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It is a good year for the zucchini
I don't want to be the instigator of another near-riot. And so, I'm asking, way up here near the headline, if you're offended by disparaging remarks in a nearly true story concerning zucchini, turn away now and peruse the classifieds, before it's too late.
Consider yourself warned.
I'm talking to you, National Rhubarb Action Committee members.
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As I puttered up toward the house (making turn signals with my hands, steering with my feet) I passed two women, each carrying a basket. They were walking toward each other and laughing.
That's not an uncommon sight. People laugh around here all the time. We're unapologetically happy. Carrying veggies from our house to yours is also not a surprise. We're all wary of wastefulness and willing to share.
What put the twist in this tale is that each woman was walking to the other's house with the same gift load of unwanted zucchini.
As they avoided the idiot driving down the road on the lawn tractor, they laughed. I also laughed as I drove by, unaware of the story but full of exhaust fumes. Only later did I learn of the details, sitting down to a meal of zucchini pasta and diced zucchini with a side of chilled zucchini, a slice of zucchini bread and some zucchini juice.
It's been a bad year for the tomatoes, a good year for the zucchini.
No box store blight has lessened the output of the mighty squash this season. If you can't eat them, you give them away. If you can't give them away, you turn your garden into a possible stop on the next tour of the Guinness Book of World Records tour.
"Step right up! See the zucchini as big as my leg!"
That's the problem, of course. Like teenagers and black Labs, zucchini never stops growing. That would be fine if they continued to taste delicious right up until the time you used a front loader to haul them from the kitchen to the dining room. Unfortunately, once they reach, say, 40 to 190 pounds, they tend to become all seeds and no taste.
This year, we're using our extras as fence posts.
I have to go now. Someone is coming up the road with a dump truck full of zucchini. I have to turn out the lights, draw the blinds and act as if I'm not here (kind of like Halloween).
It's not that I don't want to talk to the neighbors. It's just that, as you can see by the new fence, we've got all the zucchini we can handle.
To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3-7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.
