ingrid

Last month while generously pulling button weeds from my front yard, my mother-in-law said, “Look, you have a cantaloupe!”.
“No….” I earnestly corrected her. “It is just a cucumber.” She would not be swayed. She insisted that it was a cantaloupe. My mother-in-law is very smart, especially about a whole class of things that most people know nothing about, like canning and knitting, drying walnuts, and how to put in invisible zippers. Now I need to add “identifying vagrant melons by tiny leaves” to her list of accomplishments, because folks, I HAVE A CANTALOUPE.
Two things perplex me about this cantaloupe. First of all, where did it come from? There is just one cantaloupe plant, growing in the very front of the house. Certainly I compost, so I can imagine that it made its way to the dirt there when I was amending soil and planting other stuff, but why then aren’t there lots of cantaloupes? Why this one?
Second thing is: why have I never been able to purposely grow a cantaloupe? Do cantaloupes have free will? What is stronger and more self-determined about this one?

I am proud of my little cantaloupe and hope I can be a good host to it. It shows the strength and determination of many immigrants to this place, trying to make a new life for itself, emerging and fruiting even though the night time temperatures have dropped down to 45 degrees.

When can I eat it?

In: urban farming | | #