One possible excuse for my lack of blogging for more than a month could have been that I was being held hostage by my backyard. It isn’t technically true, but it could have been true if I weren’t so agile.
Normally I have whatever is the opposite of a green thumb. I have attempted gardens in the past, but they never survive to fruition. Supposedly foolproof indoor spices fail to grow, or die as soon as they are transplanted outdoors. I kill plastic houseplants. Not on purpose! It just happens.
Until this year, when evidently the record-breaking heat and humidity overcame my natural herbicidal Kevorkianism. I planted one teeny little cucumber plant, one teeny little pumpkin plant, one teeny little chili pepper plant, two teeny little basil plants, and a slightly less teeny cherry tomato plant. They didn’t stay teeny. We came very close to Little Shop of Horrors territory in late July. Feed me, Seymour!
The cucumber plant in particular is so out of control it is growing up nearby trees, and bearing fruit there. Yes Virginia, cucumbers DO grow in trees.
The cucumbers have tailed off, finally, but at least eight pumpkins are slowly growing on the opposite corner of our little plot and in the grass near the corner. Meanwhile, the Thai basil is irrepressible, I keep harvesting huge bunches and it keeps growing. And in addition to the cherry tomatoes, the remnants of last year’s regular tomato plant (all of which rotted on the vine last year) somehow regenerated this year and has taken over its corner of the plot (the plot has thickened?) (sorry).
And, tomatoes aside, the quality has been great, especially the basil. I’ve been warned that the pumpkins may be assaulted by squirrels just before they’re ready for harvest. I long ago achieved detente with the local squirrels, so we’ll see how that goes this fall. George Costanza famously had a deal with the pigeons but not the squirrels, but I have always had a pretty good relationship with the little rodents (closely related to the mountain beavers, notes Wikipedia). I’m optimistic. It’s just one of those years.