Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Zucchini Dear John
Zucchini- I only grew 2 plants this summer and I've grown oh so tired of it by now. I've grilled it, sauteed it, made zucchini fritters and a large zucchini pancake. I usually make some kind of zucchini bread or muffins but just could not stomach it this year. I even have half of a neglected one hanging out in my refrigerator this very minute. Perhaps for dinner.... Then I will be free of them for another year. There is a tiny one out there right now struggling to make it to my dinner plate but it's cold here this week so I'm hopeful....
I didn't write this, I received it courtesy of my fellow gardener, Jeannine. If you've grown zucchini you can probably relate.
I’m sorry to have to do this to you in such a public manner, but you leave me no choice.
I have tried to let you down gently, but you just don’t seem to be getting the message. At first, I thought that if I just ignored you, you’d understand. But you didn’t.
I tried leaving you in the refrigerator, but you insisted. I withheld water, but you kept coming. I even left you for three whole weeks, without any contact, and still you were there.
I don’t know any other way to do this but to send you this letter in the hopes that you will finally hear what I’m saying:
Yes, it’s true, things were great in the beginning. You were so fresh and green, the only plant thriving in a garden of that had, up until that point, been bare.
You were sweet, Zucchini. You were. You were always waiting for me when I got home from work and on weekends, you filled me.
I don’t deny it.
But Zucchini, you’re too much. You don’t know when to stop. You put too much pressure on me. You, I could handle. But then your family started arriving, and your extended family, and your friends … what was I supposed to do with all of you?
Look, I thought that going to Italy for three weeks would be the answer. I thought that during that time, left alone to your own devices (and no water), you’d understand that you couldn’t crowd my space.
How was I supposed to know that it would rain for the entire summer? How was I supposed to know that while the rest of the garden slowly began its inevitable decline, you would still be inviting your zucchini relatives over? How was I supposed to know you’d live so long?
Please don’t take this the wrong way. I will always think you’re beautiful and there will always be a part of me that loves you.
But right now, it’s all about the tomatoes. They’re plump and juicy.