Getting through the jungle of cucumbers

As a novice gardener, I was thrilled when the seeds I planted earlier this summer actually produced something. Of course, like every new endeavor, my interest has waned. And while not rooting for a quick death to my plants, I'm not being very encouraging at this point. I might have even said a few bad words every time I prick my finger on a tomato cage or scrape my arm on a cucumber leaf.

Time to come clean: My garden is a giant mass of intertwining vegetables, weeds and corn stalks.

I envy those gardens where the individual rows are still visible. I know my garden began the season with nearly-lined rows, markers at each end identifying the vegetable and nary a weed to be found. For the first few weeks, I kept an upper hand on those weeds, easily walking down each row. Under my keen eye, nothing got over an inch tall that didn't belong in the garden.

But then something happened. I let a weed reach six-inches before I pulled it from the soil.

The next thing I knew, I couldn't reach my pea plants. The tallest leaves in the midst of the tomato plants were not from the tomatoes but rather weeds. And trying to find a row? I think there were two rows left: One on either end of the garden.

It wasn't just the weeds which were creating an untravelable maze in my garden. Thanks to the bountiful rain early in the growing season, some plants were out-growing my predetermined boundaries. My peas were being over-run by the squash. The broccoli plants were being toppled by the cucumbers. At first, I was distraught because this was my third and final attempt to grow broccoli and it was finally working. My attitude changed to resentment when the broccoli kept coming back again and again and I couldn't eat another broccoli and rice casserole again. So, the cucumbers took over.

I've been told that I have to keep picking the vegetables in order to keep the plant producing. Of course, this assumes that I want the plants to keep producing. After all, there's only so many jars of dill pickles you want to make, much less eat.

And more importantly, there are only so many friends and family that you can make take your plentiful cucumbers. They jump at the chance the first time you offer cucumbers. The second time reflects a little bit of hesitation on your friend's part. By your third and fourth offer, they've began screening your calls and avoiding eye contact in the store. All over a little cucumber.

Of course, the vegetables I want, I can't find. My tomatoes, along with everyone in a 94 mile radius, have been plentiful but green for the past month.

Thankfully, a few are finally turning red. The problem is that those few are buried deep in the tomato plant, which is hidden behind a three-foot barrier of cucumbers and zucchini. Remember, access to the plants is limited because my neatly organized rows were last seen around May.

My solution to the non-row problem: Send small children in after the vegetables.

They are usually amicable to this chore, one of the few they like involving the garden..

Planting the garden? Randomly throw the seeds and hope a few take. Weeding the garden? Only if the weed is near a vegetable the child likes. Picking the vegetables? Everyone will jump at the chance to find a hidden tomato and, in turn, will trample everything in a three-foot radius of the plant. (If you're lucky, one or two cucumber plants will become a casualty.) Eating the vegetables? Here is where kids lose all appreciation for food which came from their very own garden.

When I sit down with a home-grown ear of corn, I savor every bite, realizing I grew it. Kids, on the other hand, pick out every pepper from the chili (claiming they're hot) and toss aside the cherry tomatoes (claiming they're also hot through inference from the chili on the bowl on the same plate as the tomatoes).

I've actually found the silver lining in my giant glob of vines and weeds in my backyard. If things get too bad around the house, I can just retreat to the garden, pick a few tomatoes to sustain myself and not be found again -- at least until fall when all the plants die.

--Ronda Graff enjoys canning and freezing vegetables, but even with a family of seven, is not sure who will eat all this food.