Aug 7, 2020 4 min read

The critter, whatever it was, did not like the kale.

“Groundhog probably,” said the farmer. He was walking back across the yard from his morning trip to the garden. “Ate all the lettuce, though.”

Sure enough, it was gone, the tall, bright green leaves from the row of romaine lettuce now sat there all stubby and shredded. In the row next to it stood the Russian kale, its long curly leaves untouched except for a few holes where some bugs gave it a nibble.

Even they rejected it.

It’s the first year for the garden, a large space at the back of the yard. Everything’s growing, but it took some work. The farmer had to fell some dead trees to let the sun in, and then built a cage to keep the deer away. It’s a fortress, with an eight-foot high fence all around and boards at the bottom to keep the diggers out. But it turns out that groundhogs can climb. And I know the guilty party.

“It’s the groundhog that I’ve seen out by the driveway,” I said. “Jagoff.”

“Well, that jagoff ate all your lettuce,” said the farmer.

But it turned its nose up at the kale, which doesn’t fit with what the garden experts say. Groundhogs are known to like anything in the cabbage family, including broccoli, Brussels sprouts and kale. They even like kohlrabi, and that’s one scary-looking vegetable. The groundhog was hungry enough to eat 100 square yards of lettuce, but rejected our kale? I was beginning to take it personally.

Until I tried it myself.

That stuff growing in the garden is inedible – not in the way that you should not eat it, but it the way that nobody would want to eat it. Kale is said to be among the most nutritious plants on earth, the effects of all those vitamins and phytochemicals. But how can it be that the same soil and sunshine that produced my sweet, benign lettuce and tomatoes and beans, would also give birth to these huge, curly, intensely yucky leaves?

The kale tastes bitter and a bit sulfurous. Cooking it releases something that smells up the kitchen, a combination of sauerkraut and old copper pennies.

“It’s awful,” I told the farmer. “And so plentiful!”

Looking at the sheaf of leaves in my arms, I could think only of what those nutrients could do for my aging brain. Will kale make me smarter? Does it prevent wrinkles? How do I get some of this into my bloodstream without having to taste it?

I shall bury it in a smoothie.

And so every day around noon, I walk out to the garden, pick exactly two leaves of kale, put them in the blender with half a banana, yogurt, protein powder and a handful of frozen blueberries. Personally, I don’t think there are enough blueberries in the world to compensate for the kale. The stuff is diabolical.

The smoothie is pale purple with green flecks and tastes like bitter banana something. I choke it down.

Gardeners have long known the challenges of the August harvest. Until now, I’ve thought only in terms of too many zucchini. We’re about to be inundated with zukes, but at least I know people who will take them.

The kale, not so much. I foisted some off to a neighbor and a co-worker.

“Bury it in a smoothie,” I told them.

I never heard back. I suspect they may be burying the kale in the garbage disposal. I can’t say I blame them. Russian kale is the worst. A real jagoff.