This year, for reasons not fully examined, we planted not two, but four zucchini plants, which results in things like this:
Moreover, despite a slow start in early summer, our raspberry bushes are now lavishly producing, and we pick ripe berries by the bowlful. My oldest daughter, who is more ambitious than I am, looks up websites with titles like 1000 Things to Do With Raspberries. I bake raspberry pies with my three hand-on helpers and invent ways they each can participate in the measuring and rolling and crimping.
And then there's that one corner of the garden, that corner where my husband absentmindedly tossed a gourd late last fall after it had sat (and then withered) on our front porch as a seasonal decoration. Well, that little corner of the garden has sprung to life with gourds.
It started off so innocently with one child's vision to create two button-eyed gourd characters.
Then it grew. A nuclear family of gourds emerged.
The group multiplied in uncanny ways. A gourd grandmother, a gourd baby, a gourd ghost -- even a gourd dog -- were added into the mix.
It's like an extended family reunion is taking place on my kitchen counter.
Eventually, the garden will stop producing and I won't need to brainstorm yet another possible way to feed my family zucchini. We'll no longer have an influx of raspberries and fingertips stained red from their juice. The gourds will be disassembled and tossed into the far corner of the garden, that same garden where we'll probably plant too many zucchini plants next summer, too.
But for now, we relish in the harvest.