TheBean-FieldMeanwhilemybeans，thelengthofwhoserows，addedtogether，wassevenmilesalreadyplanted，wereimpatienttobehoed，fortheearliesthadgrownconsiderablybeforethelatestwereintheground；indeedtheywerenoteasilytobeputoff。Whatwasthemeaningofthissosteadyandself-respecting，thissmallHerculeanlabor，Iknewnot。Icametolovemyrows，mybeans，thoughsomanymorethanIwanted。Theyattachedmetotheearth，andsoIgotstrengthlikeAntaeus。ButwhyshouldIraisethem？OnlyHeavenknows。Thiswasmycuriouslaborallsummer——tomakethisportionoftheearth’ssurface，whichhadyieldedonlycinquefoil，blackberries，johnswort，andthelike，before，sweetwildfruitsandpleasantflowers，produceinsteadthispulse。WhatshallIlearnofbeansorbeansofme？Icherishthem，Ihoethem，earlyandlateI
haveaneyetothem；andthisismyday’swork。Itisafinebroadleaftolookon。Myauxiliariesarethedewsandrainswhichwaterthisdrysoil，andwhatfertilityisinthesoilitself，whichforthemostpartisleanandeffete。Myenemiesareworms，cooldays，andmostofallwoodchucks。Thelasthavenibbledformeaquarterofanacreclean。ButwhatrighthadItooustjohnswortandtherest，andbreakuptheirancientherbgarden？Soon，however，theremainingbeanswillbetootoughforthem，andgoforwardtomeetnewfoes。
WhenIwasfouryearsold，asIwellremember，IwasbroughtfromBostontothismynativetown，throughtheseverywoodsandthisfield，tothepond。Itisoneoftheoldestscenesstampedonmymemory。Andnowto-nightmyflutehaswakedtheechoesoverthatverywater。ThepinesstillstandhereolderthanI；or，ifsomehavefallen，Ihavecookedmysupperwiththeirstumps，andanewgrowthisrisingallaround，preparinganotheraspectfornewinfanteyes。Almostthesamejohnswortspringsfromthesameperennialrootinthispasture，andevenIhaveatlengthhelpedtoclothethatfabulouslandscapeofmyinfantdreams，andoneoftheresultsofmypresenceandinfluenceisseeninthesebeanleaves，cornblades，andpotatovines。
Iplantedabouttwoacresandahalfofupland；andasitwasonlyaboutfifteenyearssincethelandwascleared，andImyselfhadgotouttwoorthreecordsofstumps，Ididnotgiveitanymanure；butinthecourseofthesummeritappearedbythearrowheadswhichIturnedupinhoeing，thatanextinctnationhadancientlydwelthereandplantedcornandbeanserewhitemencametocleartheland，andso，tosomeextent，hadexhaustedthesoilforthisverycrop。
Beforeyetanywoodchuckorsquirrelhadrunacrosstheroad，orthesunhadgotabovetheshruboaks，whileallthedewwason，thoughthefarmerswarnedmeagainstit——Iwouldadviseyoutodoallyourworkifpossiblewhilethedewison——Ibegantoleveltheranksofhaughtyweedsinmybean-fieldandthrowdustupontheirheads。EarlyinthemorningIworkedbarefooted，dabblinglikeaplasticartistinthedewyandcrumblingsand，butlaterinthedaythesunblisteredmyfeet。Therethesunlightedmetohoebeans，pacingslowlybackwardandforwardoverthatyellowgravellyupland，betweenthelonggreenrows，fifteenrods，theoneendterminatinginashruboakcopsewhereIcouldrestintheshade，theotherinablackberryfieldwherethegreenberriesdeepenedtheirtintsbythetimeIhadmadeanotherbout。Removingtheweeds，puttingfreshsoilaboutthebeanstems，andencouragingthisweedwhichIhadsown，makingtheyellowsoilexpressitssummerthoughtinbeanleavesandblossomsratherthaninwormwoodandpiperandmilletgrass，makingtheearthsaybeansinsteadofgrass——thiswasmydailywork。AsIhadlittleaidfromhorsesorcattle，orhiredmenorboys，orimprovedimplementsofhusbandry，I
wasmuchslower，andbecamemuchmoreintimatewithmybeansthanusual。Butlaborofthehands，evenwhenpursuedtothevergeofdrudgery，isperhapsnevertheworstformofidleness。Ithasaconstantandimperishablemoral，andtothescholarityieldsaclassicresult。AveryagricolalaboriosuswasItotravellersboundwestwardthroughLincolnandWaylandtonobodyknowswhere；
theysittingattheireaseingigs，withelbowsonknees，andreinslooselyhanginginfestoons；Ithehome-staying，laboriousnativeofthesoil。Butsoonmyhomesteadwasoutoftheirsightandthought。
