We Save America

We showed those immigrants a thing or two, Brenda and I. Showed them their place good and hard.

Here’s what happened. We received a call from a friend who shall remain nameless. She and her husband have a pea patch, (purple hulled, of course: only Yankees and the unenlightened would eat any other kind). Because of all the rain, the friends’ patch had taken off from them like a runaway train.

Would we like some peas?

Well hell yes.

Would we like to pick them?

Uh ….

Now we know that pea-picking is the job of loyal conservative Christians who labor in the hot sun so that unwashed hordes of immigrants won’t invade our shores and borders, taking jobs away from loyal Americans.

We looked and couldn’t find any such workers anywhere. Being about two purple-hulls shy of a bushel, I suggested we take on the job ourselves. “After all,” I reasoned, “we can’t be among those responsible for brown-skinned illegals swarming about forcing loyal Americans away from high-paying jobs with all those benefits.”

You do understand, don’t you?

Did I mention that the temperature was in the 90s and they wouldn’t report the humidity for it was well over 100 percent and the weatherchild didn’t want to face ridicule by reporting such an atmospheric anomaly?

So … you guessed it. Our allegiance to the flag (not yet lowered for the week’s massacre(s), won out and we saved the American way of life. We joined spirits with all those in the pea fields and orchards of America, saying, “Go back to where you came from, Jesus and Maria.”

Did I mention it was hot? We ventured forth anyway. We even broke the agricultural version of the “Draftsman’s Rule,” i.e. don’t draw (pick) more in the morning than you can erase (shell) in the afternoon (at night).

I shall not forebear telling you how good the air conditioner felt after we had loaded our afternoon’s harvest in the back of the truck and headed home. Neither shall I forebear telling you how good that frozen Margarita tasted when I was stretched out on the recliner and that first pea hit the bowl.

Let’s hear it for Brenda. She went back the second day and finished the job. I managed to find some work far away at my professional rate which is something like 13 times the pea-picking rate. I lied and told her I had it scheduled for a long time.

We did finish the shelling, though, and “I heyulpped” as the girl in the Shake 'n Bake ads used to say.

Last evening, for supper, we had our first “mess” of peas, along with cornbread made from a recipe Brenda found on the internet. The recommended wine for such a dish (referring to the meal and not the cook, here) is Roca Patrón. For those with other pallet-orientations, Four Roses Single-Barrel would work nicely. Its flavor is a bit less whimsical and more assertive.

 After all the sweating, bitching, muscle pains, and near-heat strokes, we were proud that we had done our little part to save our way of life. So, we would like to ask all other loyal Americans to share with us this final plea:

Jesus, please come back, and bring Maria.

La Jefa claims victory.