Let me begin by telling you that I've been planning a garden, in my mind, for some years now. With ideas of grandeur sprouting about in my head, I thought I'd be the queen of canning this year because my bounty was going to be that BA! Through years of living as a single mom in an apartment in the city I had plenty of time to plot and scheme. Finally, I decided, this was the year! I was really excited to begin planting in the back yard of my new home, with my new husband, and the shiny new gardening tools blah , blah, blah. Needless to say, somebody forgot to mention to me that the plants I was buying were meant for wee people. You know, garden fairies and gnomes and the like. I know this because nothing produced has been larger than a walnut. Seriously; a walnut! I was quite proud of the figs (as small as they were) that grew, as you can tell from one of my previous posts. That is, until my eighty year old neighbor dropped by to see how our new floors were coming along. I held out the two tiny fruit in the palm of my hand for her to see and she said, "Oooh, so tiny!" and continued on about how angry she was that the birds had been eating up her fist sized figs. Fist sized. Yes. She said, "fist sized!" What the crap? Now my tomato plants (of which only produced 3 walnut sized tomatoes all season) are about petered out and my dill looks like it's going to pot. The above picture is of the bell pepper that my daughter plucked yesterday afternoon. That, my friends, is the straw that broke this camel's back. Maybe Dr. Evil aimed a shrink ray gun to my plants. Um, yeah.