Jack didn’t climb a butterbean stalk

A kitchen windowsill is no place to grow a butterbean. That’s why Trey brought his 2-week-old plant from Savannah for me to replant in my garden.

It’s a project that keeps us connected. Little boys need their grandfathers as much as we need them. So, the butterbean is our latest thing in common, after the rabbit matured and hopped away.

He coaxed the seed out of the tiny pot, decided his plant needed space and sunshine if it was going to grow, and handed that awesome responsibility to me, which I am not taking lightly.

By the time the plant arrived in Decatur, its one runner was broken and leaves suffered bruises.

“You had better not put it in your garden because everything you put out there dies,” said my main advisor.

I know that, I said, and repotted the butterbean in a larger clay container and put it in partial shade to fight off the blistering July sun.

Trey and I talk about the butterbean. He wants to know how tall the plant has become and if it has butterbeans yet.

I surprised him last week and mailed him the first green pod. It wasn’t mature but I wanted him to see the first fruits of our joint interstate venture.

The plant is now climbing a trellis and is about 3 feet tall and is full of blossoms. I e-mailed him a picture of our plant, which thrilled him.

He mostly wanted to know how tall it would grow, and if it could climb to the sky as Jack’s beanstalk did, and if he could climb it.

“Jack planted a climbing bean; you planted a butterbean,” his mother quietly told him. “Butterbeans don’t grow tall.”

“Next year, we are going to plant a climbing bean,” he said.

“Do you know the difference in a butterbean and a climbing bean?” she asked.

“No, but Tom Tom does,” he said.