Itwastheonlyopenandcultivatedfieldforagreatdistanceoneithersideoftheroad，sotheymadethemostofit；andsometimesthemaninthefieldheardmoreoftravellers’gossipandcommentthanwasmeantforhisear:“Beanssolate！peassolate！“——forI
continuedtoplantwhenothershadbeguntohoe——theministerialhusbandmanhadnotsuspectedit。“Corn，myboy，forfodder；cornforfodder。““Doeshelivethere？“askstheblackbonnetofthegraycoat；andthehard-featuredfarmerreinsuphisgratefuldobbintoinquirewhatyouaredoingwhereheseesnomanureinthefurrow，andrecommendsalittlechipdirt，oranylittlewastestuff，oritmaybeashesorplaster。Buthereweretwoacresandahalfoffurrows，andonlyahoeforcartandtwohandstodrawit——therebeinganaversiontoothercartsandhorses——andchipdirtfaraway。Fellow-travellersastheyrattledbycompareditaloudwiththefieldswhichtheyhadpassed，sothatIcametoknowhowIstoodintheagriculturalworld。ThiswasonefieldnotinMr。Coleman’sreport。And，bytheway，whoestimatesthevalueofthecropwhichnatureyieldsinthestillwilderfieldsunimprovedbyman？ThecropofEnglishhayiscarefullyweighed，themoisturecalculated，thesilicatesandthepotash；butinalldellsandpond-holesinthewoodsandpasturesandswampsgrowsarichandvariouscroponlyunreapedbyman。Minewas，asitwere，theconnectinglinkbetweenwildandcultivatedfields；assomestatesarecivilized，andothershalf-civilized，andotherssavageorbarbarous，somyfieldwas，thoughnotinabadsense，ahalf-cultivatedfield。TheywerebeanscheerfullyreturningtotheirwildandprimitivestatethatI
cultivated，andmyhoeplayedtheRansdesVachesforthem。
Nearathand，uponthetopmostsprayofabirch，singsthebrownthrasher——orredmavis，assomelovetocallhim——allthemorning，gladofyoursociety，thatwouldfindoutanotherfarmer’sfieldifyourswerenothere。Whileyouareplantingtheseed，hecries——“Dropit，dropit——coveritup，coveritup——pullitup，pullitup，pullitup。“Butthiswasnotcorn，andsoitwassafefromsuchenemiesashe。Youmaywonderwhathisrigmarole，hisamateurPaganiniperformancesononestringorontwenty，havetodowithyourplanting，andyetpreferittoleachedashesorplaster。ItwasacheapsortoftopdressinginwhichIhadentirefaith。
AsIdrewastillfreshersoilabouttherowswithmyhoe，I
disturbedtheashesofunchroniclednationswhoinprimevalyearslivedundertheseheavens，andtheirsmallimplementsofwarandhuntingwerebroughttothelightofthismodernday。Theylaymingledwithothernaturalstones，someofwhichborethemarksofhavingbeenburnedbyIndianfires，andsomebythesun，andalsobitsofpotteryandglassbroughthitherbytherecentcultivatorsofthesoil。Whenmyhoetinkledagainstthestones，thatmusicechoedtothewoodsandthesky，andwasanaccompanimenttomylaborwhichyieldedaninstantandimmeasurablecrop。ItwasnolongerbeansthatIhoed，norIthathoedbeans；andIrememberedwithasmuchpityaspride，ifIrememberedatall，myacquaintanceswhohadgonetothecitytoattendtheoratorios。Thenighthawkcircledoverheadinthesunnyafternoons——forIsometimesmadeadayofit——likeamoteintheeye，orinheaven’seye，fallingfromtimetotimewithaswoopandasoundasiftheheavenswererent，tornatlasttoveryragsandtatters，andyetaseamlesscoperemained；smallimpsthatfilltheairandlaytheireggsonthegroundonbaresandorrocksonthetopsofhills，wherefewhavefoundthem；gracefulandslenderlikeripplescaughtupfromthepond，asleavesareraisedbythewindtofloatintheheavens；suchkindredshipisinnature。Thehawkisaerialbrotherofthewavewhichhesailsoverandsurveys，thosehisperfectair-inflatedwingsansweringtotheelementalunfledgedpinionsofthesea。OrsometimesIwatchedapairofhen-hawkscirclinghighinthesky，alternatelysoaringanddescending，approaching，andleavingoneanother，asiftheyweretheembodimentofmyownthoughts。OrI
wasattractedbythepassageofwildpigeonsfromthiswoodtothat，withaslightquiveringwinnowingsoundandcarrierhaste；orfromunderarottenstumpmyhoeturnedupasluggishportentousandoutlandishspottedsalamander，atraceofEgyptandtheNile，yetourcontemporary。WhenIpausedtoleanonmyhoe，thesesoundsandsightsIheardandsawanywhereintherow，apartoftheinexhaustibleentertainmentwhichthecountryoffers。
