Garden Fairies

It's the easiest vegetable to grow, the one that makes it necessary to lock your car in summer so neighbors won't dump their surplus into it. And yet, for the past three summers I've barely been able to grow any zucchini.  This year's plants yielded a single small one--it was tender and delicious--before expiring.

On the other hand, I can grow eggplants like nobody's business.  Right now my six plants are so overloaded they're leaning into each other like drunks coming out of a pub.  I grow the cucumber-shaped Japanese variety, and they're hanging off the branches in grape-like bunches, starting with tiny two-inch ones at the top down to banana-sized ones at the bottom.

Yesterday I picked nine.  I must do something with them right away.  But they are so perfectly purple, shiny and decorative that it seems a pity to slice them and roast them and put them in the freezer.  While I dither about yesterday's harvest, who knows how many more have matured overnight?

Pleased though I am with the eggplants, I still can't understand my bad luck with zucchini.  I have grown it successfully in the past, so why not now? After two years of failures, this summer I planted the zucchini in front of the house, as far as I could get it from the garden.  Different soil, different ambiance, same result:  dead plants.

It must be fate.

Or fairies (same thing--the word "fairy" comes from the Greek for "fate")

It's entertaining and relaxing, since it absolves me of responsibility, to stand back and view the garden as the playground of little folk.  It might explain all sorts of mysteries, such as the amazing resurrection of the arugula, the holes in the bean leaves, and the sunflower that towers like a satellite dish over the tomato bed.

I'm thinking that the powerful and ambitious eggplant fairies, in their quest for supremacy in the garden, have driven out the zucchini folk.  I can't wait to see what happens when they take on the kale.

Zucchini Vs. Bear

Last summer I wrote about some defensive uses of zucchini here.

Now I hear that zucchini is not only useful against dragons, but against bears as well.  A couple of nights ago a woman in Montana let her dogs out into the backyard and a black bear came barreling down the hill and attacked one of them.  She yelled and waved her arms and finally kicked the bear in the neck.  The bear then went after her, and after clawing her thigh tried to push its way into the house.  The woman grabbed a 14" zucchini that was providentially within reach on the kitchen counter and threw it at the bear.  The bear ran away.

 Which proves that everybody runs away from zucchini at this time of year.

Hens In Summer

About this time every year I let a few zucchini grow to a hefty size. Some of these I cut up and freeze to make into zucchini bread later, when the gardening frenzy is over, for my winter breakfasts. Others I slice in half lengthwise and serve to the hens.

I did that today, and they all came running. The three Buff Orpingtons, the crones of the flock, who've had zucchini before, dove in right away. The young hens--two New Hampshire Reds and one Barred Rock--didn't quite know what to make of the thick green slabs, and every time they approached one of the B.O.s chased them away. I guess there's a food hierarchy in the flock, but it doesn't seem to apply to sleeping arrangements--at night they all snuggle up together on their roost, in no particular order.

I noticed that the B.O.s, who looked like shiny pale golden balls in early summer, are starting to look a bit scruffy. This is their second summer, and they are probably ready to go into a molt. That means they'll go around losing their feathers, looking pathetic and not laying eggs for a while.

The young trio, on the other hand, after a summer gorging on grass and bugs, are reaching their prime. Chickens really can be things of beauty. The two R.I.R.s are a rich chestnut all over, with a couple of iridescent blue feathers in their tails. And the Barred Rock, with her black and white horizontal stripes and her bright red comb makes me think of the typical apache outfit--a striped black and white sweater and a bright red bandanna around the neck. All the chicken needs to complete the look is a Gauloise hanging from her beak. All three are bright-eyed and, yes, bushy tailed, and laying little brown hard-shelled eggs. They will be in full production by the time the B.O.s start molting, which bodes well for our winter omelettes.

How many times have I mentioned winter in this post? The year has turned, and as you drive on the roads around here you can see people getting serious about their wood piles. July isn't even over yet, but the tips of the top branches of the maple in our side yard are already starting to redden. The roadsides are lined with Queen Anne's Lace, the tall gray-green spears of mullein, cobalt blue wild asters and goldenrod. The worst of the heat seems to be over.

I try to spend every possible minute of these last long days outside, storing up sunlight for the coming winter.

Some More Uses Of Zucchini

Stepping into her hollowed-out Zucchini, She floated away into the Night.

Some Uses Of Zucchini

She slew the fearsome Beast with one blow of her giant Zucchini.