Harmony's Practically Perfect Purple Pickle Patch
by Dale Haas
There once was a little girl named Harmony, and she loved her garden. She loved her garden because she loved pickles, and pickles came from cucumbers, and cucumbers grow in gardens.
Starting in the Spring, Harmony had watched over her garden every day. She had planted the cucumber seeds, watered the little plants, and pulled the weeds. She longed for the day when the plants would bloom and the blooms would turn into little cucumbers. Every day she would ask her Mama when the cucumbers would be ready, and Mama would tell her, “Not today, dear. Wait a little longer.”
Finally on one hot summer morning, Harmony asked Mama if the cucumbers were ready. Mama said, “Well, dear, you can take this basket outside and see.” She handed Harmony a big wicker basket, and Harmony dashed out the door.
The cucumber plants were huge! Their runners went from one end of the garden to the other. But there was no sign of the cucumbers. Harmony stood staring at the garden for a long time, then she heard a voice from the porch. “You have to pull back the leaves to see the cucumbers, dear,” said her Mama.
So Harmony stepped into the garden and reached for a leaf. She pulled it back slowly, and under the very first leaf was a cucumber! It was about as long as Harmony’s hand, just perfect. She reached in and plucked it off the vine, and dropped it into her basket.
Now Harmony was excited. She tore back the leaves and found more and more cucumbers. Some weren’t big enough to pick yet, but most of them were just right.
When the basket was almost full, she stood up and looked around. She saw that she was standing right in the middle of the garden. She was going to need another basket to pick all these cucumbers!
Harmony reached down to pull back another leaf, and what she saw made her stop and stare. It was amazing. She had never seen anything like it before in her life. and I bet you haven’t either. Because what she saw was a purple cucumber.
For
a while, Harmony was afraid to even touch it because it looked so unusual. But
finally she reached down and put her finger on the little cucumber. It didn’t
feel like the other cucumbers at all. It was colder, and seemed like there was
water on the outside of it. She licked her finger, and it was sour!
Just as she was about to pick the thing, Harmony heard footsteps behind her. She stood up and turned around. On the edge of the garden stood a curious old man in ratty overalls. He wore a tattered farmer’s cap, and had a very long, gray beard and mustache. He was chewing on a thin piece of hay. “Don’t pick that pickle!” he called out.
Harmony looked at the man and giggled. “Excuse me, sir, but everyone knows that pickles don’t grow on cucumber vines. You have to make the pickles after you pick the cucumbers. Who are you anyway?”
“My name is Mister Pickles,” the farmer said in a shaky but joyful voice. “And I’ve been searching the world for a little girl that loves pickles like you do.”
“Well, I do love pickles!” Harmony said proudly.
“I know,” Mr. Pickles said. “And I’ve been given the power to bless just one child every year with a special pickle. This year, you were chosen.”
Harmony looked back down at the purple thing. “Is this purple thing really a pickle?” she asked.
“Oh yes, very much so,” said Mr. Pickles. “It’s not just any pickle. It’s a Practically Perfect Pickle.”
Harmony twisted her mouth and crunched her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
Mr. Pickles laughed a big deep belly laugh, and Harmony thought it was one of the happiest laughs she had ever heard. Then he said, “This pickle is so tasty, so crunchy, and so juicy, that if you were to eat it you’d never be able to eat another pickle so delicious ever again. That’s why you mustn’t pick it.”
Harmony’s look was still confused. “Well then what am I supposed to do with it?”
Mr. Pickles grinned and leaned over, as if he was telling Harmony a secret. “Just admire it. Look at it and enjoy how practically perfect it is. You might even want to sell tickets so people can come over and see for themselves. Few people will believe that you’ve grown a practically perfect purple pickle in your back yard!”
Now Harmony understood what Mr. Pickles was saying. She stood there for just a minute, thinking. Mr. Pickles just looked straight at her, chewing on that piece of straw, with that little wrinkly grin.
“You know, Mr. Pickles,” Harmony said, “I really appreciate the gift you’ve given me, and I really don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I don’t think any pickle, no matter how perfect, should just sit and be admired. Pickles are for EATING, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”
Mr. Pickles just stared while Harmony bent over and plucked the pickle. It was still cool and wet, and smelled like a fresh dill patch. She took a big bite from the big end – CRUNCH – and chewed.
Mr. Pickles was right about one thing: it was the tastiest, crunchiest, juiciest pickle she had ever eaten. And at that moment, she didn’t care if no other pickle would ever taste as good as this one.
Just as she was about to take another bite, the grin on Mr. Pickles’ face turned to a big, wide smile. He opened his arms and started to laugh again. “Oh Harmony, Harmony Harmony!” he cried. “I knew you would do the right thing. You are absolutely right – pickles are for EATING, and since you have chosen to follow your heart, your blessing will now go on forever!”
Suddenly, the air was filled with the smell of fresh dill, and the ground below Harmony’s feet turned cool. She looked down and pulled another cucumber leaf away. And right there on the ground was another purple pickle, just like the first one! She peeled another leaf away, and another, and below every leaf was another practically perfect purple pickle, just waiting to be plucked and eaten.
Harmony was overjoyed. She bent down and started picking pickles as fast as her little hands could work. When the basket was full to overflowing, she stood up tall to yell to her Mama, “Mama! You’ll never believe this!” But when she did, she noticed that Mr. Pickles was gone. “Mr. Pickles?” she yelled.
At that moment, Mama opened the back door. “What is it, dear?” she said.
“Oh Mama, you’ve got to come here and see this!” Harmony cried happily.
And from that day to this, Harmony has been faithfully tending her little pickle patch, and people come from all over the world to see her miracle. If you’re really lucky, you can even get a jar for yourself. Just look for the name:
Harmony’s Practically Perfect
Purple Pickle Patch.
The End
Copyright 1999 Dale Haas