What I hope will be just the tip of the iceburg, these quarts are the start of the pickle season. The cuke on the right hid from me and demanded a jar of its own. Five quarts so far, and many babies on the vine. I am knitting nearby, but no doubt some will elude me again.
Unlike the cucumbers, the volunteer dill beg to be picked. They are threatening to go to seed if I don't choose them. The pickle factory is ready to go into full operation as soon as I can catch the cukes.
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