I am still in a sling awaiting surgery, so Mr. Flower must do all the heavy lifting.

His chores now include picking the large produce.

I told him it was time to pick some of the butternut squash.

He asked how he would know which ones needed the picking and which the leaving.

I had never been asked such a question. I knew the answer but how to tell someone else was the puzzle.

I had to walk myself through the garden to get an answer.

When a butternut is ripe it looks pale-skin-pink like a rubber baby doll under the leaves.

Not green.

Not yellowish.

Only the pale skin colored are ripe.

Mercy! I am glad Mr. Flower is picking these. That whopper might blow out my other shoulder.

FLOW