The Pea Story.

 I was sent this by e- mail today from a friend, I’ve read this story many times and it always touches me. Maybe I’m just being whimsical since my Mom went home, but I thought I’d share this with you.

Pea story 

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I
  noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature,ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.“Hello Barry, how are you today?” “H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ thempeas. Sure look good.” “They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?”“Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.”“Good. Anything I can help you with?”

“No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.”“Would you like to take some home?”“No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ’em with.” “Well, what have you to trade me for some of thosepeas?” “All I got’s my prize marble here.”“Is that right? Let me see it.” “Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is
blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one
like this at home?” “Not zackley. but almost.”“Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you
and next trip this way let me look at that red  marble.” “Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.”
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, “There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps.” I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with
this man. A short time later I moved to
Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.
Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that
Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts … all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and
smiling by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by  one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. “Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim “traded” them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size….they came to pay their debt.”“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this
world,” she confided, “but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho “With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers
of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.   




  1. Tussilago said,

    July 26, 2006 at 10:47 am

    I went into tears reading that story! Thank you!

  2. Julie said,

    July 26, 2006 at 6:39 pm

    Oh my gosh! I came over here to see what you were up to and there is the sock club yarn! As I’m on vacation I had no idea it had arrived! Thanks for the first glimpse of what awaits me at home!

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