April 2, 2016 | 13 Comments The life of a farmer is not easy. I know because we farm bananas in Mazatlán–without success. We started by cultivating regular bananas but the banana palms overwhelmed us, overrunning our yard. We retaliated by ripping them out and introducing a dwarf variety of banana. That bit of crop husbandry succeeded except the dwarves have refused to ripen in time–they procrastinate until after we’ve left Mexico–until now. Last week one dwarf banana, unlike its 72 companions, turned yellow. Overnight, without warning, it transitioned into something resembling a yellow banana. It was an ambitious banana compared to the others in the bunch. It wasn’t the first in the bunch, nor the last; it occupied a spot in the middle. A yellow gem huddled in the midst of bananas even greener than the ones they try to fob off on you in Calgary grocery stores. There’s a sense of creative accomplishment in raising your own produce, even if it is only one lonely banana. We wanted to savor the experience for at least one day before harvesting this gift and using it to top our morning cereal. Dawn of the following day brought only disappointment. Contrary to what one is told in Ecclesiastes, the race does go to the swiftest. Overnight, a fruit bat (or possibly a possum who had raided our garden before) got there before us and dined on the morsel. EXPAND THIS PHOTO—The hollowed out shell of our only yellow banana. Now, all we can look forward to is a half-eaten yellow banana surrounded by 72 bananas stubbornly retaining their green complexion; all waiting for us to leave in April before metamorphosing into edible fruit.