Other possible titles for this post included:
Pride & Radishes
The Radish of Casterbridge
Tess of the Radishvilles
20,000 Radishes Under the Soil
The Curious Incident of the Radish at Nighttime
A Radish Darkly
The Lord of the Radishes
Radishes and Juliet
Merchant of Radish
Alice’s Adventures in Radishland
Harry Potter and the Radish of Fire
Hitchhikers Guide to the Radishes
Two Radishes of Verona
The Radish, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Something Radish this way comes
But that’s not the point of this post.
My foray in to gardening has yielded mixed results and I’m mostly striking this year from the records.
On the one hand I’ve had success with my potatoes, courgettes and flowers…
On the other hand, there are the radishes.
I followed the instructions on the packet, sowing the seeds in late April for a July/August harvest. At first they seemed so happy in my new raised bedding box with the carrots and parsnips but then, well, they got wild.
By the end of May they were officially “out of control”. We had words. They didn’t listen. They grew even more willful.
By mid-June, I’d reached the extent of my Radish knowledge and called for reinforcements. My mum, on seeing the pictures of Radish leaves towering almost two feet above the soil, declared them ready for harvest. Oh, happy days!
I approached cautiously, not wanting to startle them, and carefully pulled up the first stalk. Hm, no Radish. By the 10th stalk, I was tearing them from the soil with reckless abandon.
After all 40ish radishes had been removed and the soil carefully combed for survivors, this was the horrifying results:
Not. One. Damn. Radish.
I’ve scoured the Internet for an explanation but have found nothing. Not even my gardening expert of a mother could explain why such healthy plants yielded no fruits. In fact, she pretty much just shrugged and said “them’s the gardening breaks, yo” but, you know, in a manner more befitting for a woman of her stature and class.
I’ve no choice but to chalk this one up as a failed experiment. There are now Rocket seeds scattered in the Radish grave, so here’s hoping that goes better.
At least, I’ll always have my potatoes.
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