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.
Only the pale skin colored are ripe.
Mercy! I am glad Mr. Flower is picking these. That whopper might blow out my other shoulder.