As a young child, I looked forward to field pea season with enthusiasm —- and not just because it signaled the arrival of so many good things to eat.

It also provided an escape from the sweltering Alabama heat, as my mother's "shelling bees" were an air-conditioned affair.

Before this summer ritual commenced, the braided Sears, Roebuck rug in our den was rolled up, and the window unit turned to its coldest setting. Grandmothers and great-grandmothers from both sides of the family sat in a circle, their laps cradling roasting pans and Tupperware bowls filled with the harvest brought from our farm in bushel baskets.

Sharing gossip and wisdom to pass the time, they nimbly shelled for hours, tossing the empty hulls into a large galvanized washtub in the center of the room. Not yet in grade school, I apprenticed at their feet, captivated by their stories and chasing the occasional errant pea as it rolled across the floor.

This nostalgic scene, in one version or another, is no doubt familiar to many a Southerner —- particularly those of a certain age. But seriously, when was the last time you sat in a shelling circle?

My guess is it's been awhile.

Labor-intensive to pick and prone to spoil, fresh field peas (and yes, that includes butter beans) are no longer the dinner-plate staple they once were, but an uncommon delicacy. And the job once done by Granny's fingers has largely been taken over by modern shelling machines.

Common varieties like black-eyed and lima beans are readily available dried or frozen —- which is all well and good if you've a hankering for hoppin' John in January. But they're no substitute for farm-stand-fresh —- the kinds that come in a wide array of shapes, sizes and colors, and go by many different, often idiosyncratic names such as pink eye purple hulls, calico crowders, washday cowpeas and Mississippi silver hulls. My mother's summer table always held at least one variety, and often three or more, sometimes in individual preparations, sometimes cooked together.

For years, the field pea of choice in Geneva County, Ala., where we are from, was one called "cream 8"—- a small green pea similar to a white acre or lady pea. But as fashion goes, a newfangled version, "cream 40," arrived on the scene. Most of the pea-eating public took to it, but there were naysayers who complained that it was less tender and harder to cook right.

While cream 40s prevail today, my mother tells me there's a single old-timer at the edge of the county who still stubbornly grows the old cream 8s. Once they're picked, he takes them to a senior citizens center in the neighboring town, where they are hand-shelled and then sold to those pea aficionados fortunate enough to know the secret number you have to call just to get on a waiting list.

Why would someone go to so much trouble for a simple plate of peas?

My father believes that commercial shellers bruise peas and distort their flavor. My mother agrees, and is adamant that hand-shelling is supreme. "Machine shellers are rough on the peas," she says. "You get a lot of trash mixed in and worst of all, there's no snaps."

By "snaps," she means the small, immature pea pods that, too underdeveloped to shell, are "snapped" and added to the shelled peas for cooking. "Now that," my father contends, "makes a pot of peas that tastes good."

Field peas have an affinity for smoked pig; it enhances their natural meatiness while at the same time providing a contrast to their more nuanced flavors. In my view, a pot of freshly shelled peas, slowly simmered with a piece of cured pork, is as iconically Southern as fried chicken or collard greens.

At Watershed, we cook them this way every day by the bushel during their season, and serve them as part of that great regional tradition, the hot vegetable plate —- where their pot likker mingles beautifully with the slow-cooked crookneck squash and thick-sliced sun-ripe tomato, just as I remember from childhood.

Field peas cooked in this manner are as classic as it gets. But you needn't stop there.

Butter beans have always been my favorite, and I love them cooked thoroughly tender, then warmed gently in a little cream with bits of country ham and thinly sliced chives. These same flavors, whirled in a blender, produce a surprisingly silken and satisfying soup.

Folding crowders into a light tomato sauce enhances their particular flavor. Tossing lady peas and pink eyes in a salad and drizzling with garlic mayonnaise brings them into the 21st century.

But for me, no matter how you cook them, they all taste like home.

BY SIZE AND TYPE

Field peas come in long, slender pods, 10 to 12 inches long. Butter bean pods are flat and crescent-shaped, 3 to 4 inches long. Green beans, haricots verts, snap beans, pole beans and runner beans are another genre altogether because you cook them in their shells.

Here's a look at some common Southern field peas:

Cream peas (lady peas or white acre): Tiny and delicate, they are the beluga caviar of field peas. They are green and turn cream colored when mature. When cooked, they're tender, sweet and buttery. They take time to shell but are generally the quickest of all to cook.

Pink eyes: The next up in size and tenderness, pink eyes cook in just 15 minutes. The shells look the same as purple hulls —- just smaller in diameter and often more vivid in color. The pea itself has a deep-pink eye, very similar to a black-eyed. But they are more faintly colored and more subtly flavored than a black-eyed, with a tinge of sweetness that makes them a favorite.

Black-eyed: The ones we know best. They have verdant hulls with a tiny black mark at the pointed end. Fresh ones remain green when cooked and taste a little like a boiled peanut.

Zipper peas (white crowder): A larger, creamy, yellowish bean that is slightly square and a little on the starchy side.

Purple hulls: The largest and starchiest of the fresh peas, purple hulls have green shells with bright purple marks. The peas are light green when raw; once cooked, they become a dusty purple. They are easy to shell and you can get a cupful in minutes. They cook into a brown-colored soup in about 45 minutes.

Butter beans: Tiny baby lima beans are light green and very flavorful. Some are brown and speckled. Look for them shelled or in the pod.

Butter peas: A cross between a butter bean and a field pea. The seeds are squat and fat, the shells diminutive.

Sources: Scott Peacock, AJC archives

FROM PREP TO POT

Measuring unshelled peas: Four pounds of unshelled peas makes about four cups shelled.

Shelling time: An adult should be able to shell four cups in about an hour. But let the kids help. They tend to last for a good half cup or so.

Freshness and cooking time: The fresher (and lighter-colored) the pea, the less time it takes to soften. For instance, cream peas (which are lighter in color and texture) might take 20 to 30 minutes. Darker peas (such as purple hulls, black-eyed and pink eyes) might take 30 to 45 minutes or more. Butter beans are thicker and firmer and need more time than peas. Taste and let your palate decide.

To freeze: For butter beans or limas, wash, shell and sort according to size. Water-blanch small beans 2 minutes, medium beans 3 minutes and large beans 4 minutes. To water-blanch, cover beans in water, allow to come to a simmer, then begin timing. Cool promptly and thoroughly in ice water. Drain well and transfer to freezer bags, leaving half-inch head space. Squeeze out any air from the bag and freeze.

For field peas, shell and discard any old or immature seed and those with bug spots. Wash and water-blanch for 3 minutes. Cool, package and freeze as above.

'WE NEED TO GO GET IN THE PEA PATCH'

A story my father, Franklin Peacock, likes to tell from his childhood underscores the significance field peas once held for poor sustenance farmers in the South:

"A bad thunderstorm was brewing. As the sky darkened and the thunder grew nearer, my father's mother, a nervous woman by nature, was becoming increasingly agitated. There was a young boy visiting from the farm down the road. Noticing how upset my grandmother was, he said to her: "Miz Peacock, I know what to do. We need to go get in the pea patch."

"The pea patch!?!" my grandmother replied incredulously, her anxiety raised a notch.

"Yeah," said the boy. "My mama's always saying how that pea patch has saved us more times than she can count."