my grandparents have to lock their car doors when they go to sunday mass because people have been breaking in to unlocked cars and leaving entire piles of zucchini
i feel like i should’ve added more context when i posted this. my grandparents live in a rural area where farmers and casual gardeners alike are, at this point in the year, suddenly being hit with unexpectedly abundant zucchini crops. there aren’t just some random vandals leaving zucchinis in people’s cars for the hell of it, this is the work of some very exasperated, probably very elderly, folks who have more zucchini than they know what to do with
Yep. You can also expect to find a bag of zucchini on your porch.
My grandfather once found his neighbor stealing his tomatoes out of his garden at three in the morning. Red-handed, with a basket of the nearly-ripened ones. He thought he was going to find gophers or something, but no, here’s Henry, taking his tomatoes. The best ones.
There was a long pause between them.
My grandfather (allegedly) said, “Henry… it’s OK. You can take some tomatoes if you want them.”
Henry sighed in relief.
“But,” my grandfather said, “you have to take two zucchini for every tomato.”
There was another long silence. “That’s a harsh bargain, John,” said Henry. “But I accept. I’ll tell Joe up the street, too.”
My grandfather said, “Tell Joe he needs to take three.”
a friend of my dad’s came by in the middle of the night, he seemed very nervous when my dad answered the door. he wouldn’t come inside but he leaned in and whispered to my dad in spanish, “i have some fresh grapes for you.” and then this happened:
the melon was a special bonus.
A friend of mine lives in a rural area and he has been surrounded by zucchini for most of May, June, and July.
At one point he was so done with the whole zucchini madness that he came to classes actively begging people to “Please please please!! Take some my family’s damned zucchini!! I’ve been eating zucchini for weeks!! I’m going insane!!!”
Having grown up in a rural area and having come home to zucchini on the front step or in the mailbox, i find it highly amusing the OP had to clarify. I’m sitting here nodding “yup.”
this should be a fanfiction AU trope
this is my family but with green beans. u can run. u can hide. but there’s still gonna be a publix bag of green beans waiting for u, dropped over your back fence by my dad’s friendly farmer-tanned hand as he smiles he’s warm, well-meaning, devious gap-toothed grin.
My mother stopped planting zucchini when she realized that she was going to get as much zucchini as she ever wanted and then more without tending a single plant.
What she has is plums.
There’s only one plum tree in her yard. But it produces more plums than you could possibly imagine, and they all seem to ripen during the exact same 2-week period. Buckets and baskets and bags of plums, ripening as fast as she can pick them.
SO MANY PLUMS.
She eats some and freezes some and cans some. She makes a delightful plum-ginger jam, and a savory plum sauce with five-spice powder. I don’t think she would abandon them on the doorsteps of neighbors. But… I do think that sometimes she shows up to church with bags of plums and a slightly manic grin, trying to pawn them off on anyone.
Marge Piercy wrote a poem about this:
And thus the people every year in the valley of humid July did sacrifice themselves to the long green phallic god and eat and eat and eat. They’re coming, they’re on us, the long striped gourds, the silky babies, the hairy adolescents, the lumpy vast adults like the trunks of green elephants. Recite fifty zucchini recipes!
Zucchini tempura; creamed soup; sauté with olive oil and cumin, tomatoes, onion; frittata; casserole of lamb; baked topped with cheese; marinated; stuffed; stewed; driven through the heart like a stake. Get rid of old friends: they too have gardens and full trunks. Look for newcomers: befriend them in the post office, unload on them and run. Stop tourists in the street. Take truckloads to Boston. Give to your Red Cross. Beg on the highway: please take my zucchini, I have a crippled mother at home with heartburn.
Sneak out before dawn to drop them in other people’s gardens, in baby buggies at churchdoors. Shot, smuggling zucchini into mailboxes, a federal offense. With a suave reptilian glitter you bask among your raspy fronds sudden and huge asalligators. You give and give too much, like summer days limp with heat, thunderstorms bursting their bags on our heads, as we salt and freeze and pickle for the too little to come.