Once there was a seed. Somebody planted it, watered it, nurtured it, protected it from frost and slugs. The seed grew. First leaves, then flowers, then tiny yellow buds, which swelled with months of sun and rain. And from a seed the size of a child’s fingernail grew huge golden globes. In a couple of weeks they would have been ready for harvesting. We would have sat at the table and enjoyed them all the more for having witnessed their journey from beginning to end. Or at least we would have done if some bastard hadn’t gone and picked them first. It’s not the first time I’ve been robbed at the allotment. It’s amazing how gutting it feels.
I don’t think I’ll grow butternut squash again, which is a shame because I love them and they make great baby food. I’m sure whoever stole them isn’t reading this blog, but I hope they enjoy my organically grown, lovingly raised produce. Actually I don’t, I hope they choke. Not enough to make me guilty of projectional manslaughter, but enough that they require a brutally performed Heimlich manoeuvre resulting in several fractured ribs. One word. Karma.