A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Gahden

This is usually the time of year that I report on the thrill of gahdening victories and the agony of defeat. I try to regale you with the latest bug battle or sing the praises of hero plants that give me lots of vegetables, while other plants shrug their shoulders and say, “I’m out.” This year I have mostly mysteries, with a side of peppers and cucumbers.

The first mystery was the case of the odd cucumber. Earlier in the season I noticed the baby cucumbers on one plant were round. I thought maybe they would elongate, but no. They got bigger and rounder and were turning yellow. The other plants were growing the usual cucumbers, but not this one. I finally used my plant app and discovered they were lemon cucumbers. I picked the first one several weeks ago and it was absolutely delightful–so crispy and the perfect size for a salad. All I can think of is that I picked it up by accident when I was buying other plants–they all do look the same as baby plants. Full transparency, I can be a little unfocused sometimes. The farm I go to is pretty good about labeling the plants. I remember there were signs for pickling cucumbers and I was making sure to avoid those. Perhaps I overcorrected into the lemon cucumbers. They are so fun, I will try them again next year.

The next mystery was my butternut squash. They took a while to get going, which has happened before. Also last year when the little baby butternuts finally appeared, they dried up and fell off. Of course the internet was no help–it was definitely too much nitrogen, and also definitely too little nitrogen. Right. I was girding my loins for those gahdening shenanigans when the first baby squashes appeared.

Uh oh. Like the lemon cucumber, these were not the right shape. They should be butternut shaped, but these were distinctly oval. And not just one plant, 3 of the 5 plants had oval babies. Only one plant has a butternut shaped baby. The 5th plant is still just flowering, so we’ll see. With some misgiving I consulted the plant app, which came back with summer squash, and this helpful information: “Also known as: field pumpkin, pumpkin, ribbed pumpkin, calabaza, courgette [zucchini].” Pumpkin?!? Why are pumpkins and zucchini called the same thing? I don’t want no stinking pumpkins! Although I am not thrilled about the zucchini, I would much prefer it over a pumpkin. I am clinging to “courgette” like a Titanic passenger to a lifesaver.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind summer squash. I planted it in my early gardening days. It just never did very well and butternut takes me right into the fall, extending my growing season. Pumpkin, I can live without, and given my new experience with unexpected baby vegetable shapes, I’m pretty confident these ovals are not going to turn into a pumpkin. But Cinderella wasn’t expecting it either, so I will let you know.

The lemon cucumber seemed like an easy mistake. But what was going on with the squash? I would like to point my finger at the farm where I bought the plants–they are undergoing a renovation, and this spring they moved a portion of the parking lot. Their plants and the cashier were set up in makeshift greenhouses. With all that activity it seems possible that they could have lost track of their plants and signage. But what are the chances that a professional farm would do that vs. me who has a documented history of not paying close attention to things (remember the indoor bug invasion last winter?). I need to stop documenting things that incriminate me.

It seems more likely that I was discombobulated during the renovation. I’m not even sure where to file my going to the farm and coming back with all kinds of plants I didn’t mean to. Stress? Forgetfulness? Early stage dementia? Perhaps I will just put it next to my membership in the We Do Not Care Club.

The third mystery is a relief in the sense that it is likely caused by urban animal shenanigans, although I don’t know which ones or, frankly, how.

I have been successfully growing a Brazilian plant called jilo for several years. It’s a small green egg-sized vegetable. I’ve joked that the animals and bugs leave it alone because they’ve never seen it before. Well, someone has taken notice, and not only that, but it is stealing them from me.

At the beginning of August, I had about 4 or 5 baby jilo. I was going on vacation for 2 weeks and knew they would ready to pick when I got back. I was so excited as they have been a consistent thrill of victory vegetable for me.

But when I got back, there were no jilo waiting. They were not here, they were not there. They were not freaking anywhere. They weren’t on the ground or in the pots. I didn’t find them half eaten elsewhere in the garden, which is what the urban critters do when they want to say eff you. They steal your vegetables, take a few bites all over so it cannot be saved, and then leave it in the dirt. Little bahstids.

All I could find were broken ends where jilo should have been.

But this ain’t my first critter battle rodeo, and I saw there were several other babies getting started. I would just have to wait a little longer. Being away from a garden for 2 weeks at the height of the harvest comes with a price, and I was OK with that.

Until several days later, those also disappeared. What the hell? Again, I looked in the pots, on the ground, around the yard. No trace.

Some sonofabitch nicked them.

Exhibit A: The ripped up end where a jilo should have been.

Exhibit B: Suspicious markings on the stem, part 1.

Exhibit C: Suspicious stem markings part 2.

My friend who told me about jilo said that people in Brazil feed it to their pet birds, who love it. But the birds would have left pecked-at jilo behind.

No, I submit to you that something is climbing up the stems, which are fairly sturdy, picking the jilo, and running away with it. I haven’t been this perplexed and pissed off since the case of the marauding rodents. The jilo plants are next to a large maple tree which houses multiple squirrels. The herb pots and the bee drinking station are also next to the tree, and I often find them toppled over. So the squirrels are the number one suspects, although raccoons, with their creepy human-like hands, and the fact that I have seen them traversing the electric wires along my yard, cannot be ruled out.

I am deep breathing and enjoying the peppers that are coming in nicely, happy with the delightful lemon and other cucumbers, and holding out hope for the sweet potatoes. But if I catch the jilo thief, I’m goin’ all out Elmer Fudd.