Flashback: The Lettuce Chronicles

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I was taking a quick stroll down my blog’s memory lane today and came across this post I wrote early on in my blogging adventure. I had to giggle because, almost a year later, I find myself right back in this same predicament. So just for craps and giggles, I thought I’d repost this one. Enjoy!

Lately..I’ve become a “lettuce pusher.”

You know, kinda like a drug pusher but only with garden fresh, organically grown produce.

French Mix lettuce pusher to be exact. It started as a harmless “honey, I’d really like to have a garden this year” experiment that has blossomed into a garden-salad-runnin-wild. Who knew a little pouch of seeds bought on a whim at Menards would turn into a “holy crap, what are we gonna do with all this lettuce??!!”

In the beginning I would happily (and proudly) trot out to the garden every night and cut a dishpan full of lettuce.

“Look at this!” I would crow to my hubby, “This stuff is gorgeous! Restaurant quality! We should be selling it!.”

The lettuce would then be shuttled into the house where I toiled over washing each leaf, drying it in my spankin-new Salad Spinner until it was ready for it’s final resting spot: a Debbie Meyer’s Green Bag. Our neighbors, family, co-workers, and friends were thrilled and flattered when I presented them with this lovingly grown feast. I would boast that it was “home-grown-organically-grown lettuce”, conveniently leaving out the part that my hubby has been burying fish guts in that part of the garden for years. I felt like a Master Gardener.

Now two months later, my produce passion has turned into a quest to pawn off my lettuce on any poor bastard I encounter. Now when my victims see me coming with Ziplocs full of lettuce and their hands come up in a weird “please-don’t-hurt-me-with-your-Greeny-goodness defensive posture.

“No thanks”, they say sweetly, “we’re still good”……………..

Okay..well… I am too so eat lettuce salads for breakfast and suck it up! We can’t let this green gold go to waste people!
The process has changed too. My lettuce has become like a needy child. “Hey honey“, my hubby would say, “The lettuce is as high as my boots. Are you going to cut some?” Inwardly I groan, grab my now grubby dishpan and trudge outside. Where I used to revel in the textures, shapes, and sheer volume of my lettuce, I now spend my time cutting quickly, grumbling loudly and dodging bees. My Debbie Meyer Green bags have given away to Dollar Store Ziplocs and my Salad Spinner sits unused in the cupboard.

“Aren’t you going to wash it? ” my hubby innocently asks.

“NO!” I snap, “Everyone can wash their own $$@@*! lettuce. Besides a low-level of dirt and germs is good for a body….”

I know my lettuce is at the end of it’s cycle and soon it will be a distant memory. Maybe that’s OK. If I eat anymore lettuce this year, I think I may hurl.

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