Bean Hole Beans

"...there's always some level of uncertainty."

Decades ago, the hole was dug, and lined with stones painstaking pulled from the soil nearby. An enamel cookpot was committed to rough use, the first of several, as they don't last forever under this treatment. The old metal flyer-sled that my sister and I had almost outgrown was pressed into service as a bean-hole rain-cover. Since then, many times, Dad has gone out and lit a hot fire in the hole late at night, letting it burn through the night, so that the stones and surrounding soil could hold that heat.

Each time, next morning, he'd pull out the coals, replace them with a pot full of beans, water, fatback, and assorted secret ingredients. Then, against everything we learn in modern life about dirt and food, he'd shovel the soil back into the hole, burying the pot, sealing it underground with all of those hot rocks, for at least eight hours. He'd go about his day, often preparing for company, setting out the tables, cutting and jointing some meat, pulling up from the cellar something he or I had brewed, all the while enjoying the sight of smoke and steam rising from the bean-hole site like a rare Downeast fumarole.

Unearthing Bean Hole Beans

Fast-forward to last weekend, the most recent time the tradition was observed, and we have family, friends, friends of family, gathered for a belated birthday, music by yours truly, food by potluck and bean-hole. People share news, admire recent changes to the property and family home. Dad likes to make an event of the bean unearthing, and this time is no exception. 

Wielding a spade, and grinning for the fun of the occasion, for the pleasure of having such fine company, he stands beside the smoking patch of ground and clears his throat, eventually catching most of our attention. Striking a pose with the space, he announces, "I have done it in this same hole many times...but there's allllways some level of uncertainty..."

Smirking, and noting uncle Billy's chuckle, and some smart remarks ("Have you used the same tool every time?"), he begins to carefully excavate the pot, releasing clouds of smoke, while kids look on wide-eyed, not believing that FOOD is going to come from this. Soon there is a respectable pile of dirt, and the pot is revealed, safe under some aluminum foil. Carefully brushing it off and lifting it out, he carries it to the plank tables, and unveils the contents. 

Bean Hole Beans

Something very special infuses traditional bean-hole beans, and I'm not sure if it's the scent of the soil and smoke, the special care given to long-held tradition, an extra flavor imparted by the assembled family and their enjoyment of the ritual, or all of these things. All I know is that I always look forward to a plate of it, to watching how much Dad enjoys presenting it, and to the amazement of the uninitiated, when they see fine, hot, savory dinner being dug up from our bony New England soil.