High Functioning

For weeks, guests have entered Chez Cranky by stepping over a rivulet of water and asking, "Do you know your dishwasher leaks?" Then, usually, they serve themselves a glass of water and observe, "Ice maker not working yet, huh." Alright, already. The Crankies' appliances were put to rights today by Mr. Ice-T, a man with a tres exciting skill set. As he totted up his bill, Mr. Ice-T observed the quart of apple butter resting on the Crankies' counter. Turns out that Son of Mr. Ice-T just loves the stuff. "He's got Asperger's; he's high functioning, but he can't stand to waste food." Ice-T pere and fils have jammed, relished, and jellied their way through a bountiful summer, and father Ice-T proudly recited their production in quarts, pints, and pounds.

Meta Cranky sent fix-it savant out the door with a small offering of apple product. Only upon reflection did she observe that Son of Ice-T might not care about the Crankies' product; he would be more obsessed about preserving the food coming out of his own garden patch. Then it dawned on MC that Ice-T and his son might be the only people who could bring order to Cranky Farm in its present state.

There's the apple tree. The Crankies have been slogging through their apple inventory for days. Not complaining! Apple butter is infinitely more forgiving than those hellish peaches, and producing apple smoosh with the smoosh gadget sends C1 and C2 to their happy place. MC was strategizing about what to do with Gardening Friend's gift of some groovy Armenian cucumbers when she noticed the squash bed. Jesus Mary and Joseph. A girl takes a day off to file her nails and look what happens.

MC is a little sketchy about what she planted back in June, but she's confident that her concept included pumpkins and three kinds of squash. But for all she knows, Jimmy Hoffa could be in the patch now. It's feral. The Shepherd's Seed envelope showed darling watercolors that made these squash look like epicurean dainties. Wrong-O. They're botanical sumo wrestlers. Shoppers never see these mega vegetables in the grocery store for a very good reason: they're freaking scary.

It's a small step from one zucchini-on-steroids to a full-blown food storage and distribution obsession. Why can't the Cranky Hometown gardeners bear to waste any of this bounty? Because if you anger the zucchini gods, next summer's garden might squeeze out only three worm-eaten tomatoes and two cups of shriveled okra. Meta Cranky's neighbors aren't going to risk it.
--MC