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On my tiny 4-foot by 6-foot patio, thumb-sized potatoes grew from old peelings and three Kentucky blue green beans hung ripe on a piece of string attached to my patio chair.
Proudly, holding my agricultural bounty, I turned to show my visiting father.
Without a word, he took one of the beans and with a crunch, bit into it.
“Mmmmm, tastes good.”
A gasp of horror escaped my mouth.
In a flash, one-third of my harvest had disappeared.
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