The Cucumber Wars

I grow cucumbers every year. I plant them primarily to watch them grow. I mean this literally. They come up in about three days, and you can truly watch them as they unfold and stand up straight. It’s a profound experience.

But, alas, this is the highlight of my yearly cuke gardening experience. The vines grow for awhile, they bear a couple of fruits, then succumb to one of the many fungi that inhabit my garden soil.

But this year was different. I had exhausted my supply of fast growing, quick dying seeds, and so broke my own rule, and bought a cucumber plant—ready made--from the nursery. It grew just fine. I ignored it. It got hot; I watered; it grew. It kept growing; it made two cucumbers. I thought, “Okay, this is it.” It made two more cucumbers. I was busy for a week, and didn’t do anything but turn on the drip. I went out to weed. There were six cucumbers.

I panicked. I gave two to Yvonne, my eighty-something neighbor. My whole family is laying in wait for our prodigal neighbor Scott (single guy, never at home) to pop by for a change of clothes. We wait for Kaye to go by on her evening walk. All so we can get rid of the cucumbers.

We went to a friend’s house, and I forgot to bring a cucumber. Our friend came in from the garden, bearing produce for a salad, and I said, “Oh, I meant to bring you a cucumber.”

His wife said, “Don’t you dare, we were hoping you’d take a few home.”

I said, “Not a chance.”