(Farm sign drafted and painted by the farmer in residence.)
You purists may challenge my use of the term, The Farm, and to be candid, I recognize the stretch. For our farm here in Crestline consists of that agriculture grown in five large pots that reside on a far west bank of our back yard. Well, except for some stalks of corn that have popped up in a pot near a bird feeder on the other side of the yard. I’m supposing seeds from the bird feeder is responsible for those splendid stalks.
A few weeks ago, I set out my plants: two tomatoes, one zucchini, two yellow squash, and one bell pepper. Carefully, I’ve watched over my plants, happy when blossoms appeared and especially delighted when some of them turned into what was predicted to come from that plant. I watered frequently and scratched around in the dirt to be sure the soil was of the texture my plants wanted. I also shared my bounty with squirrels and birds who visit faithfully. Someone in the neighborhood completely ravaged my zucchini. Enormous yellow blossoms were in evidence one day; the next day they had vanished.
Although we had picked and eaten a couple of tomatoes before, yesterday was the occasion of our major harvest. I guess I really didn’t need it, but I carried a little basket out to the farm in which to carry in the heavy load.
When, for their picture, I arranged my vegetables as you see above, I was a little taken aback, for a truthful moment struck me, struck me hard. I recognized the harvest for what it really is–rather pitiful. Anyway, we ate the delicious squash last night and the bell pepper and tomatoes are in a glass dish on the kitchen window sill, where I frequently admire them. We’ll see to them in a day or two.
Out in the back forty, presumably still growing, are a few tomato and squash blossoms, a tiny yellow squash, and a number of green tomatoes. I’m also expecting furtive visits from a critter or two.