We’ve lost a cucumber. It’s a sad turn of events, I must say,
especially because it was the only identified cucumber plant in my
garden.
We’ve lost a cucumber. It’s a sad turn of events, I must say, especially because it was the only identified cucumber plant in my garden.
I call it our only “identified” cucumber plant because a number of seeds planted last year have popped up, and they could be cucumbers. Or they could be squash. Seeing as how nothing has fruit on it except our strawberries, it’s kind of hard to tell right now.
I’m not entirely certain what happened to our cucumber transplant, except that it shriveled and died. It also looked like it had been sat on by a certain labrador retriever, which I’m sure didn’t help.
And that’s not the only plant to go.
The next day, one of our red bell peppers dropped all its leaves and expired.
Not too certain what happened to that one either, but it happened rather suddenly. One day, it was going along, all green and bushy, and the next, it was a lone, leafless stem.
Perhaps it’s the late rains; perhaps it’s the cool weather. Or perhaps it simply lost the will to live. Our other peppers, including another red bell pepper, are doing just fine, so who knows? Not me.
Now, it’s sad to lose a cucumber, and it’s sad to lose a red bell pepper, but what really has me worried is one of our strawberry plants is hovering between life and death. I can handle the death of a cucumber, because I’m not very fond of cucumbers; and I can handle the death of a red bell pepper, because, well, I kind of expected them to die anyway.
But my strawberries have been doing well, and a few of the plants have berries growing on them already, so I have very high hopes for all six plants. Plus, I really like strawberries. A lot. If that poor, limp plant doesn’t recover … it’ll be a dark day, indeed.
Again, I’m not sure what’s wrong with it, because the other strawberry plants seem to be doing just fine. And there are no telltale signs on the strawberries of the marauding snails that have been attacking my garden under cover of night, and which I think had a hand in my cucumber’s demise.
I think I’ve figured out the snails’ strategy though: They have a Dionysian feast while I’m sound asleep, and then, when dawn approaches, they make a break for it over the garden wall. But now that I know how they operate, those snails will find their days in my garden are numbered.
Now, if I could just figure out where the aphids are coming from ….
If you have tips, comments or questions you’d like to share with readers, send them to Colleen at cv*****@**********rs.com or call (408) 842-9505.
