Like Lucile Ball, I scramble to stay ahead of the tomatoes. One-by-one they pop bright red when I turn my back. They burst with ripeness, seep liquid, tremble with rotted spots as I agonize over the hours I'm not attending to the harvest. Summer squash plant is a bit lazier. They too stretch and grow, from no bigger than my thumb to plumper than my forearm lickety split.
I collect recyclables to store 'em. Plastic fruit containers, paper veggie baskets, anything that cuddles them with the bump of a car ride.
Sneak them into elementary school offices, tip a basket onto the countertop at the consignment store, slither one to an empty chair in the women's shelter pantry, load up the free clinic table, the parole officer gets a batch at the jail, I hand 'em out to the folks on the corner, pretending they're trick-or-treaters. Get 'em while they're ripe, or a bit al dente.
If someone turns their nose up, I tip my head in acknowledgment and tell them they are surely missing out. The cherries are like candy, sweet and tender.
Friends trade-out for their overabundance in pumpkins, zukes, kale, herbs, and plump cucumbers. They've got their own battle to wage.
Call, text, shout-out, email your request and I'll jettison over with a bagful!
What's overflowing in your garden?