(HOST) Summer days on the farm are not lazy days – as commentator Anne Averyt found out – the hard way.
(AVERYT) My friends of the many acre garden chose July to go on vacation. Early harvest time. I thought it was early Christmas. They asked me to come pick their crops; and visions of zucchini and green beans, ruby beets and leafy lettuce danced in my head.
But ten days into their two week vacation, three long arduous harvesting expeditions behind me, I was humble and in awe of the produce farmer. And I couldn’t wait for the absentee landlords to return.
I grew up in the concrete city of Philadelphia, and corn, cantaloupe and tomatoes came fresh during summer from truck farms in Jersey. My mother bought just-enough-vegetables for dinner at Kim’s Market in Fox Chase. There were no Fresh Air expeditions for city kids back then, so I never learned to tell a flowering weed from a green bean blossom.
I have learned a few things since then. After two-and-a-half decades in Vermont, I know those voluptuous yellow blooms guarded by spreading vines and umbrella leaves are not for picking. That one day they will break out of their chrysalis and become succulent squash.
I also know that chard, cilantro and basil grow like morning glories. Here today, more tomorrow. I know there is a limit to the variety of ways one can cook chard – or kale; that even if I eat three salads a day, there’s more lettuce left in the garden than I have neighbors.
Before they slipped away on vacation, my friends gave me the garden tour. Mr. Farmer pointed out the different species on his estate, but I can’t read a road map let alone navigate the 20-odd crop groups in his four garden plots, all of them in basic green. We are talking serious gardening.
There are a gazillion tomato plants growing randomly around the many acre garden, but red never happened on my watch. I couldn’t even find enough plump green tomatoes for a good southern fry.
I did ferret out a few mini-summer squash, but the zucchini hid under a green leafy overhang. I harvested three overweight babies and left their Godzilla uncle to fatten for the Champlain Valley Fair. If it garners a blue ribbon, it’s mine.
Many visions of revenge swirled in my head those two weeks. But I know, come Saturday afternoons throughout August and early fall, when I drop in to say hello, my friends will share their bounty. Vegetables ripe and already picked.
This year, I will say thank you with a new appreciation for the hard work of abundance. Having walked the garden path, I will tip my sun hat to my friends and farmers everywhere, now that I know what it’s like to produce produce.