It occurs to me that possession, or being possessed is generally considered to be a big, gaping negative. But, had I happened to be writing a blog post sharing what a killer year that I was having in the garden and was positively drowning in vegetable booty, I would very likely be using the term or idea of possession as well. To me, this indicates that in my twisty world, possession isn’t necessarily a bad thing and can be lovely and good or wicked and bad. Except for possession of or by drugs or weapons – those possession are ugly assholes and will get a sist’a locked up, so we don’t go there. This is not that blog, yes?
Right then. Moving right along, I will be the first to admit that I am not a natural-born gardener. Real interest really only sparked for me sometime over the past five years. Prior to that, I could kinda-sorta keep a house plant alive (mostly), and I have photographic proof that I planted some veggies a few times with Declan when he was small (I’ll dig out that proof if need be), but really, I was not what anyone would call a get-her-hands-dirty kind of girl and just bought whatever we wanted at the store.
But I have a little bit changed my tune on that and get a kick out of walking outside and plucking a tomato off the vine or yanking an onion out of the ground, chopping it up and serving it for dinner that night. In fact, I now look forward to planting my garden every Spring and preserving my excess bounty in the Fall (together with purchased and found apples, pears, onions and tomatoes, of course!). This year, because we had such a LONG winter and Spring didn’t really show up, I kept my garden goals reasonable, my expectations nice and low and decided to go with ‘sure things.’ Well, this rational road I travelled turned into one hoofing kick to the ovaries.
As luck would have it, for the first time EVER, and probably in the history of forever, my go-to, ultimate sure thing, zucchini, is failing on a grand and fabulous scale. So many huge, yellow, horn-like flowers, a few false starts and then NOTHING. Tiny zucchini shrivel up and die and fall off the plant, unfinished. Combine that amazing luck with some kind of tomato plant-eating disease, a chipmunk who has decided that what’s mine is his, and so ‘samples’ my riper tomatoes before I get a chance to pick them, a wily, out of control cucumber plant that is just now starting to show signs of vegetable production (did I mention the whole polar vortex that is coming next month and sure to wipe out everything, garden-wise?) and potato plants that are having some kind of cross-species identity crisis and producing tomato-looking fruit on their plants. Oh, oh, oh! And please don’t let me forget that I am currently babying along four of the world’s most expensive peppers. Ten pepper plants are possibly going to net me FOUR peppers, if I’m really lucky. Worst. Deal. Ever. But enough words. Let’s go to the pictures, shall we?
If you’re going to take it, eat it you fucker. Don’t leave it beside the plant like a sick game for me to step on. This is not how you repay the kindness of a meal, Chipper.
I planted the tubers, and eventually, potato plants sprung (and I’m assuming that potatoes began to grow beneath the soil at the same time). NOW my potatoes have decided that they don’t want to be potatoes anymore and so are morphing into tomato plants. Honestly potatoes, wtf?
Honestly. Even if there was a chance of having normal, average sized cucumbers out of this plant, the frost that’s due to hit us NEXT month will surely take care of that quick smart. Argh!
Here is one of four peppers I am currently trying to ease into maturity. Given the rest of my gardening luck this year, I’m not holding out a lot of hope, but damned if I can give up on anything.
And now, I am hearing that it is supposed to rain for the rest of the week. Oh joy. Oh rapture. Just one more thing to throw my garden and winter reserves into a tailspin, as though those identity-crisis- having potatoes and tomato-thieving chipmunks were not enough.
It’s a good thing that I’m too lazy and unmotivated to actually drink. This kind of raggedy-ass nature behaviour/sabotage would likely start me on a three-day bender. Honestly now, what’s a girl to do?
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