Chapter 1: The Zucchini Experiment

In May, I made the decision to purchase four young zucchini plants from a local greenhouse, each priced at $6.00. Although it felt extravagant, the enchanting aroma of spring in the greenhouse often leads to such splurges.

Once home, I prepared a spot in my garden, mixing in compost along with my aspirations, and placed my first seedling into the freshly dug hole. I repeated this process for the remaining three plants, only to realize that I don’t particularly enjoy zucchini. It’s not that I dislike it; it’s just a rather bland vegetable. Have you ever overheard someone exclaim, “Oh, I adore zucchini!”?

Yet, after planting, I stepped back to appreciate the symmetry of the four plants nestled in the earth, their stems and leaves reaching for the sky. It was a satisfying sight. Back in fourth grade, my teacher had us create a construction paper tombstone labeled ‘NICE,’ reminding us that there are always better adjectives to express our feelings.

“Words like:

• Amusing!
• Enjoyable!
• Amazing!
• Delightful!”

None quite capture the simple joy of planting. Thus, I’ll keep it at nice — sorry, Mrs. Gutterson.

The following morning dawned bright and sunny, and when I ventured outside, my seven chickens greeted me with their cacophony. They reside in a quaint red coop with white shutters, their existence revolving around grains, food scraps, and laying colorful eggs in a cozy box.

“Let us out,” they begged. “Please.”

In New England, spring is a breath of fresh air after the long, dreary winter. When spring arrives, it’s hard to resist anything, including my chickens, who also have a spacious outdoor run for scratching and sunbathing. But, like all creatures, they sometimes yearn for freedom.

I opened the gate, and the chickens bolted, racing out to explore the lush grass and hunt for bugs. Call it anthropomorphism, but their excitement was palpable. Watching them brought me feelings that were:

• Amusing!
• Enjoyable!
• Amazing!
• Delightful!

They wandered down the hill and across the yard, making their way to my newly planted zucchini. Before I could intervene, they devoured three of the plants, leaving only one behind. A random choice, perhaps, but nature has its ways. May the strongest zucchini prevail.

After securing the chickens back in their coop, I decided not to let them out again.

Let’s be real: in 2023, much of vegetable gardening feels like a performance. With numerous grocery stores within a fifteen-mile radius, all stocked with fresh produce, it’s hard to justify the effort.

The same goes for raising chickens. Even when egg prices soared to $5.00 per dozen, buying them from the store was still cheaper than maintaining my little flock.

So, while it was a bit disappointing to lose three zucchini plants, I couldn’t claim it was devastating. For a fleeting moment, I thought about replacing them, but that would mean spending $54 on a gamble for a few vegetables to grill or toss into a salad.

As the summer solstice approached, the days grew longer, and rain fell in abundance, sometimes causing tree branches to sag. Yet, in between the showers, the sun would shine.

Overall, the world seems to be in turmoil — floods, fires, heatwaves, droughts. But in my small garden, the combination of sun, rain, and chicken antics has yielded a miracle: I now proudly nurture the largest, most vibrant zucchini plant I’ve ever seen.

The lone survivor flourished, filling the space where its companions once thrived. Its broad leaves stretch skyward, soaking up sunlight and converting it into energy.

First, the plant outgrew my chickens, then my dog, and now it surpasses my 7-year-old son. Each leaf is as large as two sheets of loose-leaf paper side by side, and the base of the stem is as thick as my ankle. The space it occupies is larger than our three-person tent, which my husband and I still use for camping, while our friends have upgraded to RVs.

As nature dictates, this lush plant is also incredibly fruitful. Each leaf acts like a solar panel, transforming sunlight into sugars. Consequently, on my daily stroll through the garden, I find myself reflecting on this amusing thought:

Zucchinis resemble male anatomy. Yes, really.

Every day, a quick glance under the expansive leaves reveals multiple green zucchinis — some small, some larger. A zucchini can grow from four inches in the morning to twelve inches by evening. If I don’t act quickly with my knife, they can reach a foot and a half by the next morning.

On a lighter note, as a former biology teacher, I can't help but think of the biological parallels between zucchinis and male anatomy. If you slice a zucchini while still attached to the plant, water will squirt out due to the pressure from roots feeding it.

Now, I can’t say I’ve ever done the same with a mammalian penis, but I imagine a similar result if one were to make a clean cut.

In any case, I'm now faced with the task of finding homes for all my harvested zucchinis. The smaller ones are the tastiest, so I grill them with olive oil. The medium-sized zucchinis go in the fridge until they spoil, at which point they get tossed into the swamp behind our house.

And the large zucchinis? Well, they become chicken feed.

Surprisingly, chickens adore zucchini! Watching them devour the green flesh is quite a sight. They swarm around like vultures, each vying for the best position to enjoy the feast.

You might judge me, but I find it oddly mesmerizing to observe them as they tackle a two-foot zucchini. Their teamwork and determination remind me of how I wish I could approach a cheese pizza — no hesitation, just pure consumption.

Recently, I took my daughter to see the Barbie movie, and it was a blast. Each ticket cost $12.00, so I’ve spent the same amount on both movies and zucchini this summer.

Deep down, I can't say which was a better investment. Both have been wonderful in their own right. Therefore, my advice is this: when chaos reigns in the world, remember to recycle, use reusable shopping bags, and also — plant some vegetables and treat yourself to a movie.

To prove this isn’t the work of a bot, here are photos of my actual chickens and my thriving plant — it’s amusing that there were no stock images of chickens munching on zucchini!

Captured nearly a month ago!

Isn’t it impressive?

Look at them go!