No, not the three sisters planted by the Native Americans (corn, beans, squash). I didn’t think I had enough room for corn in my victory garden, and I wasn’t too fussed, really, because corn makes up about 70% of our diet here in North America, cleverly disguised under names like xanthan gum, modified starch, cyclodextrin, lactic acid, and MSG — not to mention the ubiquitous high fructose corn syrup. (Did you know they’re putting HFCS in bread crumbs now?)
Just a clever name for these three lovely pickling cucumbers seen clustered together in a charming configuration on the vine. We’ve got lots of clusters all of a sudden; I’m supposing it’s the effect of all that rain. Sumter, by far the most prolific, has been spurred to heights of productivity that are awe-inspiring.
I know I should be daydreaming of making homemade lacto-fermented pickles. But I cannot get my fill of these tiny, tender, delicious cukes sliced into spears and dipped in homemade buttermilk dressing. I’ve been making the Homesick Texan’s version lately, and it’s fantastic. I just happen to have a few of the fresh ingredients ready and waiting in my garden.
I realize I’m actually salivating as I write this post. I’ve always liked cucumbers. But the victory garden has made me a confirmed lover of the kind of cucumber you cannot get at a grocery store, or even possibly the farmer’s market. Next year, F. and I have already decided, we’re devoting more land to cucumber cultivation. Can you ever have enough of these crisp little, thin-skinned delicacies? Maybe that’s a rhetorical question.
And here’s another rhetorical question: Isn’t that misty blue twilight made for dreams? It should be called “fairy light.” I kept expecting fairies to materialize, shimmering, and the cucumber blossoms to turn out to be their flirty, twirly, lemon-yellow skirts in disguise.
Namasté, y’all.
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