I don’t grow flowers. But their multitudes of colors and shapes must be why gardeners like them.
I do grow peppers. And, wow, do they appeal. I spend hours in the garden simply gazing at peppers in their multitudes of uniqueness.
It’s a compulsion. I even leave the house – in 93-degree heat – to look and admire.
Take the Cayenne. It’s 3 inches long, slim and red, curved like a solo parenthesis.
Or the Jalapeno. Two inches long, tapered like an artillery shell. Deeply green and, later, brown with hints of cranberry, then full-on red.
The Habanero. A chunky and wrinkled 2 inches that, when ripe, is orange like sherbet.
The mighty Banana, sweet or hot – cheerfully light green when immature, cheerfully yellow and 10 inches long at harvest.
And many more. The plump Cuban and slimmer Anaheim. The stately Cowhorn. The wispy Chili de Arbol. The pumpkin-orange Valencia. The tiny Tabasco.
Gardening is a journey. The harvest is one reward, if misfortune has mostly stayed away.
Equally swell are peppers before harvest. They’re a marvel, worth every hour spent gazing.
More Tales from the Garden
A Glorious, Paltry First Harvest
Stubborn meets crazy in the garden
The Case of the Crazy Bad Gardener
