I Heart Indies

Thursday, August 21, 2014

The Menace of Okra

Our garden has done quite nicely this year.  Don't expect us to give you any vegetables, of course, we intend to eat them all by ourselves.  Our goal is to grow enough to preserve and put up for the winter like farm folks.

Anyway, the problem is that our produce really starts to peak, just when I've returned to school.  This means I don't have time to go out and pick the stuff as it ripens.  This is a shame when it comes to tomatoes, because they can spoil on the vine.  I'll come out and see Better Boys hanging in limp shreds like an exploded red balloon.  This is bad enough, but the real problem is the other vegetables.  You see, they just keep growing.  And growing.  I've let eggplant get nearly as big as soccer balls because I wasn't ready to pick them.  I've seen zucchini squash and cucumbers that would give you nightmares.  

But the real terror is our okra.

Okra is a wonderful plant to grow.  It shoots up in late summer, and produces these beautiful yellow flowers with lavender centers.  Then, almost overnight, the flowers turn into pods.  And the pods grow.  Quickly.

If you don't catch it in time, it will turn from a tasty little fingerling of a pod, to something that looks like a tyrannosaur's toenail, and that is just about as tough.  Trying to cut up one of these monsters for okra and tomatoes is like sawing through a small log.

Yesterday, I didn't go into the garden because I got home late and then went running.  The day before I didn't because Nancy and I had to pick out a new refrigerator.  Did I go the day before that?  I don't remember.  In the meantime we had a couple of good rains, followed by warm sunny days.  Lord only knows what the okra has been doing.

I don't know if I'll go out today either.

I'm afraid to. 


  1. On Wednesday I finally pulled up the courage to take the shears to our garden. We don't have okra, but we do have tomatoes and jasmine, and together with the immortal asparagus we can barely get into our front door. These plants have no concept of personal space. They won't stick to their allotted garden slot. Our pour bell pepper was started of sunlight, and our soy beans died of malnutrition. Murderous plants, I say.