Well, I thought I could fill your minds and thoughts with some rich "root" of meaning for a phrase I have become close with of late.
Turns out, I can't. So I'll just have to ramble enough that this is worthy of posting, or at least makes you get off the computer and do something of value with your time. You can thank me later.
Food has wormed (excuse the organic farm pun....) it's way into our very language. In medicine, well, it's pretty cotton pickin disgusting. Coffee ground or cottage cheese are not something you want to see in your medical record. Nor do you really want watermelon flesh. Anyhoo, if you're still hanging onto your cookies, I'll move forward.
Food phrases... how about bean counter. Hmmm. Bet you've heard that term. Egg on your face.
The phrase that I thought might be rich with deep meaning is Pea pickin... as in the famous and possibly only use "Bless your little pea pickin heart." Ala Tennessee Ernie Ford.
So what the heck does that mean?
At the farm yesterday I picked some peas. So the recipe for picking peas... Apparently it takes intense 95 degree directly overhead sun. Why? I'm not sure, but I do know that the cool breeze we felt before and after the pea picking was non-existent during. Also, many hands are required. And those many hands can pick 66 pounds (66.4 - says my inner bean counter. Every pea counts. Trust me.) in about 12 hours of woman time. Yup. That's a lot of peas.
Pea picking also really should require a gymnast or yoga master. Pea plants grow way low as in "how low can you go" low. Peas like to hide in their swirly, viney foliage. So I think I can say that it is painstaking and back painstaking work.
However, there is a nice benefit. Okay, several.
One, all the peas you can eat while you work. Okay. That's pretty good. So we probably picked 68 pounds between the five of us.
And while working side by side the conversation flowed nicely. And not so nicely. Someone I picked with, who won't be named to protect her reputation, was sometimes inappropriate. There was a wee bit of laughter while we worked. A few stories, too.
So we sweat(sweated, swat????) and laughed and whined and got thoroughly filthy. At one point the farmer got separated from the pack (I think it might have been by choice) and when she rejoined us she said. " You know, while I was over there by myself I was listening to you. I couldn't hear the words most of the time. But, the rhythm of your voices, the laughter, the buzz of conversation, it was just beautiful. I enjoyed my background music very much."