Watching the BEPI (Black-Eyed Pea Index)

Some people measure the economy's well-being counting cranes on the Manhattan skyline. Others by shower curtain sales. Today I found my own bellwether - sales of black-eyed peas on New Year's Eve.

Almost every year since I flew the nest in 1995, I've bought a bag of dried black-eyed peas on New Year's Eve, soaked them overnight, and made a pot of black-eyed peas and ham on New Year's Day. It's one of the things my mother drummed into me: you always say please and thank you; you never open an umbrella indoors; and you always, always, always have black-eyed peas and ham on New Year's Day.

Today, I went to two supermarkets. At both, shelves of dried beans were piled full - except where marked black-eyed peas, where they were bare. (At my second stop, I had to ask the manager, who got some from the back of the store for me.)

Every southerner knows you're chancing a poor and hungry year if you don't eat some black-eyed peas on New Year's Day. It seems like this year, even yankees are getting superstitious.