It is entirely possible to walk down to the potager, find the largest cucumber, twist it off the vine and finish munching it by the time you have done the inspect the crops lap.
Burpless Tasty Green I have planted too many.
I seem to have planted up one in each corner of most of the raised beds. When I wasn’t shoving in a tomato plant.
And of course a few were eaten by slugs so I sowed again. And up they popped.
And believe me when I say I have discovered the eating habits of most of my neighbours. They are Not Cucumber Fans.
So thank goodness for Stephane at the local big restaurant next village over. He had a week of catering for 44 tree surgeons staying at the big gite in the village doing a spot of chestnut forest restoration work.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And at the rate I am shoving the boxes of cukes at him, they will be doing the same as me. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.
It’s such a shame the coriander has bolted as my favourite cucumber salad is to cut them in batons, and make a wacky dressing of white wine vinegar, sugar, a pinch of chillies flakes and heaps of coriander.
And of course the elephant in the room of my end raised bed is this.
What on earth?
I lost the label (naturally) so these plants were an utter mystery to me for months.
Suddenly the yellow orbs appeared. And I swear it felt like overnight.
And the mystery was solved. Cucumber Crystal Lemon.
More cucumbers to try and give away. And the tendrils have spines. Scratchy defences so you can’t just reach in and get the fruit.
They even put off the Creature who does not like to venture that far down the potager for fear of spikes.
Well, I’m wildly conjecturing. She will leap anywhere. Especially if the leap involves the proximity of a lap.
And I finish not with the ubiquitous bouquet of flowers, but a gentle reminder that Time Flies.
Thirty years ago today I woke up in Moscow to this. My first ever Coup. Or did we call that one the Putsch?
Now don’t chortle, but when I see this image I never get beyond thoughts like : ‘Those glasses!’. ‘That hair!’ When what I should have been thinking was ‘ace reporter gets a scoop.’ Err no.
From Moscow journalist to ace cucumber grower in just thirty short years.