I have recently wondered if I wasn’t thinking clearly when I planted an entire row of cucumber plants this past spring. Last year, my harvest wasn’t all that great, so I thought a few more plants certainly wouldn’t hurt.I know you are thinking that you’ve heard this before. One would think that I have learned a few lessons by now. I was so excited when the first few new cukes arrived. Picked small and tender, they hardly needed peeling and we savored each bite. As I got a few more, I proudly shared the wealth of my little harvest, and at one point early in the season, picked enough for a batch of delicious refrigerator pickles. Then the real cucumber season started, and I was picking a bucket each day, making more pickles and giving more away. As they usually do, things got out of hand in the cucumber patch. They grew. They multiplied. I picked and I picked, but it seemed the more that I picked, the faster they grew. I made five gallons of refrigerator pickles. Five. Gallons. Those lovely green curcubits, lovingly picked and almost caressed early in July are now grabbed off the vine and if only a few inches too big or slightly blemished get unceremoniously tossed into the chicken bucket, which in non-chicken homes is known as a compost bin. If a friend asks for one they get a dozen. I bring sackfuls of them to work. We have eaten cucumbers in one way or another every day, and not to complain, but I think we both are getting a little tired of them. I estimate that I have had about 100 pounds of cucumbers so far, and they’re still coming. A cucumber can grow faster than a zucchini, I think. Sweet, tender little cukes can become huge, white and bloated if it rains overnight and a Farm Woman can’t get into her patch until after her day job . Lucky for me, chickens love cucumbers, especially the big bloated ones. I slice them into thick rings and they all eat them just the same way: Seedy middle part first and then the white part, but never the green skin. They leave the skins as wrinkled little green rings around their run. If I toss the whole cuke in without cutting it, they will eat the whole thing, skin and all. Chickens are strange birds sometimes.
“To see cucumbers in a dream denotes that you will speedily fall in love. Or, if you are in love, then you will marry the object of your affection.”
Richard Folkard in ‘Plant Lore’ (1884)
I must have dreamed of cucumbers in early September 1977 because that is when I married my best friend. Happy 35th wedding anniversary to my husband, who is known to my readers as HIM or HE. Thanks for taking it with good humor, Honey. I wouldn’t change a thing about our life together except for one thing: You have a rather strange lack of enthusiasm for my beloved zucchini. Couldn’t you at least PRETEND to like it?