Dear Garden

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, mostly because I can’t see out of K’s bedroom window anymore. I believe I might have misled you regarding your usefulness in our household. See, we truly do appreciate the many vegetables you have already provided, and those that you promise for the remainder of the summer. However, we never meant to make you think that we were feeding a large household, one that would be capable of consuming the copious amounts of food you are already producing. Yes, it’s very impressive that you are capable of such production, but that was hardly the point when we planted you. Specifically:

Green beans: Kudos for coating an entire 4×9 trellis ten inches deep on each side. Unfortunately, this means we cannot actually find the green beans you are producing. This undercuts your usefulness significantly. We apologize that you are sending out tendrils into space. This does not mean that it’s okay for you to grab onto our home and vine your way around it. It’s okay to rest sometimes, really.

Tomatoes: I know that I spoke very kindly to you when you were planted. I was overstating things. Honestly, I was not expecting you to grow over my head. Again. For the third year in a row. I therefore absolve myself of casualties resulting from the fact that you have far exceeding the cages in which you were planted. Yes, I should have traded them out for stakes. But you were the ones who grew two feet in one week, thus making such trading impossible. Didn’t you ever hear the one about the tortoise and the hare?

Squash: Sigh. You are brilliantly beautiful and large. Very large. So large that I can no longer reach in to pick out the fruits of your labors. Did you consider that my arms are not four feet long? On the plus side, I have to commend your club-producing abilities. The kids are a little frightened, but I find it remarkable.

Cantaloupes: We didn’t even plant you. And you’re taking over the space that was meant for our walkway. And the tomatoes. And the squash. I suppose that since everyone else seems so happy with this situation, I should be praising you ability to adapt and share. Still, how will I pick you, when there’s no longer a path?

So there you have it. We kept it small this year: three vegetables (like I said, cantaloupe, you volunteered for this). So what happened to your end of the deal? Were the wide aisles and neat rows just too tempting? My largest concern, garden, is that we haven’t even hit the middle of June, and I’m already so overwhelmed that I avoid tending you at all costs. And this only seems to encourage your growth. So finally, I’m begging you to stop. Or at least spare the children. It’s not their fault they were born to farming stock.

Sincerely,
The lady with the trowel

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