I grew up along Florida’s Gulf Coast, but my summers were largely spent at my grandmother’s farm further inland, up toward the Alabama border. June was for the butterbeans – white and speckled. Late July for the corn. Tomatoes, okra, squash and watermelon throughout.

Very early in the morning, my mother, my aunt and my grandmother would head out to the fields, trying to beat the heat. They left us -- me, my brother, my cousin -- dozing on palettes of blankets in front of an open window, so they could hear us if we hollered. (Once, I kicked the stick that held up the heavy, mullioned window, and it smashed down onto my big toe. I hollered then, and Mama came running -- so I know they were listening.)

By the time we roused, the butterbean women would have arrived. They had old fashioned names like Vergie, Lois, Mable and Eloise. They were squishy when hugged, and smelled like an Avon sample case. Sleepy-eyed and barefoot, we’d wander into the kitchen, where they’d fix us white bread smeared with margarine and sprinkled with sugar, and -- if we pleaded -- two inches of coffee with a little more sugar stirred in. These women had no land, and were willing to work for beans. Or for beans and friendship, because they had known my grandmother all her life.

After breakfast, we’d go to the back porch and fill big aluminum tubs with water, to receive the bushels of butterbeans coming in. We dunked the fat pods in the water, parceled them out into enameled pans, and carried the pans in for the women to shell. They sat upright in ladderback chairs in front of a black and white TV, watching As the World Turns, talking at the TV, making script changes and judgement calls. After all the beans were washed, we’d get our own enameled pan full of butterbeans to shell. If you shell enough butterbeans, the thumb of your right hand will begin to get soggy up under the nail, and sore. But you keep on. Competing with your brother, your cousin, feeling like a grown up. At the end of it, watching the gleaming, speckled beans pour through your fingers. As precious as eggs.

Change is as certain as the seasons. My grandmother’s house burned down in 1983. The family farmland was sold off after her stroke to pay for her care. The butterbean women are all gone, buried nearby. Fresh butterbeans are hard to come by. I buy them dried now and, to my surprise, I find I like them better that way. My sister-in-law is from Puerto Rico, and our kitchen is filled with names like Jose, Ernesto, Carlos and Graciella. At the hispanic market I see Honduran queso duro, sample its salty tang, and I wonder what to do with it. I recall the butterbeans, their dark, creamy gravy, over rice and I know they will marry well. For a side, I remember my sister-in-law’s tostones, and reinvent them without plantains, made Southern. We will need a green. Kale, braised in a sweet broth, unlike anything my grandmother made. Sometimes change is unpleasant and unwelcome.  Sometimes it’s expanding. And delicious. The butterbean women might not recognize anything on this plate, but I know they would approve.

Speckled Butterbeans and Rice with Honduran Queso Duro, Sweet Potato "Tostones"and Brown Sugar Braised Kale

We are mostly vegetarian (change, again) so I have omitted the ubiquitous ham hock and replaced it with smoked paprika. If you are high on hog, use the ham hock instead, and nestle it in after you add the beans and water.

Speckled Butterbeans and Rice with Honduran Queso Duro

1 lb dried speckled butterbeans, soaked overnight and rinsed

3 Tbsp olive oil

1 large sweet onion, roughly chopped

3 cloves of garlic, chopped

3 Tbsp tomato paste

1 Tbsp smoked paprika

6 cups water

2 tsp dried thyme

1 tsp ground coriander

2 bay leaves

Sea salt, pepper and hot sauce to taste

For serving:

1 cup grated Honduran queso duro (optional) or you can substitute any salty, grated cheese. Like cotija or manchego

½ cup finely chopped cilantro

Red wine vinegar and hot sauce

4 cups cooked rice

In a large saucepan or Dutch oven with a lid, saute the onion until translucent. Add the garlic and saute briefly. Add the tomato paste and the smoked paprika, heating briefly. Add the beans, water, thyme, coriander, bay leaves, pepper and a few dashes of hot sauce. Do not add salt until the beans are cooked. Simmer over medium-low heat with the lid ajar, for about two hours or until the beans are quite tender. Stir occasionally, and add more water if necessary. Once they are tender, mash some of the beans with the back of a heavy spoon, stirring the mashed beans in until the bean broth is the consistency of gravy. Add salt, pepper and hot sauce. If you will be topping with queso duro, go easy on the salt because the cheese is quite salty. Serve the butterbeans over rice, sprinkled with queso duro, fresh cilantro, and drizzle with a little bit of red wine vinegar and/or hot sauce.

Sweet Potato "Tostones"

Two slender sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4 inch slices (Select sweet potatoes that are roughly the same shape as a plantain.)

Peanut oil for frying

Sea salt

Heat two inches of peanut oil in a large, heavy skillet until it shimmers, then turn the heat down to medium. Fry the sweet potato slices until they are lightly browned, about five minutes, flipping a few times. Remove them to a plate lined with paper towels. While they are still very hot, press them under the bottom of a coffee cup until they are flattened. Fry them again in the peanut oil until they are crispy and quite brown. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with sea salt.

Brown Sugar Braised Kale

8 cups of kale, stems removed, washed thoroughly and chopped

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 cup sweet onion, roughly chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 cup vegetable broth

2 Tbsp brown sugar

1 Tbsp red wine vinegar

Sea salt, fresh pepper and hot sauce to taste

In a saucepan with a lid, heat the olive oil and saute the onion until soft. Add the garlic and continue cooking for a few minutes until the garlic is aromatic. Add the brown sugar and vinegar, stirring until the brown sugar melts. Add the kale and broth. Reduce the heat to low and let this cook, covered, until the kale is tender. Adjust the salt, pepper and hot sauce to your taste.