Surviving the Great Zucchini Invasion: Uncle Bobbys Guide to Backyard Garden Competitions
Dear Uncle Bobby, I’ve got a neighbor who’s just started a backyard garden and now thinks they’re some kind of produce prophet. Every day it’s “look at my cucumbers” or “taste this heirloom tomato.” I just wanted a peaceful summer. How do I survive the season of unsolicited zucchini?
Drowning in Greenery,,
Oh, Cracked Pot, bless your composted patience. You didn’t move into a neighborhood. You moved into a competition — one where the prize is a basket of deformed vegetables and a superiority complex.
Gardening season has begun, and suddenly every fourth person on your block thinks they’re a cross between Martha Stewart and a wizard druid from Middle Earth. They speak in mulch. They wear wide-brimmed hats like they’re auditioning for a butter commercial. And they WILL try to give you something in a reusable bag with dirt still clinging to it like it’s a gift from the gods.
Don’t get me wrong — I appreciate a fresh tomato as much as the next guy. But there’s a fine line between sharing the harvest and holding your friends hostage with your squash surplus. I’ve seen marriages tested by too much okra. I’ve seen office fridges become war zones of unwanted eggplants. There’s only so much one man can sauté.
And the worst part? They don’t just hand it to you. No, they perform it.
“Oh, I accidentally grew forty-seven zucchinis. Could you maybe use some?”
No, Sharon, I cannot. I don’t want your zucchini noodles. I’m emotionally unprepared for zucchini bread. And your weird zucchini relish? That’s not a thing, and you know it.
Uncle Bobby’s advice? Smile, nod, and create a designated “donation porch.” Drop all unwanted produce there. Let the neighborhood raccoons decide who wins the garden games. Or better yet — start growing something ridiculous. Parsnips. Fennel. Dandelions on purpose. Tell them it’s part of a new “urban foraging cleanse.” Watch their smug wilt like unwatered kale.
You’re not anti-vegetable. You’re anti-agenda. So dig in, Cracked Pot — and maybe plant a sign in your yard that says: “Weed it and weep.”
– Uncle Bobby