I wish I could show you a photo of my beautiful Bradford okra. The above is a different heirloom strain from a harvest several years ago down in the South Carolina piedmont. Ever since I moved back up the mountain, I’ve been trying to find an okra variety that would do well in the highlands. This year, in spite of a cooler, wetter summer than normal, Bradford came through, with stout hardy plants and prodigious bloom.

Just as the first pods were beginning to form, the groundhog denning in the Wild Corner developed a taste for okra, and devoured my whole row of fifty plants, pods, blooms and leaves, right down to the stem.

That Nature conspires to produce fine okra in less than ideal conditions doesn’t mean she cares one way or another who gets to eat it.


  1. What a greedy fat groundhog! No sharing for him, just eat, eat, eat. Oh well.

    1. Patrick, mought be a story in there somewhere, don't you think?


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