D.V. Sheppard

The web-log of a duck-herding author.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Ode to the Okra - Omnomnomnom!

"Mmmmm Okra! Omnomnomnom!" - the Wombat 

A while back I mentioned that my better half - the Wombat - wrote a hilarious love letter to okra. Here it is! Enjoy:

Pickled Okra: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Long Distance Relationship

            Walking through the grocery store is always a heart-wrenching experience, knowing that I’ll catch a glimpse of you high on a shelf in the pickle isle stoically occupying your tiny spot like a sentinel. Oh my pickled okra, as I sit and reflect on our delicious history together, I realize that there must have been a time that we didn’t know each other. And yet, that’s so hard to imagine! As long as I can remember you’ve always been there, though mostly at a distance, like a well-loved uncle who also just so happens to be a mid-tier celebrity that travels more than stays at home. Always too expensive to actually be with you, but hyper aware of your presence wherever I go.
            Your label has been crafted into a face of comfort for those that know your inner zest, yet somehow common enough that you blend in unassumingly with the crowd. You have no need to bring awareness to yourself more than you do, because you’re an underground success. You have no need to show off or catch anyone’s eye, nor do you make yourself more important than you actually are. And to me, that’s one of your best qualities. I can imagine that you’re there for me; just me, you, and the memories that we’ve had. And sometimes that’s enough.
            Other times though, that’s not enough at all. I long for the cool touch of the glass jar that surrounds your true desirability. I ache for the soft gasp of air as the vacuum seal is broken with a steady counter clockwise twist to your golden lid. The burst of salivation as the aroma of your fermented spiced brine reaches my nose, like a salty dill perfume, causing my mind to reel as I so willingly recount our times together. The liquid that is your brine reminds me of the many tears we’ve shed for one another in what seems like eons since our last one-on-one connection.
            But most of all, I hurt for that soft texture as I sink our teeth in to the present moment with you, as we mingle the remembered with the new. It’s only the two of us now, reliving so many fond memories, just as we create new chapters in our long history together. Your soft and beautiful skin that hides an equally beautiful inside. A deeper core that pops with new and hidden excitement for life within every opened seed. I know these flavors have been kept hidden from the world; that this experience is just for me.

            Yes, sometimes it’s okay watching you at arms distance as you follow your dreams of niche success. It’s okay to ache a little as you wear your outer shell for the rest of the world, even if you never reach the widespread appeal that so drives you. But at other times, I need you here in my hands. I need your smell, your touch, and the salt that speaks so loudly of your experiences. But I’ve also learned that the distance makes every encounter a special treat. And while I wish we could always be together, maybe it’s the distance that has made our love grow so strong in the first place.

- Love, 
The Wombat


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