Cucumber Thief

I'm a fan of setting out signs in the garden.

I don't know how long ago this event happened, but I think I was 5 or 6 years old:

One summer, when my family visited my grandparents in Northern Indiana, I discovered a playmate my age who lived across the alley. She lived next door to a man who grew vegetables. One day, he gave us a cucumber from his vegetable patch. I thought it was the tastiest, most refreshing treat I'd ever had (besides ice-cream cones). Soon after, my friend and I began to steal cucumbers from the patch. The first time the man next door caught us, I yelled that I could take cucumbers from the garden because I was from West Virginia. Nobody besides myself had any idea what West Virginia had to do with anything. However, in West Virginia, I went berry-picking so many times that I thought anything edible that grew in the wild was up for grabs. Still, that was no reasonable rationalization for continuing to steal cucumbers. The man next door finally confronted my mother about my petty theft.

Yes, she was furious. My mother thinks she spanked me, but I don't remember anything but the yelling. My friend was off-limits,* I had to bring flowers to the man next door and tell him I was sorry, and I had to listen repeatedly about how wretched I was. I certainly felt wretched for having been caught, but it took awhile before I truly realized what a bad thing I had done. Years afterward, the man next door would see me and ask me (while laughing) whether I was still stealing cucumbers. By then, I had the decency to feel mortified.

These days, we're growing cucumbers of our own. Whenever we talk about the vegetables and berries we hope will grow in our garden, Lucia says, "We're going to eat them!" There is marvel and glee in her voice. Yesterday, she got to eat the first strawberry growing behind the cucumber patch. Next month, we should have sweet-peas to eat. Meanwhile, the cucumbers and winter squash will continue to grow. Someday, if all goes well, we'll have blueberries, red raspberries, huckleberries and blueberries in our front yard. In the back yard, we have potatoes in the ground with plans for carrots and chard. Bede took our small pumpkin that was beginning to rot, and buried it in the ground. Maybe we'll have pumpkins this Fall. Maybe not.


The first strawberry

I told HipWriterMama that my "goal for success" for the next 30 days was to walk for 30 minutes a day, but I'm going to have to amend that plan to include 30 minutes of exercise a day. Yesterday afternoon, I overturned grass and dirt in the front-yard for 3 hours. Then, I watered the soil, sprinkled a wealth of wildflower seeds on the dirt, raked them over, and hoped for the best. I am sore all over... again. At Bede's request, I am leaving enough lawn for us to have room for a picnic and a space for Lucia to run around.

In case it wasn't obvious before, I am a big fan of The Secret Garden (with the exception of the ending, when the focus suddenly shifts from Mary Lennox to her cousin Colin).

PM Addendum: My mom just told me that the man (from whom my friend and I stole cucumbers) said that we smashed the cucumbers, and he didn't mind the theft as much as the waste. I cannot begin to tell you how offended I am. We were thieves, not vandals. My friend had a vegetable peeler in her shed, and we used it. Other than the times I smashed the chemistry bottles of the 8 year old boy upon whom I had a crush,** and tore the paper flag belonging to the same boy, I was not a vandal.


*My friend was off-limits only for the day, though I'm sure my mother wanted to institute a lifetime ban.
**I was five years old. The crush was not requited.