Ongaladaysthetownfiresitsgreatguns，whichecholikepopgunstothesewoods，andsomewaifsofmartialmusicoccasionallypenetratethusfar。Tome，awaythereinmybean-fieldattheotherendofthetown，thebiggunssoundedasifapuffballhadburst；
andwhentherewasamilitaryturnoutofwhichIwasignorant，I
havesometimeshadavaguesenseallthedayofsomesortofitchinganddiseaseinthehorizon，asifsomeeruptionwouldbreakouttheresoon，eitherscarlatinaorcanker-rash，untilatlengthsomemorefavorablepuffofwind，makinghasteoverthefieldsanduptheWaylandroad，broughtmeinformationofthe“trainers。“Itseemedbythedistanthumasifsomebody’sbeeshadswarmed，andthattheneighbors，accordingtoVirgil’sadvice，byafainttintinnabulumuponthemostsonorousoftheirdomesticutensils，wereendeavoringtocallthemdownintothehiveagain。Andwhenthesounddiedquiteaway，andthehumhadceased，andthemostfavorablebreezestoldnotale，IknewthattheyhadgotthelastdroneofthemallsafelyintotheMiddlesexhive，andthatnowtheirmindswerebentonthehoneywithwhichitwassmeared。
IfeltproudtoknowthatthelibertiesofMassachusettsandofourfatherlandwereinsuchsafekeeping；andasIturnedtomyhoeingagainIwasfilledwithaninexpressibleconfidence，andpursuedmylaborcheerfullywithacalmtrustinthefuture。
Whentherewereseveralbandsofmusicians，itsoundedasifallthevillagewasavastbellowsandallthebuildingsexpandedandcollapsedalternatelywithadin。Butsometimesitwasareallynobleandinspiringstrainthatreachedthesewoods，andthetrumpetthatsingsoffame，andIfeltasifIcouldspitaMexicanwithagoodrelish——forwhyshouldwealwaysstandfortrifles？——andlookedroundforawoodchuckoraskunktoexercisemychivalryupon。ThesemartialstrainsseemedasfarawayasPalestine，andremindedmeofamarchofcrusadersinthehorizon，withaslighttantivyandtremulousmotionoftheelmtreetopswhichoverhangthevillage。Thiswasoneofthegreatdays；thoughtheskyhadfrommyclearingonlythesameeverlastinglygreatlookthatitwearsdaily，andIsawnodifferenceinit。
ItwasasingularexperiencethatlongacquaintancewhichI
cultivatedwithbeans，whatwithplanting，andhoeing，andharvesting，andthreshing，andpickingoverandsellingthem——thelastwasthehardestofall——Imightaddeating，forIdidtaste。
Iwasdeterminedtoknowbeans。Whentheyweregrowing，Iusedtohoefromfiveo’clockinthemorningtillnoon，andcommonlyspenttherestofthedayaboutotheraffairs。Considertheintimateandcuriousacquaintanceonemakeswithvariouskindsofweeds——itwillbearsomeiterationintheaccount，fortherewasnolittleiterationinthelabor——disturbingtheirdelicateorganizationssoruthlessly，andmakingsuchinvidiousdistinctionswithhishoe，levellingwholeranksofonespecies，andsedulouslycultivatinganother。That’sRomanwormwood——that’spigweed——that’ssorrel——that’spiper-grass——haveathim，chophimup，turnhisrootsupwardtothesun，don’tlethimhaveafibreintheshade，ifyoudohe’llturnhimselft’othersideupandbeasgreenasaleekintwodays。Alongwar，notwithcranes，butwithweeds，thoseTrojanswhohadsunandrainanddewsontheirside。Dailythebeanssawmecometotheirrescuearmedwithahoe，andthintheranksoftheirenemies，fillingupthetrencheswithweedydead。
Manyalustycrest——wavingHector，thattoweredawholefootabovehiscrowdingcomrades，fellbeforemyweaponandrolledinthedust。
ThosesummerdayswhichsomeofmycontemporariesdevotedtothefineartsinBostonorRome，andotherstocontemplationinIndia，andotherstotradeinLondonorNewYork，Ithus，withtheotherfarmersofNewEngland，devotedtohusbandry。NotthatIwantedbeanstoeat，forIambynatureaPythagorean，sofarasbeansareconcerned，whethertheymeanporridgeorvoting，andexchangedthemforrice；but，perchance，assomemustworkinfieldsifonlyforthesakeoftropesandexpression，toserveaparable-makeroneday。
Itwasonthewholearareamusement，which，continuedtoolong，mighthavebecomeadissipation。ThoughIgavethemnomanure，anddidnothoethemallonce，IhoedthemunusualywellasfarasI