I usually take my last swing out in the garden before the World Series wraps up. Most years, our “fresh produce game” gets delayed sometime in October by light frost and finally called on account of a hard freeze. But this fall we did the equivalent of Ernie Banks’ “let’s play two.” I came away with a closing win on November 15 by harvesting a small amount of kale and spinach. Thanks to warm weather, the season had been extended.
Like this year’s Chicago Cubs, we did well, but we didn’t finish the year without a few disappointments. My brother Tom is the team manager, and he spent a lot of time securing fences to keep out rabbits and deer–but ground squirrels still took bites out of the best strawberries, and birds flew in to enjoy my pepper plants. He also had to decide how to pitch a shutout against insects and fungi—stay with the regular starters (the natural weeding and mulching approach) or bring in a flame-throwing reliever (the chemical method)? Overall, our starting pitching was solid.
Tom is also the groundskeeper. His special compost is a magical mix of soil, old feedlot manure, food waste, grass, and leaves. He tills it in with a sputtering machine that has been around since Harry Carey first said, “Holy Cow!” The mixture helps us produce tomatoes, beans, broccoli, and other food items, but it is still no guarantee. While the kale maintained an MVP batting average this year (from May to November), the peppers had a slump, and for the second year in a row, the zucchini turned out to be mediocre—and in one case, violent.
I had harvested enough “zukes” to make a few stir fries, salads, and quesadillas, but a fungus ruined the rest, so I started to pull them. On one misguided tug, a stiff green leaf the size of an elephant’s ear stabbed me in the left eye. After uttering a few baseballisms not allowed on regular TV, I slowly realized that this bean ball would keep my eye watered up and blurry for the rest of the afternoon.
I wasn’t eager to admit defeat to a zucchini, so this play was not recorded on the official box score. But after a week of discomfort, I finally went in for a checkup. “Scratch on the cornea. Nothing too deep; should be OK in time.” Two weeks later. “Seems to be a slight mark, but this should heal with time.”
I guess the opticians are right. Now three months later, it no longer waters up and causes irritation. But things still seem blurry for a while when I wake. Maybe it’s a psychosomatic trait in my love-hate relationship with zucchinis. As one meme says, “Zucchini is like an annoying relative. You don’t like it—but have to act happy when it shows up on your doorstep.”
So I’m doing some off-season maneuvers to get a bumper crop. Maybe a trade—try different seeds. Maybe shore up my defense—find a natural powder or something that can beat the bugs and fungi. Maybe wear a batting helmet when I’m on the field with them. One way or another I plan to beat my two-year zucchini slump and produce some winners next season. After all, the Cubs are once again focused on “just wait’ll next year,” and they’ve been at it since 1908. I see prize vegetables and a World Series win in 2016.
by dan gogerty (pic from makefunoflife.net)