My Letter from a Strange Zucchini that Showed Up on My Porch

Dear Tom,

My name is Zebbadiah.   My friends call me Zeb.  Let me rephrase that, they used to call me Zeb right up until Sunday July 6^th when my life was hurled into uncertainty.  I remember that day like it was just this week . . .

My pals and I were clustered together on a garden bench, soaking up some summer rays, sipping our morning’s water and discussing photosynthesis.  (Okay, I admit it, we were also checking out the new sensuous soybeans with the hot little rhizomes.)  Suddenly, with nary a hello, this middle aged woman (and I use the term with reservation) barged on up and yanked me from my companions’ midst.  My captor whisked me off to a hot car and promptly awoke her napping spouse and was gushing about her new acquisitions; all of them except me.  “Oh, I wasn’t looking for a hanging basket, but this million bells is beautiful, isn’t it?  Check out these hot pepper plants, honey.  They should thrive.  I know you aren’t an eggplant fan, but I’ll certainly enjoy some.”  After bumping along for several  l o n g  moments the callous soul glanced back and quipped, “gee I nearly forgot, but I grabbed a pathetic looking cucumber too.”  Cucumber, cuke, why the nerve of her!  Why I had never been so humiliated in my life!  The million bells shook with laughter, the hot peppers tried to suppress their mirth and the eggplant, well I’d rather not repeat her remarks.  And to think this lady considers herself a gardener!  If I had tendrils I’d wrap them around her pale neck!  Soon we were whisked into a backyard and set beside a small plot of rich black dirt.  Could redemption be close at hand?  Nnooo, I watched the soil get tilled, each of my fellow veggies returned to mother earth and treated to rounds of liquid fertilizer.  At one point the husband returned to chat with his missus.  As I lay where I’d been carelessly tossed he proclaimed, “so whatever possessed you to buy a zucchini, dear?”   “Whatever do you mean, I bought a cucumber, you know I despise zucchini!” she said with a chill in her voice.  I shook in my pot.  What fate beheld me?  I awoke early Tuesday morning thanking Mother Nature that the evil woman had the decency to at least slake my thirst the night before.  Out she came with a slightly larger pot.  She had at last taken pity upon me and slid my weary body into the fresh, cool potting soil.  Ahhh, a few nips of Miracle Grow and I feel like a vegetable ready to flourish!! 

That’s where you come in, Tom.  Won’t you take me in and permit me to bear fruit in your Amherst paradise.  The Humming Birds probably won’t give me a second glance, but won’t you give me a second chance?

Ever Yours,

Zeb

(I asked Shei of South Buffalo to write this for me)