We were walking home from the farmers market. It was quiet for a Saturday. This new town just seemed so large when we got here but the realization of the type of people that lived here came slowly.
She remarked, "All the stalls sold plant starts. It was crazy not a single stall sold vegetables or crops." I replied, "No fruits or berries to try, not even some that fell off the truck at the grocery store."
It was odd living in this new town. But we were making do. Our own backyard garden was starting late but we were starting to produce. Our first crop was three weeks ago and we were excited to see the radishes getting quite large.
"Something is wrong with my plants." She wanted me to come look and the tone was a little frightening. I put my sourdough bite down and came over. Something was wrong. The plants were too small to grow a radish but right there on their stem were large white welting masses hardening off in the soil. Was that a root bulb? What in God's name was that? I offered to pull a weak plant out of the soil only to pull up leaking putrid radishes. No bright red bulb with a strong center mass. The bulbs were saging and sopping with liquid goop. The smell was sweet though. Such an odd combination but the aroma was like freshly heated meth. That air circulated around our heads just as quickly as the plant was heaved from the soil. Our focus was no longer on the plant but on the smell and we were frightened.
It had been twelve years since our first garden. Lessons are learned slowly. If you see the same bulbs around your radishes. Don't pull them up. Sometimes the horror is too much to tell others about. I can still... I still remember what happened before but now I understand why so many stalls were only selling starts. Grow your gardens here at your own risk.
