Rutabagas. What are they?
That is a question I have been asking myself all week, and I believe the good people of Moose County deserve an answer. A rutabaga is a root vegetable. It grows in the ground. It is somewhat purple. These are facts.
My moustache began tingling the moment I saw a bin of them at Toodle’s Market, and I have learned never to ignore such signals. When my moustache tingles, something is afoot. I purchased one rutabaga — at the outrageous price of eighty-nine cents, which I will be submitting to the K Fund as a legitimate research expense — and brought it home to the barn for further investigation.
Koko sniffed it exactly three times. Why three? Yum Yum refused to look at it altogether, which, as any serious observer knows, is even more significant. These cats possess an intelligence that most residents of Pickax could only aspire to. When Koko pushed the rutabaga off the counter and it rolled under the Staffordshire figurines, I knew he was telling me something. Was it a warning? Was it a commentary on root vegetables in general? Who can say.
Speaking of warnings, there was another small fire on Ittibittiwassee Road last Tuesday, which brings this year’s arson count to fourteen. In a town of three thousand, one might find this remarkable. I do not. I was nowhere near Ittibittiwassee Road, and I have witnesses.
But back to rutabagas. Can they be eaten raw? Some say yes. Are they nutritious? Probably. Do the squirrels want mine? Almost certainly. I have already caught two of them on the porch this week, brazenly eyeing my property with their small, acquisitive faces. I would not put anything past them. They have already decimated my birdseed supply, which the K Fund generously provides as a wildlife preservation initiative and which is, I am told, fully deductible.
Polly suggested I try roasting the rutabaga with butter. I told her I would consider it. I have not considered it. Koko yowled at precisely two-fifteen this morning, and I believe it was related.
Rutabagas.
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