The Root of the Problem

Long ago, before the Vegetable Wars that ravaged the crop field, Sir Celery and his loyal band of Roots were the king pins of the land. While all of the other vegetables had at least an inkling of deep purple-red colouring about them, Sir Celery was remarkable in that all of his matter was a pure green. By this virtue, when he had come of age, he was proclaimed as Leader. Indeed, he alone was revered by the Cultivators, a strange, bipedal species that fed them with a sweet smelling substance that, at certain temperatures, smelt like long-forgotten ancestors. They were also the ones that delivered new Seedlings, sprouting and unfurling from hard, brown packets.

Sir Celery had begun finding dry, yellow patches on his flesh of late, and knew that he didn’t have long left. Whispers and rumours of his heir being chosen had begun circulating, though his Roots had shielded him from the worst of it. Sir Celery had decided, though, that the tours of the Plot must go on. One day when the Heat Ball was high in the Blue Abyss, Sir Celery was making his usual journey around the allot(ment)ed space containing the unwashed masses, though this time without his Roots.

“Good Morning, Carrot Clan!” Sir Celery’s leaves waved in salute. His white roots curled a little, though. Of all the vegetables, the carrots were funny, top heavy creatures that burrowed in the ground. He usually just got a muffled response, but today was different. One of the wirey young ones peeped his head out of the soil.

“Hey! Mith- I mean Ther!”

Sir Celery was a little taken aback (he’d never had Seedlings of his own, you see, so was quite unsure how to handle them, especially one with a lisp) but drew himself up to his finest height.

“Hello, young Carrot! How may I be of service to you?”

“Well.. Um y’see, Ther Thelley Ther…” Carrot’s lisp was grating. “Isth it trwue that the Cawwot Cwan are next in line for the thwone?” Sir Celery’s roots coiled up further (he hadn’t decided who would take his place, but it certainly would NOT be a Carrot). He was about to answer with a firm no, but seeing the hope and innocence in Little Carrot changed his mind: he couldn’t very well snap it, after all he was a Vegetable, too.  

“Why, yes. As the oldest of the Carrot Seedlings, it will be you that is next in line!” This was too much for Carrot to handle, and he ducked his head back into the soil giggling manically. Sir Celery stood dazed, his leaves taken by a gentle breeze. Why had he said that to a Carrot? He knew it wasn’t true!

Perhaps it was the Heat Ball, perhaps it was sheer folly, but once Sir Celery began answering questions about his heir, he just could not stop himself making the Seedlings as cheerful as possible. He spoke to Little Sprout, to Shy Cucumber and even Baby Broad Bean next, all reacting in the same manner. When New Potato and Mini Spinach didn’t ask about the heir to the Plot, Sir Celery told them anyway. By the end of the day, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself – all his Vegetables were happy, and there was a buzz over the Plot.

That is where Sir Celery’s luck ran out. As he rounded back to his patch, he saw ahead a sea of angry red peppering the Soil.

“Sir Celery!” It was Little Sprout, her voice moving as she rolled up to him. “I spoke to Mumma Sprout, and she said what you told me was Weeds.” Sir Celery had never been accused of talking Weeds before, especially by a Seedling. He felt almost red with shame. The voices of the rest of the Seedlings, and some Plants chimed in, too. Sir Celery felt himself blushing.

And then, a funny thing happened. From the crowd, Young Carrot appeared, his pointed leaves directed at Sir Celery.

“Look! Look! Ther Thelley is turning red!” Hushed rustlings became louder. From the Harvest came more bursts of ‘Weed-Talker!’. Among them he saw his Roots with their families, shaking their leaves at him.

“Vegetables! Vege-!” Sir Celery was waterlogged with wailings. He tried a different tact of protesting. “I didn’t mean to Weed-Talk! I just…” His leaves wilted slightly as the Plot fell silent. “I’m sorry.”

“But you still did it though.” Baby Broad Bean’s tiny voice carried throughout the entire Harvest of Vegetables. The chanting started again, and Sir Celery’s once green flesh turned a darker, livid red.  

Sir Celery composed himself. “I’ve really lost the Plot, haven’t I?” If Vegetables could scream, he would have, as a resounding “YES!” came back to him.

With that, Celery marched off, devoid of his title and permanently shamed, stuck a red to match any of the other Vegetables on the plot.

*

In the Cycles that followed, the Vegetables lived a simple, happy life governed by the band of Roots until one Moon from above, the Cultivators planted a small, bulbous family, Radish-red to them but to the Vegetables they were the most beautiful shade of green. Their new Leaders weren’t a patch on Celery, but life remained harmonious and fruitful.

Since that day, Celery has remained a pale jealous red, and revoked of his status, alone and bitter as in his wake, Weed-Talker is murmured by those Seedlings he deceived. Today, he can be found among the Nettles, burbling between sips of Abyss Drops about the wrongs in the Plot.