Strange Harvest

Strange Harvest Strange Harvest first appeared in Western People , and was reprinted in the Summer '98 issue of OnSpec . Here's what one reviewer had to say about it: "Autumn brings us a "Strange Harvest" courtesy of Edward Willett. You know how vegetables sometimes grow into bizarre shapes, pictures of which appear periodically in the tabloid papers? Well, this story supposes those vegetables got just a little bit weirder. I loved the attentive descriptions of tomato grenades, napalm radishes, glowing electric potatoes, and oh yes, tear-gas onions. That last one made me laugh out loud. The plot features a reporter working for a small local newspaper, and our hero winds up on a quest to figure out what the heck is causing these permutations of produce. Once again, the explanation is logical, unexpected, and entertaining. Share a copy of this story with your friends who practice organic gardening." Elizabeth Barrette, Tangent Online Copyright 1986 by Edward Willett The tomato rolled across my coffee-spattered notes from the previous night's school board meeting and fetched up against my Garfield cup with a "clink!". I stared at the fruit, then tapped it with the end of my pen. Yes, definitely a "clink!". I looked up at the elderly woman who had brought me this unsolicited gift, and winced--she wore a yellow-and-red floral-print dress under a man's bright blue nylon ski jacket. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Annaweis?" "I want you to take a picture of my tomato and put it in the paper." I had already guessed as much. As editor of the Drinkwell, Saskatchewan, Herald (circulation 1,100) for three years, ever since I graduated from journalism school, I had seen enough four-pound potatoes, heart-shaped tomatoes, foot-long cucumbers and two-headed stalks of wheat to last any sane or insane man a lifetime. Every autumn these bizarre bits of vegetation were delivered in triumph to the Herald office by an unending procession of proud gardeners and farmers like Mrs. Annaweis, now glaring at me through her bifocals. I call it funny vegetable season, and here it was starting again--if in a bizarre manner. "Mrs. Annaweis, this is a lovely bit of ceramic, but..." "Young man, it grew like that." I bit my lip. Mrs. Annaweis's stern face defied disbelief. I opted for stalling. "Really?" "Mr. Harkness, I am not crazy. I picked that tomato and a bushel more just like it from my garden this morning." "Of course you did, Mrs. Annaweis," I said soothingly, while thinking sad thoughts about senility. I played my ace-in-the-hole. "It's just that I don't think it would photograph well, so..."