Nothing Short of your Average Garden Guru

Not quite three weeks ago I stood outside in the afternoon sun, not working in or watering the garden (because it was Sunday), but gazing at and admiring it. I do that a lot these days. It's a quiet spot where, even though my help is needed, there are no whines or talking back or refusals to eat dinner followed immediately by ardent requests for ice cream. As I was gazing I was feeling pretty accomplished. I've never done something like this before. I really have a hard time keeping plants alive, so I talked to a few people who knew more than I did. I skimmed a couple books and websites authored by experts. I considered all their experience and advice, then I got it all mixed up and dispensed with probably half of it and hastily proceeded with my little garden. And even though I'm gardening by the spirit rather than letter of so many laws, I stood there looking at young tomatoes and herbs and very early cucumbers and zucchini and all kinds of neat things growing and thriving in my back yard. And then I shooed a few errant flies and one very odd looking bug I had never seen before. (I'll show you a picture in a minute.) Seriously, I remember thinking this guy looked like the inspiration for the orange highlighter. But then I quickly switched back to feeling smug and thinking what a terrific gardener I turned out to be. Really, this has been so exciting for me. I don't know that I can ever not have a garden again. And, too, I'm feeling like I can hold my own in Relief Society now. Because sometimes I also bake my own bread, and I have a little bit of really boring food in mylar bags to eat when the going gets tough. Don't get me wrong; I will not be wearing knee-highs or cross-stitching any time soon.
Anyway. . . yeah, so I feel proud. I check each plant several times a day. I consider what the right amount of watering is, and I try to provide it. I get a sitter when I'm out of town. I pull the occasional weed. I fret, and I fuss, and I brag, and I watch, and I wait. I'd been waiting for a while for a zucchini that Sunday afternoon, and one was finally beginning to grow. I even hand pollinated just to be sure. Now I have one glorious, mature, ready-to-eat zucchini on my kitchen counter, and I'm sad. I'm sad because she will be an only child. In fact, I'm tortured by it. It has interrupted my gardening bliss, invaded my peaceful spot with worry and grief.
Do you know why I had never seen this bug before?

Okay, this is more than one of the little devils, and I'm not sure, but these two may be behaving in an unscrupulous manner.

That would be because I have never attempted to grow any member of the squash family before. These highlighter bugs are actually adult squash vine borers. They come along when your plant is young and you are naive and hopeful and unsuspecting, and they lay their stupid eggs on the leaves. And then they hatch and crawl down and bore into the vine of your lovely plants and literally suck the life out of them. By the time you figure it out, they are all fat and happy inside your poor, dying, destined-to-produce-only-one-zucchini-this-year zucchini vine. And they look like this:

I unfortunately found several of these. See that saw-dust looking stuff on top of the vine? That's vine borer crap. You'll see it on the outside of the entry hole. Gross, I know, but at least this guy is conducting him/herself in a manner more fit for public viewing.

In short, I have gone from smug to sad because these guys have destroyed my yellow squash before anything grew there, my zucchini (you already knew that), and all but one of my pumpkin plants so far. For now my cukes are safe and my watermelon vines show no signs of distress. I pulled all the affected plants from the garden; they will be cremated in protest of this despicable invasion (and in hopes that all offending squash maggots are erradicated from the premises).

So, I have one zucchini, and I want to do right by it. I'm searching for just the right way to use it. And by that I probably mean that I will let it rot on the counter while I spend a year trying to decide how to best enjoy it.

The end. The sad, sad end.