The Parsnip that TIME FORGOT

Sal’s just picked up our veg bag from the pub and we are hovered over it, a murmur of anticipation crackling in the room.

What is inside?  What has Veg Bag Thursday brought us?

It’s a special time.

Peering inside, I see a large, muddy, missile-shaped object that is obscuring the rest of the contents.

“What is THAT?”  I give it a nudge.  We share a moment of befuddled silence.

“Maybe one of those white carrot things?” Sal shrugs.

“A parsnip?  No way.  Maybe it’s a new vegetable.  Or a behemoth swede.”

I give the thing a bath in my largest bowl.  It doesn’t fit – I have to wash one end at a time.  Sure enough – a parsnip appears from the brown water.  It sits in the bowl, chunky, proud and ruddy – like how I always picture Winston Churchill.

parsnip n carrots

The Parsnip next to two terrified carrots

I can hardly scrub it, as it’s the length of my arm.  It weights as much as a baby.  I don’t have room in my life for this much parsnip.  Maybe, I think, I could cut it in half and freeze some of it.

But I don’t have a knife big enough to cut it.

I peer down at it with a tingle of futility.  They say that when life gives you lemons, to make lemonade.

But what if life gives you impossible parsnips?




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