Soy Sad

This evening I went out to visit my garden. I pulled out the old pea plants, tried to get the tomatoes to stretch toward the garden netting, marveled at the monstrosity that is the spaghetti squash.

Then I stopped cold.

That used to be okra. And prepare yourself before you look at this next one.

Ready?

Those were four beautiful soybean plants. They were leafy and tall and beautiful.

There were two ducks in the backyard when I made the discovery, and they pleaded ignorance. They blame a rabbit, and I have no way of knowing.*

The okra was an experiment. It's something I don't really know if I like or not, but it seemed like a good thing to try.

But the soybeans. Oh, I had such high hopes for the soybeans. To me, they were simultaneously a connection to my Midwestern farming roots and the giver of the exotic-sounding edamame. They were part of my past and part of the person I have become.**

I'm soy sad.


*I would like to state for the record that what came out of my mouth upon seeing the horror was simply, "Wow." What I was thinking, of course, was, "SON OF A BITCH." but what I actually said was, "Wow."

**Yes, I attribute a lot of symbolism to my little 48 sq. ft. You garden your way, and I'll garden mine.