Harold’s Cabbage

1-IMG_7366Swear to God if this old man doesn’t get under my skin. He calls mid-morning, freezing cold outside, to tell me he’s standing in his garden and looking at “this here cabbage” that he thinks I might like to see.

What am I going to do: say no, some other time, I’ve finally gotten back into the stream and the words are tumbling over themselves like the crazy turkeys outside, laying on their backs to scratch themselves and kicking up acorns and leaf mold into the air, that I finally get it that Grace fears commitment and Jess fears loss, and that Rory wears long sleeve shirts and buttoned-up collars to hide his florid tattoos, cuttings, body modifications and the marks of suspension, and that Grace’s roommate is an architect who thinks she was a member of a Maori tribe in a past life and has a few tats of her own?

I say, come on over, Harold. Buck’s in the shower getting ready for a dental appointment, but I’ll make some fresh coffee.

Harold came to the door thirty minutes later with this Godzilla cabbage, a sack full of baby broccoli from his garden, and the last two days’ worth of newspapers he found in our drive-way.

He’s put on another ten pounds over Christmas, looks like. Got to be hell on his twin hernias.

1-IMG_7368Some cabbage. Bodacious.

14 thoughts on “Harold’s Cabbage

    1. Ha! I figure that “why writers are like mushrooms” simile pushed the envelope, and while the mind reels considering the ways in which writers might be like cabbages (especially closeted up in their studies in the winter), I fear that comparison might be downright insulting. . .


    1. That’s right. If you’re lucky enough to have a Harold, you can’t say no. If you ever did, his feelings would be hurt, he would sull like an old possum, wouldn’t come around to “bother” you no more, and then you really would be in a fix.


    1. I was not familiar with the writing of Margaret Roach — really appreciate the link to the New York Times write-up and will add her books to my list. Sounds like her work would resonate. Thanks for stopping by, Shirley.


  1. The size of that cabbage is exceeded by the size of Harold’s heart. He’s not a neighbor, he’s one of those rarest of gems – a true friend.
    I’m getting hungry thinking of all those good German recipes we have tucked away and all the ways pork can be fixed with cabbage and soups and……


    1. So true. Harold also brought us some gorgeous baby broccoli sprouts — just ate some for supper — best broccoli by far I have ever eaten. Makes a person feel like they could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Anyone loved by a gardener is fortunate indeed.


  2. Now that’s a fine cabbage you have there. So, bring Harold with you when you visit Alaska. He’d love the hundred pound cabbages at the Alaska State Fair.


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