An English In Kentucky


















June 6th 2010    Tim Candler

    A mostly blissful morning under cloudy sky spent fondling Eggplant.    Possibly there is gossip in their midst, because they must have heard the screams as I thrashed Potato plants hunting down Colorado Beetle.

    At this time of year it is easy to catch a Colorado Beetle on the leaves of an Eggplant, but in the Potatoes the story is one of tunnel vision.  Poor eyesight is no help in that forest of leaves, and one footstep wrong leads to a firm understanding that one day I will be too clumsy to leave my room, let alone effect Colorado generations.   And I think I once fell in the Beans chasing Stinkbug.

   Perhaps too, the fall was no accident because last night I fed myself New Zealand Spinach, Thumbelina Carrot and Early Top Beets and each one of these boiled dainties cried out for Potato.   Then this morning, as I tried to get myself out of the Potato bed without further damage to either of us, I saw the beautiful red skin of Pontiac showing, and as the morning developed I found myself discussing an early Potato harvest in that selfish way.

    What harm would it do to dig a little, I asked the Eggplants.  I could fork over the row I had wallowed in, I told them.  Experimental enterprise would at least conceal my blundering from prying eyes, I suggested.  But what pleases me appears to rarely please Eggplant, because they have always known better than to trust my motives.

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