Years ago, I won first place in the class science fair for talking to plants.  Well, more specifically, for tracking the growth rates of two peas.  Pea One received harsh treatment.  Some days, I ignored her.  Others, I let her know in no uncertain terms that her shade of green was oh-so-last-year and garish to boot.

Pea Two garnered only praise and sweet smiles. 

By the end of thirty days, Pea Two had a right to preen.  The other pea pod hung her head in shame over her brown spots.

I thought of my Tale of Two Peas this morning while examining the zucchini in my garden.  I've never grown zucchini before.  I stood in front of the pinkie-sized veggies and whispered, "You are beautiful.  Thank you for blossoming in my garden."  Then I stole a glance at the neighbors.  I didn't want them to feel compelled to protect the tender ears of their six-year-old.

Another neighbor spied me, instead, and strolled across the street.  "What are you doing?"

Before I could remind myself that it's not socially acceptable behavior to chat with the flora, I blurted out the truth.  I braced myself for her ridicule.  Instead she looked thoughtful.

"Have you tried singing to them?" she said.

"No." 

My very solid neighbor tilted her head.  "Doesn't everyone like to be sung to?"  She then headed off to make breakfast.

I stood there contemplating whether I'd have the courage to sing out loud, even if it was just for an audience of veggies.  And what does one sing at the garden gate?  Country music?  A trilling aria?  Certainly not heavy metal.  Perhaps best would be a lullaby, something along the lines of "You Are My Sunshine."

I haven't tried singing to my vegetables, yet, but if I do, I'll let you know if they won first place at the County Fair.  At the very least, there's a lot to be said for starting out the day singing a happy tune.