can we stop talking about your non-existant vegetables yet?

No.  You wish.  (That was you talking up there in the title.)  And, by the way, I do have vegetables now, and all five of them are as real as you and maybe realer, depending on certain factors.

Still life with cucumber, jalapeno,
and tomatillo.

In fact, I'm on kind of a vegetable high right now so not only am I going to keep right on talking about vegetables, I'm going to attempt to make you feel how I feel about them.  Specifically the cucumbers I just plucked from my beautiful, frothy cucumber plant.  The first cucumbers that I have ever produced.   (Cue angelic harmonies emanating from the very atmosphere.)

Prior to me Googling cucumbers to see if mine were ready or not or actually cucumbers (because up until about a week ago, I believed with all my heart that they were zucchinis but am relieved that they're not, as zucchinis always cause me emotional distress), I also picked a jalapeno and a bewilderingly tiny tomatillo which may or may not be a preemie, and Raphael and I shared our first cherry tomato of the season.  It was buried deep in the dark jungle heart of the garden; I discovered it while crawling on hands and knees through the thick growth hunting for hornworms. It was a satisfying to get to it before the General for a change, but the whole cherry tomato experience wasn't nearly as magical as the cucumber one.  (And frankly, the tomatillo experience has just been confusing so far.  Let's not talk about it.) 



It's a jungle in there among the tomatillos.

Back to the cucumbers.  One of these magical, atmospheric music-inducing cukes Raphael and I immediately sliced up and ate with salt out in the hot sun.  It was juicy and cucumbery with an unexpectedly but forgiveably tough skin, like a really interesting character in a movie.  The other cuke will be traveling to California with us.  I'm planning to take pictures of it in various locations such as on a bluff overlooking the ocean and maybe at a Circle K by the hot dog carousel, like they do with those garden gnomes and yard flamingoes and that flat paper kid everyone takes on vacation these days.  We'll call it Flat Cucumber.  For about seven minutes. And then that'll get old, and we'll start calling it something else - like Mitchell, or Staci, maybe.  We'll see.  As I said in the last post, we'll just let the wind blow us where it may, and that applies to any cukes traveling with us as well.  

I anticipate that these hilarious kinds of activities will occur intermittently for approximately the first six-and-a-half hours of the trip, and then we will take one final picture and pile Mitchell (or Staci) onto avocado, tomato, and marinated tofu sandwiches at a rest stop somewhere along I-10, assuming that any rest stops remain open between here and L.A. which may be assuming too much.  This scenario is also predicated upon me remembering to marinate the tofu before we leave and that we need to bring the bread. 

Oh, and also, this will happen on Sunday instead of tomorrow because Raphael needs to finish building something before we can leave.  (Yes.  That is, in fact, the story of our lives.)  (He's building a shed.) 

Fin.

Carolyn.

Mitchell.