[Weeks ago, mysterious seed packets from an unknown Chinese source started showing up in mailboxes. Admittedly, most recipients wondered if this could be invasive seed warfare. Most were too afraid to plant the seeds—most, but not all. The following entries were recovered from a homesteader’s diary.]
Garden is doing well, but crabgrass, ugh. Weeding is the worst part about homesteading, if you ask me. I planted one of those strange pumpkin-like seeds in the garden, just to see what comes up. Maybe it will be an exotic vegetable, like a spaghetti squash.
My heirloom tomatoes are nearly ripe, and cucumber vines are spreading. The mysterious seed has germinated! It has the largest cotyledons that I’ve ever seen on any garden plant, though I’m by no means a gardening expert yet. I’m still not sure what species it is—perhaps it will be a leaf crop like bok choy.
I’m pleased to report, after diligent watering over two weeks, I now have a vine growing straight up to the clouds, or nearly so—it’s already thirty-feet high! By the looks of it, it should be stout enough to climb in a few days. The vine has the hairy mane of poison ivy, giant thorns like railroad spikes, and elongated trumpet-like flowers that exude the aroma of a rotting whale carcass. The huge tarp-like leaves provide ample shade and, at night, a soft green glow. Needless to say, the plant has the growth habit of a magic beanstalk, though I do suspect my focus on healing the land and increasing soil fertility has played a part. If only this plant was a magic beanstalk, but likely it’s a long-lost species from prehistoric times!
We’ve had ample rainfall, including several substantial thunderstorms. I dumped a half inch out of the rain gauge yesterday. I’ve noticed the vine has been struck by lightning on several occasions and appears to have experienced no adverse effects, though the plant has the curious habit of now zapping dead all creatures that come within forty feet of the garden, including a whole deer herd. The manner in which it does this is something like a Tesla coil. This is becoming slightly problematic because I must now wear bulky rubber rainboots to tend the garden. Plus, the buzzards are starting to pile up.
I have decided not to climb the vine, as it was beginning to move on its own accord. Absolutely no wind at all, and it’s whipping around like a giant out-of-control water hose and smashing pickup trucks. My neighbors are starting to show concern and have requested the governor call in the National Guard. Though I have reservations about chemical use for weed control, I believe a small dousing of Roundup delivered by a fix-winged aircraft should easily solve the problem.
The situation is dire. The vine appears to be resistant to Roundup and napalm. It is now hurling large pods full of the pumpkin-like seeds in all directions. Scientists believe it’s not a magic beanstalk or prehistoric species, but instead a genetically-modified species—who would’ve thought?
Just got a cell phone alert from Emergency Management—nuclear blast is imminent to contain vine’s spread. Must leave all possessions behind and seek shelter immediately, underground if possible. Once out of cellar, I will contact real estate agent to list property. Homesteading is not for me.