Nine Bean Rows

"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade."

I thought about William Butler Yeats poem, "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" as I planted beans 

today.  I wasn't on an island, haven't built a cabin, and my house has siding, not clay 

and wattles (whatever they are), but I was working in a bee-loud glade. The bumble bees 

were carrying on in the comfrey flowers in the bed north of me.  

Timing is everything this gardening season.  I am going to be gone over five weeks, so I 

delayed planting the garden until just before I leave.  Those beans should be close to 

harvesting when I get back.  

The pole beans will climb up the old ornamental windmill whose blades fell off long ago.

If you looked closely you would notice that the string the vines will climb up are staked 

down with tent stakes.  I don't like the stakes that come with camping gear. They don't 

stay put and are difficult to get into hard ground.  Long ago, I started using barn spikes, 

long nails that are easy to get into the ground, easy to take out, but stay put in high winds.   

I thought daydreamed about the tour as I planted, about mountains with frosty tops, about 

desserts and canyons, about waves lapping on Pacific shores. 

Then I thought about the rabbits who will take advantage of me being gone but that took 

me to Henry David Thoreau who merely put more beans in the spots where the bunnies 

feasted.  I won't begrudge mine a few tender sprouts. 

My thoughts went back to Yeats:  "And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes 

dropping slow" which describes how I feel when I am gardening. 

Just me and the bees, and a neighbor's purring cat beside me.  Peace.