My mom has always had a garden. And from that garden, for every summer in my memory has come a bountiful harvest, or at least enough vegetables for a bunch of plentiful salads throughout the summer months. Lettuce (usually a few different types), carrots, green onions, tomatoes (of course), radishes, cucumbers, green beans, and my favorite: garden peas. As a child, I would sit on a towel at the swimming pool or scabby-kneed under the shade of a backyard tree or with my shirt off in the recliner chair and in my lap I an enormous bowl full of peas that I would devour the in an afternoon. Now of course, the peas have to be eaten fresh, uncooked, straight off the vine. Cooked pees are pretty much gross, in fact most cooked vegetables are pretty much gross. To this day, homegrown peas, fresh off the vine, remain one of my most treasured summertime snacks (right up there with frozen grapes). When I lived in Platt Park I grew my own, fairly successful, batch of pole peas. Last night I got myself a big old bag of peas from my moms garden. My bag is much smaller because my brother, Pandy, and I, immediately started gorging on the yield and didn’t stop till we were half way through. We slowed down once we realized that my brother was going to be the winner of the “most peas per pod contest” with a grand nine peas. Not to mention I was hoping this bag would last me through the weekend but I’m beginning to become doubtful.