Little Garden of Horrors (continued)
September 11, 2007
At first, the plant was very small. Just a seedling.
Slugs approached it. Slugs died. (That my wife killed the slugs is a coincidence. Obviously, she was acting under the control of the tiny plant as it protected itself against enemies.)
The plant began to grow and grow. “Where did the seed come from?” I asked my wife.
“Let me think,” mused my wife. “I think it was a company called Seeds of Change.”
“Uh, huh,” I said. That name seemed very suspicious to me. Just where is this mysterious “Seeds of Change?” I wondered. I searched the Internet.
The Seeds of Change seed farm is located in New Mexico. Very interesting, I thought.
Isn’t that the same state where a place where a base called Roswell can also be found?
The plant grew and grew. We have grown zucchini before. Never have we seen one as vigorous and dynamic as this zucchini plant.
It began to bloom. Small fruit began to appear.
One evening as I came home from work my wife said, “I picked the first zucchini. I cooked and ate it. Even for a zucchini, it was incredibly…mild.
It would be, I thought.
The next day, she brought in three zucchini squash. Now that’s an interesting word: squash. Think about it.
We had zucchini with dinner. It was incredibly mild. This is how it begins, I thought.
I went out to the garden. I looked at the zucchini plant. Many blooms were blooming. Some were male blooms. Some were female blooms. Zucchini are self-pollinating. What kind of plant does something like that? A hermaphroditic plant, that’s the kind of plant that behaves in that manner. Do you want hermaphroditic plants in your garden? I didn’t think so.
Many squash were growing. Think about the word squash some more. This is a word like fish. It is singular and plural at the same time. Do you want words that are singular and plural in your language? I didn’t think so.
Goodness from the ground up, it said. The heat is on, it said. Get help with these products, it said.
Sure, I said.
I went back out to the garden. I had only been away for a few days, but it seemed to me that there were even more squash and that the plant had spread over more ground in the time I had been away.
Suddenly, I heard a voice. “Seymour!” it said.
“Excuse me,” I said. “My name isn’t Seymour. It’s Random.”
“Whatever,” said the voice. “Distribute me!” it demanded.
“No!” I said.
“Yes!” the plant demanded.
“Look at all those bunnies lurking outside the garden fence,” I replied. “I have been shooting them with my air rifle, just to protect you. I don’t have to do that. I can just open the garden gate and let them in,” I said. “They will make short work of you, Mr. Squash!”
The plant laughed scornfully. “I’ll just direct them over there,” it chuckled, pointing at the carrot bed. “Bunnies will go after carrots before they will go after squash,” it cackled evilly. “How will Mrs. Random like it if she finds bunnies have eaten her carrots, tell me that?”
I thought fast. Just the other day Mrs. Random had proudly served me a long, intact carrot. “Look!” she said proudly. “No carrot maggots!” Mrs. Random, in her never ending study of organic vegetable lore, had read a book published in England. Came from a place called Hogwarts, I believe. It had explained that the evil carrot maggot fly only flies close to the ground to lay its eggs. Mrs. Random placed a short “fence” of netting around the carrot bed. It doesn’t even need a top. The flies are too dumb to rise up a couple of feet to see the carrots below. “Foiled again” they cry and wander away in search of easier prey.
Mrs. Random is very proud of her pristine carrots. By holding the carrots hostage, the zucchini plant had discovered my Achilles root.
This is how I became a zucchini pusher. [To be continued.}