I turned my back, just for a second….
I was going on a five-day vacation so I checked my garden before I left: two sunburnt tomato plants by the alley, one newborn strawberry patch behind the garage, a hill of cucumbers tucked in a lettuce bed, and one pumpkin plant stretching its arms to the sun, comingling with coleus, iris and dusty mauve coral bells.
And then there was the zucchini plant, its giant green leaves shading one baby zucchini sprout. A mere toddler. A tyke. However, by the time I returned home, that tyke had invited five friends to join him. They’d grown to manhood while I was gone, as tall as tubby baseball bats. It’s why my husband Kevin said there should be a limit: one half zucchini seed per town.
Now I’ve served zucchini raw with dip, battered and fried, and blackened on the grill. I’ve shredded it and tucked it into brownies, bread and cookies, such that my friends would remark, “You can’t even taste the zucchini,” at which point Kevin would say, “If you can’t taste it anyway, why put it in?”
I recently mixed up a batch of zucchini bread, disguising the zucchini by surrounding it with raisins and pecans and chocolate chips, and took it to a poker run. I was joined there by folks set to take off on anything with four wheels: four-wheelers, of course, pickups, tractors, jeeps, and one Prairie Gold Minneapolis Moline with a crank start.
The money we planned to raise was going to cancer research. That’s why we’d gathered together in the first place, to show support for our friend, Cindy, who’s engaged in a fierce battle against that lousy disease. Cindy drove the rallying tractor, leading an entire battalion of prayer warriors charging down the gravel roads with one thought in mind: “We love you; we want the best for you; we’re here for you.”
We chose poker cards at stops along the way. I felt very lucky in that I’d selected a nine of Diamonds and two jacks in various suits, with an Ace high. I’ve never been on a Poker Run before, so I wondered why they didn’t let me pick a fifth card. Surely that would have given me a winning hand!
Do we get a big kiss if we win? a friend asked. A big kiss. I didn’t get that either.
We circled back to Cindy’s house where a table was spread with an assortment of food, including my loaf of bread where the zucchini lay hidden, disguised by pecans and raisins and chocolate chips. If only big kisses were as plentiful as zucchini, I thought. Then we could spread the love around a little. Because in our corner of the world, we could use a little lovin’. We’ve been hit hard: a man killed his wife, tossing the bodies of his two little daughters into a vat of crude oil. a national hero and exemplary statesmen was felled by cancer. a mass shooting destroyed human lives at a video game tournament.
Perhaps we all need a gentle approach to get through these difficult times, as soothing as the flower-lined paths at Cindy’s farm. Maybe we could stage a world-wide poker run where the winners—and the losers—would be cascaded with kisses. Where folks could gather around each other—like they did at Cindy’s poker run—as a way of saying, “We’re here for you.” Where an entire communion of friends—and even strangers—could break bread together. Even if it’s made of zucchini.
LaRayne Topp
.
I was going on a five-day vacation so I checked my garden before I left: two sunburnt tomato plants by the alley, one newborn strawberry patch behind the garage, a hill of cucumbers tucked in a lettuce bed, and one pumpkin plant stretching its arms to the sun, comingling with coleus, iris and dusty mauve coral bells.
And then there was the zucchini plant, its giant green leaves shading one baby zucchini sprout. A mere toddler. A tyke. However, by the time I returned home, that tyke had invited five friends to join him. They’d grown to manhood while I was gone, as tall as tubby baseball bats. It’s why my husband Kevin said there should be a limit: one half zucchini seed per town.
Now I’ve served zucchini raw with dip, battered and fried, and blackened on the grill. I’ve shredded it and tucked it into brownies, bread and cookies, such that my friends would remark, “You can’t even taste the zucchini,” at which point Kevin would say, “If you can’t taste it anyway, why put it in?”
I recently mixed up a batch of zucchini bread, disguising the zucchini by surrounding it with raisins and pecans and chocolate chips, and took it to a poker run. I was joined there by folks set to take off on anything with four wheels: four-wheelers, of course, pickups, tractors, jeeps, and one Prairie Gold Minneapolis Moline with a crank start.
The money we planned to raise was going to cancer research. That’s why we’d gathered together in the first place, to show support for our friend, Cindy, who’s engaged in a fierce battle against that lousy disease. Cindy drove the rallying tractor, leading an entire battalion of prayer warriors charging down the gravel roads with one thought in mind: “We love you; we want the best for you; we’re here for you.”
We chose poker cards at stops along the way. I felt very lucky in that I’d selected a nine of Diamonds and two jacks in various suits, with an Ace high. I’ve never been on a Poker Run before, so I wondered why they didn’t let me pick a fifth card. Surely that would have given me a winning hand!
Do we get a big kiss if we win? a friend asked. A big kiss. I didn’t get that either.
We circled back to Cindy’s house where a table was spread with an assortment of food, including my loaf of bread where the zucchini lay hidden, disguised by pecans and raisins and chocolate chips. If only big kisses were as plentiful as zucchini, I thought. Then we could spread the love around a little. Because in our corner of the world, we could use a little lovin’. We’ve been hit hard: a man killed his wife, tossing the bodies of his two little daughters into a vat of crude oil. a national hero and exemplary statesmen was felled by cancer. a mass shooting destroyed human lives at a video game tournament.
Perhaps we all need a gentle approach to get through these difficult times, as soothing as the flower-lined paths at Cindy’s farm. Maybe we could stage a world-wide poker run where the winners—and the losers—would be cascaded with kisses. Where folks could gather around each other—like they did at Cindy’s poker run—as a way of saying, “We’re here for you.” Where an entire communion of friends—and even strangers—could break bread together. Even if it’s made of zucchini.
LaRayne Topp
.
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