Is it Supposed to be Red, Or Yellow, or Green?

This concept of "ripeness" has, I suppose, always felt a little murky.  I recall asking L.T. to explain it to me one afternoon when we were at his farm picking up our share.  His first response derived from his more technical side -- something to do with the fruit reaching its complete capacity to reproduce the plant.  I had something more basic in mind -- like how you know when to pick something?  He subsequently offered up a kind of horticultural behaviorist account that still, today, seems more mystically poetic than helpful -- about how the plant rather offers up the fruit by getting out of the way as opposed to its protective hiding during the maturation process.  Perhaps to the trained observer, but not to this clumsy, ham-handed grower.  I still navigate between the overly zealous (which generally provides me with more than my share of "green") and the overly cautious (which almost disdainfully mushes into my palm, as if to say "what kept you so long"?).

To my natural ambiguity I have now added a new stimulus for harvesting hand-wringing:  it's dangerous out there!  Never mind the chicken wire and the mesh, rabbits could breach my defenses at any moment, hopping over or burrowing under.  And no self-respecting deer would actually be intimidated by my fortifications.  From the very beginning they were designed to deter, not prevent.  And then, of course, there are the bugs and the beetles and the fungi and aphids -- any one of which could invade and invest overnight.  My precious harvest is vulnerable out there, like a pretty girl walking alone at night in the park.  Who can calculate all the evils that could befall?

So, there is the dilemma.  It is a gift to actually have things growing in the garden, but it is a immense responsibility.  I certainly don't want to leave produce out in the garden to rot, but I do want it to enjoy the full privilege of getting ripe.  But I don't want to leave it vulnerable any longer than is absolutely necessary.  But... 

Perhaps it is a little like parenting -- judging when to shelter and when to let go.  Or like poker -- knowing "when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em."

You get the point.  This is worrisome business.  It's a wonder that any of it -- including the gardener -- survives.