Night of the Living Squash

I hate to admit that my garden is starting to scare me. My sweet little garden that I planted too early in the spring and got covered with snow; the one I spoke kindly to and nurtured lovingly, is starting to get out of control.

I realize the phrase ‘out of control’ is relative. For example, yesterday, while visiting my mother I decided to give her a little thrill by running down the hallway while pushing her wheelchair toward a plate glass window. I believe it was at that point that Anna told me I was out of control and my mother said she was glad Anna was around to keep me in line. Apparently the nursing home set frowns on that kind of behavior. Anyway, I wasn’t actually out of control. I could have stopped running at any time. But I guess Anna was concerned that my antics would end badly and then yes, things might have gotten out of control. But that really has nothing to do with my semi-frightening garden.

It has been a pretty stressful summer. I’m not going to lie. My mother’s lingering and seemingly unsolvable illness takes a fair toll. And the process of writing a dissertation and awaiting feedback is a bit nerve-wracking. So the garden was intended to be a relaxing and rewarding project amid the stress producers over which I have limited control. It started out that way. Early on I got beautiful and delicious spinach from my sweet little garden. I’ve made numerous salads from the heads of Romaine lettuce that have flourished. My herb garden is thriving and while I can’t possibly use the amount of cilantro and parsley growing out there, they are at least staying in their little beds and behaving nicely.

The problem is the squash.

I think it is plotting to take over the world. Seriously. When I first planted the tiny little squash plants I put four of them in each bed. The beds are small but the plants were small so I figured it was a nice little arrangement. I plopped a tomato plant in the middle of each bed. It was all so cute and precious I sort of thought I should wear a prairie dress and a bonnet.

Each morning I dutifully went out and exclaimed at how lovely the plants were growing and how beautiful they were. Things were going along so nicely. I pulled three zucchini and made two loaves of bread from them. A few more crookneck graced our shish kabobs. It was all pretty idyllic.

And then came monsoon season.

Which, in and of itself was a bit of an anomaly. We don’t actually have monsoon season in Colorado. Typically, by mid-July there are lots of dire predictions of dry bones lying around from the terrible drought conditions. We are told to stop watering our lawns and then people drive around from the water district using up gallons and gallons of gasoline in search of the rogue suburban resident rebelliously wearing all black and watering the grass at midnight. But not this year.

This is the year of the monsoon. I think it has something to do with one of those Nino’s. What started out as a nice, refreshing, gentle daily afternoon pitter-patter of rain has, over the past couple of days, morphed into a rather violent cacophony of pouring rain, brilliant lightning flashes, and crashing thunder. All night long.

Which brings me back to the squash.

Had I done any actual research on gardening, I might have discovered that squash plants grow quite large. They spread and vine and make quite a growing ruckus, truth be told. I, of course, didn’t know this when I planted my cute little arrangement of four squash plants and one tomato in the 3’ x 3’ bed. Now the squash are growing outside of the beds, hanging off the edges and producing zucchini and crookneck as though they are operating an assembly line. The spaghetti squash plant has actually grown from one side of its bed, across the entire bed, and is reaching out to touch its squash friends in the bed next to it.

It is all a little frightening.

Last night, as I was trying to sleep but couldn’t because of the gigantic thunder and lightning storm raging outdoors, all I could think of was, ‘the squash are getting watered!’ And then, in the morning the sky clears and the sun comes out and beats down on the squash and they grow. And grow. And grow.

I’ve warned my family that if they can’t find me one day, they should look for me in the squash patch where I’m fairly certain there is a plan brewing to take me hostage.

Maybe before next summer I should do a little research. In the meantime…zucchini anyone?