An English In Kentucky


















May 9th 2010    Tim Candler

     Patchy Frost begins to sound like a character in opera, and one day in the saga he will outfox me by appearing at the kitchen window around coffee time, streak naked across the field, jumping and yelling, and I will follow him with a large white towel.   But damn if it wasn't cold this morning.

     It is no wonder Wax Gourd avoid me because they have learned from Eggplant to hold me in such deep suspicion.   Eggplant, poor things, are weeping in their bed and I am too ashamed to look them in the eye.  So I think back to other years searching for solace.   And I think perhaps if I could learn to follow rules I might find an equilibrium.   Perhaps May 20th should be designated Eggplant Day, but for this to realize I would need a glasshouse, otherwise the season is too short for a contentment, and I might dwindle into those harangues that cause others to yawn but which for some reason make me happy.

    Picture this, a parade of willing Eggplant gazing at me with love in their expression, rather than yellowing leaves, dull greens and those curls and wilts to remind me I am a vandal.   Yet there is no retreat from this.  Through these next weeks I will watch Eggplant struggle and should they succeed I will remain in their debt because they will have forgiven me.   The question is, will I have learned?   The answer, probably no.

    All so much easier if we just ate grass and then in November collected leaves in which to hibernate.   But there are those who relish these circumstances because for them Springtime is extended further into Summer.  And I suppose I feel the same about warm days in Fall.  Next year I will grow Lambs Lettuce.

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