Cucumber Emergency

July 12, 2011

Just when I thought I was out of the proverbial hot water with the radish insanity, I discovered that the pickling cucumbers exploded literally overnight into giant, hefty adult handfuls of green madness. While I’m not sure how much a bushel is, but I know how many cucumbers my outstretched arm will cradle, and I had a cradle-full hiding in plain sight.

Sidebar – it’s too early, but giant, hefty adult handfuls sounds a bit pornographic, and I could spend paragraphs likening my new cucumber friends, with their bumpy texture for my picking pleasure, to some movies that I’ve seen on hotel pay per view, but I’m not going there. At least not yet.

It’s Sunday afternoon (yes, I’m a delayed blogger) and I lovingly rip 12 of these giant suckers from the tangle of vines (now understanding the brilliance of vertical gardening techniques).

Of course, the bane of my existence, a tick, finds it’s way onto my arm and I have to do the “Icky Blood Sucking Creature Dance” in the middle of the garden with my wellies on. I manage to get tangled in the damn critter prevention fence that apparently doesn’t stop ticks and saved myself from a very unladylike face plant by throwing out my hand against the side of the raised bed planter to stop my fall. Hand to brain connection was slow, however, probably because of the overbearing humidity that was making my hair huge in defiance of the expensive Keratin treatment.

Therefore, I didn’t drop the biggest cucumber member of the frenzied harvest in my hand as started to succumb to the pull of gravitational forces, and it squished something nasty when it broke my fall. I guess I was lucky that the tick self-dislodged at some point during the IBSC Dance, probably because it realized that drinking crazy blood probably wasn’t what Darwin had in mind for survival of the fittest.

Cradling the now 11 wonders of my gardening world in my arms up to the house, the organized part of my brain kicks in and says “what are you going to do with 11 large green phallic symbols now?” “Pickles” screams the creative side of my brain.

Like a pregnant woman in denial, I’m not ready to birth pickles. I don’t know nuthin’ about birthin’ pickles, Miz Scarlett. I haven’t finished “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”. Why is the garden rushing me!?!?!?

I have a bit of a crisis moment (or is it a moment of rational thought) when I realize that I have no idea what I’m doing. This is a perfect reflection of my entire gardening experience – I enjoy the rush of enthusiasm with the genesis of the idea, the satisfaction of skimming (but not reading or finishing – ooh, look at the pretty pictures!!) gardening books, the exuberance of the planning and planting phase, and the thrill that things are actually growing. Then reality sets in and THINGS ARE ACTUALLY GROWING and that means some sort of action is required. Hell, I don’t even know if you can just eat plain pickling cucumbers.

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