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Four hours after praising the German Queen, she did this:

Swooning is so nineteenth century. She buried the chard and some carrots, and her fruit is near the ground or on it. I propped a lawn chair under her after taking this picture to raise her up. I think she’ll hold long enough for those big guys in front to ripen, but I could barely lift this mass of vegetable wantonness. She must weigh fifty pounds.

There is something I’ve heard of called “pinching out suckers” on indeterminate tomatoes, and clearly I need to learn it. Perhaps bigger is not always better. I feel like a very bad farmer today.

On the bright side, after wrestling with the German Queen, I smell like tomato vines, much better than my usual Bond Number Nine signature fragrance (or Union Square when I’m feeling cheap). I found two ripe German Queens, and earlier this weekend harvested several wacky Armenian cucumbers, made a green curry from scratch with homegrown carrots, akashiso and coriander seed, and had coffee this morning with a monarch, painted lady, red admiral, cabbage white, several goldfinches and many orange skippers. Even on a bad day, life in the garden is good.

And truth be told, when I saw her lying supine across the path, I gaped in horror but almost immediately began to laugh. Of course she collapsed. Of course she did. She’s going out with as big of a bang as she can, and taking the carrots and chard with her. I’d expect no less from the garden’s uber drama queen. Achtung, baby.

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