In our part of Vermont, the common wisdom is, "never keep your car unlocked in August, because someone will open your door and throw in a couple of zucchinis." Like most local gardeners, I'm drowning in the squash. We can't eat our zucchinis fast enough. And no matter how vigilant I am in picking them, I wake up in the morning to lift one of those huge hairy leaves and there it is --- another baseball-bat long, sumptuously fat zucchini, staring its one-eyed stare at me. To make matters worse, this year I'm growing two kinds of zucchinis -- the standard green supermarket variety and a fancy striped "Romanesco." Also another exotic squash, a buttery globe called "Ronde de Nice," most plentifully produced.
Last week I was weeding in the garden when I had an unexpected visitor -- unusual for our dirt-road, off the beaten track neighborhood. I can't remember having to deal with a solicitor since two barely fledged Mormons popped by, fruitlessly, in 1978. This young man, who arrived noiselessly on bicycle was from VPIRG, and he came to tell me about the hazards of the Vermont Yankee atomic power station. I told him right up front that I wasn't going to donate any money and I told him why --it all went to Obama. But he was cordial nevertheless, and we chatted. He's a Latin major, just graduated from UVM, off in the fall to join Americacorps. Nice kid, I thought, but an easy mark. After twenty minutes, he rode off with no donation but with two substantial zucchinis and a Ronde de Nice in his backpack. Also a large head of broccoli and a handful of beets. .
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