In early August, I took a stroll out to my garden, intent on showing off my tomatoes to T. I realize this sounds like some sort of euphemism, but it's not. I had some green tomatoes that were mere days from ripeness and I really wanted to admire them on the vines.
They were gone.
Every single tomato was just gone, as if I had imagined them in the first place. We walked around the garden patch and quickly discovered tracks. From the look of the tracks, there was an incredibly well-fed possum enjoying my produce. It's not an exaggeration to say that I was crushed.
My garden is within a fenced-in yard and though I've had a squirrel and bunnies in the yard, I'd never had deer or any of the other wildlife that regularly threaten New Jersey gardens. So the possum wasn't just unwelcome, he was surprising.
Catching the elusive possum proved beyond my abilities and so he had his run of my produce. I've had plenty of basil, oregano, and rosemary, but other than that my garden has been a bust. There was a chance for some late peppers and squash and a few zinnias but those were utterly destroyed by Hurricane Irene and the backyard floods which followed.
For the first time in more than 15 years, I didn't slice into a warm summer tomato grown by my hand. There were no zinnia bouquets for my home. I haven't been trying to persuade friends to relieve me of excess squash.
I miss the abundance of it all. I've always said that gardens are a lesson in patience and this year my patience has been sorely tested. But I'll plant again next spring. And if the possum is reading, I'd strongly advise that he consider relocation. Because I've got it in for him.
Big time.
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