5/22: First Rain

I met a patient yesterday, which is itself a rarity. In the ICU, if patients are this side of consciousness, it's safely in the grip of a bleary cloud of sedatives. Nobody wants to be cognitively present with a tube tickling their lobes. In our unit, the notable exception is the open-heart surgery patient. Having recently been gutted like a trout, (s)he takes a few days to convalesce under the watchful eye of a cardiothoracic nurse, a singularly talented medical professional who rides the fine line of whipping their patient back into shape while making sure an errant sneeze doesn't give them a fleshy new hole for an arc reactor.

These patients spend their stay moving between the chair and the bed, learning how to move safely, eating enough to satisfy the nurse, and generally being bored out of their skull until they're well enough to head home.

I met one such patient on my shift yesterday and, perhaps sensing that I am in fact a fellow old man masquerading as a sore young man, we broached the subject of our gardens. He told me about the cucuzzi squash, an enormous green variety known to be vibrant, enormous, and delicious, that he's only ever found at Genuardi's Gardens in Norristown.

Well, he ought to collect a cut. Needing a few more spices, I swung by today and picked up some parsley and basil plants. And there, in the corner of a spectacular selection, sat an unassuming tray of modest, round-leafed plants, "Cucuzzi" scrawled on the cardboard sign in front. I snagged one and headed to the register.

The cashier took one look at my selection, then eyed me. "You know what you've got there?"

"I had a patient yesterday who said you guys carry a squash that'll grow the size of my leg."

This tickled her.

She gave me a few pieces of advice regarding placement and support, and sent me on my way with visions of yard-spanning arbors that I will dutifully suppress until I own property.

I did have a spot in mind, though.

I assume this used to be part of a clothesline setup, but as long as we've lived here, it's just been a crooked metal pole at the edge of the yard. In my mind, I sketched a few screwed collars supporting horizontal boards, and set to work at the base.

Some termite-bitten old moulding from the woodpile, some dubious cuts with the backsaw, and some hasty buttings with drywall screws, and we had this:

Add one nascent Freudian supersquash...

And we've got ourselves an experiment!

This should give us partial sun--the bushes will likely eclipse the hottest of it in the afternoon. Whether this is advisable, I don't rightly know. But that's why it's an experiment and not...you know. A good idea.

I also got my Tetris on and threw in another small herb box, in the big triangular space where I clearly should have extended the last one:

Two basil plants, plus what I thought was cilantro but turned out to be parsley. As I said--strictly an amateur operation we've got here.

Before, and during, all of this, we had our first vigorous rain since planting. I summoned it, of course, by watering the whole thing this morning, which has proven to be more effective than three rain dances, a porcine sacrifice to Demeter, and scheduling an outdoor wedding in April.

It was reassuring, just as it was last year. Everything looks supple, vibrant, vigorous, like it crossed some threshold between these plants that I stuck into the ground to genuine parts of the soil. Everything's drunk deep, ready to strive toward the sun, and I can sit back and...oh, who am I kidding? That rosemary's growing crooked. More puttering in my future for sure.

Listening to: The Cat Among the Pigeons-Roaring Jack
Reading: A Soldier in the Great War by Mark Helprin