The horn of plenty

With the first frosts of autumn nipping at us, the final harvests of the garden are underway. An unrelenting expenditure of money and labour has resulted in a surplus–if not a bounteous and wanted crop.
It started back in June with the first crop of radishes. After gorging on the first flush, with the end result being the initiation of enough gas in the digestive system to run a co-gen station, it was time to pass the surplus production on to friends and family–radishes that is, not the gas.
“They’re a little pithy but tasty. Great for your constitution,” I offered Junior as I forced the two plastic bags of misshapen produce upon him.
“But, but, but, Dad . . .” sputtered Junior futilely as he gazed in dismay at the two bags of produce spewing across his desk.
“And don’t worry about the worms in them. Great for your constitution. I’ll bring you in some lettuce next week,” I offered wisely as I turned on my heel and exited, secure in knowing I had done my good deed for the day.
A month later, it was beans and peas, but by now Junior was better prepared. I just couldn’t accept any more, he breezed as, throwing half a loin of beef in his car, he slammed the door and roared out the lane before I had a chance to load him down with any goodies.
But old age and treachery can outsmart youth any day so when the sweet corn was ready, I became sneakier. Coasting to a stop in front of his house early one morning, I deposited four dozen dewy, fresh ears right on the doorstep, very quietly.
The note I left read, “Junior, enjoy this freshly-picked corn. Producing it was a labour of love. It is at the peak of ripeness, and will do wonders for your constitution. Love, Dad. P.S. Don’t let the worms bother you. It’s just a sign of quality. After all, if the worms won’t eat it, how can it be any good.”
Then, ringing the door bell, I ran.
Junior reluctantly came home over the Labour Day weekend, and graciously declined any more sweet corn. Same for the tomatoes and cukes. He claimed, in this age of blossoming vegetarianism, that what this world needed was more carnivores and then snarled something at me about not putting any “garden junk” in his vehicle.
To reinforce the point, he kept all the doors on the heap locked.
But I’ll get my revenge. You see, Junior has bought his own house so I’m planning a full weekend next spring to help him put in his own garden.
We’ll plant lots of zucchinis.

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