But compared with the hours Pearl had been spending on the same task, the improvement was significant.
Hazel wrote the figures in her notebook.
Then stared at them.
Wy looked over her shoulder.
"Eleven pounds?"
She nodded.
He whistled softly.
"Not bad for a three-dollar pile of junk."
Hazel smiled.
"That's one machine."
Wy looked toward the rusted drum sheller.
Then toward the third model.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally, he laughed.
"Oh, no."
Hazel looked at him.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"I know that look."
She smiled innocently.
"What look?"
"The one that says you're about to find another month of work for both of us."
Hazel laughed.
Then picked up her notebook.
"Uncle Wy?"
He sighed.
"Yes?"
"I've been thinking about the big sheller."
Wy closed his eyes.
Then began laughing.
"I knew it."
By early July, the small sheller had become the most useful piece of equipment in Pearl's packing shed.
It wasn't fast enough to handle an entire county's harvest.
But it made the family garden more manageable.
Pearl could sit beside the collection table, checking peas and removing hull fragments, while Hazel operated the sheller and handled the heavier work.
They developed a routine.
Hazel picked early in the morning before the heat became unbearable.
Pearl sorted the pods by condition.
They shelled the suitable ones in manageable batches, checked the output, and moved the peas through proper food-preparation steps before freezing.
The work still took time.
But it no longer required Pearl to spend entire evenings forcing her swollen fingers through baskets of pods.
One afternoon, Hazel returned from the field and found her grandmother sitting on the porch.
Not shelling peas.
Not sorting vegetables.
Just sitting.
A cup of tea rested beside her.
Hazel stopped.
For a moment, the sight seemed strange.
Pearl looked up.
"What?"
Hazel smiled.
"Nothing."
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow.
"You're staring."
Hazel laughed.
"I don't think I've seen you sit down in the afternoon since I was ten."
Pearl smiled faintly.
"That little machine's giving me ideas."
Hazel sat beside her.
"What kind of ideas?"
Pearl looked toward the garden.
Then toward the hills.
For several seconds, she was quiet.
Finally, she said, "I've spent fifty-three years putting food by."
Hazel nodded.
"I know."
Pearl continued.
"I used to think the hardest part was growing enough."
She looked toward her hands.