance. They must protect the ones that grow the beans.”
This scenario she understood. Why
work for something when it can be taken by force? Many unfriendly
tribes would want beans and, not yet knowing how to grow them, they
would try to steal them instead, why wouldn’t they?
Still, she had reservations.
“The tribe will always stay,” she
asked him, “for beans alone? No, this is too great of a change.
This would change everything.”
The stranger slowly nodded,
understanding her dilemma. Yet, he also knew that it was just a
matter of time. Change always comes, and time will out, regardless.
“Your beans first came from wild
beans here,” he said, with a sweep of his arm, indicating the
meadow now full of fine grass.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Yet, if you didn’t take them,”
he continued, “the pods would have just popped open, with the beans
falling to the ground.”
“Yes,” she said again.
“The beans do this to live,” he
said, “so that other beans will come later. But some of the pods
did not pop open. Their beans, being trapped, could not grow.”
“Yes,” she said for a third time.
“But now they do grow,” he
pointed out. “They can live and thrive because of you. These beans
will now feed your tribe, and other plants do much the same thing.”
Again he indicated the field around
them. The tall grass there was full of tiny, green seed heads.
Strange, she hadn’t noticed them before and she should have.
This particular type of grass was a
most delicious plant, too.
“These seed heads must be taken
early, before they’re ripe,” he explained. “If not, they will
just fall from the stalk in order to grow the next grass. It’s
hard to gather then.”
Here she only nodded, knowing from
experience it was true.
“But, like your beans,” he said,
“some of these stalks will keep their tasty seeds. They won’t
fall like the others do. These seeds would never grow, for once the
stalk finally fell, the ground itself would then be too cold to
welcome them.”
“I see it,” she said, but then
she made the larger connection.
The man, realizing this by the look
on her face, smiled.
“This grass can also be grown?”
she inquired.
“Easily,” he answered, “but
plant only the ones with the largest seeds, like you did with your
beans. Some of the new seed will be larger still, and you will then
save this to plant. Much food can thus be grown and traded by your
tribe.”
She traveled home, enthused, but
still her mind was troubled. How could she, only a woman, convince
the stiff elders to always stay and grow things? She knew not.
Yet, once at her tent she found that
great change had already arrived. The clan’s headman, her mate’s
father, had died suddenly in the night. The clan members, losing no
time, had quickly elected the dead man’s son, her mate, to replace
him.
Now her mate was the headman of her
clan, and so by extension a member of the tribe’s elders as well,
albeit the youngest and most inexperienced of the group.
“We must always stay,” she told
him. She then explained the reasons why, the same rationalities the
strange man had listed. But her mate was noncommittal.
Trying to sway him, she returned many
times to the meadow to pick the ripest seed heads there, for he loved
the sweet loafs they always made. The smell of them cooking alone was
mesmerizing. Still, he didn’t agree to always stay.
Every time the determined woman
returned to gather, she wished again to speak to the tall stranger,
but she never did. She couldn’t. Unlike before, he was never there.
One day when the cooling times had
arrived, she stood surveying her bean field. The dying plants were
now bare of pods, for they had all been harvested. Because of her
unwavering efforts, the plot was now just one of many in the tribe
and this season they had all produced many tasty beans.
Her mate, returning from the day’s
hunt, then approached her.
“When will you tell the elders to
always stay?” she demanded.
He sighed, not wanting to argue
further.
“To always stay may be a good
idea,” he conceded, “but it’s a new idea. And I’m a new
elder. They would not listen to me.”
“You are my man,” she said
slowly, her eyes hard and her jaw set, “and you should see this my
way, it makes good sense. Beans keep, meat does not. They will feed
our clan when the cold comes, a good thing if the hunting is bad.”
This blunt statement shocked him at
first for he took it as an affront, a commentary on his competence as
a provider, but that reaction soon passed. She was a good woman. She
spoke the truth and undeniably it was a noble point.
What’s more, he hadn’t even
considered this view, a valid advantage. That rankled for as an
elder, even a novice one, he always needed to contemplate every
option. Yet now, the hard-pressed man only grunted, turned and walked
away.
She turned also, back to her dead
beans. What else could she possibly do? The woman didn’t know.
Much later he returned to the tent,
holding a solemn face.
“I talked to the elders,” he
announced. “They agree to always stay, at least for now. The tribe
can still move later, if need be.”
Her eyes filled with tears and he
took her in his arms. Then she cried outright. Next, her mate
tightly hugged her.
“Good thing,” he whispered, “they
all love beans.”
Before the cold time started in
earnest, she returned to the meadow. The strange man was not there.
Something else was though, a gift from him, perhaps.
She noticed dark brown, fully ripened
seed heads on several of the grass stalks. These seeds had not been
broadcast. She gathered them and then walked home.
To always stay.
HOWARD
LORING creates EPIC FABLES on the ELASTIC LIMIT of TIME.
These exciting time travel books encompass universal human themes,
often employing real history.
For more information you can check out his amazon page here.
