HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?
Thanks to my dear husband, who was rather indulgent in those early days, my backyard contains six raised beds, each four foot by eight foot. Every year I grow a vegetable garden. Well, I should say I PLANT a vegetable garden. Grow is the wrong word for what it’s doing this year.
In all other years I’ve grown a huge crop of snap peas. This year the vines turned brown before producing much of anything. In other years I’ve grown feathery green patches with long, sweet carrots hiding under the ground. This year the weeds ate the patch before I’d even turned my back on the seeds.
Even the zucchini—the zucchini! is doing poorly. Instead of sizing up like they are supposed to, the fruits grow fat on one end and rot on the other. Does anyone know what causes this? It is a sad garden indeed that can’t produce a decent zucchini or 80.
The only things that’re doing well are the cucumbers. Thank god for cucumbers.
You might be thinking, “Well, Jodi, you’ve been neglectful. You went and got a job and picked up more freelance gigs and let your garden go to hell. You hardly ever fertilize; it’s a wonder you feed the kids. You didn’t test the soil to see what nutrients it lacked. You didn’t add enough compost and other amendments. And let’s face it, you went out there and hurled a bunch of seeds at the beds and ran the other way. What did you expect?”
Ok, that’s not a bad argument. But it’s not the problem either.
See, I think I offended Priapus.
That’s him, the Roman god of gardens and fertility. Priapus is one big dude. In fact, the word “priapsis,” which is what happens when teenaged boys take Viagra to see what will happen, is based on his name.
There he is again, weighing his mighty member. I guess size DOES matter.
I’m not sure what I did to offend Priapus, but he must be really pissed off to make my garden so pathetic. I figure the bumper crop of big, long cucumbers is his personal message to me. Don’t fuck with the gods.